#but the gun's out of bullets so I jus kick the shit out of him.

[lemememeringue]

I've been having some uncharacteristically violent dreams since I got sick

[starlessea]

I See Red (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Prompt: “If you hurt my brother, I’ll kill you. I swear I’ll kill you all.” Requested by @alex-sulli​​​, numbers #25 and #29 from this post.

Summary: You’ll threaten anyone who dares mess with your little brother; and Daryl is left to pick up the pieces when you feel guilty for doing so.

Words: 2078

Warnings: Language.

Never before in your life had you found yourself at a loss for words. Whether it was rambling to Daryl during the early hours of the morning whilst he grumbled to let him sleep, or giving your father grief like it were an older sibling’s duty, you always had something to say. That was, however, until now.

Carl had his hands held up, directly in front of his face so that they were visible. He shot you a look, urging you to do the same. You didn’t. Instead, you glanced back and forth between your brother and Ron, like you couldn't quite comprehend what was happening.

"It's fine." Carl said, trying to reassure you. "I've got this."

He didn't. 

You'd been upstairs, watching over Judith whilst your father and Michonne were on their patrols, when suddenly you heard shouting coming from Carl's room. You sighed, thinking you'd have to scold your teenage brother and his friends for being too rowdy when your little sister was fast asleep in her crib. At first, you let them off the hook, but when glass shattered in the distance you decided enough was enough.

You'd bound down the stairs with the practiced heavy footsteps of an older sister, already preparing your best yelling voice. Except, rather than the row you were expecting to give, you were rendered speechless as you flung open the door.

Ron stood with his arm outstretched, pointing a pistol directly at your brother. Carl glanced back at the sound of you entering his room, and pleaded with you to follow his lead. The other boy remained silent, but shifted his weight on his feet as you glared at him. 

Ron was no killer; you watched as his hand trembled over the gun, and he chewed his lip between his teeth. He was no killer - but he was certainly an asshole.

"Put it down." You demanded, taking a few steps closer to him. "Now!"

The boy flinched as you yelled, and Carl glanced back at you nervously. You didn't care what he'd told you; there was no way you'd allow him to diffuse the situation alone. Your innocent baby sister lay asleep upstairs, and your younger brother was facing a loaded gun downstairs. You thought your father would actually kill you if anything happened to either of them on your watch.

Ron fumbled with the gun, narrowing his eyes at you like he was debating your words. You'd expected him to surrender it immediately, and let you march him home to his mother by the ear. Except, he didn't. He trained his aim on you instead, and his shoulders shook even more as he did so. You let out a bitter laugh in disbelief, and raised an eyebrow at him. He didn't back down, but neither did you. 

Carl watched the exchange as you walked even closer to Ron, until the barrel of the pistol lay flush against your chest. He didn't pull the trigger; you knew he wouldn't. You could feel the cold metal quivering against your skin, and you took it from him without hesitation. 

He let you, and took a few steps back in response to you getting even nearer to his face - so close that you could see his skin prickle from your breath on his cheek.

"If you hurt my brother, I'll kill you." You whispered, letting him feel the gun against his own torso this time. "I swear I'll kill you all." 

The boy looked down at his shoes, as your foreheads pressed together.

"You think you can pull a gun on my family?" You questioned, forcing his chin up with your knuckle. "Then wait until you see what I can do to yours."

You unloaded the gun, letting the magazine fall to the floor as you watched the bullets scatter out from it. You took a step back, and watched as Ron seemed to take his first breath. He immediately glanced over at Carl for some support, and you laughed in his face as he did so. You couldn’t believe he dared have the audacity to look to your brother for help not even minutes after threatening to kill him.

"Get out." You spat, and the boy did just that.

Your jacket caught on the handle as you snapped open the door a little too forcefully, and you growled below your breath. You'd been looking forward to returning home all day, and having some time to yourself to relax - but now all you saw was red. You kicked the door shut behind you with your boot, and grimaced at the sound of it slamming, and the glass shaking in the pane.

Daryl looked over at you curiously, raising an eyebrow where he stood in the kitchen. He was covered in grease, and you guessed he'd been working on his motorcycle whilst you were with the teenage firing squad. 

"How was yer day?" He drawled, pouring you a glass of water from the sink.

You sighed, and slumped into his chest when you reached him - letting your forehead drop against his shirt.

"I think I just threatened a sixteen year old." You mumbled there, and heard him chuckle as you did.

Daryl took a sip of the water, forgetting to offer you some first.

"Yeah, mine was good too." He replied, nonchalantly, and you hit him over the shoulder.

"Daryl-" you whined, not having the energy for playful banter.

He smiled at you sheepishly, and rubbed the back of your head, gently playing with some strands of hair between his fingers. There were oil-stains over his clothes, and he looked like he needed a shower. Though, at this moment, you didn't really care that the grease had rubbed off on you, or that your hair probably looked like coal dust.

"What did Carl do this time?" He asked sarcastically, but it made your blood run hot merely thinking about it.

"My brother didn't do anything." You snapped, and immediately regretted your tone. "It was Ron."

Daryl let out a low laugh, and you felt it rumble through his chest. He squeezed your shoulders, feeling the tension that had built up there.

"Does seem like kind of a lil' shit, don' he?"

You sighed; if only he knew the half of it. Daryl pressed his knuckles against your lower back, relieving the stress from your muscles. You closed your eyes, savouring the feeling.

"He pulled a gun on Carl." You admitted to the man, and instantly noticed as he stopped massaging your skin. "Then aimed it at me when I told him to drop it."

It was like you'd shown a red rag to a bull. Daryl went from completely loving to positively menacing in a matter of seconds, and stormed straight past you towards the door. 

"Daryl, stop-" you called out, panicked. "He's just a kid." 

You grabbed onto the man's shoulder, and he turned on his heels as you did so. His brow was furrowed, and you watched him narrow his eyes like he couldn't at all understand why you held him back.

"And kids should know their damn place." He growled, making your shiver.

You placed your hand over his chest, spreading your palm flat to feel his pounding heartbeat.

"He does. I made sure of it." You said quietly, trying to convince the man. "I'm just regretting the way I handled it."

Daryl immediately noticed the way your voice trailed off, and how your eyes dropped to the floor like you were ashamed. You weren't proud of what you did; but it needed to be done. You couldn't risk anything happening to your family - not when you'd all fought this hard just to stay together.

The man brought his hand to your cheek, coaxing you to look up and meet his eyes. You did, and he placed a soft, chaste kiss to your forehead - which you could feel him smile into ever so slightly.

"Is he still breathin'?" He mumbled against your skin, seeming to have calmed down enough to comfort you, instead.

"What-" you stuttered, before registering his words. "Yes, of course." You spoke, a little too loudly and a little too quickly.

Daryl chuckled, and wiped away some oil he'd gotten on your face with his thumb.

"Then ya handled it jus' fine."

There was a knock at your door not even an hour later. You'd told Daryl you would get it, but he bounded there before you had the chance - instructing you to stay on the couch and keep your feet up. He'd gotten a blanket and tucked you in so tightly that it felt like you were on an army base. You giggled to yourself, wondering if there was anything that man wouldn't do for you.

"Is she there?" Ron asked Daryl, mustering every ounce of confidence he had. "I want to apologise."

He scowled back, and practically snarled at the boy barely half his size but twice as stupid. Daryl was sure he could knock him on his ass as easy as the wind blowing a piece of paper through the breeze. He was scrawny, and fumbled with his hands like he couldn't dare to meet his eyes.

"Listen here, ya lil' prick." Daryl spoke, biting out the words. "Ya pull that shit again an' you'll have me to deal with."

You flipped the page of your magazine, re-reading the events from over a year ago and mumbling something about 'yesterday's news.' You tried your hardest to relax, but you had a nagging feeling that you couldn't escape from - making you feel antsy and on edge.

"Hi." Came the voice, wobbling through your living room like it was coated in a layer of shyness. "I just came to say I'm sorry." 

Whipping your head around, you caught sight of Ron, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. Daryl stood behind him, like he was blocking any escape route he may have planned - but in reality, he looked like a grouchy guard dog having come to make sure you were okay.

For the second time today, you felt speechless, and slowly closed your magazine before tucking it underneath a pillow. Not even an hour ago had you staked your life on how intimidating you could seem, and now you were bundled up near the fire like a grandmother with arthritis. You blinked, and stood up quickly - letting the woven blanket fall to the floor and kicking it under the couch like a poorly kept secret.

"I guess I was jealous of Carl." Ron continued, feeling pressured by your lack of response. "I'll never do anything like that again. I promise."

You met his eyes but he looked away, staring at the photo frames littering your walls - and resting his gaze over the picture of you, Carl and Judith in the centre.

"Damn right you won't." You finally replied, and watched the boy flinch like your words had cut him open.

"Come here." You instructed, and he listened.

When he approached, you slumped back down onto the couch, not caring if he noticed your glossy magazine slipping out from under the pillows. You patted the space next to you, gesturing for him to sit. He did, and the two of you stared into the red flames of the fire, watching them jump and splutter in front of you.

"When we're scared, we do stupid things." You told Ron, your voice coming out a lot softer than it had done before.

You caught sight of Daryl in the corner of your eye, leaning against the doorframe like he was content to watch from afar - leaving you to finish what you'd started. He'd always have your back, but sometimes he just wanted to hang back to see where you decided to take him.

"In this new world, you only have two options." You explained, and gave Ron's shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The boy jumped a little at your touch, but soon settled into it when he realised how different it was from earlier that day.

"You can either fight it, or accept it." You said, listening to the crackle of firewood as it turned into red embers. "Fear it, or control it."

A/N For my sweet @alex-sulli who always leaves the most wonderful comments that never fail to make my day :)

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[everyhowlmarksthedead]

LOBO SONORA

Hank ‘Tranq’ Loza x Reader

Anon asked: Hi! I hope your doing okay💜 I was wondering if you could write an imagine where the reader is an old lady (you can write this for any member of the Mayans, I didn't think of anyone specifically) and she seems like this cozy housewife but one day she kicks the shit out a burglar and she explains to her family that she is the daughter of a crime boss and she was taught how to fight by him and other members of her family. I hope you have a great day / night and thank you💜💜💜💜

Word Count: 1.3k

Author comments: What about a second part? This work wasn't re-edited, so I'm sorry if you find grammar mistakes! I hope you all enjoy. Gif isn't mine, credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​@sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

“Shit, baby, wait!”

Tranq stops his bike, like Bishop and Taza does. You were about to have dinner at the ranch, when you noticed that your phone isn't inside your pocket.

“Just one second, caballeros!”

The front yard of the clubhouse is empty, with the lights turned off, so taking off the helmet from your hair you lead your steps towards the porch. Coming in and illuminating the living room, you have one quickly look to the poker table, finding your phone there. Grabbing it, you turn around hearing some steps walking closer.

“I foun— ¿Quién chingados eres tú?” (Who the hell are you?)

A man wearing a spooky mask is in front of you, pointing you with a gun and making a gesture with his free hand for you to close the door. But even if the logic would ask for help, it's the first time in seven years that someone threatens you like that and your body reacts before your brain. The guy is close enough to be hitten by your right leg, going straight to his forearm to make the gun fall down, getting shot in the meantime. The bullet impacts in the virgin, alerting the Mayans.

The man tries to hit you back, but you use the helmet to punch him on the face, unbalancing him to the left, before squatting to move your leg from his right ankle to his heels; making him fall to the floor. Everything happens in less than three seconds, when your husband and the other two mexicans appear.

“Are you okay?” Tranq runs towards you, cupping your cheeks in his hands, while you nod somewhat nervously.

Bishop takes off the mask from the man, but they look at you two, before looking at Taza. No one knows him.

“Who has sent you?”

“Lobo Sonora”. He replies between some painful growls. “Her father”.

“What?” Your husband looks confused, taking some steps away from you. And you can't blame him. You never told him who you really are.

———————————————————

“Madre de los Mayas” that's how the whole Cali knows you by. The perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect friend. But you're far away to be perfect, you don't even want to be it. You just take care of your chosen family, like your blood family never did. You ran away from Sonora when your father tried to make you marry someone you didn't love. Someone that used to denigrate you in several ways. And maybe Santo Padre was too close from your hometown, Hermosillo, but you didn't care about it. Your father knows pretty well where you are, but for a damn time he respected your decision. Now, you would like to know what the hell he wants, after almost eight years without crossing the border.

But first, you have to answer some questions that you never thought you would have to answer.

The three men are sitting in their respective chairs, while you had a seat on the other front of the main table inside the Templo. It's been a couple hours since you caught the mexican your father sent to have contact with you, without using phones. Tranq looks disappointed, bemused and furious. All in one. All because of you and your half truths.

“I love you”. You say when Bishop is about to talk. “I really do, Hank”.

“I don't trust you anymore. I don't know who you are… And all I care about, right now, is my club”.

“Brother, let her explain himself”. Taza says raising a hand to calm your husband.

“I don't want”. He simply replies, before getting up from his chair.

“Hank, listen…”

“Don't fucking dare to talk to me”. He points you with a forefinger, when you try to face him before leaving the Templo.

Sitting down again, you nail your elbows on the table starting to cry, sinking your face into your palms. It hurts the other men too. They know you're not a liar. They know you're not a traitor. So they wait in silence for you, to explain yourself.

“I ju—just ran away from Sonora… I didn't wa—want to follow his orders”. You say after some minutes, between sobs and deep breaths.

“What orders, querida?”

“My father… My father wanted me to ma—marry a Vato”.

“One of El Palo's men?” Che leans over the table, shaking his head slightly.

You nod.

“You, better than anybody in the Mayans, knows what it means”.

“And that's it…?”

“Beatings, rapes, scapegoats…” The Apache turns to the mexican, making him lying on his chair snorting and rubbing his face. “That's what they do to their wives, hermano. That's for what they use them”.

“I ha—have information about my father… that could burn down his empire. I wi—will give it to you, if you want it”.

“I believe you, (Y/N). You don't have to prove us a shit, okay?” Bishop highlights then, letting you breathe for a second. Turning to the vice, he has a drag from his cigar. “Find out why they sent that pendejo for. I'll talk with Tranq”.

“Bish…” You call him, while they get up from their chairs. “I'm sorry… I'm really sorry for not telling you about it. I tho—thought my father just… gave up on me”.

“Mamá Maya, estás salvo aquí”. (You're safe here) He replies caressing your left cheek with the back of his fingers. “Wait here”.

As soon as they leave you alone, closing the glass door, you break into pieces. You really appreciate that they trust in you, but if your husband doesn't, you're lost. You love him more than anything. You've been together for the last seven years and your love turned into a beautiful warrior called Alma. You can't imagine a day without waking up by his side, while your daughter jumps on the mattress. You can't imagine a night without watching your husband reading a story to your baby, before going to sleep together, telling him how much you love him in the intimacy of your room. You were living in hell for twenty years, until you found Tranq. He saved you.

When the door gets opened again, you're unable to turn around, recognizing his smell flooding the empty room. Closing it, he walks towards you, sitting on the next chair and resting his forearms against the edge of the table. His look is lost in the middle of nowhere, organizing his ideas inside his head, keeping silence and making you feel scared.

“Why did you leave Sonora?”

“My father wa—wanted me to marry Pablo Santos”.

You know that you don't need to say anything else, when he turns his face and his attention towards you.

“Does your father know about me, about Alma?” You nod slowly. “Did you tell him?”

“The last time I talked with him wa—was eight years ago”. Shaking your head and cleaning the tears, you curl a leg against your chest above the chair. “But he is ‘Lobo Sonora’, he knows everything”.

“You should go home”. Tranq just says, getting up with a heavy snort.

“Hank, please”. Quickly, you hold his hand standing up. “Please… don't leave me. I beg you”.

“I'll stay here to know what your father wants”.

“I will wait for you, then. Alma is… with Leti till tomorrow”.

“(Y/N)...”

“Please”.

Your husband cups your face into his huge hands, leaning forward to kiss your forehead and all that you can feel is your legs about to falter. He catches your lips between his in a dearly kiss, caressing your cheeks with both thumbs. So warm, so gentle, like he usually is with you.

“Go to my room, try to sleep. I'll be there in a few”.

“I love you”. You just say, letting a tear run away from your left eye.

“I know it, vida mía. I know it”.

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Warnings; injury, Micah, angst

Part 2 & Masterlist

Redrafted and continuing on AO3

Notes: There hasn’t been an abundance of fic floating around (and what has been published is making my arthur head explode with love), so I figured I might as well throw out this old thing I thought I would finish but never went back to. I submitted a fic request to @the-awkward-outlaw who took a much less angsty approach. This is far from perfect, but eh

******

You swallow the blood filling your mouth, but it does nothing to wet your throat. A dozen faces have thrown you dirty looks mixed with confusion and apprehension. The cowboy that brought you here on the back of his horse has been retained in the large tent - which in turn is on the other side of the cart to where you’ve been bound.

You’ve been trying to eavesdrop, but all you’ve made out is bickering, scolding and multiple hushed insults aimed at you. Whenever Arthur begins to raise his voice, someone comes from around the cart to spit at you or kick your feet.

Closing your eyes does nothing to help your headache, nor the sting of the bullet wound in your side. Your tongue is repeatedly drawn to an unusual sharpness inside your cheek, making you wonder if the mexican broke a tooth when he smashed the handle of his gun into your face. Not that it matters. You were surprised you weren’t already dead, but still lacked any doubt of seeing another sunrise.

“What are you doing, O’Driscoll?”

You open your eyes in time to see a heavy bearded man grab a smaller man by the arm. The slosh of water hitting the grass is heaven, but also draws out the dire thirst in your throat as it's lost to the ground.

“N-nothin’, Bill.”

“Are you in on this? You set us up?”

“No! No, of course n-not! I’ve never even met her-”

“You gonna free her so she can slit our throats in the night?”

“No, sir! No! I was just-” He grunts as the man called Bill punches him in the stomach. A woman shouts and runs over, but Bill is stalking away into the trees, still growling threats at nobody in particular.

“I’m fine, Miss Gaskill," croaks the somewhat familiar man.

“Are you sure? He didn’t need to hit you!”

“I-I was comin’ over to see her. I jus’ wanted to know if she’s ok - bein’ tied to that tree, well, it ain’t no nice thing, Miss Gaskill.”

“I know, but Dutch is talkin’ with Arthur about it now. I don’t reckon they’ll keep a woman there as long as they did you.”

“I hope not.” The pair give you a forlorn look and disappear to the other side of the cart. You close your eyes again, trying to distract yourself from the memory of fresh cold water sliding down your throat.

You must fall asleep, because when the boots come into view your neck is stiff and the horizon is brightening the ink of the sky. You try to look up, but the muscles in your neck decide otherwise.

“What were you doing there?”

You try to speak but your throat is too dry to even cough. A hand reaches down and lifts your chin firmly. Arthur’s face is without humour, and his brow the lowest you’ve seen it. You inhale sharply as his lips thin with impatience.

“You been with’em this whole time?” You shake your head instinctively, but he catches your hesitation and releases your face with a grunt of disgust. “Shit.”

You close your eyes again, trying to ignore the crackle of his stubble as he rubs a hand along his jaw. A lump is rising in your throat, but you try to swallow it. Now is not the time to be showing weakness, but the deep sense of betrayal is suffocating you.

“You been-? Too?” you manage to choke.

“I been what?”

“Van der Linde,” you hiss, forcing your head up to glare at him.

He scoffs and shakes his head, turning on his heel and stalking away. You hear a frail voice call after him, but you don’t care anymore. The tall broad frame of Dutch Van der Linde himself is marching towards you with a thin frail frame of a man following closely behind.

“-be easy on him, Dutch. He thought he was doing the right thing.”

“You are both getting far too soft!” You yelp as Dutch pulls you to your feet, the restraints burning around your wrists. “Since when did Colm hire women to do his dirty work?” You snicker, but a slap across your face cuts it short.

“He’s always had working women in camp,” you manage to gasp through the blossoming stars. “Not like you, though. He doesn’t keep them round.”

“I mean as gunslingers. That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

“He doesn’t.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t?" he scoffs. "How’d you fall in with them?”

The thin man steps forward, scrutinising your mess of a face.“You a spy? A lookout of sorts?”

You force yourself to withhold the hysteria bubbling inside of you. “You think Colm has thought of using spies?”

“I think Colm is always thinking of ways to catch us out,” growls Dutch. “It’s more a matter of what we do with you now we have you.”

“Just kill me already.” After all, it would be easier. Arthur’s look of disgust turns your stomach and not just from guilt. If you had known, you would have steered clear or even shot him there and then.

You can almost hear the men musing in front of you. Bird song is beginning to erupt as well as life elsewhere in the camp.

“Is that what you want, Y/N?”

The sound of your name jolts through you. Your gang had never used it because you had never made it known to them. This was a man’s world, and the only way to protect yourself had been to become one.

So you had. You’d bound your chest, cut your hair and changed your clothes. Before the camp woke, you would use the ash from the fire to disguise your soft jaw and thicken your brows in addition to mascara from your past life. Escaping for a few days to hunt was an excuse to bathe and become yourself again. Packing your things into your saddle bag, you made a stop in a stream off the road to wash your face and change clothes. It was the only way you could guarantee yourself some solitude when O’Driscolls were so plentiful in the local area. Any enemies you had made would ride by you as you rested or hunted game.

It was after a bath you had first seen him. He had been trying to de-escalate an argument with the hotel owner - something about him beating a man who had hurt a friend of his. Seeing your wet hair curling over your shoulders, he had given you a nod.

“They run good baths here?” he asked.

“They run ‘em hot and private enough."

He had immediately set down a coin. “I’ll have what she had.” When advised of the wait, he had waved his hand. “If this lady reckons it’s worth it, I can wait.”

That had been weeks ago. It felt a lot longer, but multiple brushes with death every day made everything count that much more. You had brushed off rumours of Van der Lindes in the area. How bad could they be compared with the headless chickens you ran around with? After riding out with Colm to scope a new camp, you had returned to Cumberland Forest to find everyone slaughtered. Any stragglers were shot on sight. How could they be any worse than what you were already with?

“I don’t know, Dutch. She’s a woman.”

“She’s an O’Driscoll!” Your body was too tired to flinch as he got up in your face, trying to intimidate you. “Whether Colm knew it or not.”

“What do you want to do with her? We can’t let her go, not now.”

“Suppose we could always kill her. Or better yet, get Kieran to do it.”

Hosea shakes his head. “I don’t think that will go down too well.”

“How else are we supposed to deal with her? We already have enough mouths to feed, plus another O’Driscoll in camp is begging for trouble.”

Your mind wanders back to Arthur’s look of disdain. The hatred was on a different spectrum to the crinkle of his eyes when he had found you again in the saloon. The cold that rolled off him was nothing like the heat of his hand when it had brushed yours on the ledge overlooking Valentine. You’re too angry with yourself to worry about the outcome. Even if they let you go, Colm will make sure you’re strung up for deceiving them. All your things are back at camp, and you know you won’t be able to bind your chest again for another few weeks with the wound in your side.

You lean your head back against the trunk and close your eyes again, ignoring their chatter but still unable to stop a tear leak down your cheek as they walk away.

***

The smell of food makes your stomach growl, but you ignore it. A small boy walks past staring at you openly, but his mother ushers him away with an air of distrust. You can’t blame her; you know the O’Driscoll’s are nowhere near as reserved as this gang when it comes to robbing and killing. You had heard them boasting about a stage they’d intercepted, filled with women and children. Apparently they weren’t the first to stop them, but they were the first to go all out and rob them.

You knew at the retelling of the stories that it was best to remain a man.

“Who do we have here?” A sinister chuckle rolls you out of your thoughts. The first thing you notice is the thick handlebar moustache, followed by the thin curtains of blond curls from under his white hat. His sneer makes your blood run cold, and you are tied too tight to move your face out of his reach. His long fingers stroke along your jaw. “I gotta say, this set up?” He steps forward, his lips almost brushing your ear. “It’s working for me.”

You squeak as a knife thuds into the wood above your head. The stranger steps back, and scoffs.

“Didn't your daddy tell you not to play with knives, Morgan?” He reaches up and pulls it out, playing it between his fingers. His grey green gaze transfixing you, the cool blade touches your chin, forcing you to lift your head and expose your jugular. “Don’t want anyone to get hurt now, do we, cowpoke?”

The humour is replaced with irritation at the click of a gun being cocked. He lowers the knife, and you realise you had stopped breathing.

“Try me, Micah,” Arthur growls, his revolver pointing at his temples.

Chuckling, he steps back from you and approaches his new target. “Sorry, didn’t realise you was practising your white knight act with Guinevere, here.” He throws you a look over his shoulder, looking you up and down and licking his lips. “I’ll be back, princess. Save some for me, hey?”

A gunshot rips through the camp. You’re breathless, blinking rapidly trying to work out where the bullet has entered your body, if you’re still alive. It takes all of ten seconds for you to realise Arthur had fired his shot into the sky.

You feel the rope tying your wrists together tugging up and down as Dutch storms around the corner with his entourage.

“What in God’s name are you playing at?” he spits as your hands suddenly fall free.

Arthur has already gripped your arm and is dragging you away from the crowd. You stumble, your legs having forgotten how to move themselves after days. You are dumbstruck as he reties your hands in front of you and hoists you onto a cart.

"I didn't bring her here for her to be Micah's plaything."

"What are you talking about, Arthur?" Dutch splutters. "Micah has been back all of two minutes-"

"I know I ain't put y'all in the easiest position bringing her back here, so jus' lemme take care of it, aight?"

Hosea walks forward, surveying you gently. "She can't go free. Not with the Pinkertons after us."

"I know," he growls, retying your hands to your legs to prevent you running off despite your lack of effort. “Don’t I goddamn know it...”

The old man reaches out to touch his arm. "Stay safe, Arthur.”

“Not you again!” you had teased as he waved a lazy salute in your direction.

“Any recommendations?” he asked, nodding at your plate. You shrugged and he ordered the same, bringing you over a fresh beer and sitting at your table.

“Fancy seeing you here, Mr Morgan.”

He smiled and removed his hat, running his hands through his hair. "I'm always in here, me."

"How odd… I seem to remember you getting barred for life a few weeks ago?"

"Ah, well. The bartender's a reasonable man." He shrugged, embarrassed as you laughed at him. "Can't say the same for that Tommy guy."

The sparkle in his eye has long gone. Not that you're looking at him, you're too busy trying to take in the smell of the trees and the birdsong, trying to ignore the fear in your thoughts. Who knows how he intends to kill you? Or where he will dump your body afterwards. What does it matter - no one is going to come looking for you. The O'Driscoll's mind their own and even if they did recognise you, you'd be strong up for treason. If the law recognise your identity, they'll consider it a blessing. You are on your own, restrained in a caravan with your captor.

"Why didn't you let your friends kill me?" you hear yourself ask.

His silence is stoic. You begin to wonder if you didn't say it out loud after all when he finally clears his throat.

"I couldn't."

"Why not?" You laugh, looking around. "Would've been easier than killing me out here - at least at my camp I was just another body from a gang fight. Out here you'll start a murder investigation."

"I ain't killin' yer." He throws you a sideways glance as you blink in disbelief. "Not yet at least."

"You just said-"

"What does it matter what I said?" He scoffs. "Like you're one to talk, Y/N."

"What's that supposed to mean?" You can feel the heat growing in your ears as you scowl.

"What do you think it means?" he snaps. Flicking the reins, he takes a steadying breath. "Why were you running with the O'Driscolls?"

"Why are you running with Dutch Van der Linde?"

"Tha's different!"

"Why?"

"Because I've spent my life runnin' with him an' the same can't be said for you if Colm doesn't know he's running with a woman yet." He scoffs. "He ain't ever taken kindly to surprises."

"You talk like you know him."

