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nico-twix · 5 years

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It’s a small, small simulation (in a simulation (in a simulation)) - Chapter 1 RICK SANCHEZ/ORIGINAL CHARACTER

Howdy y’all! What better way to start the new year by writing the first chapter of a fanfic I will most likely never complete even though I just made it my New Year’s Resolution (but let’s face it: no one does those so why would this be an exception). This features my new OC: Elpin Allen. I hope you like it.

Warning: Contains swearing

Life never gives you a lemon at a time so that you can use them properly, no-- life gives you so many lemons all at once that you have no choice but to make lemonade. And shit lemonade at that. Elpin just got lemons. An obscene amount of metaphorical lemons. I am being kind when I say obscene. Let's say that each atom in the universe represented a lemon in Elpin's life. That would be too many lemons, but Elpin felt like she had received a universal amount of lemons in this week alone. Short version: her life was shit. If you want the long version, feel free to re-read the above paragraphs. At least the moving yesterday was easy. Well, there isn't a lot to move when you are a PhD student from the land of tea, still-existing monarchies, and bad teeth. Essentially, Elpin brought nothing but her clothes, books, and toiletries to her late mother's --well now hers if the will was to hold true-- house. It was two stories, much like the other homes in the suburbia surrounding Seattle and Elpin had no idea why her mother would live there. Then again, Elpin knew little of her late mother, which is often the case for those raised by their aunt's in Britain. But alas, a brain haemorrhage took her out, and the house fell into the young woman's hands. Elpin slipped out of the house at a reasonable 6:30 a.m. to stop by some breakfast place before biking (she had yet to get her driving in America license-- why do they drive on the wrong side anyway?) into the city. It had ended up being Dunkin Donuts, which she heard of, but never tried. Yes, there were a few stores, but why bother with doughy diabetes when there are jammie dodgers. But as they say: When in America, do as the Americans do. The store was a hideous orange and fuchsia. Whichever CEO decided fuchsia was a good colour should be fired. Not quite pink, not exactly purple. Just a too vibrant hybrid of the colours. Elpin is not on team fuchsia. Fuchsia can suck a lemon. Inside the store, there were roughly 4 people: a mailman, a lady in red, a businessman, and the clerk. She stood behind the businessman who seemed to be waiting in line. So, she waited behind him. She waited behind him. She waited. She--"Look are you going to order?" He turned around. Snapping his fingers, he said "Yes!" "Ah-- sorry." He looked like he had to put thought into blinking. Vaguely reminding her of Mark Zuckerburg. Elpin waited some more. "Are you going to order soon because I have been here for a while." Again a snap and a confident "Yes!" She waited another minute "Can cut in front of you?" Snap. "Yes!" Odd. "Hi. May I have a medium iced coffee with half cream and half almond milk, caramel swirl flavouring - is it possible to do two flavours? no? ok- so just the caramel swirl, no added sugar but I want the lid that doesn't require a straw. Oh, and what doughnut do you think is the best? I personally always go for a classic glazed but I have never been here so... oh hell, a chocolate sprinkle doughnut as well." The cashier didn't move. In fact, he didn't even blink. He was more frozen than a computer that uses Windows 98. Behind Elpin was a cacophony of "My man!"s. Turning behind her, Elpin saw mailmen in every space of the store. Either this Dunkin' Donuts forgot to pay their bills or there is an underground cult of mailmen, and seeing as to how the power is still on, Elpin guessed the latter. "My man!" "My man!" "My man!" Oh shit. The men started to blink out of existence, only to reappear in the middle of tables. The walls of the establishment slowly turned blue and Elpin ran out. Outside was even worse. Everything was stuck and/or blue, and her bike mysteriously disappeared, so she had no choice but to run home. "Those goddam mailmen chanted the fucking apocalypse into existence!" Elpin ran until she realized that the road was stopping in a few meters. What. The. Fuck. Reaching the edge, she only saw grey metal a meter underneath her and hopped down, only moments after the spectacle winked out of existence. "What the hell?" the voice sounded like an average man. Elpin turned around. She was not wrong. "No!" He grasped after a trophy. It looked like a sad excuse for an Oscar knockoff. Why the fuck was the statue holding an apple? A section of the wall opened. Two people rushed in. "Jerry?" "Dad?"

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, let me know! If you did not enjoy it, also let me know! (I am so desperate for any feedback I will take anything) Please let me know if you found it funny! I am a comedian on training wheels so please let me know!

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #Jesus Christ was this supposed to be funny?#rick sanchez x oc #rick sanchez fanfiction #my writing (and it's bad)

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galadrieljones · 5 years

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 44

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 44: Lonesome Doves

“It's a fine world, though rich in hardships at times.”

-Larry McMurtry, Lonesome Dove

It was the next morning. Sadie and Charles were parked outside of Shady Bell, smoking cigarettes, caked in mud, trying to figure out what to do. Sadie had a lot of blood staining up the front of her blouse from when she’d had to shank a man who tried to fuck with Trelawny back on the river boat. Of course Josiah had escaped, but lord knows where to.

“We gotta go in,” she said. “We can’t sit out here forever.”

“What do we tell Abigail?” said Charles. His hair was knotted off his face, the sweat and water all dried. His hands were shaking as he smoked. It had been a long ass night.

“The truth,” she said. “Weren’t our fault, Charles. John was playing the hero. We’ll get him back.”

Charles sighed. “What about Bronte.”

They both glanced back to Sadie’s horse, where Angelo Bronte was bound, gagged, and unconscious. He was missing a shoe. His hair was all wet and he had a big old shiner on his cheek from where Charles had hit him with the butt of his weapon. “We let Dutch deal with Bronte,” said Sadie.

“Is that a good idea?”

“Dutch has been way less…squirrelly lately. Don't you think?"

"Maybe."

"He seems subdued," said Sadie. "Like maybe something’s wrong. Like maybe he’s depressed.”

“I was talking to John the other day,” said Charles, smoking. “He said he thinks Dutch is jealous of Arthur.”

“Over what?” said Sadie, half-laughing. “Over Mary Beth?”

Charles shrugged.

“That’s rich,” she said, tossing the cigarette, lighting another. “That why he cut Molly loose?”

“I don’t think so,” said Charles. “Or, I don’t think it’s that simple. I think it’s something to do with Annabelle.”

“Who’s Annabelle?” said Sadie.

They heard a rustling then, somebody coming through the early morning trees. They both looked up. It was just Karen, but she looked surprised. “What the goddam hell?” she said, holding her shotgun, looking left and right. “When did y’all get back?”

“Just now,” said Charles. “Is Dutch here?”

“Of course. Where else would he be. He’s still asleep in his room. Swear to god he's becoming a goddam teenager. All this brooding and sleeping. Is that—Where’s John?” she said. “What the fuck?”

“What do you mean he’s in jail?” said Abigail. She was standing beside the old dried up fountain in the yard. Jack was still sleeping, upstairs. Half the camp was still rustling awake. It was just her and Hosea, plus Pearson and Miss Grimshaw in a hushed conversation on the porch. They had a couple wild looks about them. They had been waiting up all night, getting ready. It was the word around camp that they’d be leaving Shady Belle any day.

“I mean, he is in jail,” said Sadie. She removed her hat. “Or, he’s on his way. Sisika, I reckon. He got nabbed while was was on the river boat. He was being a hero, Abigail. I guess.”

“Goddammit,” said Abigail. “What a goddam fool. He ain’t no hero. He’s a father,” said Abigail. She was unhinging, slowly. She started to cry. “Where’s Arthur, and Mary Beth? Are they—Oh my god.”

“They must have escaped,” said Charles. “We couldn’t find them, or the Rangers.”

“You couldn’t find them?” said Hosea.

“No, sir. We looked everywhere. The boat was not that big.”

“What are we supposed to do with Bronte?” said Hosea. He glanced to him, fast asleep on the ground.

“I thought we’d let Dutch deal with Bronte,” said Sadie, chewing a reed. She shrugged. “If those Pinkertons was his doing, Dutch’ll get it out of him. Ain’t they got some sort of history?”

“This is not good,” said Hosea, loosening his collar. “What the hell happened on that boat?”

“We boarded,” said Sadie. “Weren’t no big deal at first. We just had a mind to keep our heads down and warn Arthur, detain Bronte if possible, and leave. But we couldn’t find Arthur. Instead, what we found was Pinkertons.”

“Pinkertons?” said Hosea. “On the river boat?”

“Yes, sir,” said Charles. “One of them recognized John. Turned bloody, fast. John took a dive to give us the edge. We grabbed Bronte on a lark after we found him berating his men on the deck. Then we got the hell out of there.”

“Goddammit,” said Abigail, sobbing. “God fuckin dammit. What am I gonna tell Jack?”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Sadie. “Try not to worry. Okay?”

“We’re gonna get him back, Abigail,” said Charles.

Abigail looked away, tears staining her cheeks. She felt a stupid woman.

“I need to go wake Dutch,” said Hosea, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief. “He’s asleep like a goddam mule. We need to make way elsewhere, as soon as possible. Lemoyne is getting way too hot. Too fast. This is becoming a nightmare. Everybody needs to prepare for what’s next.”

“Where will we go?” said Abigail. “Where the hell are we gonna go, Hosea? Without Arthur, and John? What are we gonna do?”

Hosea hung his head, a goddam fool.

Meanwhile, Arthur and LaBoeuf had made their way into Valentine, slowly. It was late morning and they had crept in before first light through the auction yard. They were sitting in the side-streets saloon now, eating oatmeal and drinking coffee at the bar. Arthur had tipped the bartender $5 and asked him what the deal was, whether he knew what was going on with the Pinkertons in town.

“I don’t know exactly for sure,” said the bartender, shining up a wooden bowl. He was about fifty-two with one brown tooth. “They ain’t been in here, specifically. But I got boys at the gun shop, and my woman works at the doctor’s office. They all said the Pinkertons was in town looking for men wanted by the law.”

“Did they mention which men?” said Arthur.

“No, sir.”

Arthur sighed.

“Have you seen a gentleman come through,” said LaBoeuf. He had asked for whiskey in his coffee. “About your age. He would have been with a young woman. Real pretty. Curly brown hair and freckles. They would have been in this very saloon, perhaps looking for us.”

“Not that I know of,” said the bartender. “I work here most nights and mornings. Ain’t been nobody like that in here. No pretty girls to speak of. As you can see, we got a dearth of their kind in Valentine.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur.

“Don’t mention it.”

Arthur glanced to LaBoeuf. They finished their oatmeal. “That’s good,” said Arthur, quietly. “That they ain’t been here yet. Where do you think they got to, after the river boat?”

“I don’t know,” said LaBoeuf. “Maybe Blackwater. Call and I noticed we was headed out that way sometime before the shooting broke out. It wasn’t really an option, if you were in tow, but just the two of them? Mary Beth ain’t no risk with the law, visually speaking. Call neither. I reckon Blackwater.”

“That’s far as hell,” said Arthur. “Blackwater?”

“I reckon they’ll take the train,” said LaBoeuf. “If they are coming from way out there.”

“Maybe we should wait at the train station.”

“No, sir,” said LaBoeuf. “Them Pinkertons we saw—there were three of them. They are camped too close to the station for that.”

“Do you got a contingency?” said Arthur. He finished his coffee in a long gulp and glanced back to the door. “I mean, we can’t stick around here all day. The bartender says them Pinkertons ain’t been through this establishment yet. Means they could still be coming.”

“We got five contingencies,” said LaBoeuf.

“Five?”

“A Texas Ranger is always prepared, Mr. Morgan,” said LaBoeuf. He shifted his weight in his chair, tapped the surface of the bar, and asked for another shot of whiskey. “I reckon we ought to adios from this place, leave a message with the bartender here, and move onto the next. It just ain’t safe.”

“Where’s the next meeting place? Or, contingency, or what have you?”

“The Winterson’s Bed and Breakfast in Emerald Ranch.”