"I did for a while." He shoots you a look. "Way back when. How long you been runnin' with them? Since you don't know the history and you ain't been found out yet, I reckon five, six months?"

"Seven," you hiss. His brooding has relented enough to exude smugness and it's grating on you that he is still damn attractive.

"You gonna tell me why? Coz I ain't askin' a third time."

"Why does anyone become an outlaw? I needed money. It was only gonna be temporary but my cousin got shot up in that Blackwater massacre so I had to stay."

"Your cousin?"

"Yeah, Heidi. Your ol' Dutch should know her well."

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Mine Now

Summary: You’d been in the gang for a while now, and you’re sure that a certain blue-eyed cowboy has some feelings for you.

@verai-marcel‘s high honor/low honor writings intrigue me, so I wanted to take a page from her book and try it myself!

Tags and warnings: Violence, alcohol, smut, body worship, rough sex, overstimulation, slight dom/sub undertones

“Y/N.”

Settled on a crate just outside your tent, you peered up from the book you were reading. Arthur, one of your favorite people, stalked up to you, stopping just a couple of feet away.

“Whatcha readin’?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Ah, just some novel I grabbed last time we were in Valentine.” you responded.

“’Sit any good?”

You shrugged half-heartedly in response. “It’s okay,” you sighed, though it kept you from being bored all day. “Did you need something?”

He shifted in place, his eyes leaving yours to stare at the ground for a moment. He was silent at first, slowly lifting his head to meet you gaze again. “I got tip of a stagecoach headin’ towards Flatneck Station, holdin’ somethin’ good. ‘Sposed to be transferred to a train goin’ west. Gonna try and get it ‘for then. You in?” he asked.

Curiosity piqued, you put your book down. “Sure. Anyone else coming along?”

He shook his head. “Nah, jus’ you and me,” he paused. “That ain’t a problem, is it?”

“Of course not,” you answered immediately and stood up, smiling at him. “Just gimme a few minutes to get ready.”

He nodded, returning with a small smile of his own. “Ya know where to find me, then.”

Within ten minutes, you had gathered your supplies and mounted your horse. You rode with Arthur, side by side, loping down a dirt path in the forest. Arthur asking you to do missions with him wasn’t new; however, this was the first time you and him went alone together.

It’d been almost a year since you’d joined the infamous Van der Linde gang, being picked up by an enthusiastic Dutch after you tried to pickpocket him. You remember him entering a saloon with such a swagger that screamed rich. You were at the bar, scouting the crowd for some drunken fools that could unknowingly leave with lighter pockets that night.

You always got away with it, and you almost did that time. Hadn’t been for that same man riding alongside you that caught your action in the first place. You tried to scamper away, attempting to lose them by disappearing into the crowd. You’d managed to get outside, though ultimately cornered by two men shortly after. You however held your ground, defending yourself of your thievery by trying to smooth talk your way out of it.

Neither of them were convinced, though Dutch seemed intrigued by you. After a few minutes of talking, he offered you a place in his gang. And you, having nothing but the clothes on your back, agreed.

Life before the gang wasn’t easy. You’d been on your own since you were sixteen; your mother had died when you were very young. Your father, a somewhat poor farmer, had always tried his best to keep you fed and happy. He unfortunately had an accident while chopping wood, and despite your best efforts, his wound turned gangrenous without money for proper medicine. And without any known family nearby, there was not much you could do.

Originally you’d gotten a job delivering groceries for a shopkeeper. The job wasn’t glamorous and the pay wasn’t the best, it still meant three hot meals and a bed to sleep in. After a few years, the shopkeeper had passed in his sleep, and the shop was sold back to the town, leaving you once again with nothing.

You did a few odd jobs here and there, even had your hand at being a deluxe bathgirl. It didn’t last long due to the sheer amount of perverts that would come your way. Eventually, you’d come across a small group of thieves who taught you their ways. Rather than robbing people at gunpoint, they taught you to have nimble fingers and how to be sneaky. It was a decent setup, until one got a little too greedy and found himself on the noose just a day later. The others scattered, leaving you to fend for yourself once again.

You’d been on your own for a couple of months until Dutch and Arthur found you.

For the first time in a while, being a part of this gang felt like having a family again. A diverse band of outlaws that each welcomed you with open arms.

With your quick hands, you soon learned how to expertly wield a gun. Arthur was the one who taught you, and even gave you your first; a Cattleman revolver that sat holstered on your hip. With your newly found skills to parallel your current ones, you soon became a valued member of the group. Whether it was robbing stagecoaches in the cover of night, or dressing up all fancy and slipping your hands into the coat pockets of unsuspecting coal giants, you were one of the first people to be asked. And you always accepted.

Every single mission was alongside Arthur. Even when on the rare occasion you weren’t chosen for one, Arthur would ask for you to come along anyway.

Admittedly, something about him intrigued you. He was usually quiet, though held an air of authority to him that most of the others respected. You didn’t know too much about him, only prying out bits and pieces when you talked. The times when he was drunk he’d spill a little more, but other than that, a lot of his life was a mystery to you. Even when you’d ask, he’d shrug and mumble something vague. He was a little bolder when it came to confronting people, a show of his strength that was reserved for the direr of occasions.

That still didn’t stop him from sitting next to you at the campfire on most nights, or wishing you a good night when you went to bed. He was always the first one to speak to you in the mornings as well.

Every time, you’d feel your heart flutter a little faster.

You couldn’t help but to feel something for him. He was older, something you appreciated since anyone your age had a one-track mind, especially in the situations you’d found yourself in on more than one occasion.

He was also handsome. The way those blue eyes stared at you, sometimes you feel as if you could melt on the spot.

“Hey, Y/N,” his voice snapped you from your thoughts. “We’re almost there.”

You nodded silently and focused on the road ahead. The forest was thinning out into an expanse of a field ahead. You spotted the stagecoach, though the station still a little too far to see. This was good, meaning you were still early enough to intercept it before the train. Arthur slowed his horse to a trot and you did the same.

“What do you wanna do?” you asked, looking at him.

“Your call this time.” He said, tilting his head toward you.

You blinked in surprise. You’d never called the shots before. “Er, why?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You been with us for a while. I wanna see how you do things. You alright with that?”

Well, this was new. “Okay…” you began, observing the stagecoach. It was fairly small; with two horses and one guy steering. That didn’t account for who was inside, but you’ve handled more with ease. There was also a lockbox on the back, which most likely held the loot. “We’ll make it easy. You distract, I’ll get into that lockbox.”

“Alright,” Arthur said. “We got a plan then.”

You smiled at his approval. Even though you’ve had your fair share of kills, you would prefer to leave without bloodshed if you could help it.

He sped up, galloping into the forest to go wide around, briefly disappearing within the trees. You kept behind, far enough so no one would be alerted of your presence. Within a few minutes, Arthur had effectively stopped the coach. Hiding behind the thicket, you hopped off your horse and carefully snuck forward, taking care not to rustle any bushes.

As you got closer, you heard Arthur speaking to the driver. You kept your eyes forward, careful not to kick any rocks or step on any sticks along the road.

“…don’t mean to bother ya, just need a little bit of direction…” Arthur’s voice sounded. Though you were focused on the box, your ears were trained to listen for any issues. So far it was a normal conversation.

You’d reached the back of the carriage, and you pulled out your lock picking kit. Keeping yourself steady, you began to work at the lock. You heard Arthur trying to prolong the conversation, and you quickened your pace. Within a few short moments, you heard the satisfying click of the lock releasing. You let out a silent breath of relief and flipped the lid up, and was graced with the sight of a few fat stacks of bills.

You grinned and grabbed them all, stuffing them into your satchel.

“Hey!”

You froze, eyes widening as you looked up. One of the passengers had poked his head out, and was glaring at you.

Shit.

You only had time to roll out of the way when shots were fired at you, and you fumbled with your revolver, pulling it out of the holster before throwing yourself behind a nearby boulder for cover. Arthur shouted something, and more gunfire was heard, along with thundering hoofbeats.

You peered over, quickly taking a view of the fight. The driver was dead, though the passengers – four of them – came running out of the coach, guns out. Arthur circled around on his horse, firing at them.

You took your chance, taking a deep breath and aimed. It were as if time slowed down while you hyper-focused on your shots, pulling the trigger flawlessly and effectively nailing each in the head in a split second with crimson splatter. It was a little trick Arthur had taught you, and has proved to come in handy in dire situations.

The others were out of your vision, though swears filled the air along with multiple gunshots. Leaving your cover of the boulder, you hurriedly pinned yourself to the carriage, peering around to the other side. The two men were firing into the woods, though you couldn’t see Arthur.

While they were distracted, you aimed and quickly fired, leaving a hole in the skull of one as he lifelessly flopped forward into the grass. The other turned around in shock, yet had no time to react when another gunshot rang out. The bullet had flown through his eye socket, the surprise still plastered on his face as he joined his comrade on the ground.

Heart pounding, you stepped out into the open, squinting to see Arthur still on his horse, trotting out of the cover of the woods. “Arthur!” you sighed in relief.

“Y/N?” Arthur called out, coming up to your side. You could see concern plain on his face. “You alright?” he hopped off his horse, stepping somewhat close to you, his eyes traveling up and down to look for any damage. He held his hand out as if to place it on your shoulder, but kept those few inches of distance.

“Yeah,” you responded breathlessly, holstering your gun and brushing off the dirt and leaves sticking to your clothes from your brief meeting with nature. “That was close.”

The relief he expressed was visible. He put his hand down. “Yeah it was,” he glanced over at the now five dead bodies littering the path. “So much for the sneaky approach.”

“Well, we got out alive,” you pointed out with a smile. “And without a scratch.”

He nodded in agreement, and gestured to your bag. “How much ya get?”

You pulled the money from your satchel, taking a few moments to count them out. “Three thousand.” You announced.

Arthur’s eyebrows raised in surprise, soon replaced with a triumphant grin. “Glad to see that lead weren’t a dud.”

“Hell yeah,” you agreed, splitting the money three ways. You gave him his share, tucking away the rest: some for you, and some for the camp. “Let’s get back, shall we?” you added and whistled for your horse.

---

“Whoa, that’s a nice cut!”

“Good job guys!”

“Damn, Arthur, Y/N. You really got a good one!”

The praises that befell you two when you returned from camp were endless, the air filled with whoops and cheers. It’d been a bit of a dry spell as of late; robberies gone wrong or false leads. This put a damper on the camp, and this news had brightened everyone’s spirits.

As some of the boys gathered around to congratulate you, you couldn’t help but to notice Arthur had stepped back from the crowd. His head was tilted to hide his eyes underneath his hat, though you noticed a slight frown set on his lips.

You were soon distracted when Karen came up, pressing a bottle of beer into everyone’s hands for a celebration.

It’d been late afternoon when you got back, and it darkened to night as the liquid celebrations ensued. After a while, you were a few beers in and sporting a decent buzz. You chatted with the others, your lips a little looser under the influence of the alcohol.

At some point you’d glanced toward the campfire. Arthur was sitting there, along with a couple of others. All of them were drinking, though the latter were chatting amongst one another whilst Arthur remained quiet, seemingly lost in thought.

What was he thinking about? You, perhaps? You knew he felt something for you, he must have. Why else would he ask you to accompany him for that robbery, alone? But the poor boy is probably too shy to come out with it. Maybe you could give him a push…

You swaggered over, giving an airy greeting to the boys. Glancing down at Arthur, he offered a small smile though said nothing. A thought crossed your mind, and before you could think on it further, you acted on it. Standing in front of him, you bent down and sat directly on his lap.

You felt him freeze underneath you. “Y/N-”

“Hey Morgan, got your good luck charm there?” Bill teased with a laugh.

“Seems more than a good luck charm.” Javier added.

You giggled and wrapped an arm around Arthur’s neck, taking a swig from your drink before turning your head to look at him. Even in the orange glow of the fire, you could see the surprise plain on his face.

You also noticed he didn’t rebut Bill or Javier.

“Should we leave you two alone?” Lenny chimed in.

“Ah, it’s all harmless!” you shot back with a smile. “Arthur don’t mind.” As you said that, you turned your head to look at him again, noting his eyes were bright, intense. His hands hesitantly rested on your hips, and you shifted yourself closer in encouragement.

The others chuckled like schoolgirls, though you didn’t care. Arthur’s still surprised gaze was on you, though gave no intention that he was uncomfortable. In fact, you’re pretty sure he subtly pulled you even closer.

Maybe now he’ll get the message.

“Actually, I’m going back to my tent for a bit.” you announced, untangling yourself from Arthur to stand back up. You could have sworn his hands lingered on your hips before you were up completely. Turning your head and giving him a subtle wink, you sauntered toward your tent at the edge of camp.

---

High Honor

You pushed back the flap of your tent, your heart pounding as you walked in. Beer had taken the edge off, yet you weren’t drunk enough to feel shameless about what had happened. It surely seemed like a good idea at the moment.

You hoped you were right. You sat on the edge of your cot and waited, hoping he understood you. A few minutes had passed and nothing had happened.

You were sure you’d made a fool of yourself, and Arthur will probably never talk to you again, or scold you for even attempting such a bold move. How stupid you were to think he thought of you more than just a fellow gang member. It will certainly be an awkward discussion in the morning with the others.

Your thoughts were soon derailed when the sound of footsteps drawing close to your tent caught your attention. You blinked, seeing a familiar silhouette step up, standing on the other side of the canvas. Could it be?

“Y/N? Can I come in?” Arthur’s voice sounded.

Oh, shit. Was he going to yell at you now? “Go ahead.” You answered, fighting to keep your voice steady.

The flap opened again, and Arthur stepped inside. His gaze was once again hidden by his hat. His posture didn’t indicate anger. In fact, he seemed to be nervous. It reminded you of how he approached you earlier that day.

The silence between you was deafening. You weren’t exactly sure what to say to him, and it appeared that he didn’t either.

You took a deep breath, decidedly initiating the conversation. “Uh, s-sorry about that. I’m kinda tipsy.” You admitted, hoping that he’d accept the behavior from your inebriation.

He slowly looked at you. “No need to be. I, uh, I actually…” his eyes darted downward again, trailing off as if he couldn’t find the words. He seemed more nervous than you at the moment.

You blinked, standing up slowly. “You…”

He gave a soft sigh. “I actually…liked that.” he rubbed the back of his neck.

Eyes widening, you responded with a quick exhale. “What? Really?”

He continued to fidget in place, the anxiety coming off him in waves as he tried to muster up his next words. You waited patiently, although you knew what he was going to say. “Y/N, I…well, I like you. I like you a lot.”

The weight that sat in your stomach lifted so much it felt as if you could fly right then and there. “Really?” you gasped.

He nodded, looking at you fully once again. “I have for a while. Hell, I’ve liked ya since you joined us.”

“And you never said anything?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to earlier, but I got kinda nervous. Wasn’t sure if you liked me back. Wouldn’t blame ya if you didn’t.”

You frowned at his response. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, I ain’t the prettiest to look at. I ain’t the youngest either. Wouldn’t think you’d waste your time with someone like me, when you could be with anyone else.”

Your stomach churned at his words. You never knew he had such a low opinion about himself. You reached out and entwined your fingers with his. “Well, Arthur Morgan. Listen to me when I say, I like you too.”

He glanced down at your hands. His lips parted as if to say something, yet no words were formed. It took him a good minute for he asked, “Why?”

You stepped closer to him, closing the space between you two. Releasing his hands, one of yours went to gently cup his cheek. His stubble was rough against the soft skin your palm. “Because you respect me. You see me for a person and not just a thief or some girl with a pretty face. And you’re a lot more mature than any guy my age.”

He chuckled at that last bit. “‘Spose I got that goin’ for me.”

“And you’re damn good looking too,” you added, reaching up to take his hat off, revealing his face in full. “Don’t know why you’d think differently.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a kiss. He once again stiffened in surprise, but soon eased into your touch. His arms slowly wrapped around your waist, holding you close as your lips moved quietly against his.

A long moment passed before he pulled back for air. His gaze was soft and loving, all for you. A rush of heat spread through your cheeks. The two of you were holding back feelings for far too long.

You kissed again, exhibiting much more passion now. His grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you closer to him. The heat of his body radiated against yours, and you pressed even closer. The space closed between you elicited a soft groan from him, a sweet melody that sent a fire elsewhere within your body.

A presence made itself known against your thigh. Before you could make sense of it, Arthur stepped back, releasing you and turning himself away in embarrassment. “Sorry…” he murmured. “I should get goin’…”

“No.” You whispered, reaching out and grabbed his hand again. “Stay, it’s okay.”

He blinked in confusion. “You sure?”

You nodded silently, tugging him back toward you. “If that’s how you feel about me, then act on it.” In the dimness of your tent, you could see the bulge that rested behind his jeans. How far could this go? Your free hand twitched forward, slowly, your eyes never leaving his. He didn’t stop you, or move away. Laying gently along his hardness, you palmed him slowly. You were rewarded with a soft groan, the uneasiness melting from his being.

“I ain’t been with a woman in a long time,” he shyly admitted to you, his hips slightly pitching forward vainly searching for more friction. “I may not be what you expect.”

“You’re perfect either way,” you assured him, running your hands up his torso to rest on his chest. He made a small noise of disbelief, and you gently shushed him. “Let me prove it.”

He was silent this time, watching you as you nimbly began to unbutton his shirt. One by one, revealing the expanse of his pecs. Once completely undone, you pushed the fabric aside to reveal more. Your hands began to explore him, admiring hard muscles underneath scarred skin. Every ridge and plane didn’t go untouched. Your fingertips roved every part of him before finally resting at his waist, hovering above his pants.

Reaching up, you whispered in his ear to lay down. Without questioning, he did so, his eyes never leaving you. He looked so beautiful and vulnerable in this position. Carefully, you straddled him, leaning over to give him a gentle kiss. “You’re beautiful,” Your murmured against his lips, moving down to kiss every scar you’d found before. “Every part of you.”

“Darlin’…” he sighed, rubbing his fingers through your hair. You smiled at this, knowing your words were beginning to take effect.

Kissing below his navel, you made quick work of his belt and buttons. Pushing aside the restraints, his length was revealed to you, standing straight and waiting. He certainly had a bit of girth to him, and your mouth watered at the thought of having it inside you.

You wrapped your hand gingerly around him, hearing another soft sigh passing his lips. You kneeled in between his legs, pumping your hand once. His eyes fluttered.

“Arthur,” you said gently. “Look at me.”

He focused onto you, his hands taking place on your waist.

“What a beautiful sight, you are,” you murmured, pumping your hand at a slow and steady rhythm. “Don’t you think?”

“…Y-yes.” he stuttered hesitantly, eliciting a low groan.

“And you’re perfect the way you are, right?”

“Right…” he moaned, keeping his eyes on you.

“Good boy.” you purred, leaning down to sweetly kiss him. He deepened it, his tongue exploring your mouth heatedly as your hand sped up. You could feel his fingers playing with the fabric of your pants, tugging your shirt free from them. His rough hands found their way underneath, though let a muffled hiss of annoyance to find your chemise was blocking him.

You giggled, sitting up to shrug your shirt off. Your chemise was soon to follow, exposing your upper half to him. He wasted no time in reaching for you.

“You feel so soft, so nice…” he murmured, one hand sliding up your midline, stopping between your breasts as the other gripped one, kneading it within his palm. The sensation felt great, sending a flash of fire straight down to your core.

“You feel nice too,” you added, your hand returning to his length to solidify your statement. “Can’t wait you have you inside me…” the more you played with him, the greater the heat made its presence, pooling as moisture in your undergarments.

He hissed out a swear. “Shit, Y/N. I want you…”

Oh how you wanted him too. But you wanted to prolong this moment, make it memorable between the two of you. Most importantly, you wanted Arthur to feel good about himself. “Touch me, Arthur,” you breathed. “Prove me how good of a man you are.”

He sat up slowly, never breaking his held gaze. He continued to massage your breasts as his other hand slinked down, unbuttoning your pants.

His calloused fingers parted your lower lips, finding his target with ease. A moan escaped your mouth as he danced slow circles upon your bundle of nerves. Your hands rested on his shoulders, partially for balance, almost melting from his touch.

You praised him, your breathless compliments were like music to his ears. You could see that smile growing, his touch becoming more fervent the more you spoke. Pleasure coursed through your veins, and your back arched, pressing your breasts to his chest. A noise of appreciation escaped his throat, and he leaned down to kiss your soft flesh. He nibbled lightly along the crook of your neck, across your collarbone, and along your nipples. A gasp uttered from you, shivering as his lips and teeth toyed with the sensitive nubs.

Peak on the rise, you ran your fingers through Arthur’s hair. “You’re so good, Arthur...” you purred to him. “I’m close. Keep going.”

He peeked up at you, and slipped a finger in. Feverishly working your inner walls, he brought into a smooth, deep kiss. Arms around his neck, you gladly accepted it, hot breaths mixing and your moans muffled. Ecstasy pulsed like fire in your veins, filling you up to your very center. It was coming, and quick. You broke the kiss, reaching your orgasm as you sang out a moan. Your hips shuddered, grinding languidly against his palm as you rode out the last waves of it.

Your heart raced and your face flushed, you gazed lustfully at Arthur. He pulled his hand out, marveling how soaked his fingers had become.

“Is that to your likin’, sweetheart?” He asked, giving you a look of expectant curiosity while his voice radiated need for approval.

“Mmm, I think so,” you gave a soft giggle, idly twirling a lock of his hair around your finger. “No man has made me come to my orgasm the way you just did.”

You swore you’d never seen a man blush so hard.

“And I want you to do it again…” you whispered, getting up to pull his pants off the rest of the way, exposing him completely to you. Your own pants were to follow, though taking your time to shimmy them down your hips. Arthur watched, eyes wide, reflecting a hunger that lurked beneath the surface. Bringing yourself to straddle his hips, you hovered yourself over him. “By taking me completely.”

His lips parted slightly, though his words died in his throat when you’d rubbed your folds across the pinkened head, coating him with your slick. His hands found their way to your hips again, though from the shudder that rippled through his chest, he staved off the urge to force you onto him. “Fuck…” was all he said in a strained voice.

Slowly at first, you began the descent that allowed him to stretch your inner walls. Inch by inch, filling your core, biting your lip and wincing a little as you adjusted to his size. He watched you in awe, taking him whole as you seated yourself completely on his lap.

And then, you started to move.

The slight pain from before had disappeared completely, the friction absolutely amazing. You gripped on his shoulders, using the added leverage to roll your hips on him. A slow place, though lovely all the same. His grip tightened, not enough to hurt. He let out a small groan, leaning forward to rest his forehead on your shoulder. Another swear escaped his lips.

“Y/N…Jesus, you feel…so amazin’.” He rumbled, kissing your shoulder.

You could only moan in response, increasing your movement against him. He began to lightly thrust into you, keeping in sync with your motions. His deep, guttural moans vibrated pleasantly. His teeth ravaged your skin again, knowing you’ll have marks later on.

His hands moved to your back, bringing you even closer to him. Pressed together, he drove himself further upward into you, dragging along your sweet spot. You trembled in his arms, tilting your head up to let out a moan, keeping your voice steady to not alert the entire camp of your pleasure.

“You sound beautiful, sweetheart.” Arthur marveled, tilting his own head up to kiss along your neck. His stubble tickled you pleasantly, all the while he continued to subtly push himself toward your pleasure.

“So do you,” you mewled. “You’re d-doing marvelous.” Caressing his face, you kissed his forehead, his cheeks, and finally on his lips. Fingers slinked through his sandy hair, with every loving and gentle touch he groaned in appreciation.

Briefly breaking his lips away, his arms wrapped around you. Strong and warm, he lifted you off his lap and laid you on your cot. The feeling of emptiness was short, him sliding back in with one smooth motion. His eyes never left yours as he placed his hands on either side of you.

He thrust slowly, deeply, kissing you again to staunch your whine. You lifted your legs and wrapped them around his waist, allowing an even deeper angle for him.

He moved faster, harder, rocking your body to the very center. Your second was on the rise, advancing too quickly for you to even fully comprehend. Your voice heightened to alert him, your nails dragging along his solid back.

Arthur pulled back a few inches, giving you a stare so intense that it almost made you blush. “You close?” and when you nodded, he quickened his pace.

The explosion radiated from your core, ascending into you moaning out his name. As the fire ebbed from your belly, your shaking legs fell limp as his hips started to shudder.

“Shit, I’m close too.” He groaned, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower with abandon. You could only cling to him as he chased his own peak. In seconds he pulled out of you, rubbing himself between your folds before releasing his spend across your belly with a guttural moan.

With both of you panting, Arthur met your eyes once again. His face was flushed, though his eyes were bright and soft. It was quiet, no words were exchanged for that first moment of post-copulation bliss.

You spoke first after catching your breath. “That felt amazing, Arthur.”

He smiled shyly, leaning down to plant a sweet, gentle kiss on your lips. “It did.” He straightened up, taking in the sight of your sweaty, fatigued body with a look of marvel. He’d reached for his bandana and wiped away the mess he’d left on your stomach. This faintly surprised you at how much of a gentleman he was. His gaze swept over your cot. “Uh, may I?” he asked, gesturing to the space next to you.

You smiled up at him, scooting over to create more room. “You may.”

He took the space next to you, though there wasn’t much room on your cot. He pulled your blanket on top of the two of you before he wrapped his arms around your torso.

You pressed yourself closer to him, snuggling into the crook of his body. He felt warm and slightly slick with sweat, though you didn’t mind.

A wide yawn escaped Arthur’s mouth. “Can’t believe we just did that…” he mumbled, nuzzling the back of your neck.

You turned your head to look at him. “Why?”

“Bein’ able to lay with someone as amazin’ as you, I only dreamed of it,” he explained, the lull in his voice accompanied his drowsiness. “Didn’t think you’d have feelings for me as well.”

Arthur,” you cooed, laying a tender hand upon his cheek. “I think I just proved to you how you make me feel. That ain’t gonna change.”

He hummed in response, turning his head to kiss your palm. “I’d hope not. Cause after this, I’d like to call you mine. If that’s okay.”

You smiled widely at him, turning to kiss him once again. “Of course it’s okay.”

---

Low Honor

Your heart leapt to your throat the moment you’d stepped into your tent. Had you really just done that? It was a bold move, even by your standards. Despite the shame that loomed, an active giddiness took a hold of you.

You paced in your tent, unable to calm yourself down. Blood thundered in your ears, every second felt like an eternity. Arthur had to have gotten the message at that point. If he didn’t take your hint, then you couldn’t imagine the endless testing you’d get for weeks from the boys afterward. Even worse, you were afraid Arthur may never even speak to you again.

Despite the pounding of your heart, you heard footsteps stalking up to your tent.

The flap fell open, revealing Arthur as he slid inside. Your eyes widened, and he stopped before you, his hands gripping his belt in a domineering way that could have made you weak at the knees.

“You mind tellin’ me what the hell did that was about, Y/N?” He asked in a low voice.

Was he angry? Your mind flipped back and forth between rational thought and a cheeky response. The alcohol had tossed better intuition out the window. “Your lap looked cold, thought I’d warm it up.” You responded simply, folding your arms.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “That so? Why would you think that?”

“I think you know, Arthur.”

His eyes caught yours, a firm gaze that you held evenly. He then swept his gaze over you, his tongue darting out between his lips as if looking at a delicious meal. “Do I? Then tell me.” He challenged.

God, that voice. “I think you like me.” you said simply.

He stepped closer to you, stopping within inches. “S’that whatcha think, huh?”

You nodded silently, forcing yourself to keep still. His entire being instilled a fear in you while simultaneously igniting a thrill that sent fire through your veins.

The hunger in his eyes intensified. “Can’t say you’re wrong,” he chuckled slightly. He reached towards your face, tucking a stray lock behind your ear before running his fingers through your hair. You were surprised by this gentle action, though you didn’t object it. “You have no idea what the hell you do to me, woman.” He growled in an almost animalistic way.

You didn’t respond, you couldn’t, as he gripped the back of your head to pull you in for a kiss.

You stiffened at first, unsure how to take this. His other hand held you in place by your jaw, although not tight enough hurt. You relaxed after a moment, melting to him as his tongue prodded its way past your lips. You tasted the liquor he’d been drinking, as well as a faint tang of tobacco.

Moving his hand from your head, he placed it on the small of your back. “Been wantin’ ya for a while,” he said in between kisses. “Since that day you tried to rob Dutch.”

You felt your face flush in surprise. “Really?” you whispered against his mouth.

“Wanted to take ya then and there.” He growled to you, pressing his hips against yours. The warm line beneath his jeans made itself known against your mound.

You gave a slight gasp, not expecting to feel that. You however stood in your place. “Wh-why didn’t you?” you stammered, keeping your eyes on his face.

“Decided to step back n’ watch,” he continued. “See how ya fit in with the gang.” He moved his hands to hold your hips, locking you against his body. “But seein others try to be sweet on ya, made me jealous. Surprised ya didn’t go for anyone else.”

“No one really stuck out to me, not like you.” you admitted.

A growl emitted from his chest, no doubt pleased with your words. “Wanted to say somethin’ earlier at the robbery, but it didn’t feel like the right time. Couldn’t help but to be jealous again, when everyone was surroundin’ you. I wanted to pull you out n’ take you to my tent.”

Your face grew hot again. “Arthur-”

He cut you off with another kiss, even rougher than the first. He pressed his weight to you, making you back up until the back of your legs hit your cot. “But now I got you here,” He whispered. “Been waitin’ a long time for this.”

Leaning onto you, his weight forcing you to sit and lie back. His mouth attached to your neck, sucking and nipping your skin. You shuddered from the sensation, letting out a small moan. He reached for your shirt, nimbly unbuttoning it before peeling it off, then pushing the fabric of your chemise aside to expose your breasts. He wasted no time in tweaking your nipples, rolling them in between his fingers. You bit your lip, shuddering underneath him.

“God…” you mewled, feeling a warmth pool between your legs.

“That feel good, darlin’?” he asked, his mouth resting on your pulse point.

“Y-yes,” You answered with a wavering voice. “Please, more.”

He chuckled, gripping one breast to caress it with his tongue. He swirled around your nipple, sucked on it, stimulating you in ways you’d never dreamed of. His other hand slinked down the front of your body, making quick work of sliding into your pants.

“Wet already?” his fingers found your center immediately.

You whined in response, shuddering as he toyed with you. Mere minutes had passed by before he slipped a finger in, and then another, slightly stretching you out as he vainly sought your climax. Your hands clawed at his shoulder, his back, anything to hang on to, your body feeling almost limp to his touch. “Arthur!” you gasped, unable to form any other words.

“Go on, princess. Let me feel it.”

Your peak hit quick, expelling a rush of liquid into the palm of his hand. You cried out weakly, your entire body trembling from the sudden onset of your orgasm.

“Good girl,” he reached up to pet your head before standing up straight and pulling you back to your feet. He pressed on your shoulders, making you kneel on the ground. You peered up at him curiously, wondering what was next. Appreciating him from this angle gave you a rush.

He began to unbuckle his belt, and then his pants. Pulling his hard cock from its restraints, he prodded your lips with the tip. “Go on.”

Oh. You’d only heard of this maneuver, though had never seen it in action or attempted it yourself. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to try. You opened your mouth slightly, easing the tip slowly inside. Your tongue swirled around it carefully, turning your eyes upward for a reaction.

He let out a soft moan, his hand returning to your head. You took a little more of him in your mouth, inch by inch until you were almost at his root. He was wide, taking up more room than you’d thought. His hips twitched slightly, a small movement to indicate for you to continue.

And you did, slowly bobbing your head along his length.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Arthur rumbled, petting your head once again. “Make that pretty lil’ mouth work.”

You hummed around him, adding vibration against his sensitive shaft. His hand added some pressure to the back of your head, prompting you to go faster. His groans sent a thrill through you, pooling once again in your already soaked undergarments. Daring to go further, you reached up and fondled his balls.

He uttered a small gasp, his hips bucking forward slightly. “Darlin’,” he hissed. “You gonna make me cum before I’m ready.”

You giggled lowly, giving him one more good rub before focusing on his length once again. He bucked further, and you felt him hit the back of your throat. You fought the urge to gag around him, closing your eyes and allowing him to fuck your throat.

“Look at you, takin’ me so well,” Arthur cooed, reaching down to caress your cheek. “You’re so pretty from this angle.”

You made a noise of appreciation, surprisingly enjoying the praise. You held yourself still, letting him have his way for a moment, thrusting quickly into your mouth over and over again. It lasted for longer than you’d anticipated, before he pulled himself out completely, his breathing slightly uneven.

He leaned down to kiss you tenderly, wet and sloppy from your spit. Pulling back to give you a smirk, “Can’t get carried away,” he murmured. “But your mouth is somethin’ else.”

“Glad I can please, then.” You said sweetly.

His smirk widened, and stood up straight once again. “I ain’t done yet though. Get on the cot.” He commanded. You did so without question, sitting on the edge. He grabbed the waistline of your pants, sliding them off along with your underwear, leaving you bare for him. “On your back.”

You lay down, peering at him expectantly. He stood in between your legs, hooking his arms around your thighs. Stepping closer, he prodded your entrance with his cock. Sliding it through your folds a few times, covering himself with your moisture and sending a shiver up your spine.

With one thrust, he sheathed himself smoothly and quickly, giving you no time to adjust to his size. You gave a whimper of pain. “A-ah, fuck!”

“Take it, sweetheart,” Arthur growled in encouragement. He released one of your legs to dip to your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. “You’ll like the pain.” He began to thrust.

You bit your lip, tensing from the pain-pleasure that gripped hold of your body. The more he moved within you, the better it began to feel. You breathed slowly, letting your muscles relax as sweet ecstasy began to overtake you.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he drawled, increasing his ministrations upon your sensitive nub while his thrusts grew faster and harder. “Beautiful, takin’ my cock like that.”

You moaned loudly in response, your fingers slipping along your cot, failing to find purchase for anything to hold onto. He fucked you hard and fast, the glorious friction allowing the heat to build up quick in your core.

The sounds of his hips slapping against yours, and your wanton whining filled the tent. He was relentless with you; his fingers dancing against your bundle of nerves without a break. You get your second peak building quickly, your voice raising an octave in warning.

“Go ‘head.” He granted, his own voice breathless, somehow rubbing you even faster than before.

The coil sprung deep within you, emitting a moan that soon turned into a squeal, realizing Arthur hadn’t removed his hand. You squirmed in his iron grip, trying to get away from his touch. He held you even tighter at that.

“Cum again,” he ordered. “I love the way you look when you do.”

You cried from the overstimulation, failing to escape his fingers. He continued regardless of your efforts. “Arthur, p-please!” You begged, absolutely writhing now. Though at this point, you weren’t sure if you were begging for him to stop or continue.

He pounded harder within you, managing to hit that spot that made your eyes nearly roll to the back of your head. The buildup happened fast, wrenching out another one explosively cascading within you, a mewl escaping your mouth.

He grinned down at you, drowning your sounds of pleasure with a deep kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, but he pulled away. You whined in protest, wanting the closeness.

He chuckled, pulling out to flip you onto your hands and knees. Finding your entrance again, he didn’t hesitate to pound you from behind with much more intensity than before.

Your back arched, gasping at the new angle. It felt great, your already tired muscles trembling beneath him. You called out his name rather loudly, only to have him shove his bandana in your mouth. He leaned over, his thick torso pressing down on you.

“Ain’t nobody need to know what a filthy whore you are, ‘cept me,” He growled in your ear, his tone like fire in your veins. “Ain’t that right, princess?”

You made a muffled moan, unable to do anything else as he mercilessly fucked you, pounding himself in such a feral way. “I’m close,” he huffed to you. “I’m gonna…fill you up.”

You didn’t even have a moment to comprehend his words. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

With one last powerful thrust, he pressed his hips to yours, eliciting a low groan as he released his spend deep within you. He rolled himself against you shallowly, milking himself of every drop before he pulled out, slowly, feeling you shudder as he did so.

Without the support of him, you collapsed onto your cot, removing the bandana from your mouth. You felt yourself shaking, sweat covering nearly every surface of your body. As tired and used as you felt, a sense of euphoria began to trickle through your veins. You rolled onto your back, silently watching as Arthur cleaned himself off before tucking himself back into his jeans. Despite the flushed look on his face, one couldn’t tell what he’d just done.

He took a deep breath and met your gaze. A smile of satisfaction crossed his face, reaching out to run his hand up your midline to caress your cheek. “Beautiful, princess. You did so well for me.”

Heat crept into your face, shyly averting his gaze. How could this man be so romantic after fucking you like that?

“Ah ah, look at me, darlin’,” he softly chided, removing his hand to place both on your hips again, gentle this time, prompting you to stand. You did so silently, letting him wrap his arms around you. As you leaned willingly into his embrace, your body trembling from head to toe, he pressed a kiss to your forehead and whispered, “You’re mine now.”

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 59)

Split

So this chapter’s a little different (it’ll be back to normal next chapter if you don't like it so don't worry). It contains graphic descriptions of violence and injury, mention of sexual assault (none actually takes place, it is only mentioned), lottttsss and lots of conflict and betrayal. But we aren’t seeing it through the eyes of our girl... 

Tagging @emily-strange ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Jet huffed and grunted beneath me as I urged him forwards at a gallop. The day I'd had was long and full, and all I wanted was to crash land by the campfire, eat some meat and have one of the beers I'd snuck into my satchel. Just lay back underneath the stars and have a warm body come up beside me, the finest company I could imagine. 

I thought about the events of the day, about Eagle Flies, how he'd been captured by the army. How Dutch had somehow had me leaping off a cliff into brutal rapids with nothing but faith, it must've been pure luck that I didn't land on a rock and snap my neck, or hit my head and drown. I remembered Dutch's bullshit about change and gravity, his words seeming flowery and empty, in a way I couldn't believe I hadn't heard before. In my mind I saw Bacchus Bridge collapse over and over, mindless destruction with the wishful purpose of making noise and somehow helping us lot out of here. Dutch's bidding. Nearly got me and Marston killed, flattened by a damn train, though what was new? 

Every day I seemed to find myself at the brink of some other gruesome death. Every day I seemed to be pushing my luck further and further. Soon enough my luck would run out, but I had to do my best. I had someone worth surviving for and goddamn it, I wasn't gonna let something kill me before I'm old and grey with her at my bedside.  

I saw a glow across the river as I approached Brandywine drop. I followed the trail 'round, over the train tracks and across the water where it was shallow enough to pass, and made my way closer to the occupied spot. I assumed that was our camp for the night, and I saw the tent pitched, but no person, and I figured she was inside, sheltered from the wind that was a little stronger that night than normal. 

I dismounted as I got close enough, leaving Jet next to where Rayna was already stood grazing. I gave the big girl a pat on the neck as I passed her, and she huffed and flicked that makeshift cotton tail of hers, braided into the short length from her dock. I spotted a sketchbook laying open on the ground, a half-finished sketch of the Ardennes on the page. 

"Hey sweetheart, it's me," I called out, my footsteps crunching through twigs as I approached the tent, expecting to see a pair of boots poking out, frowning when I saw none. I crouched a little, carefully pulling the flap of the tent back, only for it to be empty. "Sweetheart?" I called louder as I straightened up–

Snap.

I spun around, hand going to my revolver, drawing it.

"Woah, woah, woah, easy now, Mr. Morgan, you might not want to do that," said some smug looking bastard in a suit and a bowler hat, reeked of Pinkerton before he even introduced himself, "we're with the Pinkerton Detective Agency."

"Yeah, no shit," I spat through gritted teeth, eyes darting as four more of the bastards emerged, surrounding me. Every one of them had their sights trained on me. "What've you done with her?"

"Your lady friend? Oh, don't you worry, she's fine. Got a couple of the boys keeping an eye on her as we speak," I didn't like the way his moustache twisted with his smirk and I kept my hand closed around the revolver.

"You think I won't kill every last one of you? I swear to Christ if that lady has a single hair out of place when I find her, I'll string you up by your ball-sack and drag you all the way to Armadillo behind my horse," I spat, knuckles turning white around my gun.

"You won't get the chance to, you're surrounded, Mr. Morgan. Drop the gun or we'll be forced to shoot."

"I get it, you want me. That's fine. You got me," I began, loosening my grip only slightly, lifting both hands up, still not letting the weapon go, "but let the lady go, she ain't done nothing wrong. She's just been tagging along since she fell on hard times."

"Drop the gun," he repeated.

My eyes closed, I thought for a moment. If I let them have me, there was no telling what they'd do to her. I highly doubted they'd let her go, and I didn't trust any of them not to take advantage. I couldn't leave her under their control. I couldn't leave her.

"Okay," I breathed, "I'm gonna put it down," I began to bend my knees, getting low, leaning forwards in a way that shielded most of my torso, and made me as small a target as possible. It would be an absolute miracle if I got out of this without a bullet in me, and I could only hope that they'd miss my head. But I had to give it a shot.

I lowered my hand towards the ground, my eyes fixed on the main agent's face. He was smirking. A flash of rage gave me the push I needed, and I swung my arm up fast, locking onto him, pulling the trigger and catching a glimpse of the cloud of blood replacing his head as I lunged sideways in an attempt to dodge the bullets that instantly began raining down. I grunted as I collided with the ground, chest taking the brunt, but I couldn't stop to catch my breath before scrambling towards the nearest thing I could call cover. A tree was the best I was offered, but I took it, hissing as the outside of my ribs felt as though it'd been kicked by a horse, then began to burn hotter than a branding iron.

"Shit!" I growled, dragging in a sharp breath before pushing myself to twist around the tree – sending further pain flourishing across my chest – to fire at the men while they had to reload. I fired twice in quick succession, ripping a hole in one guy's throat and another in someone else's chest. They both went down with a mix of cries and gargles.

More bullets flew past my head, and I sucked everything in, panting and cursing under my breath as I turned sideways, praying the tree would be thick enough to shield me as they tried to land a shot. With two left, one made a run for me, spraying wildly with his gun like a maniac, allowing me to shoot him through the side of his skull just as a bullet splintered through the treebark right above my head. A puff of air left my lungs and a sound akin to a whimper went with it. My chest throbbed and I tentatively pressed a hand there, it came away smeared with blood. 

It was silent. There was one Pinkerton left, unless there were more hiding in the surrounding areas. I couldn't think of that though; I had to focus on the ones that I knew existed before I worried about anything else. He wasn't shooting though. I didn't know where he was. I carefully peeked around the edge of the tree, catching a glimpse of him before a bullet soared past my head; the bastard was crouched behind a rock, his gun trained on me, just waiting for me to move. 

I sighed and looked up towards the sky. 

"Alright!" I called out, taking a gamble on the assumption that if there really were other Pinkertons around, they'd have shown themselves by then, "I surrender."

"Drop the weapon," he called back.

I held out the gun so he could see, then threw it aside.

"Empty your other holster," he added, and with a sigh I tossed my secondary pistol aside. "Keep your hands up and come out from behind the tree."

"Alright, alright, jus– just promise me you ain't gonna shoot," I pleaded.

"You're worth more alive," he responded, "but no funny business, or I'll plant one right between the eyes."

"Okay. I'm coming out," I said, gingerly stepping out from behind the tree. 

"Come here, stop right here," he ordered, pointed towards a spot on the ground a few steps before him. He emerged from behind the rock as I did as I was told. He crept closer to me, his eyes wide; he looked like a rabbit, all twitchy and nervous. He let go of his repeater with one hand so he could reach for his cuffs, but he still had his finger precariously on the trigger, the butt of the gun balancing against his chest like he'd never held one before. It was clear he was out of his depth, taking me alone.

I took the opportunity as soon as he was close enough to swing my leg up, kicking the gun clean out of his hands. Then I pounced, tackling him to the ground as he shouted out in surprise. He wrestled with me for a while, grunting, landing a punch to the wound at my ribs. I growled in agony but kept my weight on him, quickly regaining my power over him. With a hand clamped over his throat, I slammed my other fist into his face, once, twice, over and over until my face was speckled with his blood and his struggles and cries died down beneath me.

Discarding his limp body, I got up breathlessly and shook out my aching knuckles, quickly marched over to my weapons and picked them up from the ground and re-holstered them. Panting, I looked down at my torso, pulling my shirt out of my jeans, lifting it and ripping open the bullet hole in my union suit to get a look at the damage. A bullet had torn past my side, taking a chunk out of me just beside my ribs, but luckily missing any organs. 

"Jesus," I breathed, inspecting my bloodied hand, unsure of how much was mine and how much was his.

Jet had bolted during the gunfight, so I whistled for him. He came trotting from between some distant trees, Rayna loyally following him. My hand shook as I wiped it on my trousers, and I took unsteady steps towards the horses. I was about to mount, had my foot in the stirrup, when I paused; my body seemed to sag, exhaustion suddenly hitting me out of the blue. I took a moment to steady myself, pressing my forehead against the saddle, gripping my side with my hand. Five seconds of rest was all I allowed myself, breathing deep and catching my breath, then I pulled myself up into the saddle.

But where was I going? 

I swivelled my head, looking around. My mind was blank. I didn't have a fucking clue what to do. Where was she? I had to look for her, right then, but with no idea where to start, no idea how many Pinkertons were guarding her, and with a hole in my side… I was useless. With a sharp sigh, I pulled on Jet's reins, riding him back towards Beaver hollow as fast as he would go.

–

The lather on Jet's coat was the thickest it'd been since running after the Valentine Bank heist, but I arrived at Beaver Hollow in good time, as half the camp was starting to bed down for the night. Charles was on guard duty, and he called out to me when I arrived, demanding I identify myself.

"Charles! It's me, I– I need help," I yelled back, halting Jet a few steps away, clutching my tender side. 

"Arthur! What the hell? Your horse looks like it's– you're hurt," his eyes bugged wide when he stepped closer and saw me better, trained on the blood smeared on my fingers and soaked into my shirt. 

"I'm fine, it's the–"

"You're not fine," he glanced behind me at Rayna who walked to join the other horses, "shit, where is–"

"She's been captured by Pinkertons. They was waiting at our camp when I got there, I killed 'em, was lucky they didn't send too many men, thought I'd co-operate pro'ly, considerin' they have someone important to me," I told him breathlessly, my head dropping down as the pain in my side drained the energy from me. Charles stared at me with wide eyes for a moment, frozen.

"Arthur, get down from the horse, let's look at you," he reanimated, speaking carefully and reaching his hand out.

"What's happening over there?" John's voice carried over to us, and I looked up to see more people noticing my arrival.

"We gotta go, Charles. I need help, I can't save her alone, not with this," I gestured to myself.

"John, go get Susan. Arthur's hurt," Charles turned and called.

"No! There ain't no time. If she's been captured we've gotta go find her before they– they–" I stammered, shaking my head, leaning away from Charles' outstretched hand.

"We'll go as soon as we've done something about that," he pointed to my wound, "you're no good to her bleeding out." 

"Arthur! What are you doing?" Dutch yelled, marching across camp with Micah in tow. I sighed heavily, slid down off of Jet and met Charles' eyes for a moment. 

"It's the Pinkertons. They found our camp and they took… took…" I sighed, frowning to myself. "I don't know how they even knew about her and me."

"I'm sorry?" Dutch frowned as he got closer.

"They knew we were together. They took her so they could capture me but how'd they even know I'd be bothered?" I thought aloud. 

"Arthur," Charles' low, quiet voice sounded as he touched my arm. I lifted my hand away from my wound and helped him pull up my shirt to inspect it. 

"I'm fine, just grazed." 

"Arthur, you haven't exactly been subtle these past weeks, running off with her and camping out together. Someone was bound to see you sooner or later," Dutch called out. I frowned for a moment, dread settling deep in my gut. I pushed it out of my mind for the moment, though.

"Dutch, I need some folks to ride with me, to go find her–"

"Son, you know that's exactly what they want," Dutch tilted his head at me, brows arching sympathetically but even I could see the emptiness behind his eyes, "they're banking on you turning up, with or without a couple others, so they can take you in." 

"No shit, Dutch, I know that's what they want. That don't mean I'm gonna sit back and do nothing!" I raised my voice, and I felt Charles look up at me. He didn't seem too concerned about my injury, and dropped my shirt back down.

"They'll let her go soon enough. They ain't got nothing on her, don't play their game, Arthur," Dutch warned and I stared at him, mouth agape.

"He's right, Morgan. They can't keep her for long, all she's guilty of is knowing us," Micah chirped, widening his arms to gesture to the group. More people crowded 'round, listening in. "Leave her. I'm sure she'll understand," he added, his mouth coming up into a twisted smile.

"Are you serious, Dutch? You're saying I should leave her there in the hope they'll just… let her go in what– a few days? Weeks? When she ain't got no more teeth left to pull or fingers to break? You know they'll do whatever they damn well please to try and get her to talk!" I yelled, taking a brisk step forwards only for Charles to stop me with a hand on my shoulder. He was wise to do that.

"No they won't, she's a woman! They ain't gonna hurt an innocent woman–"

"No, you're right, she's just a woman," I began softly, my voice turning sharper for the next part, "they probably won't rip her teeth out but they might just line up one by one and have their way with her! Come on Dutch, you ain't as naive as that."

"You're catastrophising, just calm down!" Dutch held his hands up to me and glared.

"Yeah, anyway, let the girl have a good time, if that's what happens, then it happens," Micah added, and even Dutch turned to look at him for that one. I wasn't in control of myself when my hand swung up and somehow my gun was in it.

"You test me again, fucker and I'll blow your head clean off, I promise," I yelled at him, my hand shaking where it held the gun trained dead on his face, my finger dangerously tense on the trigger. It would be so fucking easy.

"Calm. Down!" Dutch shouted, his voice breaking with its volume. Charles gingerly touched my arm, pushing it down. I took a deep, shaky breath, not once taking my eyes off of Micah. 

"I'm going to get her, Dutch. Damn what you say, I'm sorry," I muttered, shaking my head. I holstered my gun then turned and climbed back up onto Jet's back.

"I'll come too," Charles said, sticking his fingers in his mouth and whistling for Taima.

"Charles–" Dutch went to protest, only for John to mount up, capturing his attention. "John!"

"I'm coming too," he said, meeting my eyes. "If this was Abigail, I know you'd do the same."

I glanced to where Abigail was listening, expecting some sort of plea for him to stay, but she only smiled softly.

"I'll come," Sadie called out from beside her. "That girl saved my life once, it's fitting I return the favour."

"People! This is your goddamn funeral! Do my warnings only fall on deaf ears?" Dutch growled, his face reddening with rage. He was ignored as Sadie mounted up, and my three companions trotted over to my side. I turned Jet, and we set off up the path immediately, not looking back.

My blood thrummed in my veins and made me feel like I was being boiled, the adrenaline in my system dulling the pain as we galloped away from camp. I lead the group, hearing the thump thump thump of hooves at my side and behind me, like we were moving as one cloud of fury and determination. This felt different to all the times I'd ridden together in a group with Dutch up ahead. I couldn't describe it. 

"They took her from our camp at Brandywine drop," I yelled out to them, "my thinking is we head back there and look around, try and see if we can find some tracks."

"Might be difficult if there's a busy path, but we'll try," Charles replied.

"I can't believe Dutch was just gonna leave her," John started, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Actually, I can. He didn't even wanna help me."

"Exactly, I should've known he wouldn't show the barest of concern," I replied.

"Speaking of concern, you're bleedin' some, Arthur. You sure you're okay?" Sadie questioned. I couldn't think about myself. As injuries went I'd had much worse and come out just fine. It would wait. 

"Ain't that bad, Sadie. I'll be fine. This is more important," I told her. Nobody argued with me. "Thank you, all of you. I can't tell you– this just means a whole lot, you being by my side."

"Any time. You've helped with the things that are important to me in the past, those Bison in The Heartlands? And today with Rains Fall? I thought it was about time someone showed you the same willingness to help," Charles told me, and I nodded.

"You're my brother, Arthur. You know that," John added. "And she's… I guess that makes her my sister, in a way. And it's like Dutch says, never leave love aside," he said with a satirical laugh.

"We can't start leaving people to rot," Sadie called. 

"It's all talk with him. Spoutin' nonsense about loyalty and sticking together, but he don't give a damn when one of us actually needs help. Why he ain't no better than the likes of Cornwall, using people for his own gain, and cutting them off when they stop being of use," I muttered, my jaw clenched tight. All I felt when I thought of Dutch was rage and bitterness. It was a feeling I never thought possible. "If he thought I'd roll over and leave the one person who's ever really seen me–" I stopped suddenly, clamping my mouth shut. 

"We'll get her, Arthur," Sadie assured me.

"I'm done being his fool," I spat.

"You and me, both," John agreed, "how'd they find her anyway?"

"The Pinkertons have been patrolling this whole area," Charles noted. I frowned and shook my head.

"Yeah, but they ain't been nowhere near us. And even if they did, how'd they recognise her?"

"She was at camp when the Pinkertons showed up at Clemens Point," John said, and I released a sigh.

"Sure, but that was two fellers who saw her for a few seconds, just… just seems unlikely, is all," I muttered.

"Whatever the case, Dutch had a point when he said they don't have anything on her. She hasn't got a bounty or any real crime to her name. They really are just using her to bring you in, Arthur. I don't think they're gonna hurt her or punish her," Sadie called, and I tried my hardest to believe her.

We approached Brandywine Drop, dashed across the water and slowed before we reached the camp. We each dismounted and grabbed our weapons, on high alert in case more men had been sent. When we arrived the fire was dwindling, just faintly glowing embers. Everything else was untouched; the tent was still there, the five bodies still remained, cold and bloody. Her sketchbook still laid open on the ground; I picked it up, carefully closing it and sliding it into my satchel next to my own journal while the others looked around.

"Which way did you ride in?" Charles asked, inspecting something on the ground by lantern light. I approached him. 

"I came in the same way as we did, left that way too," I told him, squinting at the ground in the poor light.

"I think there's some tracks here. Looks like a couple of horses," he told me.

"That'll probably be them, then, come on. It's the best we got," I said, waving my hand to Sadie and John. We all walked back and mounted up again, though Charles stayed on foot. Taima followed the group as we slowly made our way away from camp, heading West, parallel to the train tracks.

"I don't think it leads to the main path," Charles said, pointing to the trail that ran some distance away from the railway, "looks like it's following the line," he looked back down at the tracks.

"Walking along the train tracks? Where're they heading?" John queried roughly. 

"Wherever it is, they weren't in a hurry. These tracks don't look like they were galloping. Maybe they didn't have far to go," Charles wondered.

"Maybe they wanted to be easy to find," Sadie pointed out, and I glanced at her. She was right. "How many men d'you think they'll have waiting for us?"

"I don't know. They had five at our camp, they were expecting to take me from there, I reckon. There can't be that many with her if they only had five waiting for me," I guessed, and Charles made a quiet humming sound.

"Here's hoping," he said.  

We were following the tracks for barely two minutes before we came upon a small shack with light glowing from between the decrepit wooden planks barely holding the thing together. Four horses stood outside, gathered like a small little herd, grazing. All of us stopped.

"That's the old trading post," Sadie said. 

My heart began to race, the blood flow making my side ache and throb, dampening my shirt more. I pressed my hand against it firmly and clamped my lips together, releasing a shaky breath from my nose. I tried to pull myself together, reminding myself that I'd had far worse.