Arthur looked down at his empty bowl. The oatmeal had been disgusting. “Okay. Let’s get a move on then. No use waiting around in this rat trap.”

LaBoeuf nodded. He took his last shot of whiskey, chased it with a gulp of coffee, and then grunted as he pushed off the bar.

“You okay?” said Arthur.

“I’m fine,” said LaBoeuf. “Healing is a bitch, Mr. Morgan.”

“Don’t I know it,” said Arthur. He scribbled a note onto a piece of paper provided by the bartender. He tipped the man another $5 to keep it safe, and to provide that note to Call and Mary Beth upon their arrival. It read simply, Contingency Protocol. He then tipped him $10 more to keep quiet should the Pinkertons come sniffing.

“You one of them van der Lindes?” said the bartender, more curious than anything. He was leaning over the bar with his brown tooth bared, looking a little sly.

“Sir, we are Texas Rangers,” said LaBoeuf, brandishing his badge. “We simply desire secrecy as to our whereabouts, as we are hot on the trail of an outlaw brigade coming through from Arkansas, and we need quiet in our wake.”

“You’ll get no questions from me,” said the bartender, smiling. “I never did like Pinkertons. Hypocrites, all of them. And dirty noses, they got.”

“I like you, sir,” said LaBoeuf.

The bartender thought this was a funny, gave them a half-bottle of bourbon to take with, on the house. Once they got out the door, Arthur ran into an old friend named Mickey, a guy he had met a couple times before on his way through this place. Mickey was happy to see him, and Arthur gave him a little cash, and Mickey asked if there was anything he could do—anything to help Arthur, anything at all.

“You’re a good man, sir,” he said. “A good man. The best man. And my friend. You look like you’re in trouble, friend. You and your partner here. Let me help. How can I help? What can I do for you, good sir?”

Arthur had mixed feelings. Ultimately he said, “Sir, I don’t want to get you into no trouble with the law. But you head over that’a’way, and you cause a commotion in town, any sort really, and you catch the attention of the people, I would be mighty grateful. Don’t break no laws. Don’t get yourself into no trouble, you hear? Just get to hollering about Jesus or anything like that—anything at all. As long as it’s legal. And I would be grateful. I would be grateful indeed.”

Mickey said yes. Yes, of course he would, and he hobbled off to do just that. Started yelling about Jesus, and aliens coming down to get him, then making fun of a man who had fallen asleep drunk with his hair hanging in the water trough by the hotel. “Look at this imbecile!” they could hear him shouting. “Good golly. What a sight!” There was laughter. Arthur and LaBoeuf managed to sneak out through the auction yard again, without any farm hands or Pinkertons getting none the wiser. They mounted up, rode away to the east, seen by none but the sheep and a one-eyed dog Arthur knew by the name of Joe. As they rode to Emerald Ranch they did not look back. It wasn’t far. They arrived by noon.

“Mr. Call?” said Mary Beth. They had swung south of Valentine, stopped at Citadel Rock. They were going to climb the vantage point, scope out the town. He had asked her to stay down with the horses, but she would not do any such thing. So he helped her up where she needed, let her climb the rest of the way on her own. She was agile and strong.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, as they got to the roost. He fashioned a small pair of binoculars from his side. He had kept them holstered near his volcanic.

“You got a son, right?” she said.

He looked through the binoculars. The day was cool. It was about ten a-m when they arrived. “That, I do.”

“What’s his name?” she said.

Unable to ignore her line of questioning, he set down the binoculars and looked at her. “Newt,” he said.

“Newt,” she said. “That’s an interesting name.”

“I thought so, too.”

He went back to his binoculars. At first, he couldn’t see much. Just some one-armed man causing a comical ruckus in the street.

“Where is he now?” said Mary Beth. She was leaning against a little outcropping. She had found a busted up pearl necklace while on the climb. It had been hanging out the side of the rock formation as if somebody had hidden it there.

“He’s in Wyoming.”

“Wyoming, huh?”

“He went up on a cattle drive,” said Call, “met a woman, got married, and he never came back.”

“Where are you from, Mr. Call. Where was Newt born.”

Call took a deep breath, looked back to her. She looked tired and windswept, her curls all coming undone. He was soft for her. She was a good girl. “I was born in Illinois, Mrs. Morgan. Though I consider myself to be from Amarillo, Texas as I lived there for most of my life. Newt was born in a little Texas town called Lonesome Dove.”

“Lonesome Dove?” said Mary Beth. “My. That sounds romantic. What pretty words.”

Call smiled. “Weren’t nothing so romantic, Mrs. Morgan. It ain’t really that sort of town. It’s more like Valentine. Cows and…well, prostitutes mostly.” He looked away, embarrassed for some reason.

“You know, I told Arthur I was pregnant here, right here in Valentine.” She was studying those pearls in her palm. "In the church. We’ve spent a lot of time in this little pit of a town.”

“Is that good or bad?”

She shrugged. “It’s just like any other town, I guess. Like you said.”

Call went back to the binoculars. He saw some suspicious looking wagons outside the town, near the train station. He was trying to makes heads or tails of them.

“You know,” said Mary Beth. “Speaking of Lonesome Doves. I just—I always sort of thought I’d be one, you know? Sad, all by myself, mourning so much of my life. But then I met Arthur.”

“He’s a good man,” said Call, watching Valentine. “He’ll keep you safe.”

“I know that,” she said.

“And you'll keep him safe.”

“From what?”

“Himself mostly,” said Call. “And Lemoyne Raiders.” He gave her a sly grin.

She blushed. “You heard about that?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I hear you’re quite the shot.”

“I got lucky,” she said. “Arthur showed me how to use a shot gun a long time ago. So far, I have killed one man, one wolf, and dented one turtle.”

He glanced at her. “You dented a turtle?”

“It got away." She took a deep breath and pocketed the pearls. “I’m sorry I am annoying you with all these questions,” she said. “I am just nervous. Do you see Arthur, or LaBoeuf. Anybody?”

“No, I don’t,” said Call, growing serious. “I see who appears to be a Union Army veteran distracting the townspeople. I see a couple Pinkerton Detectives, leaving the general store.”