"I bet they're keeping her there," I said.

"Looks like it's where the tracks lead. Not too many men," Charles mused and John let out a sharp exhale of a laugh.

"Ain't too smart, are they? They think they can take you in with just a handful of men?"

"They're expecting me to be alone. And distracted," I offered, "maybe they didn't think it'd require that many. So they put, what– ten men on the job?"

"Ten against one. That should've been enough," Charles snorted. "So how're we doing this?

With my eyes on the trading post, my ears strained to make out any sound. I could just hear distant voices, but by the tone they appeared to be all male.

"Alright, there's one way in, but plenty of windows and holes in the walls," I began as the others looked to me for guidance, "I suggest that I go in first, unarmed, and see what kinda situation they have her in. We don't wanna go in all guns blazing in case they– I don't know," I shook my head, not wanting to dwell on any possibilities. 

"Okay, and the rest of us?" Sadie nodded.

"If you surround the building, take cover by whatever openings into the building you can, then you can cover me if anything happens. I do plan on shooting every last one of 'em, but only if I know she's safe," I explained, and each of them nodded. "I'll… I'll try to get her out of there somehow. Only start shooting once she's out of the way."

"And if you can't manage to get her out of there?" John asked. I looked at him, blinking.

"Then you better aim real damn carefully, Marston," I deadpanned.

There was a beat of silence.

"Alright, are we ready?" Charles breathed. Each of us nodded.

"Ready," I said.

[mithranqueersmusings]

Baby, You’re A Rich Man XXVI

Chapter: 26/28

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo could never understand why that group of three boys made him feel so uncomfortable, or why the way George looked at him sent him into a panic. After a chance encounter Ringo discovers the truth and has no clue what to do with the information.

Tags: AU - Gangsters, Slow Burn, Smut, Eventual Romance, Violence, Angst

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo regained consciousness almost an entire day later, although he couldn't be certain that he hadn't been slipping in and out since he'd been shot. The nothingness had been terrifying because it had been exactly that - nothing. His brain seemed to awaken before his body had done, as he felt unable to open his eyes immediately. He could feel that he was lying down in a bed of sorts, and that the air was painfully cold. Bit by bit he gradually arrived, making out the sound of muffled conversation quite a distance away and the noise of footsteps against a hard floor. When he finally gathered the strength to open his eyes, even though it was still difficult, he discovered he was in a hospital.

His body felt numb, barely being able to turn his head to get a better bearing of his surroundings. He was sectioned off on either side by some rickety privacy screens but he wasn't alone in the small space: a chair was positioned by the side of his bed and upon it sat a very much asleep George. The sight of him almost brought Ringo to tears, although he wasn't sure why, with his lean body awkwardly huddled onto the chair and his hair falling down onto his face. Ringo tried to speak but his mouth was impossibly dry, he had no idea how long it'd been since he'd had a drink of anything.

Instead Ringo had to try to sit himself up somewhat, using the little strength he had left in him and the limbs he could only barely control. It hurt to move, perhaps hurt was too tame a word for it; it was like all his muscles screeched out in pain with every small movement. But Ringo didn't really care, it was worth it if it meant having contact with George. He managed to scoot himself higher up on the bed, lifting up his back and resting against the metal frame of the bed, which allowed him to reach over to touch George. One of his legs was extended out towards Ringo, which he was able to brush his hand against gently but he didn't stir; waking up George was a difficult enough ordeal anyway, adding in the factor that Ringo was bedridden didn't help his chances. Ringo tried again, poking his leg childishly until George groggily awoke. It took him a moment or two to comes to his senses, as it often did with George, before he realised Ringo had woken up. His dark eyes were filled with joy when he registered the sight, he gripped Ringo's hand tightly and grinned at him.

"Ringo..." Was all he said, getting up from the chair and lowering himself to press a kiss on his chapped lips "I was getting so worried."

Ringo smiled sweetly up at his boyfriend as he felt George's hand brushing against his cheek.

"Do you need anything? I can get you some water." His voice was quiet, as if the moment was as fragile as Ringo was.

Ringo nodded in response, still not feeling quite able to speak just yet and George lingered for a few seconds before disappearing. He returned a few moments later with a small paper cup filled with water which Ringo accepted desperately and emptied immediately. George sat back down in the chair but scooted it closer to the bed so that he was facing Ringo, he took one of Ringo's hands in two of his own and caressed it gently. Ringo had never seen George look so happy yet so sad before, and it pained him to know that he was the cause. For a few minutes they didn't speak, they just looked at one another, as though nothing needed to be said.

"How long have I been asleep?" Ringo asked, he felt that the word was perhaps a bit too tame for the situation.

"The whole day." George replied with a smile "John and Paul were here for a while but I sent them back to the hotel to sleep."

"Are they okay?" Ringo was suddenly worried as the image of John's arm being snapped backwards.

"They're fine, John's arm isn't great but that's about it. Its you that we need to look after." George emphasised the word by squeezing Ringo's hand "Even if you are absolutely insane."

"I'm sorry George, I ju-" Ringo began immediately but George interrupted his interruption.

"You didn't let me finish." George laughed "You are absolutely insane, and I can't thank you enough for what you did, as crazy as it was."

Ringo felt himself gradually returning back to normal, his vision was almost perfect again and as he focused on George's face he could see that he'd been crying - a lot.

"You know what I thought when I saw you?" George asked, his voice sounded strained.

"My boyfriend is an absolute tit?" Ringo chuckled and George responded with a soft laugh.

"Its a bit dark, but..." George paused "I thought I'd died and the last thing my brain was able to do was to conjure up the image of you."

A smile spread across Ringo's face and his brows curled up "That might be the sweetest thing I've ever heard. It might also be the cheesiest but-"

"Shut up." George laughed "So what happened? How the fuck did you end up there?"

And so Ringo recounted all that he could remember, as he got towards the end the memories seemed a little fragmented; he wondered if that was his brain's defence mechanism kicking in. George had listened intently the entire time, never interrupting, keeping a hold of Ringo's hand tightly in his own. When he finished George looked a little vacant, he had to shake his head quickly to stop whatever train of thought was taking over his mind.

"What happened with you guys? By the time I got there it didn't look like it was going too well." Ringo asked.

"I don't even really know..." George began "We got to the place and told them who we were, why we were there. They seemed pretty alright at first, looking back now they were being a little too nice. They told us we had to wait for their boss and so we waited. We were just sat in this dingy kitchen for like an hour trying to suss out whether we should bolt or not. Then he showed up and starting throwing his weight around, telling us that Hamburg was no longer 'ours' and that we should fuck off back to England. I tried to intimidate him but I guess it didn't go that well." He chuckled emptily at the end of his sentence.

"And then what happened? After I-" Ringo stopped himself.

"After you appeared out of the darkness and killed the homicidal maniac?" George grinned, it made Ringo relax more to see him being his usual self.

"Yeah, yeah, after that." Ringo rolled his eyes.

Ringo had cringed at the word 'killed', he really couldn't deal with facing up to exactly what he'd done right now. His body was in enough of a bad state as it was, the last thing he needed was his mind being troubled too.

"Well first order of business was killing the bastard who shot you. Then three more guys appeared from somewhere in the house but John made quick work of those with the gun he'd dropped. I'll be honest, I was pretty useless by this point cause I was just freaking the fuck out. Paul, being the "sensible one" knew where the nearest hospital was and luckily it wasn't too far away so we just had to carry you. It was difficult, and messy, but we managed it somehow. The doctors didn't even seem that shocked to see the state you were in, I reckon it must happen a lot around here." George explained, the whole time he was rubbing circles over Ringo's palm; Ringo wondered if he was even aware of it.

Ringo looked at George's hands more closely and could see the faint stains of blood, it made Ringo shudder to think of how much there must have been.

"Jesus... I really could've died then, huh?" Ringo chuckled nervously.

"Thank God you didn't, I honestly don't know what I'd have done with myself if you had." George said.

"Well if almost dying is the price I have to pay for saving your life then so be it." Ringo grinned, George kept seeming to slip into a dark state of mind and Ringo wanted to pull him out of it.

"I suppose I owe you one, don't I?" George smiled back, but it was weak and a little sad.

They looked at each other for a while in silence before a nurse walked past and stopped in her tracks when she saw Ringo then hurried off in the direction she had come from. A few moments later she returned with a doctor who asked Ringo a few questions and explained what had happened to him: the bullet had miraculously missed his organs but had still caused a great deal of internal bleeding, meaning it wouldn't be safe for him to leave hospital for a couple of days at least just so they could monitor his condition. The doctor's English wasn't great but he was very patient with Ringo, which he very much appreciated. It all seemed a little surreal to Ringo, having a doctor explain to him how he very easily could've died, and he wondered how long it would take for it to sink it, if it ever would at all. The doctor left quite abruptly, Ringo supposed he must have been busy, and the nurse followed him out. George was the first to break the silence.

"Isn't it funny how I've gone my whole life avoiding being shot, then the first time you get involved you're in the hospital with a gunshot wound?" George joked in his usual way.

"Hey now, this isn't the first time I've been involved. Are you forgetting what happened at The Babylon?" Ringo protested.

"Oh yeah... Its a wonder you're still with me after all the shit I put you through."

"I'd say I don't mind but if we could avoid my hospitalisation in the future I'd appreciate it."

"Can't make any promises, I'm afraid."

The two of them continued talking for about an hour before Ringo felt himself getting tired, which surprised him considered he'd essentially slept for 24 hours. George continued to hold his hand as Ringo unwillingly fell asleep, then he too curled back up into the chair and slept. In the morning Ringo had insisted that George went home to shower and change his clothes, not only for his own well-being but also because Ringo couldn't stand to see the remnants of his own blood still on George's skin. In George's absence a nurse came to check on Ringo, redressing his wound carefully and bringing him some water. Ringo wished he could express his gratitude properly, but the most he could do was smile and repeat the words 'thank you' as if they'd magically translate into German after the twentieth time.

George returned an hour or so later with Paul and John beside him; John's arm was in a sling but he still moved around with as much vigour as always. Paul's face was a little battered, Ringo supposed from being forced down onto the harsh concrete. Both of them looked beyond relieved to see Ringo fully conscious, as if George's words didn't mean anything until they saw him for themselves.

"There he is, the man of the hour!" John beamed as he hurried over to sit at the end of Ringo's bed.

"How are you feeling?" Paul asked, sitting on the opposite side to John so that their backs were pressed against one another.

"Like I've been shot." Ringo laughed and the rest of them joined in.

George had brought a sandwich and a muffin with him in a brown paper bag to serve as Ringo's breakfast, he hadn't realised how hungry he was until he saw food again.

"Have you spoken to Brian?" Ringo asked with his mouth full of bread.

"Yeah..." John began, grimacing dramatically.

"Oh shit, is he pissed?" Ringo pressed.

"Well he's not particularly happy, but he understands that we didn't have much choice." Paul explained "He says we should've just gotten out of there when we had the chance."

"Everyone's a critic I suppose." George chuckled.

"Has there ever been a time where you guys have actually done a job properly?" Ringo asked with a smile.

"That's beside the point." John said abruptly, making everyone laugh.

"He does want us home immediately, as soon as you're all healed of course." Paul spoke.

"That's your prostitute plan off the cards then, eh John?" Ringo laughed.

"Well..." John began, prompting Paul to shove him playfully. "Maybe they give you a discount if you're injured."

"You're gonna be injured if you don't shut up." Paul stated somewhat firmly.

John tugged at his sling "And what do you call this?"

"Oh please, I've hurt myself more shaving in the morning." Paul retorted with a cheeky grin.

The three of them continued joking back and forth for a while, George remaining mostly silent before he excused himself and headed off to the bathroom. A silence fell as he began to leave, all three of them watching him intensely as he walked out of earshot. John then whipped his head back around to look at Ringo, opening his mouth to speak but Ringo beat him to it.

"Is he okay?" Ringo asked hurriedly, he'd already asked George a number of times but he always claimed to be 'fine'.

"Well you did almost die, Ringo." John said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, thanks John, I already knew that." Ringo dismissed his joke "But is he okay?"

"Honestly I've never seen him in such a state." Paul began "And I've known George a very long time. He was a complete wreck. How would you take it if it was the other way around, you know?"

"That's not strictly true, George has all the added guilt of getting Ringo involved in this in the first place." John added in.

"Again, thanks John." Ringo tutted "Is there anything I should do?"

"Don't die, that'd be a start." John chimed in again which earned him a glare from Paul "But in all seriousness, he'll be fine, it'll probably just be a few days of sulky George before he's back to normal."

"Of course he'll be fine." Paul affirmed "You just mean an awful lot to him Ringo, an awful lot. More than you know."

Ringo instinctively began chewing the inside of his mouth nervously, he wasn't sure what to do with all this information. Should he feel guilty? How long would it be before George got over it? Would he ever get over it? Ringo tried to imagine the situation in reverse, but he couldn't really conjure up the thought. If seeing George wounded after their first night together had upset him, he couldn't even imagine what George being hospitalised would feel like. Not only that, but the thought of having to carry George to hospital, not knowing whether he was going to live or not. It made Ringo shudder, maybe it was best not to think about it.

Almost on cue George returned, he stopped before sitting down and looked at the three of them individually with a suspicious look in his eye; as if the silence upon his entrance wasn't enough of a giveaway.

"You been talking about me?" George asked, squinting his eyes as he sat back down in the chair.

"Are we not allowed to?" John quipped.

"Suppose not. What were you talking about?" George sounded a little defensive, and it hurt Ringo to see that he must've been somewhat ashamed about how he felt.

"I just wanted to know if you were alright, love." Ringo reached out his hand for George's.

"I'm fine, how many times do I have to say it? I'd appreciate it if we could focus on the one of us who's in hospital right now, if you don't mind." George furrowed his brows slightly but still accepted Ringo's hand with the gentleness that he always did.

"I'd love to talk about something else, personally." Ringo smiled meekly.

And so the conversation moved on, beyond any reference to Ringo's near-death experience or the strange type of grief that George was battling. The three of them stayed far longer than Ringo ever would've expected them to, he even urged them not to feel like they had to stay just to please him which he was playfully berated for.

At one point Paul and John left to get lunch for the four of them, but even when Ringo and George were alone they tiptoed around the elephant in the room. George was clearly hurting, but what seemed to be paining him most was that he chastised himself for letting his feelings be known when Ringo was in such a bad state. Ringo tried his best to keep everything light, George even apologised a few times when he felt himself drifting inwardly, and it pained Ringo more than any physical injury could. John and Paul returned triumphantly with a newspaper, thinking it'd give them something to pass the time with as they tried to decipher the language sometimes astutely, other times ridiculously. When it came time for dinner, Ringo insisted that they all went somewhere nice while he enjoyed the bland food that the hospital provided for him; reluctantly they left and George was the only one to return. John and Paul had decided it was best to use this 'alone time' to their advantage, which Ringo didn't fault them for at all. Night fell, and as much as Ringo had tried to convince George to go back to the hotel to sleep, he refused; it got to a point where George swore that if Ringo asked him again he wouldn't speak to him until they got back to England - as much as Ringo knew he wasn't being entirely serious, he knew it at least showed how stubborn George was going to be about it.

The following day past by fairly uneventfully, George hardly ever leaving Ringo's side unless he absolutely had to with John and Paul arriving and departing throughout the day. On the third day, John and Paul arrived in the evening with a guest.

"Ringo!" A thick German accent called out, it was Klaus.

Ringo had completely forgotten that he'd ever told Klaus what hotel he was staying at, but apparently he had. Klaus then left a message after Ringo didn't show up to work, for obvious reasons, and asked him to call him up. The receptionist had passed the message onto Paul and John who decided it wouldn't do any harm to let Klaus know that Ringo had been shot, after all he seemed harmless enough. George didn't seem too pleased to see him, whether it was because he thought John and Paul had made a potentially dangerous decision or whether he just didn't like Klaus.

"You got shot, that's insane!" Klaus was as excitable as ever "I'm so glad you're okay. We missed you at the club, the band told me to send their love."

Ringo smiled "That's very sweet."

"I guess you ended up getting the proper Hamburg experience, yeah? Hopefully it hasn't scared you off." Klaus said with a laugh.

"Well I'll probably be heading back to England when I'm better." Ringo explained.

"That's too bad." Klaus frowned "But hey, if you're ever back in Hamburg you'll look me up, yeah?"

"Of course I will." Ringo smiled, although he wasn't sure if he'd be coming back any time soon.

Klaus didn't stay for too long, Ringo gathered that he felt like he was overstaying his welcome somewhat and he departed with a warm goodbye. After John and Paul had retired back to the hotel, the same doctor came to check up on Ringo and proposed that he'd probably be able to leave in the morning. The news was pure music to Ringo's ears, he'd always hated being stuck in hospital as a kid and he didn't enjoy it any more as an adult. Granted, having George by his side day after day made it far more palatable, but he'd never enjoyed being the centre of attention for too long. George seemed rather excited at the prospect too, Ringo imagined it wasn't helping his guilt too much seeing him in a hospital bed constantly. Ringo just wanted things to go back to normal, but he wasn't too certain that his life really had a normal anymore.

It amused Ringo to think about the cyclical nature of it all, with George attacking Ringo's mugger all that time ago and now with Ringo defending George from his attacker. It certainly wasn't how most relationships go, he knew that for sure, but the excitement was just one of many appealing aspects of their dynamic - even if it did border on frightening and life threatening at times. Ringo just hoped that this would be the last incident for a long time, and he assumed that Brian wouldn't be rushing to find a new job for the four of them considering how this one had turned out.

When the morning came so did the doctor, and Ringo was very pleased to hear that he was well enough to go home. He advised that he avoided any strenuous activity for a long time and that every week or so he should go to a hospital in England to check on the healing process. And like that it was over, still feeling as surreal as it had when he'd woken up in that bed.

George had held Ringo's hand tightly from the moment he'd helped him out of bed, all the way back to the hotel - he'd suggested they got a taxi rather than walked, but Ringo wanted to breathe in the fresh air and wake his legs up properly. When they got back to their room, John and Paul were sleeping soundly on the bed, cuddled up close. It made Ringo smile to see it, and as much as he could still feel a slight sting whenever he moved from the wound, if that was what he had to suffer through to preserve this then he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

He didn't want to dwell on the possibilities of what would've happened if he hadn't been there, instead he tried to focus on the positives. Here the four of them were, with a little wear and tear but very much alive. Alive and happy, and that was all that really mattered.

[wanderesshuntress]

Workin’ That Mime to Five || Morvern & Alain

Missing her dreamboat, Sierra decides that it’s high time two old as fuck Hunters catch up. A mime guest stars. He’s not going to make series regular.

@carbrakes-and-stakes

Like all devoted couples, their love could be… tempestuous. In need of intervention. With her husband, they’d once laughed over the idea of a marriage counsellor but hell, what else could she do? Sometimes you just had to have some things hashed out, but now it seemed like every few months they were at the door of Garage Babineaux. Truth be told, Morvern suspected that Sierra (GMC Sierra 1500 to call her by her full Christian name) had a thing for the French therapist of all their troubles. Sure explained why she decided to keep playing up all the time.

There was a distinct rattling noise as Morvern swung Sierra up into the bay of the shop, a chattering of discontent that was getting more and more frequent. Fuck, she hated nagging. Putting the truck into park, Morvern clambered out of the driver’s side entry, scanning for Alain Babineaux. Didn’t take too long to spot him, his back to her, and when she did, a grin began playing at her mouth. Was he seriously in fuckin’ black and white striped overalls? Heading on over, the grin began to falter when she got closer. Her brows knitted together.

“Uhhhh….”

Sure, it was Alain. With a beret. Covered in face-paint. Really getting in touch with his roots? Morvern didn’t even know what to say. Still, how the man chose to get in touch with himself was up to him and that was to be… respected. She supposed.

“Jesus. Should I try an’ fill you in usin’ my words or through performance art?”

Alain, down in the oil pit, was busy with his wrench and had not noticed that a stripped version of himself had made his way inside his shop. With both Margot and Dario gone on their lunch break, the mime had had the opportunity to wander all around the garage all he wanted, and yet, he had found no trace of his stripeless double whether inside or around the garage. The mime was careful not to make any noise as it walked around the workshop, he would not have allowed himself to be any other way. There was something telling him that if he made a sound, then things would not end well for him.

Meanwhile, the mechanic was still busy changing oil, and ignoring whatever was happening around him. It was not until he heard the sound of a car entering that he considered leaving his pit. He recognized the woman’s voice and raised an eyebrow as he heard her talking to someone. He had not heard either Dario or Margot come back, which was odd, although it wouldn’t have been his first time missing something because he focused on something else. 

The mime, who had not given up on finding his human double, tilted his head to the side to look at the woman speaking to him. So loud. Slowly, he moved his index to his lips and frowned dramatically at her before nodding frantically as she asked if performance art would be preferable. However the mime’s expression changed, he motioned her to stop moving and started drawing the shape of a sword in the air, pretended to pick up the air sword and to have trouble lifting it. Approaching the woman, the mime moved carefully however. Anyone who had ever seen the real Alain fight would have recognized this change in the mime’s way of moving. And speaking of the real Alain, he was  just done changing the oil, and standing behind the mime, a honest to God : “C’est quoi cette merde?” left his mouth. “Morvern, watch out!”

Only out of pure confusion did Morvern play the perfect audience to the mime, crossing her arms as bemusement caused her to follow through with the whole Be quiet and stay still thing. He was drawing something in the air – a long angular rod of some kind, something jutting out of the side… she knew what that shit was. It was a sword, and when he pulled it from the air like French King Arthur, his knees immediately buckled. She didn’t smile at the sight. This was way too fucking confusing.

The second he began moving towards her she took an instinctual step back, bracing herself. The way he was moving – the grace was almost unnatural. “Babineaux?” she called, stained with uncertainty. Her hand crept towards the holster under her jacket as she kept her eyes trained on mime Alain and she dug her nails into her palm, stopping herself from getting too ahead of reason. The sudden appearance of Alain – normal Alain – kicked her into gear, but no sooner did Alain shout the mime charged forward, air-sword brandished.

So this must have been what all the mime shit was about.

Morvern’s grip tightened against her Colt Python and a burst of pitch-black ooze rained across the cement as the revolver discharged, hitting the mime in the shoulder to disable him as he staggered back, silent shock and agony distorting his greasy face as he clutched the wound. His sword-palm splayed open and he sunk to his knees, arm stretched out towards her like this was some great of his hand went to his forehead he crumbled to the ground completely. His tongue slid from his mouth like a dead dog, the black ooze puddling around him and staining the Beetlejuice overalls. She had to hand it to him, it was a pretty good performance all things considered. Too bad that shouldn’t have been a mortal wound, but who fucking knew when it came to mimes?

Turning her attention to Alain, she scrutinised his oil covered uniform and nodded towards his mime ‘dead’ body. She didn’t want to get near this fucking thing – it was tripping her out something wild. “You wanna go kick him? Looks like you’re already covered in black shit. ‘Sides,” she added, “I think you’re the next of kin.”

Alain had never been fond of firearms, and the sound of Morvern’s gun brought a grimace to his face. Maybe one day he would get used to it, but today was not that day. As he expected from Blanche’s description, the mime started to bleed black goo. Seeing someone who looked exactly like you fall to the ground was quite the experience, and kept the hunter frozen for a couple seconds. It was the sound of his friend’s voice who brought him out of his shock.

Although even as he approached his mime double, he couldn’t help but stare at its face. How in the goddamn did they manage to create a double of him. Even the ring finger was missing, he noticed. This was not just a clone, this was an exact copy. Grabbing a monkey wrench from the workbench, he stepped over to his double and not waiting for an explanation or worse, for the goddamn thing to wake up, he swung the wrench up in the air and flung it at the mime’s face. Crushed skull, ooze flying around, then the coveted silence. 

He already knew that the thing would disappear, but hoped at least the ooze coming from the mime would stay and that perhaps they could have a better look at it. And just as planned, just a few seconds later, the mime burst into a cloud of stripped smoke. Truth be told, even if he had been warned that this would happen, he was still surprised. What the actual fuck was wrong with those fucking mimes ? “What the actual fuck.” 

His wrench still in hand, he dropped it in the sink, then pulling himself up to sit on the workbench. Pulling a piece of paper towel from his pocket, he started cleaning his face. “Well, that was fun. Thanks for the help,” he sighed and glanced over at Morvern, then her car. “What’s wrong with your girl?”

Morvern kept her distance as Alain approached his mime twin, not yet holstering her gun. If he were a younger slayer, she would’ve become more inquisitive for his sake, but that wasn’t the case and the man could handle a goddamn mime one way or the other. So she merely watched and said nothing as he clobbered his clone’s skull in with the monkey wrench, but she wasn’t going to deny it – it was kind of a disturbing sight to see the face of a friend suddenly become a mush of black ooze and caved in bones and teeth. Still, better it than them any day of the week.

The whole bursting into cloud bit, though – that was unexpected. Her eyebrows shot up and she glanced back up at the real Alain. “Goddamn,” she intoned. What the actual fuck, indeed. Finally holstering the revolver, she meandered up to Alain as she dug into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of Marlboro Golds and a hotel slip of matches. She struck one, cupping it to light then waved it out as she silently pored over the black stains on the ground for a moment that the mime had left. Really, it’d blend in with the rest of the oil and hydraulic fluid and whatever the fuck other fluids that you found in a mechanics perfectly. Which was… interesting. Again, Morvern’s eyes slid over to Alain as he wiped his face. She didn’t know what was grease and oil, and what was dead Alain mime blood.

Curious.

“Don’t mention it,” she replied. “Can’t have that asshole leavin’ Garage Babineaux with a bad name, can I?” At the mention of Sierra she shook her head, pursing her lips. “Reckon it’s jus’ that she’s in love with you. Been rattlin’ like crazy whenever I slow down, but it’s always something.” She smiled affectionately for a moment, but she couldn’t help but have this mime shit keep tugging at her over whatever issues Sierra was having. Her eyes cast downward again.

“…Say, you know Kaden Langley?” she inquired after a brief silence. “He was goin’ on about bein’ attacked by three of these bastards. An’ now I jus’ seen this one leak what looks like graphite grease over the whole damn place. Kinda wonderin’ what the connection is here.” She took a long drag of her cigarette, exhaling smoke slowly as she mulled over her thoughts. “All’s I’m sayin’ is you’re both French an’ you both got mimes, an’ that’s all I know about it.” An’ if I cut you, you’d probably bleed engine grease at this point, too. She looked Alain in the eye, tilting her head slightly. “How come you ain’t been at the Bullet lately? What you been busy with, Babineaux?”

 Alain’s eyes wandered away from Morvern’s car and for a few seconds - it could have been 10 or 30 seconds- he stared blankly at the black goo that colored the floor, right where his double used to be. Even if the fight had been more intense than it had been long, he could not erase the mime’s face from his mind. Dear Lord this was grotesque. He rubbed at his face and snapped out of this state of void. Fucking mimes and their fucking mime bullshit, motherfucker. If he saw her look at him, he did not think much of it and figured that she was just checking on him like a normal person. “Careful with that,” he knew better than to tell her to turn her cigarette off, but at least he could get her to walk away from anything that could catch fire. 

“Let’s go have a look at her, shall we?” From what Morvern was saying, he could easily bet on what he’d have to inspect, and so, with no questions asked, he opened the front door to have a look at the board. Turning the car on, he glanced over at the woman. Once again, he knew better than to ask for how long this warning light had been on. All that mattered was that he knew what was wrong. “I figured that it would be the brake pads,” and since he would have to wait for the car to cool down to even touch these, he turned off the car and took the keys out, sticking it under the visor. “I’ll have to keep her, you’ll be alright until tomorrow?” 

Walking over to the counter to register the car in, he listened to her talking, and his eyebrows shot up as she mentioned Kaden and how he’d ended up fighting three mimes at once. “You know him, always trying to look better than us old folks,” he scoffed, sitting down again to fill the paperwork. “The connection here is… You’re going to hate this,” he cleared his throat. To say that he was not proud of what they had done was a euphemism. It was clear that the restaurant exploding, and mime clones appearing the next day was no coincidence and so, he had to be honest right now. “Kaden, I, and a couple other folks blew that damn mime restaurant up, and well… I think we unleashed this,” he pursed his lips and looked up at her with a look on his face that could only express one feeling: My fuckin’ bad. “Though, there are people who weren’t there who also had a mime version of them who attacked.” He sighed heavily. None of this made sense, and he felt like no matter what happened next, they wouldn’t get the truth as to what this all meant.

Now, he really would have wished that she did not ask that last question, because he had always been a shitty liar and his cheeks were already turning to a pale shade of red as he tried to think of an answer. “No reason in particular. I stopped drinking, apparently it makes me a shit person.”

With one last look at the mime muck to log it into her memory, Morvern followed Alain over to the truck and leant against the rear door to watch on as he looked Sierra over. At the prospect of keeping Sierra overnight, Morvern usually would have shrugged and told him to do what he needed to. This time, however, there was some serious shit going on and both the French hunters she knew in White Crest were at the centre of it. As far as she saw it, there was still some explaining to do and hell of a lot of it.

The explanation she got, however, was not the one she expected. Alain was wrong – she didn’t hate it. In fact, after a moment of stunned silence her guarded composure broke and she began to break into raucous laughter, choking on her cigarette smoke as she did. “Goddamn, Babineaux! You were involved in that shit?” Langley, too? She took a moment to settle herself, returning her cigarette to her lips, dragging thoughtfully. “An’ what were the events precedin’ this? An’ who are these other folks. Hunters? Langley mentioned some guy called Felix. He connected?”

Morvern didn’t try to fight the urge to roll her eyes. She took the cigarette from her mouth again, pinching it between her two of her fingers as she jabbed them in his direction. “Or you stopped because these fuckin’ mimes got their grip on you. An’ this assessment is accordin’ to who, exactly? I ain’t even sure if I can leave my Sierra with a goddamn teetotaller.” Morvern patted the teal steel behind her reassuringly. “Hell, maybe you’re gonna be a heartbreaker after all.”

Alright, this was not the reaction he had expected. Alain cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest, if he kept a straight face, a smile tugged at his lips after a while. There were not many people who had a contagious laugh but Morvern was one of them. “Are you done,” leaning back in his chair, he didn’t have to look at the plate to write to licence number on his paperwork. This was far from the first time he was seeing her truck, and while he could have been easily been a lot richer by working on this car alone, he preferred to ask the owner for help once in a while, to get rid of a particularly mean vampire, for instance. 

“Well, as you may know, Kaden had a few misadventures with those silent fuckers,” the cardboard one, the sewer one, the strip club one and the cat eating one. Quite the collection, when you thought about it. And now you could add spider mimes and clone mimes to Kaden’s list. That was starting to be a lot. “There was a friend of mine, someone I saw before but I don’t know remember…,” he started to ramble about how terrible he was at remembering faces before he continued : “and Felix, whom I did not want to have around after he planned that awful mime party for Kaden’s birthday. Shit, it’s a shame you were not there. You would have had so much fun,” he stared blankly at the ground with his eyes wide open, suggesting that no, there was nothing fun about this birthday. Nothing.

“What?” He put down the clipboard on the counter and looked at her. Oh no, she did not look like she was kidding. “Are you seriously suggesting that the mimes made me quit drinking ? Morvern, fuck off,” he didn’t really feel like justifying himself, but clearly he was offended. “What the fuck. It’s not that I can’t drink, but I think it’s not reasonable. I’m not reasonable, and so maybe I should stay away from it,” however he did miss the social aspect of it. It had been a while since he’d seen some hunters, just because he avoided their bar. “I will never break Sierra’s heart, I would never,” he shook his head. “You know, I think I actually missed you,” the nonsense, the taste for conspiracy and all those little things that made Morvern who she was. “If you can keep me from drinking too much, maybe I’ll come back sometimes.”

“So you were at the shindig, too?” Morvern asked. “What about these other people? They also there?” Honest to God, Langley was a fucking idiot if he saw no connection here. And whoever this Felix feller was? He was beginning to sound like the knot tying the threads together. It was to the advantage of no Hunter to be so blind. Or to anyone, really. “I already know he set up the party.” Him and Langley’s girlfriend, apparently – but right now, whoever she was, she wasn’t a suspect and it wasn’t any of her business to ask after. “Reckon he plays into this somehow?”

Honestly, the way Babineaux and Langley were making it sound, she wished she could have at least sussed it out. What was life without a little disharmony to keep you on your toes?

She cracked a smile again when Alain told her to fuck off. “Christ, Babineaux. Like anyone gives a shit how reasonable you are.” And on a level, it was true, too. Regulars who disappeared from the Silver Bullet were regulars who had relocated six feet under. Even if they were trying to start shit, it was better having them swinging fists at you in a bar and knowing they were still breathing than having a brother out dead in the field. And in Morvern’s experience, there were just as many corpses laid in the ground that she knew the names of as there were friends and rivals still living.

“Yeah, well. I missed you too,” she said matter-of-factly. She crossed her arms. “Hence the askin’.” She dropped the half-spent cigarette to the ground, crushing the embers with her foot. “You crawl back through them doors after so long spent away? I can’t promise shit. Maybe you should try being responsible for your damn self for once.”

“I guess so, it was not my idea, although I did not exactly discourage it,” if Alain snorted, it was because he was suddenly reminded of how much of a huge, enormous mess this night had been for each and everyone present there. And yet, Morvern’s question brought him back to reality, a reality in which she had joined Kaden’s idea of a mime conspiracy. Just what he fucking needed. “I’m going to need coffee if we’re going there.”

When he came back from his office with two mugs of coffee, he finally replied, “I know he almost died trying to get rid of the fucking horror that lives behind the damn restaurant,” so no, it was unlikely that Felix had anything to do with the fuckery that had cursed the town. His gaze wandered back to where his double had vanished, and his calm expression shifted slowly to worry. Who else would get attacked like this, possibly hurt, killed and maybe replaced by their double ?

“Apparently, some people do. Not hunters, regular people,” a hunter would have never given him shit for drinking too much, they both knew that and even if he had been tempted to have just one drink one in a while, he figured that it was best to just avoid that too. Now time would tell how long this would last.  

Biting the tip of his tongue, he pursed his lips and shook his head. His eyebrow raised as he watched her throw her cigarette to the floor. “You do plan on picking that up, right?” If he had never been fond of smoking, what he liked the least about it, was finding damn cigarette butts on the pavement, and everywhere else he went. 

Still, his expression softened as she put him back in his place. “Being a responsible person? Well that sure as hell sounds boring,” he hid his smile in his coffee cup and sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose an effort could be made, for folks like yourself,” this was a disaster waiting to happen but that wouldn’t clash too much with the rest of his life. “I don’t know, I guess we’ll see. Besides, I met someone, and I’m not sure she’s going to like that,” he observed. He figured that dropping this news like a hair falling on soup was the best way to tell her. It wouldn’t be long anyway before Kaden started talking about it.

When Alain handed her the mug of coffee, Morvern found herself eyeing the swirling black liquid with suspicion. Weren’t even sure if she could trust the stuff or not yet. So for the time being, she was just content to use it as a hand warmer, fingers tapping it absently as she listened to the French Hunter.

“So what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. “That almost dyin’ absolves him from further investigation?” She scoffed, shaking her head. Far as she was concerned, that detail made him even more suspicious. Sounded like the kind of thing someone dedicated to the mime cause would stage just to pull the cotton over everyone’s eyes. She took a sip of coffee in as she mulled it over then realised what she had done the moment it slid down her throat. She frowned. Shit.

Trying to ignore the idea of having potentially just swallowed ichor du mime, Morvern forced a groan that tried to claw its way out of her throat back down as Alain chided her. Hunkering down, she picked up the crushed butt to tuck into her pocket. “You know somethin’? You’re right. Bein’ a responsible person is borin’ as hell’,” she replied, voice thick with irony. Wait, what was that? He’d met somebody? Morvern straightened up. At first, she almost grinned at the news until the true meaning of his words caused her to switch gears immediately. The man had landed himself a damn ball and chain!

Before she had the chance to spring the third degree on him, Alain’s guardian angel in the form of a complete shit-box Chrysler rumbled up into the drive. Whoever this goddamn witch it was keeping Alain from the Silver Bullet had probably summoned it. All the same, it was business. Real business, not mime business. Far be it from her to get in the way of Babineaux making a dollar. Setting the cup of joe down on top of Sierra, Morvern shot Alain a look. “But what, no problem with Romeo puttin’ his neck out on the line near every night?” Her laugh was unusually acerbic. “Sounds like a real doll,” she added as she made to leave just as the customer headed over, knocking on Sierra as did so. She could walk. She knew where she was going. And whether it was in the grave or with the drink, all Hunters ended up in the same place. Where else was there to go?

[fyeahwildfire]

Among the Dead

Chapter 2

The group of survivors at the prison could hear the multiple sounds of motorcycles, they whirl around to see Daryl and Jax leading the group followed by other bikers, a car, a cargo van, and a school bus.

“They brought back a biker gang?!” Sasha voice was filled with shock.

“I don’t know if I want them here with us.” Maggie whispered.

“I agree it’s not safe.” Carol said as she and Glenn moved to open the gates for them.

“No need to panic. Rick brought them here for good reason, we have to trust him.” Hershel slowly stepped towards the car to welcome Rick back.

Glenn and Carol moved back to stand by Maggie. Glenn stood protectively in front of his wife. “Hershel’s right.”

Maggie threw a glare at him.

“What? We’re trying to build a community here. We took in the Governor’s people. If they prove not to be dangerous, maybe, they could end up being a huge asset for all of us.” Glenn explained.

“They’re a biker gang, Glenn! Of course they’re dangerous.” Maggie whispered angrily.

“All right. I’m gonna need you to hand over your weapons.” Rick stood next to Hershel, while looking at the bikers.

The MC exchanged looks, neither of them are willing to hand over their weapons.

“Y’all can stay here and rest up. We are just gonna need you to hand over your weapons to Carol and Glenn. We’ll return them to you once you leave.” Rick looks to Jax expecting him to cooperate as that was part of the arrangement they made.

“And what if those things get in?!” Ratboy spoke.

“Look, we’ll give up our guns, but my boys and I need some reassurances that if things go south, we’re not gonna be screwed.” Jax pulled out his gun from his cut, he notices Beth, Lydia, Hiro, and Micah passing the horse stall. The four looking clean and well-nourished.

Before meeting Rick and his friends, Jax had all but believed the younger generation had been wiped out, seeing as the world now belonged to the dead and the weak either succumbed to death or were forced to make hard decisions to survive. 

But seeing those four kids coming down to greet them, gave him hope that his sons and Opie’s children wouldn’t be alone. That they would be able to grow up with other children and have people who were there for them when he would be gone. He just hoped he would live long enough for them to be old and be able to care for themselves.

“We’ve got a system here. We have people that are armed and patrolling the fences. If something were to happen, well then, we will give you your guns back.” Hershel spoke up, as he was the head of the council.

Jax nodded and handed his gun over to Carol. “Alright, boys. Give them up.”

Not far away, every single one of them heard a whistle. Jax sees the smile on Rick’s face, he whirls around to see Sasha and Tyreese opening up the gates for you.

You and your horse come to a stop once you are inside the fence. You climb down your horse as Rick walks over to pat your horse.

“Didn’t have any trouble?”

You look over his shoulder to see Jax smirking at you. “Nope, I see you brought them back.”

“Yeah,” Rick sighs, as he sees the MC handing over their weapons to Carol, Daryl, and Glenn. “There gonna be staying for a few days.”

You raise your brow, as you know well that Jax and his MC weren’t gonna leave without a fight. “And if they want to stay permanently.”

“Then that’s up to the council to decide.”

You nod and together you walk over. Your brother’s Hiro and Micah run up to you. Hiro grabs the reins of the horse, while Micah hugs your waist.

“Did you find anything?” Micah looks up.

“Sorry little man, didn’t find anything. Maybe next time.” You ruffle his hair and pick him up to place him on your horse.

You look over to see where your sister Lydia had gone. She and Beth approached the cargo van to greet Gemma and the boys.

“Hi there,” Beth smiled sweetly.

“Oh! Hey sweetheart.” Unser smiled as he got out of the driver’s seat and stretched.

“My name’s Beth and this is Lydia. Could we give y’all a hand with them?”  Beth smiled at Abel and Thomas.

“We can take care of our own, darlin.” Gemma gave them both a suspicious stare.

“Oh, okay. Let us know if you need anything.” Beth said, while noticing Lydia had already went to check on the school bus.

“So what’s on today’s agenda.” Hiro smiled as he slowly guided the horse towards the stall, he didn’t want to harm his little brother by moving too fast.

“Escrima and Bojutsu.” You see the disappointment in his face.

“What good is a wooden stick if we got guns? When are you going to teach me how to shoot?”

“I can take you down in two seconds, little brother.” You smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. “They’re more than just sticks. This technique in particular was used from the Philippines.”

“But a gun does a lot more damage.”

“True, but a gun needs bullets. No bullets, than the gun is useless. Escrima sticks and bo-staffs are quiet. Master Escrima and Bojutsu. Than we can move onto other survival tactics.” You smile as you walk past Jax and head towards the horse stall.

“I want to learn how to use the bow!” Micah yelled as he pretended to draw an invisible arrow, aim, and release.

You shake your head while smiling, “Soon little brother. I still need to find a bow for you, preferably your size.”

Micah pouts and crosses his arms. “Why does Hiro get to do all the fun stuff?”

“Does Hiro know how to make a bowline or double half hitch knot? Does he know how to make traps? Does he know which plants and fruits are edible?”

Hiro shakes his head no.

“Nothing about what I teach you is fun. You’re learning to survive…in case I’m not here to protect you.”

“Y/N?!”

You look over your shoulder to see Rick calling for you. You help Micah down and then turn to Hiro. “I’ll be back. In the meantime, go and help Lydia. She might need both of your help.”

Rick and Daryl followed by Jax and his MC, met you halfway seeing as you were closer to the building. Together you entered another set of gates and were greeted by people whispering about the newcomers.

As soon as Jax and his MC step through the door of the prison building, they see people walking, talking, and eating with each other. The children ran around playing with toys. The prison was flourishing and safe.

Jax smiles with relief knowing his boys were going to be taken well-care of. He’s glad that there’s a chance that Abel and Thomas could be able to grow up safely within these walls.

Jax overhears Juice trying to have a conversation with you.

“Nice tats.” Juice points to the tattoos on your shoulder and your forearm. Your shoulder had a tribal tattoo and on your forearm was of a wolf. “Got ones on my head. The names Juice by the way.”

You narrow your eyes and continue to move on.

Chibs pats Juice on the shoulder, “It’s alright, Juice boy. Don’t think that lass likes us much.”

Rick unlocks the large lock and opens the cell block door. “Well, this is it. This is the cell block ya’ll be usin’.”

A walker lunges towards Jax, “Holy shit!”

Chibs pulls Jax back while you throw one of your knives, hitting the walker straight in the head. It falls to the ground with a loud thud.

“Isn’t there another cell block that isn’t overflowing with those freaks?” Ratboy asks, while looking to Rick and Daryl.

“No. Unfortunately, you are going to have to clear out this area.” Rick said, as you moved to pry the knife out of the walkers head.

“What? Nuh-uh, not without my gun man.” Tig held his hands up in surrender and stepped back.

Jax stepped forward, just as you took a step back. “Look, we’ll clear it but were gonna need some weapons.”

Daryl handed over his knife, an axe, a couple of pipes. “These’ll do jus fine.”

“No,” Tig shook his head. “No way brother. I’m not doing this without my gun.”

You roll your eyes and slipped inside the cell block while they bickered amongst each other. You slip a bar through the handle to keep the others from entering.

Jax grabbed the knife and handed the axe over to Chibs, while handing over the pipes over to Tig, Happy, Quinn, and Juice.

“This is crazy, Jax.” Tig hands the pipe over to Ratboy.

“Aye, I agree.” Chibs says, but then notices you inside the cellblock.

You pull out your sword and look behind to see Happy near the controllers, you nod for him to open the cell doors. Happy shrugs and pulls the lever, all the cell doors open at once.

“Yer friend is inside the cell.” Chibs points his thumb in your direction.

Rick sees a dozen walkers approaching you. “Damn it.” He tries to open the door but is unable to. Daryl joins him in trying to pry open the door.

Jax and the MC watch with admiration, as you cut off the heads of the walkers with your sword. You moved with grace like that of a dancer, only your movements were more lethal.

You kicked one of the walkers away and decapitated another. You heard a walker from behind you. You twirled and sliced off its head. You then swung your sword taking down the last three walkers.

You walk back to the others and pull the bar out, allowing Rick and Daryl to finally pry the door open.

Jax smirked, “Well, I guess my boys and I should thank you for doing that.”

You raise your brow and shake your head. “Don’t thank. It’s sad to see SAMCRO afraid of a few walkers.” You smirk and leave Jax stunned. He watches you leave with Daryl.

Rick shakes his head, as he bites his lips to keep himself from smiling. You had just wounded the MC’s egos. “Just pile the bodies outside. We’ll burn them tomorrow. For now Chief Unser, the kids and women are getting set up in another block, just for tonight.”

“That’s the last two.” Quinn wipes the dirt and blood off of his hands as he approaches Jax by the fence. He was watching you and your brother Hiro sparring with each other.

“Thanks brotha.” Jax’s eyes watch with fascination as you and Hiro train with Escrima sticks.

You can see the sweat coming down Hiro as he struggled to keep up with you. He blocked your attacks, while you blocked all of his.

“Jax!” Chibs called out, he sees Jax and Quinn by the fence and goes to see what has caught their attention. And of course, it’s you.

Chibs remembers that there was a time when Jax had a crush on you. It was before Tara returned to Charming and before Abel’s birth. You had met him when your father was selling weapons to them and then you met him as the Angel of Death and saved his life. However, at the time Jax never distinguish you were the Angel of Death. Until now.

Chibs looks over to Jax, who is watching your every movement. Even now after all these years, Jax was still smitten with you. Perhaps even more, now that he knew you were Angel of Death. He sees Jax’s shoulders tense when he sees Daryl approaching you and Hiro. You wrap up your training and walk back with both Hiro and Daryl.

“Jackie, we found a table and chairs.” Chibs gained his attention.

“Perfect, meet at the table in five.” Jax turned away from the fence.

You and Daryl sat in the library with other members of the council. All of you were deciding whether Jax and his MC were going to be allowed to stay in the prison permanently or not. You lean back in your chair, hearing everyone voice their opinions.

“They’re not all that bad.” Daryl had been trying to sway the other council’s decision.

“They’re a biker gang!” Carol shifted in her chair to look at Daryl.

“Don’t mean nothin’. My brother was in a gang…”

“No offense, but Merle isn’t exactly a great example here.” Glenn didn’t like Merle, especially after what he did. He wasn’t all that broken up when he heard of Merle’s death. Yes, he felt sorry for Daryl, but Glenn wasn’t going to mourn a man he didn’t like.

“Point taken.” Daryl sighs.

“So what? Do we let them stay or do we kick them out?” Sasha asked, looking amongst everyone, until her eyes land on you. You hadn’t spoken. Not once. You just listened.

“Kick ‘em out and you’re gonna have a war on your hands.” Daryl knew what these men were capable of.

“Thought you said they weren’t all that bad?” Carol asked.

Daryl nodded, “Yeah, but they ain’t gonna roll over and die neither.”

“I’ve had the chance to speak with Wayne. He’s a former Chief of Charming Police.” Hershel looks at both Glenn and Daryl. “He seems like a good man. Told me Jax and his companions are good people.”

“Good people? These guys dealt with drugs, weapons, and whores.” Sasha scoffed and shook her head.

“They could be useful. You got a group of guys in that cellblock that know how to handle themselves.” Daryl glanced at you, despite what you did for them. He knew he was right.

You give a silent nod.

“Useful? They could be dangerous.” Carol said, trying to get him to see reason.

“Hell, I could be dangerous, but I ain’t.”

“We know you, Daryl.” Glenn leaned forward.

“My point is. These guys are fighters. We could use more fighters to help keep this place secure.” Daryl said.

“Well then let’s take a vote.” Hershel said, looking amongst the council members.

“I say we let ‘em stay.” Daryl spoke first.

“Me too.” Hershel followed after.

“Not me. I don’t trust them.” Sasha said.

“I’m with her on this one.” Glenn spoke after.

“I don’t know. You all have made some good points of whether they stay or not. They are dangerous, but they could be valuable.” Carol sighs and shifts in her seat. “I’m choosing not to vote on this one.”

They all look at you, hoping you could make a decision that would benefit their community. Glenn and Sasha hoped you would side with them, seeing as you haven’t spoken at all and don’t seem particularly fond of them.

Daryl hoped you would side with him. He knew there was something between you and the MC, a secret you wanted to hide. Especially after hearing you were the “AOD”, a name that caused them to put their weapons down out of fear or respect.

During this meeting, you had stayed quiet and listened to all of their reasons. You knew the MC more than they did. You knew what they were capable of and yet you also knew what they would do if they were given safe haven.

“I say we…”

The gavel smacks the wooden table. Jax looks amongst his brothers and sees smiles on their faces. It had been too long since they had gathered around like this, since the destruction of the clubhouse. Teller-Morrow had been invaded by the dead, Jax had gathered the remaining of his people and fled.

“Welcome, brothers.” Jax says with a smile on his face. “It’s been too long since I’ve shared a table with all of you.

They all smacked their hands ceremoniously on the table, letting out their cheers of joy.

“I’m not calling a vote, but I want to know how everyone is feeling about this place.” Jax looked amongst his brothers.

“I never thought I’d be happy to be in prison.” Tig smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“This is the most secure place we have been in since the clubhouse.” Bobby said.

“Aye.” Chibs smiled.

“Alright, what do you guys think about the people here?”

“Could be worse, Jackie boy.”

“We’ve definitely come across worse on our travels.” Juice spoke up.

“They got women, kids, and elderly people here.” Kozik spoke next to Juice. “I think they’re good people.”

Jax nodded as his brothers continued to voice their opinions about the prison and people in it.

“So, are we all in agreement that we should stay?” Jax asked, as he looked over to his VP.

“Aye.” Chibs nodded.

“Hell yeah!” All of them cheered ceremoniously.

“What if they don’t want us to stay?” Bobby asked from beside Jax.

Jax nodded, “I’ll talk to Rick. I’ll do everything I can to make sure we can stay here, but we are also going to need to pitch in and help.”

[our-smooty]

Take Me to Church Chapter 13: Date

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: 2doc

Tags: Car Accidents Angst Hurt/Comfort Drugs/Alcohol Implied/Referenced Suicide SuicideHealing Everything Hurts

Summary: The band is back together, but things are… weird to say the least. But when a crisis arises, can they pull it all together and be a family again?

Link to other Chapters on my Blog!

The next two days passed much the same as the one after the day at the hospital. 2D and Murdoc practised music, hung out, and generally goofed off together. Sometimes they fucked, but mostly they just enjoyed each other's company. Russel was around, but he seemed to be going out more and the other two were too busy with each other to question it.

Friday morning, three days after the hospital visit, they were all crowded around the breakfast table debating which of their albums would win in a fight when Russel’s phone rang. Murdoc paused mid-laugh to glance at it and saw the caller was Dr. Cavenaw. Russel saw as well and quickly answered.

“Russel Hobbs speakin’. Yes. Yes thank you. I understand. Yes, OK, see you then.” As quick as the conversation began it ended, and Russel sighed.

“Who was that Russ?” 2D asked with his mouth full of the pancakes they’d made. Murdoc didn’t say anything but he waited with bated breath, the good morning he’d been having taking a sharp downward spike.

“That was Noodle’s doctor. She said that they started the process of wakin’ her up yesterday and she’s been showin’ some good signs. She also said we could come back tomorrow and try to help by takin’ to her and stuff, get her to wake up on her own,” he explained. 2D jumped out of his chair and pumped a fist in the air. Murdoc felt sick.

“Muds did you hear that? Noodles gonna wake up soon! We can go see here again!” Murdoc watched him jump around. Satan, what he wouldn’t give to just feel happiness at the idea of Noodle waking up. Because he was happy, he was fucking ecstatic that his baby girl was going to wake up and get back to normal but the looming dread of what might happen after hung over him like a noose.

“Calm down D, before you go and hurt yourself,” Russel warned. Murdoc stood and walked to the fridge, grabbing two bears and tossing one to the singer. The younger barely caught it, and Russel raised an eyebrow.

“Guys its ten in the morning.”

“It’s celebratory,” Murdoc snapped, draining half the can in one go. 2D cracked his open and took a sip as Russel shrugged.

“Right well, you two have fun with that.” Russel cleared his plate and put it in the sink, heading off to his room. Murdoc watched him go as he opened another beer.

“Isn’t it great Murdoc, Noodles gonna be awake soon,” 2D sighed happily, spinning in circles in the middle of the kitchen. He rounded on Murdoc with a big smile, which slowly faded as he saw the look on the bassist’s face. “Aren’t you happy?”

“Yeah mate, I am. I promise it’s jus’...” he trailed off with a shrug. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why couldn’t he just be happy that Noodle was alive and going to be ok? For some reason, his brain wouldn’t allow him to just be happy instead of worrying about what might happen.

“You’re still worried she’s gonna hate you.” 2D hit the nail on the head and Murdoc flinched. There was no doubt in his mind the guitarist would want nothing to do with him once she was up and kicking again. Then he’d be back to having nothing; no band, no fame, and certainly no family.

“I’ve fucked up too many timed Stu, I don’t see how she could forgive me.” It’d be easier to bite the bullet and get it over with, leave before she could tell him to. It would hurt less.

“I’ve forgiven you, haven’t I?” The singer asked and Murdoc paused.

“Actually, you’ve never said you have,” he said slowly. Now it was 2D’s turn to pause for a second. He seemed to be thinking rather hard because he was doing that little thing with his tongue, the one where he stuck it in and out between his missing teeth. Murdoc had found it annoying, but now it was almost endearing.

He must have come to a conclusion because he nodded his head and strode towards the Satanist with a look of determination. Coming to stand directly in front of Murdoc 2D placed his hands on the shorter man’s shoulders.

“Murdoc, I forgive you,” he said, slowly and clearly, looking right into the bassist's eyes. A brief silence, a blink from the bassist, and suddenly Murdoc found himself in a crushing embrace. He wasn’t sure if he pulled Stu in, or if Stu pulled him in, but it didn’t really matter. All that mattered what the sense of relief he felt at those three words, words that until this morning he didn’t even really think he needed to hear.

“I forgive you Muds, but I dunno if I’m gonna be able to forgive you if you crush the life outta me,” 2D joked. Murdoc barked a laugh and let him go, a little embarrassed but too high on endorphins to care.

“Sorry, mate, sorry,” he chuckled as he let go, giving 2D’s arm a friendly pat. He felt better, lighter, somehow. Like maybe he should be celebrating.

They were still quite close together, so it wasn’t hard for Murdoc to lean in and plant a kiss on Stuart's lips. The singer kissed back willingly, openly. There was a moment, when their tongues touched briefly, where Murdoc thought about deepening the kiss, pushing 2D against the counter, and letting the taller man take him right there in the kitchen. He thought about how good it would feel, to ride this wave of relief and happiness right into something more carnal.

And he didn’t.