“Pinkertons?” said Mary Beth. She roused and beckoned for the binoculars. “What the hell are they doing here?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” said Call. He sat back on his heels and shook his head out a little as she looked through the binoculars. He was growing weary. He was not as young as he had used to be. “They don’t seem onto anything, and I didn't see Arthur or LaBoeuf. Could be they’ve moved on.”

“Moved on where?” She handed back the binoculars.

“To the first of five contingency locations.”

“What?”

“Just in case meeting places do not work out, or are blocked or corrupted for some reason, we always have contingencies, Mrs. Morgan. Particularly in high stakes projects like this.”

“Well, where is the contingency?”

“The first is at the Winterson’s Bed and Breakfast in Emerald Ranch.”

“The Wintersons?” she said. She looked a little confused. “Oh. Well, should we just go there?”

“I expect. Perhaps. But I’d like to head into town and just make sure. See for myself. If they’ve been through here, LaBoeuf will leave a mark, a trail only I can follow.”

“Okay,” said Mary Beth. “Well, what should I do?”

“You’ll come, too,” he said. “We’ll enter the town around the side over there, through the auction yard, and go straight to the saloon on the side streets. Whoever this…clown is, he seems to be keeping the company of the townspeople, and the law. For the time being at least.”

“Okay,” she said, bravely. She got to her feet. “I’m ready.”

They rode down into the town, went to the saloon. The moment they walked in, the bartender straightened up off the bar and started acting fishy, like he knew them. He beckoned them both to the counter, and then he leaned in, real secretly, asked them whether they knew a couple cowboys who might have come through earlier. “You know the type?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She had grown eager. “Did they tell you where they was headed?”

“No’m,” said the bartender. He smiled at her with that brown tooth. “Only left me this.”

He gave her the note. Together, she read it with Call, and it was only as they had expected. “We got to go,” she said. “Now, okay? I am growing very impatient, Mr. Call.”

“I am as well,” he said. He tipped his hat to the bartender and gave him $2 for his trouble. They exited the door and snuck past the crowds and the one-armed man.

“I think I know him,” said Mary Beth as she mounted her filly. “Not personally, but I have seen him around.”

“I am beginning to think that his little song and dance is not coincidence,” said Call.

Mary Beth smiled as she pulled on her reins. She hoped it were true.

They rode to Emerald Ranch by skipping the road. They cut over a great many hills and across a couple valleys and a dried up old gulch. Mary Beth glanced down at her hands where she held the reins. The skin on her knuckles was dry as she admired the amethyst ring on her finger. She thought about the pearls she had found over at Citadel Rock. Who had they belonged to? She thought about Lonesome Dove, and what a name for a place, and how she thought it couldn’t be nothing so beautiful even if it were fiction. What a fine name for a place.

They broke through the trees. He glanced back at her. He seemed okay, she thought. She knew she had a habit of underestimating men. All the men she knew had lost so much, particularly in the way of women. She worried for them in ways she knew to be infantilizing and unrealistic. The men she knew, they were strong. They could handle a lot. They could handle anything.

“What was her name?” she said after a little while. “Newt’s mama.”

They crested the tree line, saw the house up ahead. “Maggie,” said Call. “Her name was Maggie.”

“Maggie,” she said, dreamily. She closed her eyes to think of it. The working girl from Lonesome Dove, named Maggie, had the baby of a steadfast Ranger as Woodrow Call. It was a pretty story, and so sad. She sighed. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Call.”

“Thank you," said Call then, but he was distracted. He held his hand up. She stopped her filly on a dime. "Hold up."

“What’s wrong?”

When they finally got to the yard, it was after the high noon sun, and the day was still cool. They noticed multiple horses, too many of which they did not recognize. Mary Beth regarded the house. It looked closed up, empty. It was strange, no smoke in the chimney. She thought Lizette was always cooking something. There were a couple boards over one of the front windows, too. Now, she was listening for the hounds.

“Mrs. Morgan?” said Call.

“Where’s the hounds?” she said.

“What hounds?”

“There’s hounds,” she said. Her horse was shuffling, like she was picking up on Mary Beth’s uncertainty. “The Wintersons keep hounds to guard the acreage. Five, maybe six. They’s always roaming in the daytime. You can always hear them.”

“I count four horses in total,” said Call. “Two by the barn, two up by the house.”

“I don’t recognize a one of them,” said Mary Beth. “But Arthur knows a lot of people around here. He can get horses. And those others could belong to the Wintersons, I suppose?”

“You ever seen them before?”

“No, sir,” she said. “But I—I don’t know their horses. I just—Why’s that window boarded up?”

“Everything’s probably okay,” said Call. He was trying to keep her calm, even as he was staring up the yard at that big, blue house like he trusted nothing about it, like it was the hellfire of satan. “It’s probably fine.”

“What else could it be, but fine? What could be going on?”

“I’m gonna go up by myself, Mrs. Morgan. Check things out.”

“What should I do?” she said. “What if you need back-up?”

“You watch me,” he said, getting down off his horse. “You just stay right here, and you watch me closely.”

“What if it’s a problem?” she said. “What if you need my help?”

“I will give you the signal,” he said, drawing his pistol.

“What’s the signal?”

He held up his hand like so, in a fist, knuckles out. “This is the signal. If you see this, scream like hell.”

“Scream like hell?”

“Create a distraction, Mrs. Morgan.” He gave her a knowing look, cocked his volcanic. “You can do it.” He nodded, steadfastly. “I know you can.”

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #the lily farm #<3

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rickstexaschick · 6 years

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Rick’s Texas Chick Chapter 3

This was originally posted on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15183545/chapters/35213036#workskin

Later that night when she joined them for dinner, Beth casually mentioned that her father had left town on business – at this the two teens had snickered but nothing else was said. If she was disappointed at Rick’s unexpected absence, she hid it well. She good naturedly answered all their questions about her previous life in Texas. Her career, why she’d moved. At least, she’d given them the answers she was willing to give, up to that point, considering that she’d barely known these people for barely 24 fucking hours. It was the truth, just…a version of the truth---as her ex would like to say, when it was to his advantage to give the truth ‘versions.’

Truth was, she’d repeatedly opened herself up to mistreatment and abuse by total assholes. Too trusting, too willing to believe their lies, desperately hoping that the umpteenth time would be the charm. Instead it was always another charmer, a man willing to lie and scam his way into her heart before swiftly dumping her for greener pastures. Leaving her to lick her wounds and try again.

This last time had been the final straw. It almost wrecked her career. At least, it had made it so she felt like she had to leave, which basically accomplished the same thing. So, here she was, starting over not only personally but professionally, and almost 2400 miles away from home, to boot.

Fuck, any further west and she’d have ended up out in the middle of the goddam Pacific Ocean.

She’d picked this area because an old friend had semi-retired and moved out here several years earlier. A psychotherapist, Ana knew he4 personal struggles with relationships. Ana had always been like a sister to her. She felt closer to Ana than to her own sisters—each of whom were much older than she, and fully engrossed in their lives and marriages, with grown children and grandchildren.

So, when her elderly parents died, months apart, it precipitated a spectacular emotional meltdown, resulting in the subsequent break-up of her own long-failed marriage, almost ruining her career in the process. Well, after that, staying around for any more of a shit show had just seemed pointless. She’d taken some time off and came up to visit Ana.

The beauty of the area had always enchanted her; and the possibility of starting all over here, where she would at least know one person, held huge appeal for her. She’d researched jobs in the area and found a few worth applying to, one faculty position and a couple at private practices. She emailed them an updated CV, including a list of professional references----close friends from work and professional organizations back home who knew and understood her situation, and in whom she knew they could be trusted to give a stellar referral to any prospective employer.

No embarrassing tales starring her as the jilted spouse, her angry confrontation with her husband in his office at the hospital, and how their combined screaming and yelling had brought the hospital security on the run. In the end, she’d taken an extended leave, then ultimately did leave. So, when it was time to apply for other positions, her work friends were willing to do anything to help her in her efforts to get away and move on with her life.

For this last relationship, her failed marriage, had surely been the worst. Riddled with more punishing emotional abuse than any of her previous relationships, not to mention the infidelity. But the physical abuse he’d begun to heap on towards the end, trying to break her…she’d barely had the courage to weather through it.

Then, when her parents had passed away, well, that had just about done her in. The fact that so much had taken place at her work, in front of everyone: her boss, her colleagues, the staff. And him cheating on her with staff nurses who worked in the ER at the same damn hospital----it was the classic betrayal.

She shared none of this with her new neighbors that first night at dinner, of course. Only relating that she’d had a career opportunity at the Medical Center, another faculty position, and it was too much of a good chance to relocate to an area where she’d always wanted to live. No mention of Ana, though why, she wasn’t sure.

She was happy to talk about her cats, of course----rather pointless, not to. And was sincerely pleased when Beth had shared that she was a vet, albeit a large animal one and specialized in horses.

Morty asked her if she’d had horses, and she’d smiled kindly at him and told him no. That, in fact, very few people in Texas owned a horse, unless they lived on a ranch or participated in amateur horse shows and rodeos. It probably wasn’t all that much different from around here.

She’d had to stop herself from committing her classic blunder of overstepping the initial overtures of friendship and completely baring her soul and opening up her life and home to them like it was a Holiday Inn to come visit whenever they wanted. Just because this family, and their missing elderly patriarch, were nice on the surface didn’t necessarily mean all was totally as it seemed. She needed to remain cautiously at a distance until she’d become more settled in and had gotten to know them better.

She had no idea that Beth had sized her up while listening to her, and had understood that there was far more to her story than what she was letting on. Thoughtfully taking in the dark circles of fatigue underneath her eyes and the lines etched in her face, Beth realized that there was more going on with her than someone who had just executed a 2400 mile car journey alone with 4 cats. Despite her easy manner with Summer and Morty, ready smile, and friendly Texas drawl, there was a deep-seated pain in those eyes.

Beth wondered what her father would make of this woman, whenever he decided to return.

********

The weeks quickly passed. Her furniture arrived a few days after she did, and she had taken a few weeks to get moved in and settled before she began working at her new job. It usually took several months for new credentialing at a hospital to go through, so she used that to her advantage to stay home and tackle some projects around the house.

After that the days seemed to fly by. Ana came around a few times, but for some reason, after her first few weeks there, Ana had gradually slipped back out of her life, just as if they were living 2400 miles apart again. So, that small hope of friendship and support had not bloomed as she’d hoped it would, when she’d first made plans to move out there.

She had always found change difficult, and was slightly abashed with herself for making such a spectacular one during such a vulnerable time in her life. But this part of the world was so beautiful, and the climate so much more pleasant than the heat and humidity of Houston. She found herself wondering why she hadn’t moved to the region years earlier.

Oh well, she reminded herself not for the first time: Things happen for a reason.

Like, your abusive husband cheating on you and forcing you to leave the job you loved.

Or, your beloved parents dying so close together.

She quickly shook this sad train of thoughts from her mind and thought instead about the Smith family. Rick had recently returned after another week’s absence, looking much the worse for wear. He’d completely ignored her, kept to himself in his garage, and she was too preoccupied with getting on with her new life to think much about it.

Ana hadn’t liked him the few times she’d come over to visit, and wasn’t shy about it.

“I don’t know... I don’t like that guy, something about how he sits in that garage all day and is always looking over here. He’s watching you. It’s creepy. Be careful.”

But she scoffed at Ana’s concern – hell, half the time he wasn’t even home.

And besides, after his abrupt departure from her house that first night, and the manner of their next encounter, she’d thought it best not to attempt any further efforts at friendship, anyway…

…It had been about a week since she first arrived. Rick, Beth, and Summer had been in the kitchen one morning before school, he’d just returned the day before from his unannounced trip.

“So, how’s life li-urp-living across the street from the crazy cat lady these days?”

“Grandpa Rick! Don’t talk about her like that. We like her. She’s a nice person.”