Instead, he pulled back, finished the kiss with a breathy laugh and let the singer go. 2D seemed reluctant but stepped back and Murdoc was grateful. If the singer had kept going, or been insistent he wasn’t sure if he had the willpower to keep thing PG.

“Heh, you’re a pretty aggressive hugger, aren’t you Muds?” 2D teased, but Murdoc was in too much of a good mood to snap back. Instead, he chuckled and sipped the beer he’d managed to hold on to during their moment. “So what are your plans for today?”

“The same as the last couple days?” he asked, feeling like 2D was going somewhere with his questions. His assumption turned out to be correct when 2D shook his head and scolded him.

“Murdoc we can’t jus’ keep doin’ the same thing every day. I don’t think we’ve been outside since Monday!” The bassist didn't really see the problem with that but gestured for Stu to continue.

“So I  was thinkin’ we could go out an’ do some shoppin’? Maybe get a few gifts for Noodle to make her room feel homier.” Despite still feeling nervous about seeing Noodle tomorrow, Murdoc couldn’t help but agree.

“Fine, we’ll go out. Go ask Russ if he wants to come while I get ready.” 2D scampered out of the kitchen excitedly as Murdoc watched on. Sometimes he swore the other was more a child than a 40-year-old man.

Russel declined the offer to go out, which 2D thought was weird since going out had been all the drummer had done in the last week. He tried to convince him, but Russel had just shaken his head with a funny smirk.

“Nah, you and Murdoc go have fun together,” was all he had said before shooing 2D out of his room. The singer was a little disappointed but figured Russ had his own plans so he got himself ready to meet Murdoc downstairs.

Shuffling into the front hall, 2D picked out a pair of chucks and sat on the steps. When he’d asked Murdoc to go out he hadn’t really had a plan. As much as he enjoyed working on music and shagging, he didn’t want to spend another day cooped up in the house. Getting gifts for Noodle was just an excuse to get out and about. Besides, it would be good for Murdoc to get some fresh air. The bassist had been in better spirits over the last few days but 2D was still keeping an eye on him.

He was still worried that the other might do something he’d regret. At times like then, when they were separated, the fear he’d felt up on the roof would come back and he’d have to force himself not to go barreling through the house looking for his mate. They hadn’t talked about any of that since Monday, mostly because 2D didn’t know what to say.

“Alright, D?” Murdoc asked, stomping down the stairs in his Cuban heels and startling the singer. He was quite bundled up, with a sweater, scarf, and leather gloves. 2D looked down at his own t-shirt and jeans. “You’re gonna want to grab a jacket, mate.”

“Is it cold out?” he asked, trying to remember what the weather had been like the last time they went outside. A side effect of the multiple brain injuries was that his memory was a bit shit.

“D it’s the end of September, of course it’s cold. Go get a jacket,” Murdoc sighed. “I'll go start the car.”

After fighting through the hall closet and wrestling his fall jacket from the grips of a particularly feisty umbrella stand 2D walked outside and got in the passenger seat. Murdoc hadn’t been drinking as much recently, so he wasn’t too worried about the bassist driving them around.

“So, where to then?” Murdoc asked as he sat down. 2D thought for a few minutes before an idea hit him.

“Why don’t we head downtown and check out the music shops, see if we can find any cool old records?” When he was younger he loved browsing through the shops with his mates looking for interesting records.

“Sounds good mate,” Murdoc agreed and they were on their way. They weren’t too far from the downtown core, they probably could have taken the train instead but there was always the chance of being recognized out in public and 2D didn’t really want to risk it. Not with all the press about Noodle.

When they got downtown they picked out a parking space and wandered towards the shops. Murdoc was chattering on about something on one of his soap operas, so 2D wasn’t paying attention other than the hum or nod occasionally. It was a lot busier than he’d expected, with people crowding the storefronts and pushing along the walkways.

“So then  he says that she was the one who bought the gun--Stu can you please try to keep up?” Murdoc griped. He didn’t seem to be having trouble moving through the crowds despite being almost a head shorter.

“I’m tryin’ Muds but people keep pushin’ me!” he whimpered as another person shouldered him. Murdoc shot him a frustrated look, then held out his hand.

“Come on, you git,” he huffed. 2D took his gloved hand and let Muroc lead him through the crowds. People moved out of the way for Murdoc, probably because he was so cranky looking, and 2D had a much easier time getting along with Murdoc’s hand in his.

They stopped at a couple of the more popular and mainstream music stores along the way, having a good laugh when they came across a poster of Gorillaz for sale in one. 2D even convinced Murdoc to take a selfie with the selection of Gorillaz albums and CDs under the pretence that Noodle would enjoy it. He knew, secretly, that Murdoc got a kick out of seeing all the Gorillaz stuff on sale.

Eventually, they got to a quieter part of downtown off the beaten track, though Stu kept a tight grip on Murdoc just the same. The shops down that end had more to the stuff they wanted to look through and they spent a good amount of time combing through the piles and piles of records comparing finds.

“I don’t think we have this one, do we Muds?” 2D asked, holding up a copy of A Night at the Opera. Murdoc scoffed.

“It’s Queen, D. Of course we have that one.” 2D giggled and put the album aside. Murdoc had an absolutely astonishing amount of records buried away in his room that the band had collected over the years.

“M’glad you can remember Muds. My brain’s like a siv,” he lamented, continuing to dig through the piles. Occasionally he would hold up an album for Murdoc’s consideration, but they mostly explored in silence. At one point Murdoc disappeared for a little and that now-familiar feeling returned, but 2D found him skulking around the poster and memorabilia section. They accumulated a good pile of music after and eventually left the shops.

“D’you want to get somethin’ to eat Murdoc?” 2D asked as they walked back down the street. The bassist had also been a lot better about eating as well, but Stu was getting tired of pizza and leftovers.

“If you want, I don’t care,” he answered, which wasn’t the answer 2D was looking for but it was good enough. He looked around the street for somewhere interesting and spotted a little Mexican place that looked quite cozy.

“Oh! Let’s go there!” he exclaimed excitedly and Murdoc shrugged. 2D grasped the bassist hand again and led him across the street and into the little restaurant. Inside was warm and colourful and surprisingly empty.

“Table for two please!” he said to the waitress with a big smile. She led them to a booth and left them with menus.

“Muds, these menus are in Spanish. I dunno Spanish!” he fretted. Murdoc rolled his eyes and pointed to the main section.

“Pick somethin’ here that has a picture you like an’ I’ll tell you what it is,” he instructed, looking over the menu himself.

“You can speak Spanish?” 2D gaped, eyes wide. Murdoc nodded.

“Picked it up in prison. S’not so hard after you’ve got the basics. Or if you’ve got a big guy named Lenny shouting it at you every day.” 2D stared in awe for a moment, partially at how casual Murdoc was being but also because he’d had no idea. How do you live with someone all that time and not know they can speak another language. He eventually pulled himself away from watching Murdoc read the options and looked down.

“What about this?” he asked pointing to something completely random on the page. Murdoc looked over, standing in his seat a little to see over the table. HIs hair fell into his face and 2D got distracted by the way it made his deep-set eyes even more noticeable.

“Pollo Picado, that’s chicken with peppers and tomato sauce. Sounds good,” 2D barely heard a word the Satanist said, too busy admiring the way Murdoc’s lips curled around the foreign language.

“W-what are you gonna have?” 2D stuttered, hiding his flush behind a glass of water.

“The carnitas sounds good.” 2D shivered.

“Good, good.” They ordered when the waitress came back, or rather Murdoc ordered because 2D couldn’t pronounce the food names despite hearing Murdoc say them before.

“So, did you find anythin’ cool?” 2D asked once they were alone again. Murdoc pulled his bags up from the floor and rifled through them for a bit before sighing.

“Not really, didn’t see any albums that weren’t shit or that we don’t already have. I uh, I did find these though. Thought you might like them.” He pulled out a smaller bag and handed it over to the singer, face just the slightest bit red. 2D peaked inside the bag warily--you could never tell what Murdoc might find--and smiled.

Inside were four keychains, each one moulded to look like a member of Gorillaz. They were all in the phase one style, little Noodle with her helmet, Russ with that yellow hat from the Clint Eastwood video, Murdoc with his base, and 2D signing into a little model microphone. He held them gently, turning each over in his hands.

“Stupid I know, I shouldn’t of--” 2D shushed him and pulled out his keys, clipping the 2D one to them.

“They’re adorable Muds! I’m gonna call this lil’ guy Tiny 2D!” He jangled the keys around excitedly. Murdoc still looked embarrassed but held his hand out for the other three keychains, clipping the Murdoc to his own keys.

“I guess this is Mini Murdoc then?” he asked, holding the keychain up to eye level. “I think they made me too short.”

“I think it looks jus’ right,” 2D ventured. Murdoc scowled and put the keys down as their food. Starving from all the walking around 2D dug in immediately. Murdoc poked at his with an uneasy look before 2D raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not what you wanted?” Murdoc looked up at him, then back at the food.

“No, carnitas is one of my favourites, but…” he loaded one of the soft taco shells with meat and toppings, “I haven’t really had much of an appetite recently.”

“I’ve noticed,” 2D garbled through a mouthful of chicken and peppers. He watched Murdoc take a bite and felt a little better. Not wanting this to go like the diner, where he’d upset Murdoc so much he didn’t eat anything, 2D decided to focus on his own meal until the other was done.

They finished and paid, wandering back out onto the street. “Other than the keychains we didn’t buy anything for Noodle, did we?” 2D asked as they walked.

“No, but we could stop and get her some flowers or somethin’. Isn’t that what people bring to hospitals?” Murdoc said, leading them back towards the car. “I think there was a florist near where we parked.”

2D linked their hands again and allowed the bassist to lead the way. “Gosh, I’m glad I brought you Muds, you’re a lot smarter about this stuff than I am.”

There wasn’t much of a crowd at the florist so they were able to walk in and check out the flowers right away. 2D pulled them from bouquets to arrangements, oohing and ahhing the entire time. He’d never had much of a green thumb--in fact, he managed to kill an air plant once--so he didn’t really know what to get. Murdoc looked board.

“Jeeze Murdoc, I didn’t know there were so many different types of flowers in the whole world!” he said happily.

“Just pick something already Faceache, it doesn’t matter what,” Murdoc said, pointing to some potted plants. “Those look fine and they won’t die in a couple of days.”

“Good idea, let’s get one of those then,” Stu agreed picking up a little pot filled with white and pink clusters of flowers. Didn’t different flowers have different meanings? He wondered what those ones meant.

Murdoc was getting fidgety, so they checked out quickly and headed back to the car. 2D cradled the little potted plant in his hands the whole way, protecting it from the cold and wind. They each hopped into their seats hastily, the setting sun bringing colder temperatures.

“Bloody hell it’s freezin’, it wasn’t this fuckin’ cold the other day!” Murdoc groused as he navigated the Sunday afternoon traffic. The heating in the car was slow to warm up and 2D fretted over the plant.

“Can’t you drive faster? The florist said if the flowers get too cold they’ll die,” he wailed, hugging the pot to his chest.

“They’re goin’ to die if you crush them to death D,” Murdoc said, eyeing the poor plant. “I’m drivin’ as fast as I can.” 2D continued to fuss over the plant until they pulled into the driveway, where he sprinted inside.

“Oi! You can’t leave me with all the bags you sod,” Murdoc shouted, but 2D ignored him and continued inside. He rushed through into the kitchen to give the flower a drink of water, hoping that would be enough to prevent it from dying. He paused a moment to pet the dainty flowers before the slamming of the front door startled him.

“Oh it’s fiiiiiine, jus’ leave ol’Murdoc with all the bags.” 2D could hear Murdoc complaining from the foyer. Guiltily he walked back to the front hall to help.

“Sorry Muds, I was jus’ so worried about the flowers,” Stu apologized as he took some of the bags Murdoc was holding.

“Whatever, Faceache,” Murdoc grumbled, but he didn’t sound too put-out.

2D shuffled his feet a little as he watched Murdoc stretch out the kinks in his arms and back from dragging the bags inside. He could see the muscle of Murdoc’s back and shoulders twisting and bunching under his shirt and it made his face heat up just a bit.

“I-I had a good time today, Muds,” he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

Murdoc turned to the singer and paused. 2D stared down at his shoes feeling oddly embarrassed. “Yeah, today wasn’t so awful.”

2D had been around Murdoc long enough to know what the bassist meant. The urge to hug the shorter man was strong, and 2D decided to take his chances and step into Murdoc’s space, arms open. He half expected Murdoc to push him away, but was pleasantly surprised when the other man allowed him to wrap him up in a hug. Murdoc smelled like shampoo and cigarettes and sweat. 2D nuzzled into his hair slightly, tightening his hold and nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Murdoc’s arms wrap around his middle loosely, returning the hug. They haven't hugged like this in well, ever. He could feel the bassist sigh against his collar as 2D began to sway them side to side gently, their hug morphing into something closer to an embrace.

Feeling bold, 2D decided to try something he’d been thinking about for a while. Slowly removing one of his hands from Murdoc’s back he brought it up to his hair and gently ran his fingers through. The reaction was immediate. Murdoc sagged with a sigh, tightening his arms around Stu’s waist. 2D’s confidence surged and he continued to pet and ruffle the bassist hair as much as he wanted. It was softer than he expected--Murdoc wasn’t a stickler for good hygiene normally--and 2D wondered at the feeling between his fingers.

“Mmmmm,” Murdoc moaned. 2D continued to rub at that particular spot and he could feel the other man relaxing in his hold. He could feel the potential for sex vibrating between them, Murdoc was probably in the right headspace to agree to almost anything 2D wanted. But he didn’t really want to, for the moment he was enjoying making the other man feel good. Making Murdoc feel good made 2D feel good, so why not indulge a little?

Eventually, they separated when 2D realized they’d been standing in the foyer for a significant amount of time. He smiled down at Murdoc, who was still standing quite close.

“Thanks for the hug, Muds,” he said and the older man smiled.

“Don’t mention it, you can pay me back by hauling all those bags upstairs,” Murdoc said, winking. 2D groaned but didn’t make too much of a fuss.

“I guess it’s only fair,” he admitted, leaning down to grab a couple bags. Unlike Murdoc he wasn’t stupid enough to try and carry all of them at once. Murdoc nodded and left the front hall, probably to go get a drink, and 2D got to work on moving all the bags. Even after when he was done, tired, sweaty, and a little sore, he still thought today had been a really good day.

[korkrunchcereal]

Click

Click.

The sound echoed through the woods, met only with the startling silence of abandonment. For the fifth time in the last hour, Toren of Vren cursed Veridan Koss for his current predicament. The latter had come asking for Toren’s assistance in ‘clearing out’ an infestation, as Veridan had called it. A small warband of forest trolls had pierced the borders of Southern Quel’thalas and had ravaged several villages. With war escalating against the Alliance, local defenses were stretched thin.

What Veridan had failed to mention was the sheer scope of land Toren was forced to traverse in search of the trolls. The pay had been good sure, but it was not why Toren had taken the job. He was, after all, already getting paid by the Sunguard. Rather he had mainly done it to test out his new invention, which had made the rather loud clicking noise. Inspired by both the design of his arcanetic pistols and the spellwork the human magi Jaina had used to smash the walls at the Undercity, Toren had constructed an ‘arcanetic’ rifle.

He always found bullets crude and common spellwork amateur, and so just as his pistols fired no solid shot, so too did this rifle. Similar design meant his rifle was powered by the same crystals that his pistols were, though amplified considerably for both more shots and further range. The initial tests had stressed the importance of power, leading him to also create a gauntlet capable of harnessing latent magic and storing it in order to handle the backlash of energy.

All of these preparations however was so far meaning little. For three days he had been tracking the trolls, chasing after shadows underneath the canopy of the forest. He had not been able to have a proper field test yet, and he was itching too. Two months had been spent on the design of the weapon, with a further six months previous iterating on his pistols. It had rained as well, making tracking the trolls that much harder. Frustration and fatigue were close behind Toren’s footsteps, yet now he was finally being rewarded.

He had caught a glimmer in the trees ahead. He thought the trail had gone cold, before he found the elven scalp. Beyond that were tracks; deep imprints into the rain-soaked oaks of the elven forest. He was by no means a Farstrider, but they were busy with the war and Toren had some experience with their methods. Slowly, he had cocked the lever action of his rifle, and aimed at the glimmer.

“Got you now…” He paused, brow narrowing as the object failed to move in any capacity. His eyes squinted, the arcanetic lens that rested over his left eye catching no strange magic anomalies. There was something strange about his target however, and he realized why quickly. A crackle of lightning above illuminated the forest briefly, revealing the glimmer to be a dagger stabbed into the tree.

The hair on the back of his neck rose, Toren falling back onto the ground and creating a portal. As he fell, he hit not the ground but rather appeared several feet away beneath the bough of one of the trees. There was a sharp crack, a massive spear lodged into the position he was just standing. Toren scanned between the trees, frowning. Quickly, he raised his rifle and fired.

Near instantly there was a bright flash of violet, a bolt of arcane shooting from the rifle with the force and sound of a thunderbolt. A whine filled the air as it sailed through, smashing into…something. Toren peered, ears perking as he heard something heavy hit the ground. His long coat fluttered behind him as he ran forward, one hand spin cocking his rifle. The action was not to reload, as was normally the case. It was instead to re-orient the rune scribed casing inside the gun, the sheer force of its arcane payload shunting it out of place.

Click.

His shot had rewarded him with a kill. A troll almost double the size of Toren lay collapsed in the dirt face down, a smoldering hole going through his chest and out his back. Toren couldn’t help but grin, looking lovingly at the rifle. Initial field test was successful. His joy however was short lived, the ground all but shaking as dozens of feet slammed into the ground all around him. Wincing, Toren looked up to find the forest was no longer abandoned. Where moments ago there was nothing, there now stood nearly twenty trolls, each meaner and uglier than the last. Toren opened his mouth to speak, closed it then opened it again.

“Shit.” Toren recognized then the trolls had been leading him into a trap. They had known he was tracking them, Toren realizing they had led him far from any of the nearby elf villages in order to ensure he could not rally any form of support. Isolate, and annihilate. It was a cunning trap, and Toren had idiotically taken the bait in his blind desire to field test. Toren had always said his old compatriot Balasar’s ambition would get him killed; the irony that the reverse might be true was not lost on him.

“Ju.” One of the trolls stepped forward, a large axe in both hands as he nodded his head to the fallen troll. “Ju got lucky little elf.” The troll’s accent was thick, its elvish broken and messy. “Not gonna get lucky second time.” As if taking it as a command the trolls descended on Toren, who gasped and stepped back into another portal just as several blades slammed down aiming for his neck.

“Shit!” Toren had appeared several feet away, now running in the opposite direction of the trolls. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“Afta’ ‘im!” The guttural cries of the trolls roared through the forest behind him. Toren craned his neck, watching as several sprung up into the trees like it was nothing, the rest chasing him on foot.

“I hate you, Veridan!” Toren wheeled on the ball of his foot, firing off a shot before rapidly cocking it and shooting off a second. Two trolls collapsed into a bloody mess, their bodies ripped apart by the arcane payload. The brutal deaths of their compatriots made the remaining trolls hesitant, which was all the time Toren needed to fire off yet another several shots in quick succession.

He got up and ran again, leaping into a portal and appearing a dozen yards to the left. Arrows slammed into the dirt where he was previous, the trolls in the trees now catching up to him. He weaved and dodged among the low hanging branches, using them as a natural shield while still running. He had passed a clearing shortly before finding the troll warband and was making a beeline towards it. The woods gave him some protection sure, but it also made sure he couldn’t truly test his weapon.

He turned, firing off a shot at one of the trolls in the trees. The blast splintered wood next to the troll but failed to hit. In annoyance he cocked his rifle and fired another shot straight ahead of himself at a portal he just formed. A cry escaped behind him, the mage tilting his head to see from the corner of his eye the other side of the portal, having formed right next to one of the troll’s legs. The blast had amputated the creature, causing it too to fall.

Searing, sharp pain slammed into Toren’s right shoulder as an arrow pierced his coat and buried itself into his flesh. He let out a cry, nearly stumbling forward from the force of the impact. A lucky shot, but one that would make handling his rifle painful. There was a break in the tree line up ahead, Toren leaping through a portal and appearing in the center of the clearing he had sought. The woods had given way to a small grass circle, a singular man-sized rock jutting out from the dirt. Toren ran and slid behind it, wincing as he brought a hand to the wound.

“Son of a bitch that hurts. Veridan, I bet you’re probably laughing. ‘oh look at me, I sent Toren out into a rainy forest to hunt Forest Trolls. What an idiot.’” Toren sighed as he waved his free hand, arcane dancing on the finger tips. He felt something heavy against his shoulder, the man hissing as he summoned a force of arcane to expel the arrow.

He had no time to dwell on the injury, hearing tree branches crack and the low primal voices of the trolls. He poked his head out from behind the rock, looking at the assembled trolls. There was a dozen trolls now, meaning he had at least picked off some of them. Their leader was still there, its ugly face contorted in anger. Gods he could see the shrunken elf ears strung up around the troll’s neck. Toren would make sure his wasn’t among them.

“Come out, elfy. Ju got no chance ‘ere. Ju-” That one talked far too much. Toren briefly put down the rifle, unholstering one of his pistols as he tuned out the troll’s voice. The troll was still talking, saying all manner of vicious and brutal ways he’d kill Toren. Toren had gotten a good layout of the clearing and waved his free hand to create another portal. A murky image could be seen of the back of the talking troll’s head through the portal. Casually, Toren readied his pistol, and fired into it.

“-and me gonna wear your skin like a clo-“whatever further primitive taunt the troll was going to say became silenced as its head exploded into gory chunks, bits of bone and brain matter splattering over its companions. The silence carried on as realization kicked in.

“Finally…” Toren muttered, dropping his pistol to pick back up the rifle. He watched as a rain drop started oozing down the rock, threatening to drip off a precipice. Taking a deep breath, he got up to aim at the bewildered trolls as the droplet fell. Their reaction was too slow as Toren went to work. Like a well-oiled piston he fired, before cocking again and firing. His hands were a blur with the repeated motion, and despite the pain in his shoulder kept firing until all he heard was clicking.

Click.

Click.

The rain drop hit the ground beside Toren’s boot.

Of the twelve trolls, four stood. The other seven lay sprawled in the dirt, arcane magic leaving smoldering entry wounds. It had taken fifteen shots to drain the power crystal he used, something he made sure to make a mental note of. He could feel the gun barrel crackling with raw arcane energy, threatening to explode in a radiant shower. Toren kept the energy in check, grateful for the gauntlet he wore to help re-direct its power.

The remaining trolls simply turned and fled from the carnage Toren left.  He didn’t give them time to, unholstering his second pistol and snapping off four quick shots with deadly precision. The trolls fell into the mud, rainwater mixing with dark blood. Toren eyed the trolls, before turning his attention to the crystal powering his pistol. Empty.

It was simple math; fifteen was greater than eight. Technology was all about innovating off of the last successful design to make something better, and he was certain this was the next step. Casually he holstered his pistol, bending down to grab the other one and holster that one. He winced with the motion, still nursing his wound. His shirt and coat were ruined from the hole and his blood. He’d make Veridan pay extra for damages.

Toren sniffed the air, noting for the first time today it didn’t smell of the woods nor of rainwater. It smelled sweet, almost like sugar, and he realized it came from his rifle. Some mages were capable of conjuring treats made of mana, which had always tasted and smelled of sugared treats. Ironically, so did the arcane smoke from his gun. Toren smirked at that, hoisting his rifle over his good shoulder.

Click.

[the-nagakenny-archives]

Pick a title, it may be a series.

The jungle was a strange and wonderful place, its where mother nature was allowed to spread herself wild and free without regard for man or beast. She provided endlessly if you knew where to look, and to many creatures she provided sanctuary. The trees, rocks, and rivers housed endless amounts of species and exotic creatures.. and currently, one of the most enticing was lounging about idly under a large cacao tree. Swinging his thick tail lazily above him to gently brush at the developing pods and branches. As he amused himself with the rough textures of the pods and bark, gentle singing emerged into the world with a soft smile. “Na na na na naaa~ Hmm Hmmmm~” a simple tune for a simple happiness, textures and sensations were so important to the Naga, especially when it came to other living creatures. With someone as curious and outgoing as he, Kenneth often spent his free hours enjoying the sensations of life and welcoming any new encounter with open arms. “Morning opens up~ Your petals and I see, your sweet and smiling face~ Under no guise, these sapphire skies, shimmer in awe of you~” What was he singing about..? Perhaps a past encounter, or simply allowing lyrics to come to his head. Musical talent such as he was rarely held back from inspiration.. after all, natural hunters have to get creative with their methods. He took a breath in to begin on the next verse, “With twilig-“ *snap* “Hm?” The snapping of a nearby branch broke Kenny from his idle state and caused him to perk up and turn around to see what was nearby. “Come on! He couldn’t have gone that far, we shot him in the shoulder for christ’s sake!” The voice of an older man could be heard a few meters away, Kenny flinched slightly at the mention of shooting.. these men had weapons, and even though he was all muscle guns were bad news. Considering how close they were, a bullet could easily rip through him… but more importantly, Kenny was wondering just who they were referring to when they said him. There was a second voice as well, seemingly gruffer and more aggravated than the first. “Yeah but not his lower half, who knows how fast he can go since snakes are pretty much all muscle!” Lower half was a snake huh..? Kenneth’s eyes narrowed as he suspected that these two men came here to do more harm than good.. well, he just had to do something about that now didn’t he? If he was a bit more bestial in his ways perhaps he would have drawn blood over this and finish them quickly.. but, that wasn’t our Kenny. He silently slipped into the underbrush and managed to sneak behind the two older poachers before managing to get himself to higher ground, after all he did work best in the trees. “He probably went to the river, the first thing he would do is clean out that wound.” “Yeah, lets hurry then.” The two picked up their pace, lifting their legs a little higher in their step to proceed quicker through the dense flora of the jungle floor. Meanwhile the muscular Naga above silently listened and deftly matched their pace, slithering and weaving between thick branches with ease to keep his path seamless. The last thing he wanted was to alert these hunters to his presence before he had a chance to take the gun away. Thankfully the forest by the river was far denser than this, so they would have to rest.. and once they did, he would make sure to take care of them appropriately. With a little luck, maybe he would even find that creature they spoke of earlier before it was too late. The tailing continued without interruption for a short while, before one of the hunters spoke again and caused the Naga to freeze in his track. “Look here, blood. Dark red, it must be his.” He and his partner crouched down and examined the blood closer, giving Kenny a chance to poke his head through ever so slightly through a cover of leaves to see what was going on. He scowled at them, his thick brows knitting into an expression of anger at the fact that they were hunting one of his own, he knew that smell anywhere and had been around long enough to know it fairly well. He had to hurry and find an opening to save whoever these men were after. “Its not that thick either, he cant be too far off now.” “Wonder if its the big one or the little one?” “Whichever it is doesn’t matter as long as its one of em, come on!” they charged forward once again. The plot thickens, and the kind hearted Kenneth was only growing more and more bitter towards these two as they revealed themselves to be a danger to more than just one they shot at. As tempting as it was becoming to throw these guys off of a cliff, Kenny was no killer.. he would wait, when the time was right he could take them out without bloodshed.

Sure enough, by the time they were coming close to the river the two men were out of breath, trekking through wetlands and dense vines took whatever energy from them they had left. Out of breath, one of the hunters groaned and gasped into the wet air, “Ah-Haahh-Ahh…!! Okay.. look man we have to rest, my knees are shaking..!” The second and younger one had no intention of stopping.. but to be alone in the jungle was certain death, and to take out their prey they both needed to be ready. Annoyed, he rolled his eyes, “Yeah yeah yeah, just go rest by that tree. Ill keep watch..” You didn’t have to tell him twice, with no resistance the other plopped down on a rock at the base of a large tree, the branches hung down thick like ropes and the leaves seemed more like hundreds of thousands delicate feathers that created the optical illusion of a tree having hundreds of small birds hanging off of the sides. The younger poacher was busy looking forward to see if he could spy the river, turned away from his resting partner.. “Weird tree..” The resting hunter said as he leaned back against the dark smooth bark..‘the bark.. it feels cool.. smooth too..’ He thought to himself, of course, any person behind the fourth wall knew that wasn’t bark. Before the hunter could make the realization he had been duped, suddenly the bark came alive in the form of a single thick tendril, able to cover his entire mouth and neck at once to silence any cry for help before swiftly dragging him up into the foliage without a sound. His hands quickly moving to grip the thick restraint, making him drop his shotgun to the ground which caused the other to turn around. “Yeah yeah all trees are weird.. you ju-“ .. he found the other gone.. “…Bryce?” “MMPH-MM—!!” The older hunter kicked at the air beneath him trying to wriggle free of the sudden grasp. He looked down to the ground, and noticed that what was around him wasn’t a branch, but coils..! He looked up to see a large muscular figure curled above him in the tree was reeling him in like a fish on a line. A dark chuckle emerged from the canopy of the tree as the shadow slowly descended into view.. it was time to put on a show for the.. guests~ “Well well well.. look what little fly stepped into my web tonight..” He laughed darkly, and with a sinister toothy grin, met the poor hunter half way. His copper hair hanging forward to just tickle the nose of the muffled poacher. Bryce, who was defenseless in his current state, stared back terrified that this encounter would be his doom as he watched the pupils of the beast. “You do know.. that there are laws we have here in the jungle..yes?” His voice was deep and rich, even in his motions to be terrifying Kenneth could not shake his alluring nature.. besides, scaring these poachers was a bit of a guilty pleasure. “To come here means to risk everything.. even your life.. and if you value your’s you’ll keep quiet.” His voice rumbled in the pits of his chest, after all now that one hunter was without weapons there was no need to be scared of him, Bryce was scared stiff. The Naga could feel the human’s body temperature drop in his coils, smirking, he pressed his forehead to the others who gasped softly under his restraints… ‘This is how I die..!’ He thought to himself.. “Now… look at me~” With a gentle motion and tighten of his body around the other Kenny turned the man to look at him as his venomous eyes softened and rippled into a soothing pattern of colors. The hunter kept his eyes firmly shut, as he believed he was about to be eaten.. “Bryce!!” The younger hunter called out, both hands on a large gun from the unease of his partner disappearing. This wasn’t good, he was getting closer to the tree and was leaving Kenny with less and less room to work. “Come on..” Pressed Kennith a bit further, his voice quieting to the faintest of whisper Thankfully, the outcry of the second hunter caused the captured one to open his eyes in sudden hope that he would be saved… within moments, the human could be felt relaxing into a limp little doll as he met with the Naga’s, his eyes gradually reflecting the colors and his lids slowly but surely becoming heavy. “There we go.. just go to ssssleep..” He hissed softly, speaking quietly and making sure the human would succumb to the spell before placing him gently on a large thick branch just above him.. One down, one to go. With luck, Kenny hoped he would simply be able to scare the other away. It was too risky to attempt hypnosis when you had an on edge hunter with a gun ready to shoot at the first sight of movement, and with him being so large it was even more dangerous to try and move as his human top was nowhere near as deft as his lower half… what to do? “….Shit..” the hunter cursed to himself, shifting constantly and pointing the gun around like it was some sort of B grade action movie, clearly this wasn’t his first mission at all. He grew closer and closer to the tree, this was bad.. if only there was a distraction that didn’t give Kenny away.. “Hn?” The human perked up, seeing something glisten a bit under the tree, he hurried and crouched beside it to examine his sleeping partners shotgun that had been left here… It was now or never, in these precious few seconds Kennith moved into action. He quickly snapped his tail down the trunk again, wrapping it quickly around the younger hunters shoulders and neck to restrict his arms from moving. “What the-?!!” He cried out in confusion, keeping a tight grip on the gun until another loop around his neck give a sudden and tight squeeze to him, giving the man to begin choking and to drop both guns to the ground to try and free himself from the grasp of the snake. Once Kenny heard the weapons drop, he quickly reeled him up the tree and relaxed his hold on the other just enough so he could breathe. 

With a heavy gasp and a few coughs, the younger hunter glared up to his captor. “You damn monster..! What did you do with Bryce?!” He demanded with the fury of a pissed off hornet, but to no effect of intimidating the large Naga keeping hold of him. “Wouldn’t you like to know..?” menacingly, he seemed to puff himself up as he grew closer to the other, his fangs once again showing in a malicious smile as his pupils narrowed to a sliver. “Better yet.. maybe you’d like to join him..?” Of course Kenny was all too pleased to let the two hunters snooze together in the tree, however since the young hunter had assumed the worst had befallen his partner, he paled before the monster and his face dropped in utter terror as he too thought.. “This is how I die..!” “…or… I could let you leave little one.. if you promise never to return here again..” He hissed, and tilted his head a bit, his mouth open just enough to exaggerate his terror and show a toothy salivating mouth, the slender tip of his tongue poking out to make him look far more menacing… in that moment, he was quite certain he heard the boy piss himself . “I-I WONT..!!” In the other’s eyes his partner was already dead, he was defenseless, and his life was not worth risking to find whatever they were chasing, those corporate bastards didn’t pay him enough for it anyway. “Good… and don’t even think about telling anyone else what you saw here, really.. who would believe you?~” he hissed, rubbing salt in the wound of terror was not a tactic he used often, but it was risky to let him leave here with the possibility of bringing backup. “I PROMISE..!!” The boy was on the verge of tears, and let out a cry as he was swiftly plopped down from the tree, landing on the muddy wetlands beneath. He recoiled for a few moments to gather his bearings before sprinting off back where he came from, completely forgetting about his guns amidst the panic. “Urgh.. I hate doing this.. so much spit..” Kenny pouted, wiping his mouth of the excess saliva  with his arm and blinking a bit as his pupils dilated back to their normal shape and size. But the hunters were taken care of, with luck perhaps this sleeping one would find his way back wherever the other had run off to. It was cleaned quickly, and he continued his journey to the river in hopes of catching whatever creature they were hunting. From the signs of blood on the way here, Kennith worried about the other much more powerful predators and hunters that existed in this jungle. 

Using the canopy and branches he slithered and quickly progressed forward until he could hear the sound of running water, his eyes lighting up a bit as this was a place he frequented on occasion to eat and bathe if his normal spot was too crowded. Before he left the safety of the trees he scanned the area for signs of more hunters or the injured Naga… no hunters, but the scent of blood and metal bullets could be smelled. With that safety he quickly scaled down the trees and along the riverbank, half-way debating if he should search the river while swimming to check underwater as well.. Just as he began to shift and wade his long form into the river, he spied something ahead. Hurrying forward, his hopes were met as he seemed to find what those hunters were searching for. Beside the river, crouching lowly to the ground and huffing in pain was indeed.. a Naga like himself. Kenny’s face immediately washed over in worry at the state of the other, he only saw the back side of the other as the front was slowly pressing itself deeper into the ground. He could tell this was a male by the build and silently looked over him to assess the damage. His back was covered in scars of all kinds. Some looked like weapons, others looked like burns, and some… well, some he didn’t even know what could have caused those unusually shaped incisions. His tail normally sporting the dark umber body and charcoal patterns was sliced and scratched, supposedly from the speed and force of him trying to get away from those humans as the cuts looked rough and there were more than a few leaves, thorns, and forest debris lodged in tail. From this angle Kennith thought he looked like a beaten animal as upon further inspection it seemed there were bruises and strange small red holes along his arms. He hadn’t seen anything like this from such a powerful creature.. despite that, his hair was well groomed and he wasn’t dirty, his physique was comparable to Kenny’s own in terms of muscle structure, even the patches of his skin and tail that were unscathed were remarkably smooth and tended to.. what could have happened? “Hey.. can you move?” He gently spoke, terrified of even going above a murmur as the Naga feared he would break the other.. thankfully, the shivering creature managed to tilt his head up slightly, revealing a small section of his face.. a small scar above a dark brow, sweat dripping down only to disappear into the fine hairs above beautiful pained sapphire eyes.. as they met Kenny’s own he felt his heart sink at the obvious pain of the other was in. He bent down, a large hand reaching out to touch him before pausing, he looked to the other with genuine concern.. “Can I touch you?” The large Naga asked.. the other giving back the faintest of nods, one could even confuse it for a harsh shiver. Carefully, the two warm hands of the other slipped onto the smaller sides of the other, shifting him gently but enough to slip the tip of his tail underneath his torso, eliciting a pained grunt from the other. “Sorry..!! Just, bear with it.. I promise Ill try to do this quick..” It was rare that he had to deal with someone this gravely injured, he had to be cautious. Counting down out loud, at one he used his tail and hands to gently roll the other male onto his back, using his tail to roll him slightly above ground so any wound would not gather any filth inside of it and keep the pain at a minimum. Kenny kept him slightly above ground in his makeshift sling as he managed to get a look at his chest and face. “Oh gods..” He flinched a bit at the sight, the wound where he was shot was deeper than he had expected and in a terrible place too. Blood was seeping out at a steady pace at a deep bullet wound that hit perfectly crooked between his collar bone and shoulder, from the smears surrounding the wound it looked like this man had tried to get the bullet out himself, it only made the wound worse and pushed the object in deeper. This wasn’t good, from the sheer placement of the wound Kennith knew that there would be both bone and muscle ripped apart the entry, healing would take months or even years if it was serious enough. He looked to the body of the man and discovered additional wounds form his desperate fleeing from the hunters, scratches and punctures from the local plants. His chest and rippled abdomen tightening and flexing in time with the convulsion of his pained breathing as he remained somewhat limp in the others cradle. His arms clutching the area around the wound again as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment in silence. “…Let me help you.” Kenny stated, knowing that without his help this Naga would most likely die from his wounds left untreated. “Hah..! N-no..” He choked out, gritting his teeth at another surge of pain before panting. “The.. the hunters.. you need to run..” …even in pain this creature was worried about the well being of another, if there wasn’t a life on the line Kenny would have taken that moment to warm himself with the others kindness. With a shake of his head he bent over the other and looked at the wound closer. “The hunters are gone, I made sure of that.. “ he stated as he managed to see just how deep the bullet was.. he could get it out, but not here. At his tree he had a few tools in his collection of human treasures that he thought he could use to help this creature, but he would have to quick. One of his warm hands slipped down, cupping the smooth chiseled cheek of the man in his embrace. “..look at me.. If you want to live you’ll have to trust me and look into my eyes..!” Kenny was serious in his tone, but still those velvety notes of his voice were detectable.. unsure, but unwilling to die, the man turned his head to the other and looked upon a smoothly flowing stream of colorful rings from the other. With little energy to resist,  the colors were quickly reflected in the other naga’s eyes as his hands once clutching against his chest slipped off and fell limply to the sides.

“..S-sybil..” he murmured out before gently letting an exhale past his lips and falling under entirely. His consciousness slipping into the depths of his mind as sleep swiftly took him under its sweet deep sanctuary.. “Sybil..?” Kenny repeated  to himself in confusion, unfamiliar with the name and curious.. perhaps it had something to do with his state. He didn’t have time to think, quickly he coiled the end of his form in an sort of harness around the other’s chest, making sure to overlap where the wound was and pressing tightly against it to slow the bleeding before wrapping him in a way that was easier to carry given his long and larger form. Without a word and on a mission, he disappeared back into the brush, hurrying back to his tree to help before it was too late.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Stepping Up: Part 1

Pairings: Chibs x Reader, Past Jax x Reader

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 5,508

Stepping Up Masterlist   Aesthetic by @ravenangel33

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

“You know this means nothin’ still, right?” You looked over at Jax Teller’s slurred words and scoffed.

“You called me ‘Tara’. Obviously this will never mean anything to you.”

“Whoops…” You rolled your eyes at his inability to care about anyone but himself and grabbed his shirt off the floor.

“God, you’re a piece of work.” You snapped as you threw his shirt at him. “We’ve been friends for years and you aren’t remotely sorry…”

“Why would I be? Because I called you by the name of the woman I actually love?”

“Dude! Get out!” You grabbed his arm and shoved him out the door of your room; throwing the white sneaker he hadn’t put on yet and his kutte after him. “Seriously, I am not some damn fucking crow eater, Jackson. I was your friend long before you even met Tara…”

“I need my keys…”

“No! Call a fucking taxi. Your bike is staying here. I won’t let you drive…”

“I need my keys!” You hauled back and punched him as hard as you could. He stumbled slightly before the alcohol in his system took over. With a loud bang, he hit the wall and passed out snoring in your hallway in a matter of seconds.

“That’s what I fuckin’ thought.” You stood back and shook your hand. “Fuck.” With an aggravated groan, you headed back to your room to grab your phone and Jax’s keys. You dialed without even thinking; calling the man you wished was in your bed every night instead of your casual flings with Jax, Juice or even sometimes Opie as you tossed the keys into one of your boots so he wouldn’t find them if he were to wake up.

“Aye…” Your head whipped back to look at your alarm clock and you groaned. 3:04 am.

“Shit, Chibs. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinkin’…”

“No lass, ’s’all right. Wha’s wrong?” He asked sleepily. You sighed as you walked out to go check on Jax.

“I knocked out Teller, again. He’s drunk and I didn’t want him driving…” Chibs chuckled and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound.

“A’right, love. I’m comin’.” You sighed and nodded.

“Thanks, honey. You’re too good to me.” You heard the jingle of his belt buckle over his laugh as you headed back into your bathroom to get cleaned up.

“No, lassie. I’m far from that. I’ll see ye soon.” You thanked him and hung up as you turned the shower on with a sigh.

——

“Thank’s again for coming over so late.”

“Honestly, love. It’s nothin’. Ye know I’d do anythin’ for ye.” He said as he helped you tuck Jax’s passed out body into your spare bed.

“I know you would. Still doesn’t give me the right to pull you out of bed at three in the morning.”

“Aye, but now I get ta sleep ‘ere so I can pick on ‘im in the morn’.” You smiled as you flipped off the light and headed toward your room.

“Well you gotta help me change the sheets then. May have had yet another slight lapse of vodka induced judgement.” He didn’t make a sound as he followed you. When you got in your room, you turned around to look at him with your eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Why do ye do this ta yerself? Yer worth so much more’n that.” You did a startled double take as you looked at Chibs, the man who had become your best friends in the years you’d been helping with the books for the club… the man who you were secretly head over heels, madly in love with.

“You of all people…” Your words were cut off by him cupping your face and kissing you. The kiss was firm yet gentle and showed you more love than your orphan heart had ever felt in your entire life.

“Open yer eyes, love. Yer worth more’n a booty call ta these dumb pricks. Yer worth more than the crow eater life, love. I love ye, (Y/N). Yer worth e’erythin’ ta me… but I can’t stay ‘round any longer…”

“No, don’t go!” You said as you grabbed his wrists desperately. “I’ll stop, I’ll do whatever you want me too. Please, I… I can’t lose you… I love you, too.” You captured his lips with yours as you wrapped your arms around his neck. With a deep moan, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. He started to walk you back to the bed and you forced yourself to pull away. “Not tonight. I don’t want to start whatever this could be like that.” You glanced over your shoulder at the unmade bed behind you to make a point. You looked back up at Chibs, who nodded.

“A’right, love. But I’ll be the only one in this bed from now on, yea?” You nodded as you cupped his cheeks in your hands. He gave you a chaste kiss and rested his forehead against yours with a small laugh. “Jus’ so ye know. This is not the way I wanted ta tell ye I loved ye.” You smiled and nodded.

“Trust me. I totally know.”

——

“Where are my… well, shit. Look at you.” You glanced back at Jax as you made breakfast and cocked your eyebrow.

“Nice shiner. Musta pissed someone off good.” Jax shrugged as he headed over to the fridge to get something to drink. “Use a glass.” You said as you scrambled eggs in the left over bacon grease.

“Who’s shirt is that?” You looked down and smirked at the button down Chibs had worn last night.

“Chibs. How do you think you made it out of the hallway and into bed.” Jax laughed as he drank milk right out of the carton.

“And you were giving me shit last night. What was that about not bein a crow eater?”

“Watch yer mouth Jackie boy.” Chibs said threateningly as he walked into the kitchen, still towel drying his hair from his shower. “There’s m’shirt.” He gave you a chaste kiss as Jax looked at the two of you curiously.

“Did I miss something?” You turned around to look at him to respond but Chibs spoke before you could.

“Aye. Ye did, boyo. Now, ye call my ol’ lady a crow eater once more and I’l knock yer teeth down yer throat. Yer show up here lookin ‘fore a piece’a ass once more and I’ll put a damn bullet in yer skull. Ye and those other two morons known long enough ‘ow I felt ‘bout her. Well, now she’s mine.”

“Took you long enough.” Jax said as he took another swing of milk.

“Use a glass, damn it! I’ve been tellin you that for 16 years!” He chuckled and raised his hands in surrender.

“Where are my keys?”

“You can have them after breakfast. Park it.” You said as you tapped Chibs with your elbow and pointed at the cabinet your plates were in. “And get some ice on that eye.”

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

“So, he finally made an honest woman out of my baby girl?” Gemma asked during one of her family dinners a few weeks after you and Chibs started dating. She offered you a beer and you shook your head.

“Took him a while of helping me scrape his drunk friends off my floor before we both got our heads out of our asses.” She laughed as she handed you a serving platter of mashed potatoes. She wagged you closer with her finger and leaned over so she was right next to your ear with a smile.

“Well between you and me, you deserve so much better than Jackson anyways.” You laughed as you looked over at her before heading to the table. You smiled at Chibs, who was talking to Tig about something when you were bombarded by the smell of overpowering, flowery perfume.

You dropped the potatoes on the table as your stomach turned and you shoved the girl out of your way to get to the bathroom. You could hear people calling your name; asking if you were OK as you clamped your hand over your mouth and ran. You pushed the door closed behind you and didn’t get a chance to even look at what it caught on as you fell to the floor and lost what little lunch you had been able to keep down.

“Hey, ’s’all right, love.” Chibs said as he kicked the floor mat out of the door’s path and closed the door behind him. He kneeled down beside you and pulled your hair back out of the way.

“Eww don’t look at me…” You groaned between heaves. He chuckled as you threw up again.

“Darlin’ I’ve seen ye way worse’n this b’fore.” You groaned and fell toward him on your hip as you grabbed some toilet paper to wipe your mouth. You heard a knock on the door as you flushed the toilet.

“She OK?” Gemma asked as she handed Chibs a small bottle of mouthwash and a wet washcloth.

“She’s been sick all day. One of the girls at the club was sick last week, she prob’ly just caught it. I’m gun’ tak ‘er ‘ome all the same.”

“You’re off work tomorrow. Get her to the doctor. Clay gives you shit for it, send him to me.” Chibs nodded as he gently rubbed your back.

“No, I’m fine…”

“No. You’re goin to the damn doctor, (Y/N) and if you give Chibs trouble about it, I’ll send Clay and Jax over to make you go.” You groaned as you let yourself fall over to lean on the counter to see if your stomach was done or not.

“Fine.” You grumbled as you took the washcloth from your boyfriend and wiped your face and neck.

“Let me know what they say.” Gemma said as she dipped back out of the room.

“Stupid doctor…” You growled as you spit the bile in your throat into the toilet.

“Can ye get up, love?” You nodded as you took his hand, letting him pull you up with him.

“I will give you a hundred bucks if you tell her I went…”

“Not a chance. She’ll ‘ave me balls on a silver platter in an hour.” You rolled your eyes as you took the mouth wash from him. You rinsed your mouth out quickly and sighed as you splashed some water on your face.

“Who was that girl? The one I pushed. I don’t think I know her.”

“‘er name is somethin’ like Diane or Debrah. She’s Opie’s new ol’ lady.” You shrugged as you dried your face off.

“Yea, well her perfume reeks. It’s like she…” You words caught in your throat as you opened the medicine cabinet to put the mouthwash in it and your eyes landed on a box of tampons. “Fuck. What’s today?” You looked back at his confused face as he looked at the medicine cabinet.

“Satur… mother’a Christ.” He said as he realized what you were noticing. “We use…”

“Jax didn’t.” He mumbled something in Gaelic under his breath before he put his hand over yours and closed the cabinet door.

“Let’s go.” You gave him a small nod as he put his hand on the small of your back, leading you out of Gemma’s house without a word to anyone.

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

You sat in absolute shock as the doctor with entirely too much energy read the results of your pregnancy test. You gripped Chibs’ hand tightly in yours as you waited for her to shut up about what great news this was.

“Options if I don’t want it?” You asked once she finally stopped talking. Her smile dropped a little bit.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Well… there is a clinic in Stockton that does abortions up to twelve weeks. You’re at six so you have time. Then there is adoption. I’ll have the nurse bring in some pamphlets for you for both options.” You nodded as she got up from her chair and left the room. You couldn’t say a word; your stomach twisting and turning into knots. You felt dirty; being in love with Chibs while pregnant with another man’s child.

“We’ll say s’mine.” He said softly after a minute of dead silence. “I can’t let ye abort the child…”

“How do you explain a blond child as yours though, Filip?” You asked as you looked over at him. “There’s no way I could do adoption. Look at how well that turned out for me when my birth mother put me up for adoption.”

“N’matter what, this changes nothin’ with us.” You turned to look away but he grabbed your chin and forced you too look at him. “Nothin’ changes. I love ye. I’ve known yer past ‘nd I love ye. I’d still love ye even if we’d not started datin’ that night ‘nd this happened. Nothin’ changes.” You burst into tears and he pulled you into a hug as the nurse knocked and stepped into the room. She set the pamphlets on the counter and told you were OK to check out and leave whenever you were ready. “C’mon, love. Let’s get ye home…”

“What are we gunna tell Gemma?” You looked up at him as he stood up and he shook his head.

“I’dun know.”

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

Neither Teller said a word as you sat in your living room next to Chibs across from them. You clung to Chibs’ hand like it was a life raft; waiting for them to process the information. It had been a whole week of long talks and even fights with your boyfriend before you finally came up with the two propositions you had given them: publicly announce that the child was Chibs’ and Jax was to sign his rights over to you so Chibs’ could adopt if he wanted or Jax stepped up and took responsibility with the understanding that Chibs was going to be the more present father figure as long as you were together.

After a good five minutes of silence, Gemma huffed and whacked her son on the back of his head.

“You fucking idiot. I told you to stay the hell away from her with your dick! You’re taking responsibility for your actions, Jackson.” She looked back over at you as she stretched across the coffee table and took your hand. “You tell the truth, baby girl. That baby doesn’t need to be brought into this world as a lie. My idiot son will step up and be the man he pretends to be if I have to personally kick his ass every day to make him.”

“You can’t…” Jax shouted. Gemma whipped around and glared at him.

“Jackson Nathanial. What did I tell you growing up, huh? You knock a girl up and you’re taking responsibility for it like a man. Your dick got you into this mess and you’re gunna pay for it for the next 18 years, do you understand me?!” She raised her eyebrows at him, waiting for an answer. Jax scowled as he grabbed his phone off the table and stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. Her face softened only slightly as she looked back over at you.

“Now you, little missy. I know you have heard the same speech from me as he has. You should have known better…”

“I’m sorry, Gem…” She held up her hand and shook her head.

“Nope. I don’t blame you, mostly because my son should know better. But this situation is not fair to any of the parties involved; Jax and Chibs especially.” Chibs went to interrupt but Gemma simply moved her palm toward him to keep him silent, determined to be heard. “Now, you got lucky with this one. Had this been any other member of the club coming to me beside you with the idea that they were gunna be the one to raise my grand baby over my son, I’d skin ‘em alive. But, I know how much he loves you and I know he is going to be there for you and this child no matter what happens. I also know that he will be the father figure this baby needs that my son isn’t capable of being yet.” She finally put her hand down and laid it on your and Chibs’ folded hands.

“I love both of you, so much. And I am so, so sorry that this is how this situation played out for the two of you.” You nodded as tears welled in your eyes. She gave you a smile and pat your hands as she stood up and slipped into mother mode. “Now, I’m going to go get you some vitamins and some of these ginger lollipops that are great for morning sickness. Do you have an OB/GYN? If you don’t I can call mine and have him get you in. I’ll also do a little paper work and put you on my health insurance…”

“Gem…”

“Nope. This is my first grand baby so I’m gunna help. It’s a little strange that the parents are my son and the girl I see as my daughter, but it is what it is.” She waved her hands in a stand up gesture so she could give you a hug. “Now, no more coffee or caffeine. I know you don’t smoke often so I don’t have to worry about that but you are not to smoke in this house anymore.” She said as she pointed at Chibs and gave him a hug.

“Yes mum.” He said as he looked over at you, a little stunned at the reaction you were getting from Gemma.

“Perfect. Now, go put your feet up, relax. I’m sure you have been stressing about this for days. I’ll bring something over for dinner later tonight when I drop the other stuff off.” You didn’t get a chance to protest as she walked out the door, talking to her self about how exciting a new baby would be. As the front door closed, you looked over at your boyfriend in absolute shock.

“Did that just happen?” You asked as you pointed at the couch. You both thought Jax would choose to sign his rights over. Gemma’s reaction was… well exactly what you thought it would be.

She and Clay had basically raised you from the time you were 11. You were a foster child with the couple next door to the Teller-Morrow’s but you spent more time with her hanging out with Jax than you did with your foster family. She moved you in and claimed you as her own shortly after her youngest, Thomas died just after you turned 13.

“Well… that just made this a wee bit more interestin’.” You nodded and let out a small laugh.

“Well I guess I can be grateful I don’t have to worry about dinner now.” You said as you turned and grabbed the remote to your TV; fully intending to just enjoy your free afternoon with your boyfriend. You both sat down on the couch Jax and Gemma were sitting on with a mutual sigh.

“Well that’s one less thin’ we’ve ta worry ‘bout, m’love.” You huffed a laugh and looked up at him as he pulled you into his side.

“Yea, now we just have to worry about a baby, instead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“‘ey, beautiful. ‘ow was the appoint…” Chibs’ words were cut off by the death glare you gave him.

“I’ve gained 19 pounds and I have a small cantaloupe kicking my bladder. Don’t start.” You were 24 weeks pregnant, hot, tired and miserable. He chuckled as he stepped into your office in the clubhouse and gave you a sweet kiss.

“Did they at least get the gender this time or is peanut still bein’ stubborn?” You sighed as you leaned back in your chair with a smile and rubbed your hand over your baby bump.

“Peanut is no longer stubborn, thankfully. I picked up the cake for the reveal an hour ago and our copies of the ultra sounds are in my purse.” You leaned forward and snatched the extra set that was in an envelope from under your keyboard. “For the boy Prince. He around?”

“Prob’ly somewhere. ‘e rode back wit’ us.” You rolled your eyes and tossed the envelope onto your desk. Jax had done every single thing possible to avoid having to step up for his kid; going as far as avoiding the inside of the club house if your car was in the lot.

“Well if you wanna go hunt down him and your brothers, I’ll call over to Gemma so we can do the reveal. And do me a favor…” You said as you reached out and grabbed his hand before he left. “Cut the cake with me if he chooses to be an ass. I already feel foolish enough being…”

“Stop. Ye ‘ave no reason ta feel foolish, love. Not a soul judges ye for this, ye understand me?” You sighed heavily and nodded. “I’ll talk ta the boy. See if I can knock some sense in ta the lad.”