Beth sighed. “Summer, go get ready for school.” She waited for her daughter to leave the room before continuing. “All I’m going to say, Dad, is that I think she’s had a pretty rough go of it. That’s why she left Texas. So, be nice to her, ok? You know: try not to be yourself for a change.” Beth turned to stack dirty breakfast dishes in the dishwasher.

Rick grumbled in reply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“And, she’s not as young as she looks,” Beth continued, ignoring him and gesturing with a dirty spatula. “I think she’s even older than I am. She was a nurse for a long time, then went back to school to become an NP….”

He rolled his eyes; like he cared. And went out through the open side door leading off the kitchen and into the garage, only to come face to face with her, the stricken look on her face telling him she’d overheard everything.

He’d had the grace to look guilty.

The expression on her face changed from one of pain and embarrassment to anger. She was holding a pan containing what looked like a large coffee cake of some kind, a pair of pot holders protecting her hands. She tossed the pan onto his work bench. It landed with a clatter, sliding along the surface and knocking tools onto the floor.

“Baked this for y’all. An old family recipe.” She turned to leave, then stopped and turned back around.

“And I’m 49. Next time y'all want to know something about me, just ask me. I hate gossip.” She marched across the street without a backward look.

tbc

#Rick and Morty Rick Sanchez Rick/Reader #Rickdicted Rick's Texas Chick Harley Rick

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misformarvel · 7 years

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This is it.

Hi Everyone! I decided to post my first drabble -the first one I’ve written so, be easy if is a complete grammatical mess and yet unfinished. It is a lil’ angsty bc that’s how I was feeling the day I started to write it.

The pairing: in this one Tom’s girl has a name and that’s Julia. I may -or may not- turn this into my bilingual series (which is giving me more than a headache, to be honest).

Requested: by myself, encouraged by amazing people from this lovely media. I am also whiling to do any type of request: au’s, imagines, hc, smutty things -tho I’m not so talented at it-

Well, I took a Xanax and is coming into full effect. So, hope you read this and please please leave some comments, critics and corrections are ALWAYS welcome.

Love y’all

Yo gal M.

“so you’re leaving now,” He says with his eyes full of tears.

“Yeah, I think this is it”.

I never thought leaving home will be so hard. I grab my suitcase and walk out our flat door with the feeling of the world falling apart. I didn’t get the guts to look back, I knew Tom will be there giving me his puppy sight, the same old sight he always gave me when we were about to be far from each other for a long time. We both knew this time it could be forever, and that’s so, I didn’t want to see what I’ve done. I didn’t want to see the heart-breaked love of my life.

I heard his footsteps behind me. I was crying too, my eyes were soaking blurring my vision. I walked through the hall in silence, without looking back, but his goddam footsteps behind me…

“Julia wait. Listen… I want you to know something” his voice was breaking, hopeless.

“Tom you make this even more complicated” I whispered without looking him, now he’s stopped me before I get into the elevator. “I know you need to do this for yourself, that you’re doing this to proving yourself what are you capable of but, Jules please, it doesn’t mean we have to break up, we can make it through”.

He put up my chin with his fingers and softly caresses my cheeks with his thumb. I closed my eyes, I was desperate for a kiss, the one last kiss, but he didn’t kiss me. Tom press his forehead to mine, then I opened my eyes to find he has shut his. A tear rolled down one side of his nose and landed on my lips. That’s now the taste of sadness to me. I pressed my face to his chest and said “Please Tom, let me go” without moving apart from him. His arms wrapped me tight, while I felt the heaviness of both our souls.

“I need you, Jules, if not as my girl at least as my best mate, you know you are. You’re dumping your best friend too”.

“Then don’t try to convince me to stay Thomas” I tried to calm down this time. Act cool. The circumstances of my leaving were all my faults. The band signed a contract with some rich guy who has started his own festival and decided to make venues all around the fucking world. When Fred and Jaime come and tell me we were going to be on tour for the following six months all around Europe and South America I thought it would be fun, and I was really excited to ask Tommy to come with us.

“Sorry love, no, I can’t make it. You know I'll be shooting and after that, I’m sure they’ll want me to be ready for some press stuff.” it was quite a civilized way to reject my offer. It wasn’t me the one who put this whole thing upside down, but yeah, I've screwed up things for no talk about ‘em when it was necessary.

We were then there, sittin’ looking to each other, our heads heavily falling to the touch of the walls. Our legs were tangled, one of my hands grab one of his. Angst and desolation weren’t the only things we got to ourselves that night. Our passion, our love, the friendship we’ve shared, how our families and friends think we’re perfect for each other. Too much to explain.

“I should come back in there -Tom says while pointed our apartment door- pick up all of my shit and run right behind you.”

I wanted to throw myself to him and kiss him so passionately, tangled my fingers in the curls of his hair while holding it for me to do whenever I wanna with his lips, his tongue and the rest of his body. But how can I do this to him? I’ve made a decision, and it was to leave. I cut the embracement moment we were sharing and pick up the little stuff while Tom helped me with the heaviest suitcases.

I got into a cabby and we wave goodbye, without words and tears in our eyes.

#my first drabble #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland hc

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galadrieljones · 6 years

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A Funeral: Chapter 10 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. In their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another as well as to the future, and to the unchecked dangers of the natural world.

Thanks @bearly-tolerable for the lovely banner!! <3

For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog. ^_^

Chapter 10: Deer Cottage, Pt. 1

Arthur woke up the next morning to sounds of joy, and to the smell of food. Something good. After his conversation with Hamish the night before, he had stumbled up like a right idiot to that loft and retook his heavy place by Mary Beth’s side. She had not woken once, barely even stirred without him, like the drama of the event with the Murfee Brood had wiped her out in ways she didn’t realize. For a while before he was able to fall back asleep, he kept glancing at her, watching her chest rising and falling in the dim lamp light, trying to picture his life in some distant but not altogether impossible scenario in which he was a husband, and a father, and something better and calmer than the man he was now. Isn't that what he was supposed to be? Part of him had always thought so. His body ached. He longed to start over. But when had there ever been a chance to do that? His life had railroaded him straight into this place of volatility quite outside his control. He had been navigating its paths of fluctuating morality since he was a goddam teenager, never privileged in such a way that he could recall the notion of home, or what home meant, or how to make one. Instinctually, he knew what it meant. But on the surface of things, he felt very lost. A true wanderer.