“Thank you baby.” You cooed as you pulled him down to you for a kiss. He gave you a wink before heading out of your office, screaming Jax’s name at the top of his lungs. You laughed as you picked up your phone and called over to Gemma’s office by the shop.

“… Again, I don’t care. You work on Sundays. Period. Hello?” You laughed into the phone.

“Lowell trying to get weekends off, again?” You heard Gemma sigh over the loud squeak of her chair.

“It’s like clock work. Every full moon, he falls apart and I’m stuck with the pieces.”

“Shit, send him up to me. I’ll trade you Mr. Army stories any day.”

“No thanks. I’d kill him. What do you need baby?”

“Gender reveal cake is…”

“I’m coming!” She shouted as she slammed the phone down. You shook your head as you got up and stretched.

“You better be a girl.” You told your bump as you grabbed Jax’s copies of the ultra sound and slid them into your back pocket. You headed toward the kitchen to get the cake as the back door to the club opened and the guys of the MC poured in; some of them getting pushed out of the way by Gemma.

“Tiggy get the plates.” She called out as she stepped into the kitchen to grab a knife and some plastic forks. “So the tally as of this morning is 8 for boy and only 4 for girl. We are out numbered, baby girl.”

“Imagine how Chibs’ feels being the only guy who wants a girl.” You laughed as you pulled the medium sized bakery box out of the fridge.

“He’s not the only one. Jax is the other girl vote.” You nearly dropped the cake as you looked over at Gemma. She smiled and nodded slowly. “Put his vote in this morning.”

“Well I’ll be damned. He’s been avoiding me like the plague.”

“He’s just scared, baby.” You nodded as you followed her out to the bar.

“Place your bets, place your bets!” Juice called out teasingly as you slid the cake box onto the bar. Chibs came over with a small shake of his head; letting you know he couldn’t find Jax. You sighed and shook your head as the guys crowded around the bar.

“OK, ye heathens. Ye have ta see the top first.” Chibs shouted over everyone as he opened the box. You smiled, very proud of yourself for the ‘Harleys or Handbags’ design you and Gemma came up with for the top.

“That’s cute but can we cut the cake now?” Opie called out causing the guys to laugh. You felt a bump on the arm as Chibs pulled out the cake.

“Care if I help?” You looked at Jax with a smile and nodded.

“Wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t.” You saw Clay move to the bar from behind Jax and he gave you a small nod.

“Last count for the poll was you idiots voting wrong for blue and us four voting right for pink.” Gemma said as she handed you the knife and gestured to the four people standing behind the bar. She pat Jax on the shoulder as he put his hand over yours on the knife. With a glance up at him, you shrugged.

“1, 2, 3.” The two of you pushed the knife right through the word ‘handbags’ and you smiled when you saw flecks of pink cake when you lifted the blade. The guys cheered and whistled as you cut the first piece of pink cake and put it on a plate.

“You happy?” Jax asked as he handed the slice to you. With a smile and tears of joy, you nodded and moved out of the way as Gemma took over cutting the rest of the cake.

“Yea, I am now. Oh! I have ultra sound pictures for you. I made them give me copies.”

“Maybe I could go with you and Chibs next time?” He asked as he took the envelope. You glanced over at Chibs as he stepped to your side to congratulate the both of you. He gave Jax a quick hug and nodded.

“Absolutely, brother. It’s your little girl.” You nodded in agreement as tears welled in Jax’s eyes. He gave you a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing a beer and a slice of cake and going to join the rest of his brothers to celebrate.

“Told ye e’d come ‘round.” Chibs said as he put his arm around your waist. You let your head fall on his shoulder and sighed.

“Thank you, for everything. I don’t know what…” He grabbed your fork and a bite of cake and popped it in your mouth, effectively silencing you.

“Stop. Ye don’ need ta keep thankin’ me, love. Jus’ keep on lovin’ me.” You picked your head up and happily scowled.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” You teased; quickly grabbing a piece of cake with your fingers and silencing his retort the same way he did.

“Pregnant or not, you two start a cake fight in my clubhouse and you’re cleaning the whole building.” Clay teased as he grabbed one of the last pieces of cake from the bar. You laughed as Chibs grabbed his own piece and followed you to sit and celebrate with the rest of your family.

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

“This little girl is most definitely a Teller.” Gemma said as she watched you bouncing on an exercise ball in the hospital in an attempt to induce labor at 38.5 weeks. You had been confined to your hospital room for three weeks to monitor the Braxton Hicks contractions you were having because, with the genetic heart condition Jax had, your doctor wanted to be safe over sorry. You even had a c-section scheduled the next day, just in case. Good ol’ “Teller family flaw”.

“Yea, well I’m so tired I’m about to cut her out myself for a night of sleep.”

“Lotta good that’ll do ye, m’love. Then she’ll be out’n cryin’ er’y few hours.” Chibs chimed in. You glared at him, miserable beyond belief.

“You’re not helping.” You growled as you tried rolling your hips in a circle.

“Do the hand thing again…” Juice tried.

“The hand thing didn’t work! See!” The moment you pressed down on the webbing between your thumb and your pointer finger on your left hand, your water broke. The ball you were sitting on slid in the mess and Jax, who had thankfully been holding your arm for balance anyways, had just enough time to catch you before you hit the ground. You looked over at Juice’s stunned face and growled. “OUT!” He took one look at you and ran out the door as fast as he possibly could; stifling a laugh.

“I got the nurse.” Chibs said as Jax and Gemma helped you over to the bed.

“Keep Juice away from me or I will kill him after that.” You grumbled as Chibs walked back in with the nurse and surprisingly, your doctor, Dr. Roberts.

“Well isn’t this convenient. I was actually just coming in to see how you were doing.” You immediately wanted to strangle her for her overly cheery attitude.

“Well… I’m pregnant and have spent three weeks in a hospital bed with a watermelon on my bladder that thinks my rip cage is a xylophone. So I’m great.” She laughed and nodded as she grabbed a pair of gloves.

“So I have you scheduled for a c-section tomorrow.” She confirmed, pausing her thought as she checked to see how far you were dilated. “Now, you’re only about two centimeters dilated. Meaning this could take a while because I don’t wanna risk pitocin. So, since I’m here already, we could go ahead…”

“Out. Get her out. Don’t care anymore. Out.” You said as you threw your hands up in the air, officially 150% done with being pregnant. Everyone in the room chuckled as she nodded her head, got up and headed toward the door.

“Alright, you heard the woman. Let’s have a baby.” You sighed in relief as she headed out the door and glanced over at Jax just in time to watch the color drain from his face. He took a half step to the side and you knew he was going down.

“Chibs, Jax.”

“Oh ho! No ye don’t lad.” Chibs said as he caught Jax and stood him up right with a laugh.

“This is like… really happening.” He said as Gemma took over with a smile.

“Come on, baby. Let’s go get you some water.” You couldn’t help but smile as Gem lead her son out the door.

“Are you gunna faint on me, too?” You asked as Chibs came over and sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at you sarcastically and nodded.

“Aye. Gun’ piss m’self right ‘ere’n er’ythin’.” You rolled your eyes as he kissed your forehead. “Ye ready ta be a mum?”

“Trick question. Am I ready to have peanut out? Yes. Am I ready to meet little Miss Kelsi Renee? Yes. Am I ready for everything else that comes with being a mom? Absolutely not.”

“Ye’ll be fine, love. I’ll be ‘elpin’ ye er’y day.” You nodded as Dr. Roberts and two nurses walked back in.

“Daddy Reaper got a little white there.” She joked.

“Almost hit the ground. He won’t live to hear the end of that one from me.” You teased as the nurses got you ready for surgery.

“So do we have Daddy McScotty joining us or…” She asked a little hesitantly. That was what you loved about your doctor. She gave you no problems whatsoever about your “love triangle” as she once called it; and you loved that she gave both Chibs and Jax their own nicknames.

“I’ll go ask ‘im. It should be ‘im in there. I saw my Kerrianne be born and I’ll see my next one, too.” You smiled at him as he gave you a chaste kiss. “I love ye, baby. Good luck.”

“I love you, too.” He gave you one more peck before telling the doctor to take good care of you. You smiled and shook your head as he left the room to find Jax.

“You got one good guy there.” Dr. Roberts said as she gestured to the door with her chin. You nodded in agreement.

“Most people don’t get a chance to see the softer side of the men I call family, but they all are just angels in biker kuttes and tattoos. But Filip is most definitely a saint.” As the nurses popped the wheels of your hospital bed, Jax walked back into the room, looking a little more green than white. You couldn’t help but laugh.

“Shut up.” He grumbled as he took the stack of scrubs he was going to have to wear from a nurse.

“Damn… I hope one of the boys is smart enough to get a picture of you in those bad boys. You better get one with your kutte on over them, too for me.” The nurses and Dr. Roberts laughed as they started rolling you out of your room to the OR.

“You know what… I hate you right now.” He grouched. You smiled up at him as you reached out for his hand.

“You ready?” He squeezed your hand and shook his head with a laugh.

“Hell no.” You laughed as the nurse got his attention to show him where to change while you got your anesthesia. With a heavy sigh, he leaned down and kissed your cheek. “See ya in there.”

“I’ll be the one on the table.”

“Jesus Christ…” He grumbled with a shake of his head as he walked away.

“Well I thought it was funny.” You said to your doctor as she guided your bed into the OR with a laugh.

Part 2

[dixongrimestrash]

Simple Run? Wrong

Imagine a simple supply run takes a turn for the worst when you get injured. ~~~~~~~~

You laid your head on the car window looking out to the trees. The world used to be so beautiful, but now it was an ugly place. Full of hatred and anger.

That was that you thought, until you found love in the most hopeless place. You always thought you would be alone until the day you died.

When you were walking along a road one day a man named Rick Grimes came to your rescue. He took you in showing you around to all this people.

Then you met Daryl Dixon. Yes, the man who was very mysterious in his own ways. You two hit it off from the start and the rest is history.

You two loved each other, that was no secret. When your group found Alexandria it seemed too good to be true. And it was for a while but months leaving there now, you wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.

Today you, Glenn, and Michonne went out to go get some extra supplies. Anything would help, you were running low back at home and needed to find something, anything.

“Here we are.” Glenn announced turning the car off. We arrived at an old warehouse that hopefully had food.

We got out and quietly killed the walkers going into the door of the warehouse.

“Alright, lets split up. Meet back here in five minutes. This place gives me the creeps.” Glenn said going right, you went left and Michonne went straight.

You grabbed as much as you could and shoved it into your bag. You cleared the battery shelf and started to walk toward the hardware isle.

You grabbed some building tools knowing the people back home will need to start building the wall up soon.

You heard a gun click and you turned around quickly. A man stood in front of you with a hand gun pointed at your forehead.

You dropped your bag and raised your hands in surrender. “You don’t have to do this.”

As you said that another man, much younger stood by the man with the gun. This guy was older and you could tell had been through hell. He reeked of dead animal and was very sweaty. The younger man only had a knife in his hand.

“You alone?”

“Yes.” You lied. You looked around making sure your friends weren’t in sight. You put your hands down and urged to take the gun from your belt but instead waited.

“Will, check her for weapons.” The older man ordered still aiming the gun at me.

The man named Will put his knife away and walked over to you. He patted you down taking your gun away and throwing it down the isle.

“What’s a girl like you doing alone?” Will asked.

“Just trying to survive, just like you. I don’t want any trouble so pl-”

“Shut up!” The older man yelled making you jump. “Look at her, nicely dressed, combed hair. Saw a car out front. She’s got a camp.”

Dammit. You tried to think of something but saw Michonne creeping up quietly behind the two men.

You backed up into the shelf and felt a screwdriver poking out from the shelf. You smiled, “you should kill that dead one behind you.”

He looked confused and the two men turned around. Michonne stabbed Will through the chest with her sword and you grabbed the screwdriver behind you stabbing it into the older mans neck.

His gun got lowered and you heard a shot go off. There was ringing in your ears and a horrible burning pain in your side. You clenched your side and saw blood seep through your fingers.

You gasped and fell to your knees. Michonne ran to you putting pressure on your wound.

“Glenn! Get over here Y/N’s been shot!”

The pain you were feeling was horrific. You tried to speak but no words came out. “Don’t worry Y/N, your okay your gonna be okay.” Michonne reassured as Glenn came running around the corner.

“Oh god, okay we have to get her back.” Glenn said grabbing your bag and getting on your side to help you stand.

“H-help.” You gasped and felt tears in your eyes.

“We will just, let’s get you in the car.”

You were started to loose consciousness when they laid you in the back seat of the car. Glenn was in the back with you and Michonne was driving.

“Luckily we found a med kit, so we are just gonna fix you right up.” Glenn said putting gauze on your wound trying to stop the bleeding.

You cried out in pain when he put pressure on your side and he stopped. “Michonne step on it!”

“We are almost there, just keep her awake.”

He took your hand and still pressed onto your side. “Hey look at me. You’re gonna be fine.”

“D-Daryl, w-here is he?” You asked trying to look around.

Glenn shushed you quietly stopping you from moving so much. “He is at home. We are about there Y/N. Keep talking to me.”

“G-Glenn, I’m tired.” You said trying to catch your breath. You were crying so hard you lost control over your breathing. You closed your eyes as your vision started to slip and Glenn shook you lightly keeping you awake.

“We are here, I’ll get Denise.” Michonne said getting out of the car. You hadn’t noticed Michonne had parked the car right in front of Denise and Tara’s house.

Glenn got up and opened the door. “Hey can I get some help over here?!”

You heard footsteps and closed your eyes slipping again. “No Y/N don’t do that shit, come on let’s get her out.” You heard Abraham.

Many people helped you out of the car and onto the stretcher for Denise.

“Y/N? Is that Y/N?” You heard Daryl say as you were rolled into Denise’s house.

Everything started to go blurry and people were yelling and running around all around you.

“Y/N, you’re gonna be okay.” Daryl soothed you but caressing your cheek.

Denise walked over to you and put an IV in your arm. “We have to stop the bleeding. Get some towels and bandages over there.” You heard Denise order. The pain was still there and you screamed when Denise lifted your shirt up.

Glenn, Michonne, Tara, Rick, Rosita, everyone was around you trying to make sure you were okay.

She grabbed some scissors and cut your shirt, she pressed on your wound hard and you screamed and started to kick your legs.

“Y/N stop, you are loosing too much blood.” Denise said. Rick and Glenn held your legs down and Daryl grabbed your hand.

“Daryl, it hurts.” You cried. Daryl squeezed your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“I know, jus stay with me.”

“She is loosing too much blood. I have to get the bullet out or she is going to die.”

“So take the damn bullet out!” Daryl yelled.

“She is in serious pain. I don’t know where the bullet is and if I dig around without anesthesia, she might not be able to handle it.” Denise said looking around to everyone.

“Just do it. You have to save her, please.” Daryl begged and everyone else nodded.

“Okay, hold her down.” Denise said. Rick and Glenn still had your legs, and Daryl stood up holding down your arms.

“No, no please.” You cried not ready at all for the pain you were about to feel.

“Ssh Y/N, I’m here.” Daryl said trying to relax you. As soon as you felt the small tool enter your wound you cried out in pain.

Daryl looked away, not wanting to see you in such pain. “Daryl, Daryl tell her to stop!” You screamed making your voice crack.

Your vision started to blur again and you laid your head to the side, passing out from the pain.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Your eyes shot open and looked to the side seeing a heart monitor beeping. You tried sitting up but the pain in your side made you stop.

“You’re awake.”

You saw Daryl leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed. You smiled at him and he walked over to you.

“What happened? I don’t remember anything.” You asked as he took his hand in yours.

“Ya got shot. We almost lost ya. I almost lost ya.” Daryl said sadly. You grabbed his face and pulled him toward you.

You gave him and soft kiss and he pulled away touching his forehead to yours. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

You smiled and nodded, “so much for a simple run huh?”

“Never goin out again, unless I’m with ya.” Daryl said seriously.

You kissed him once again, “that’s fine with me. I love you Daryl.”

“Love ya too.”

[oroku-sanquin]

Exit Boat Left

Oroku fell onto the boat, bloody and gasping for air, the bullet having just barely missed his heart. Scrambling across the boards of the ship, blood being washed away as fast as it poured from his chest by the rain. The footsteps of high heels coming closer to him, to him seeming more audible than the raging storm that was beating down on him attempting to wash him away.

Managing to get to the other side of the deck he turned to sit up and leaned his back against the frame. Holding the gaping wound in his left pectoral he winced trying to get the blood to stop flowing. When all of a sudden a deckhand rushed over to him, 

“Sir? Are you ok Sir?” the boy asked seeing all the blood “Ill elp, you just tell me what ta do sir.” the boy said running over with a first aid kit.

“Ru…..R…..” Oroku tried to get the word out to warn him, the noise of the boots echoing even louder as they got closer, almost drowning out the storm.

“I...I didn’t get that sir, jus don't talk. I'll patch you up then go get some elp.” he continued in his frantic work fighting the rain as he poured alcohol onto a gauze patch.

“R….Ru….RUN!” Oroku finally managed to say.

“Run? Sir you need elp, I aint goin any…” he was cut off as the footsteps stopped. They were replaced with a loud boom, the boy's head exploded outward spraying Oroku with Flesh, blood, skull and brain.

“Oh, that is a shame...” a soft voice said from behind the boy as his corpse fell over onto Oroku’s Lap.”...the nice shirt I got you is all dirty now, and you got a big hole in it.” the voice not even acknowledging the person who was just killed.

Oroku still stunned, bits of the deckhand still running down his face, the rain seemingly not making a sound as a beautiful Au’ra stood in front of him, a smoking hand cannon being held down beside her. She was carrying a black umbrella in her other hand, her large breast pushed up in a leather spiked corset and gown, gloves that went all the way up her slender arms, her long hair draped under a small cap and veil. 

And he was terrified of her.

She dropped the gun to the deck with a thud and slowly walked over to him stepping over the corpse.

“You’re hurt darling.” she said as she pressed her high heel into his bullet wound causing him to let out a deathly growl and yell, he bared his fangs in anger, which caused her to press it in deeper forcing him to recoil back from the pain.

“Bi...Bitch.” he managed to say as he fell to his side after she removed her foot.

She huffed and pouted her cheeks “Well that’s rude.” with that she kicked him directly in the snout with her foot making him real back again. 

“Jus...Kill me”

She leaned down with a smile “Oh sweetie, no. I am not going to kill you.” she began stroking his hair “You cost me, so much Gil today. No you aren't going to die not by me, at least, I’m going to work you till you kill yourself.” she said with the sweetest smile.

His mind began racing, he knew she was going to throw him into her voidsent pit fights, she would make him fight, and make sure he stayed alive after every win or loss. He would be tortured and slowly his mind would break till he did indeed bash his brain out against the stone of a Ishgard prison wall. He had seen it so many times before. 

She stood up and with a handkerchief wiped the blood from her hand. The smile having fallen from her face upon seeing the blood on the white cloth. “You betrayed me Oroku.” she stepped away from the corpse when two large Hyurs came over and threw the deckhands body into the water. 

“You fucked the Organization, you fucked our partners, you fucked our family, and worst of all...you fucked me.” she said not looking at him as the Hyurs sat him up and began stopping the bleeding.

“You...were kidnapping kids...you were killin innocents... you were breaking all o yer father’s codes, Sacoria!” he said through clenched fangs.

“MY FATHER IS dead.” she said with a cold tone “And so too would this organization be if we had continued with the old ways.”

“We could have made it…

“Yes, we could have.” she said, cutting him off “Because I loved you, and I thought you loved me. WE could have made it work”  she said, acting hurt.

“I did love you, but I could not watch as you went down that path.” 

“So you give away the location of all those facilities to The Flames and the Maelstrom? You get so many of your family killed? Why because you grew a fucking conscience?” 

The rain continued to pour

“Because we aren't those kinds of people. At least we weren't supposed to become them.” the pain having somewhat subsided from the care the Hyrus had given him, even if it was just to make sure he died more horribly later.

“You...You are not that kind of person?” she said “You, who killed your own last boss and father figure, because he didn’t have lofty enough aspirations? You? Who burned a building down after having activated a Alligan shell around it, and stood there and smoked a cigar while those men died?” she scoffed “The reason you were my thorn was because you would do anything, and you were good at it.” 

“They were all enemies of the family, none were kids, or innocents.”

“No one in this world is innocent Oroku!” she yelled walking back over and grabbing his bloody snout. “No one, and if you are too chicken shit to take advantage of those who aren't willing to accept that, then you’re better off as fodder for those who do.”

As she was close to his face, he spit some blood at her. “Fuck you, “I’m not a monster”

Her face went soft, one of the Hyurs rushed up and offered her another Handkerchief, as she took it and wiped away the blood she was calm. “You know, maybe instead of the Void pit, i'll just warp your mind with Allegan tech, turn you into a monster for me, and sick you after all those children and innocents you want to protect so much now..”she turned and full kicked him across the face with her high heel sending him falling  to the side and spitting out blood and two broken fangs. 

“I'm going to make sure you live long enough to truly hate existence.” she said, wiping some rain from her gown. 

The two Hyurs lifted him to his feet, he had gained a bit of function back now that the pain had slightly subsided.  

“I trusted you, Oroku, and this is how...” 

With her back turned, he quickly grabbed the Hyur to his left and sank his teeth into the man's neck, the man screamed as his throat was torn out, before the other could react Oroku threw the screaming man into him and rushed Sacoria, who was surprisingly calm for having a large Hrothgar in a blood rage rushing her. 

An instant later Oroku felt nothing but a red hot burning pain, he looked down to see a long sword sticking out of his gut. Looking back he saw a Miqo’te, young, Radiant green eyes and jet black hair. Oroku tried to turn on him but the Miqo'te kicked his leg in, breaking it and forcing him to kneel. 

His vision blurring he could see Sacoria’s look of pure pity. 

“You were once the strength of this organization, and now look at you. Broken and a traitor.” she said while lighting one of her cigarettes, 

Behind her, the Red eyes of Vella pierced the darkness of the rain but only her pale white scales and crimson eyes were visible in the dark, someone Oroku had taken he in, but just watched as she was corrupted into one of Sacoria’s blades,much like the Miqo’te stabbing him threw the back. 

“I won’t let you do this to me. I am still the strength of this family.” he said as he grabbed the blade sticking out of his stomach, “And this little fucker has a few more years before he can kill me.” with a show of pure strength he shoved the blade out of his side, throwing the Miqo’te off balance, for him to swing back and punch the young assassin square in his face. In a painful sprint he ran for the edge of the boat slamming into the side of it and rolling over, falling into the piercing cold waters of winter. The current was too strong for him in his weakened and broken state, it threw him around like a doll, before yanking him out to sea, the last thing he saw was the cherry on Sacoria’s cigarette and the piercing eyes of Vella, before he was taken into the abyss.

[meet-the-far]

Gun for Hire (Prelude)

((While I still don’t have that much time for drawing, I do manage to punch in a little bit of writing on my phone both throughout the day and in the middle of the night. I don’t do it every often and I am unbelievably slow with ideas, but I hope you would enjoy reading this short piece as much as I did creating it!))

   Kranklin frowned at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes drawn to the thick metal band dangling from the middle of his nose. It was a large, boring thing made out of silver alloy, although its original sheen had long since been tarnished over the years of service. He didn’t need to wear it anymore - he knew that ever since Mount Kajaro erupted and consumed all of Kezan almost five years ago - but for some reason he was never able to kick the habit. After all, it was the only thing he had left from home. Or at least, the closest thing he could consider to one.

   "Ye’ll always be mine, Kranky boy. Yer own ma sold ya to me fair ‘n’ square, so think ‘bout that the next time ya try an’ run away from ‘ere.“    Kranklin snorted. Right. His uncle, the “Big Boss” Dax with his squinty little eyes, balding head and hawk-like nose, was always finding ways to belittle him either through harsh words or questionable actions. And Light damn him, it would work every time.    "Y'ever heard o’ cattle, Kranky boy? Big dumb animals with snouts the size o’ their head an’ tits between their legs? Farmers like to put rings on their noses so when they do dumb shit, they can whip ‘em back in line jus’ like this.“    He winced as he recalled the explosion of pain that erupted through his nose shortly after his uncle had spoken those words, and the burning throb he spent the next three nights nursing with tears in his eyes. It didn’t matter that he was only four years old with a brain the size of a pea at the time. What did matter was that he had accidentally brought home a tiny glass figurine from the house of a wealthy business associate.    But more importantly was the fact he had done so without his consent.    "People ’re a finicky lot to deal with, Kranky boy. Even lil’ incidents like these can crush that tiny smidge o’ respect they still have fer ya. So before ya go off ‘n’ do some dumb ass stunt like this again, y'better run it by me first.”    Kranklin shook his head and splashed some water on his face, washing away the sticky  sweat he had perspired over the previous night. It was cool and fresh against his hot skin, and he repeated the motion several times until the water was running down his neck and dampening his white shirt. Then he swallowed hard and leaned against the edge of the porcelain bowl, gasping for air.    He didn’t want to think about the man who raised him into what he was today, or the life he had stolen that one day could have been. He had no love for the guy, no fond memories he could hold onto to convince himself that he was a good man, because the truth was he wasn’t. He was a vile, seedy little man that sought opportunities in everything, even small children like himself, molding them into mindless but efficient weapons he could deploy wherever he pleased. And Kranklin - poor, naive little Kranklin - happened to be his favorite.    "Y'oughta be grateful yer my sister’s boy, eh Kranky? Normally when a punk raises a gun on me, they wind up bein’ a permanent resident at the bottom o’ the ocean.“    Kranklin closed his eyes and set his jaw, taking deep breaths through his nose. He should’ve pulled the trigger while he still had the chance. It was an easy, clean shot right through the man’s shriveled heart. He hadn’t even noticed the gun until the barrel was already digging into his chest. But something in the man’s face caused Kranklin to pause.    There was no fear in his eyes.    Hurt, betrayal, and utter disbelief, but the man showed no sign of fear for his life. Rather, he seemed to embrace the idea, and for the longest time their eyes had met: a brilliant carmine against an acidic gold. And although no words were shared between them in that bitter moment, the silence said it for him:    "Y'can’t do it without bein’ told to first.”    The old man was right. And Kranklin hated him for it.    Pulling his hair back into a loose ponytail, Kranklin straightened himself and scowled when he saw the stupid ring in the mirror again. A brief thought of tearing the damned thing through his septum flashed across his mind, but in the end he chose to ignore it, opting to snag a clean towel off the wall so he could pat his face dry. Then he peeled off the front of his shirt, frowning at its sodden state, and shrugged it over his shoulders before discarding it aside.    He should have known his uncle wouldn’t just leave it at that. A handful of bruises and some busted up ribs wasn’t nearly recompense enough for the stunt he did. Broken bones eventually healed, and the scars on his body would one day fade…    But a stake through his heart would never go away.    "I see ya found yerself a pretty gal, eh Kranky boy? I’d be careful 'round that. Ain’t no tellin’ what might happen if she found the truth 'bout ya.“    Bullshit. The old man had it planned all along.    If only he had pulled the trigger, if only he had covered his tracks better, if only he had never gotten her involved with the shit he was in…

   Moxxie might still be alive and with him.    His hand upon the doorframe, Kranklin shoved into the next room, the wooden floorboards groaning in protest beneath his leather boots. He paused when he reached the end of his bed, eyeing the familiar sight laid out before him. An open suitcase; a folded tux with a tear in the shoulder he never bothered to repair; an armamentarium of scopes, iron bullets, mithril slugs and small knives; a collection of battle-hardened firearms lined up next to a pile of dark armor. He slipped into another undershirt and reached for the nearest gun.    "You don’t have to do this, Kranky. You’re not just another one of his tools. You’re not a killer.”    He picked up a loaded cartridge and slammed it in place.    You’re wrong, baby. That’s exactly what I am.