He heard Mary Beth’s voice down in the kitchen. He sat up, leaned over the edge of the loft to see what was going on. Hamish was sitting at the table, pouring coffee while Mary Beth was frying bacon in a pan on the stove. They were laughing about something. When Hamish noticed him awake he waved a hand and said, “Arthur, son. Come on down.”

And when she heard mention of his name, Mary Beth turned around, dressed and with her hair braided loosely down her back. It was tied at the bottom with a slight pink ribbon. She looked up at him and smiled, reminding him a little of a clean window. She said, “It’s about time. Come on. Hamish has bacon and eggs.”

Arthur climbed down the ladder, feeling underdressed. His hair felt unruly and he tried running a hand through it but he needed a comb, or a brush. It was getting long now, past his ears, touching his neck. Outside, it was sunny, no clouds, and the rain was gone, and it was birds singing. The shutters and the glass windows were thrown open. Mary Beth put down the spatula. She greeted him kindly, got on her tip-toes, kissed him on the jaw bone so that he blushed.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice like a whole bunch of gravel in his own ears. “What time is it?”

“About nine,” said Mary Beth, returning to her spatula. “You want some coffee?”

“Sure. I’ll get it.”

She went back to her flipping.

Arthur sat down at the table, across from Hamish. It was the exact same arrangement as the night before. There was a mug there waiting for him. He poured the coffee. It was hot and strong. He took a sip which flooded his insides with warmth and relief. Hamish was staring at him with a kind of knowing intensity. “What is it?” said Arthur, thinking there was something wrong with his face.

Hamish took a sip of his coffee, lowered his voice. “Everything okay?” he said.

Arthur scratched at the back of his head. He thought his hair must be sticking up at all angles. He was grateful for Hamish, and for their conversation. He felt about as screwed up as ever but he was still thankful. “Fine,” he said. “Thank you, Hamish.”

“Anytime.” Then Hamish turned to Mary Beth. He puffed up. He said, “Why don’t you tell young Arthur here what we did this morning, Miss Mary Beth.”

“What you did?” said Arthur. “How long y’all been awake?”

“Couple a hours,” said Mary Beth over the loud crackling of the bacon.

“Well, go on,” he said. “Tell me. What’d you do?”

She turned around, looking very pleased with herself. She wiped her hands on her yellow apron, which was too big, and probably belonged to Hamish himself. “I caught a fish,” she said.

Arthur smiled, huge. He slapped his hand down on the table. He felt immense pride. “Very good,” he said. “What kind of fish?”

“Just a little trout,” she said. “I threw it back. It wasn’t big enough to feed more than just me.”

“She did it all on her own,” said Hamish. “I provided only the bait. It was impressive. Looked like she’d been taught well.”

“Well I wish I could’ve seen that,” said Arthur.

“I’ll try again,” she said. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll catch something bigger next time.” She turned back to the bacon, which had finished. She removed the bacon from the pan with a fork and let it settle on a big plate lined with a clean white napkin. Then, she put the plate down on the table, and she began frying up some eggs right in the bacon grease.

They all ate well. Arthur asked Mary Beth to recount how she had made the catch. She told the story in a lively fashion. When they finished, Hamish made more coffee, and then went outside to feed the horses. While he was gone, Arthur and Mary Beth sat at the table, looking at their empty plates. Mary Beth stirred a half a sugar cube into her coffee. She had her chin resting in her hands. She looked a little anxious, but ordinarily dreamy.

Arthur waited to see if she would speak first. When she did not, he cleared his throat. “How you feeling today?” he said. “You all right?”

“I’m fine,” she said, looking up. “I slept well. I feel…good this morning.”

“Yeah, me, too,” said Arthur. He brought the mug to his lips.

“You know, Hamish told me about a cottage, in the Roanoke Valley," she said. "He says he goes there, keeps it up from time to time when he hunts. It’s been abandoned a while.”

“Oh yeah?” said Arthur.

“He said it would be a good place to stay, when we’s hunting moose. He said the Murfee Brood, they don’t bother you unless you’re camped out in the open.”

“Well, that is true,” said Arthur, looking at his hands. “They may be bold, but they’re primitive. They like easy pickins, and I’ve killed enough of them by now. I reckon that if we stay sharp and out of their way, we’ll be fine.”

She nodded, seeming surprised somehow. She glanced down into her coffee, which she had not touched since she’d added that sugar. “Sounds good,” she said.

Arthur got a little worried then. She didn’t seem right all of a sudden. “What’s wrong?” he said.

“Nothin,” she said.

“Something’s wrong,” he said, leaning with his elbows on the table, trying to catch her eyes. He spoke softly, like a secret. “I’m sorry, again. Mary Beth. I ain’t going nowhere. I know there’s…something up in the air. Between us.”

“Shh,” she said, getting bashful. She smiled now. “I ain’t fretting, Arthur. Not over you at least.” She looked up. “You keep forgetting that I know you. Probably better than you know you. So, no. I ain’t fretting.” She finally took a drink of that coffee. “Things ain’t solved, but they’re fine.”

It was almost amusing. He stared right at her. She was always funny, and she was always right. “Then what’s the matter?” he said.

“I just thought—I thought maybe you’d wanna call it off, that’s all. So I wasn’t getting my hopes up.”

“Call off what?” said Arthur. “The hunt?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I know you don’t like takin unnecessary risks. And after last night, I thought you’d wanna call it off.”

“Do you wanna call it off?” he said. “Because if you do, just say so. We can ride back west, maybe go to Valentine. There’s good hunting out that way, too.”

“No,” she said decisively. “We came all the way here. We gotta finish our quest, Arthur.”

Arthur smiled at this. They were staring at each other. “Good,” he said. “That sounds good.” He wrapped his hands around the coffee mug. It was cooling. He felt both relief and also a quiet excitement for the coming day. “There’s one caveat though,” he went on. He took a long drink.

“Yeah?”

“I just want you to know that I fully expect you to pitch in from now on, Mary Beth.” He finished the coffee. Set down the mug. “With providing our supper, I mean. Now that you can fish and all, it’s only right.”

She laughed. She was surprised. She got up to shove him in the shoulder. She’d had to reach over the table and nearly knocked over her mug doing so. “You love to tease me, don’t you, Arthur Morgan?”

He was just smirking down into his empty cup. He hadn’t thought about it. But it was probably true. She sort of did know him better than he knew himself.

When Hamish got back, they cleaned up the kitchen, and Arthur got dressed, and then they all rode back to Arthur and Mary Beth’s dilapidated camp on the other side of the lake to see what they could salvage. It wasn’t much they’d left behind, but some of their things seemed to be gone forever. Arthur’s cooking gear was lost, and the tent, though intact, was mostly unusable by now. Luckily, they had not rolled out their bedrolls yet, and they were damp, but still safely stowed aboard the horses. Arthur was pissed about the tent, as he’d had it on him for some years, but Mary Beth said it would be okay. “We’ll get a new one.” She touched his arm. Hamish happened to have a spare that he lent them, and he also had an extra cooking spit and also a pan and even a coffee percolator that he was willing to part with. Back at the house, he helped them pack up their horses and as he hauled over that new tent he made sure that Mary Beth was out of earshot, and then he put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and made eye contact, very strong.

“You’re a good man,” he said, real straightforward.

Arthur was biting on the inside of his cheeks. He didn't get the sentiment. “Hamish, you don’t have to—you’ve don’t enough for me already.”

“No,” Hamish corrected him. “I do have do, and I will. Look, I don’t just say that to any idiot I come across in a thunderstorm. There's something good in you. I can tell. Whatever you done wrong in your life that you feel is haunting you, it might never leave, but you should not be afraid of moving forward without it. You hear me? Leave the past in the dust, Mr. Morgan.”

Arthur blinked, several times. He felt he might choke out from such forward wisdom. It had been a while since he’d heard any wisdom, not that he could rightly use for himself, what with Hosea and Dutch being consumed in their plans to escape the continent and all. He looked away and couldn’t lift his eyes from the distant waters on the lake, as they felt very heavy. He bit back on something real hard, some far away feelings of emotion, and he felt his jaw clenching and nodded with a practiced stoicism of which he sometimes felt he was losing control. He patted the old man’s hand once, a form of gratitude. He said, “Thank you, Hamish. Again.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Hamish removed his hand from Arthur’s shoulder and glanced back. They both watched Mary Beth as she brushed her pretty horse. Then she fed it an apple and spoke to it in hushed tones. “Did she tell you about Deer Cottage?” said Hamish.

“Yes,” said Arthur, coming back to his memory. “She did. You’re sure it’s safe?”

“I was just there a week ago,” he said. “It’s safe, has locks on the doors, and I keep the flower garden planted so nobody gets too close. Hunters and wanderers, they get to thinking it’s full time occupied. Of course, take your regular precautions, but it’s such a lonely country up there, I reckon you shouldn’t run into any squatters.”

“Sounds good then,” said Arthur. "I think we’ll be okay.”

“So do I. Miss Mary Beth already has the key.”

Arthur handed Hamish his map then, and a pencil. Hamish marked the location of the cottage as just in the thick of Roanoke Ridge. Arthur scratched at the scruff on his face, felt feral. He had his hat on his head, the old hat he always wore fixed up with a careful arrangement of cardinal feathers. He watched Hamish say goodbye to Mary Beth, and Mary Beth promised him that they would be back again soon.

“Now that we know you’re up here, it’ll be hard to stay away,” she said.

“Don’t go doing me any favors,” said Hamish. He glanced back at Arthur. “But I’m always game for some good fishing, or hunting, if you’re in the area.”

“You can count on it,” said Arthur.

They said their goodbyes, mounted their horses, and headed east. It was not a far ride to Deer Cottage, but it would take most of the day. Arthur wanted to stick to the thoroughfares and avoid paths that might verge too near on the woods. Granted, it was almost all woods up there, creepy things on all sides, but he’d been up in Roanoke enough times during his own exploration that he understood the atmosphere, and if Hamish said this place was okay, he was trusting. Mary Beth rode with confidence by his side, and behind him on the narrow stretches. At one point, they stopped because there was a man, strung up by his neck from a tree, just off to the side of the road. Mary Beth was very distraught over this. She couldn’t stop looking. She wanted to cut him down and give him a burial.

“Who would do something so awful?” she said.

Arthur looked up along with her. Then he looked right at her, her many freckles. “It’s a trap,” he said. “We need to get moving.”

“A trap?”

The horses shifted. “Night folk,” he said calmly, patting Sarah behind the ears. “Just more animals walking upright, I promise you. Come on, Mary Beth.”

She sighed, followed. They trotted forward. Arthur looked around for signs of ambush but he saw nothing. No traces of man. Sometimes, these things were traps, he thought. Sometimes, they just were.

Everything was quiet after that. The hills got steeper around the valley and the ledges long, but it was so green up here. So filled with the sad and lovely blues of the forest and the big river. There were black bears and the occasional cougar. But the animals were a ways off the roads and rarely got too close but to spook the horses from afar. Sometimes, Arthur felt this place was haunted, so filled with ghosts, it’s like the trees were breathing. Once, he’d been up here late at night and he could swear he’d heard voices, strange ones. By god he assumed it was his imagination. But being back, he could not kick the instinct. Mary Beth, though, she was taking in the terrain with her wide-eyed excitement. She had a way of grounding the experience as something new. It wasn’t ghosts, or if it was, who’s to say they were agents of evil? Even that hanging man from a tall, tall tree seemed less grisly with her looking at it. Arthur realized so much of this was just about having company. Her company, and he was thinking again now about how much time he spent alone, and how that can spoil a man, surely if he ain’t got nothing to look forward to. He just liked her being there. It made him feel a little safer than before, a point which he was coming ever closer to acknowledging, as a man.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan fanfic #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth

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