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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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93. I hire your matchmaking services but all the people you set me up with are horrible and I’m demanding a refund and you’re asking me for one more chance??? what are you going to do? be my date?

Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go! I was inspired by @kriskukko's incredible art for the orc designs in this, and I highly recommend checking them out!

“Indrid? Some from Kepler House is here to speak with you.” Ned pokes his head into Indrid’s rooms.

“Drat” Indrid hisses, dressing gown whipping about him as he scrambles to put the apartment in order while also dragging his notes on the man in question to the forefront, “I didn’t forsee anyone coming by today, goodness, he had his first engagement with Lady Austens daughter last night, what on earth could they need to see me for?” He tosses his spare pens aside, landing them in his second set of house slippers.

“Well, dear boy, given the luck you’ve had with them lately-”

“It’s not luck, it’s simply very unlikely futures. Please just, just stall whoever it is a moment, Leo is usually patient and-”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that my friend.”

“Why not? I watched you once talk an entire flock of constables away from your door. Praytell, why can Ned “Silver Tongue” Chicane not get rid of a single attendant?”

“Because the attendant ain’t here this time.”

Indrid slams the drawer of his desk, looking up as an orc in a deep brown suit steps into the room, tossing his hat onto the table. He’s shorter than Indrid and Ned (stout and strong, according to the notes Indrid received), wavy black hair streaked with grey at the front. One eye is blue, the other brown, and both regard the harried matchmaker with casual annoyance.

“Mr. Newton, I, ah, I was not expecting you to visit me.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be on a date where she found me so damn dull she hailed a cab as soon as dinner was done. I was already in town on some business for Minerva, so I decided to come tell you I ain’t in need of your services anymore.”

“I beg your pardon? Your benefactor employed me to find you a suitable match and I intend to do just that. I know there have been missteps, but such things are to be expected when searching for one’s lifelong partner.”

“Uh huh. And the fact I’m Lady Minerva’s chosen heir, which means there are a bunch of folks waitin to mimic my style and choices, has got nothin to do with it.”

“I, ah, I can’t say that I’m ignorant of the potential repercussions of being the one assigned to locate a spouse for you.”

“Which is the long way of sayin you know damn well that if I decide to stop askin you for help, no one with money is ever gonna come to you again.”

There’s a determined set to his rounded jaw, and a glimpse at the future suggests Indrid will have better luck with a different tactic

“....were they really so awful?”

“Yes. They were rude, or thought I was rude, or thought I was dull, or we just had fuck-all in common.”

“Have you considered you might just be a tad more demanding than average?”

“It ain’t demandin to want the person I spend the rest of my life with to actually like me.” He sighs, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cold, but unless you got a real winner up your sleeve, I’m done.”

All responses, all timelines show Duck ending his time as Indrid’s client and walking out the door.

“You could try me!”

“Really?” Duck looks deeply unconvinced.

“I will admit it’s unorthodox, but I, I foresee us having a perfectly nice time together. It will let me prove that I am capable of choosing companions for you.”

The shorter orc looks him up and down more deliberately and Indrid fights not to draw his dressing gown tighter. He will not be intimidated by some newcomer from across the sea.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I got to go to this concert tomorrow; someone from Kepler house is expected to show and Minerva is busy. You’re comin with me.” He holds Indrid’s gaze, daring him to renege on his offer.

Indrid summons his best, professional grin, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

---------------------------------------

Indrid smooths his waistcoat and jacket as he steps from the cab, tucks a strand of his silver hair behind his ear. It’s his only concession to the nerves skittering up and down his spine.

Gatherings such as these are nothing new to him; he goes to them to gather new information and new clients, to remind the well-to-do families of London and beyond that he is the matchmaker extraordinaire. But there is always the moment between when they see him and when they recognize him, when every face in the room wonders why someone like him dares to enter their space.

Somewhere in Indrid’s ancestry is a love story between an orc and a goblin. His silver hair, very angular features, and complete lack of tusks or fangs is the proof. The red eyes don’t help--they unsettle everyone who sees them--but his mother insists they’re evidence of other orcs gifted with rare magic on her side of the family. He wears red spectacles over them just to be safe; he rather likes how the color stands out against his skin, and his glasses let him avoid prying questions.

Duck is waiting for him under the awning outside the music hall; he’s in a grey day suit this time, looking just as understatedly handsome as he did yesterday morning. Indrid must admit his desire to save his reputation is not the only reason he agreed to this; he cannot understand why Duck is having such trouble meeting his match. He’s good looking, moneyed, American--an exotic background in the eyes of the average, sheltered upper-class orc--but still has family history here in England. All Indrid’s matches showed a high probability of success. The point of failure must lie with the orc himself.

“Afternoon, Mr. Cold.” Duck smiles with everything but his eyes.

“Indrid is fine, given the reason for our meeting.”

Duck nods. Indrid wishes the ground would swallow one of them up. When the pavement fails to oblige, he offers his arm. The shorter orc takes it, both of them doffing their hats as they step inside.

“I, uh, like the earring.” Duck indicates the moth cuff on Indrid’s left ear, a stark contrast to the single gold hoop in his own.

“Thank you. A friend gave it to me. I, ah, I rather enjoy working moths into my wardrobe; I find them fascinating.”

“Y’know, back home we got moths that look like hummingbirds.”

“Really?” Indrid’s ear twitches, “how big?”

Duck holds up his hands to indicate the size. Indrid is about to demand details when they’re waylaid by their hostess and pulled into a cluster of families. Indrid breathes deep, feeling crowded in, and notices Duck routinely being cut off in conversation or given disapproving looks behind his back. Yes, Indrid supposes his manners are a bit rough, but there’s no harm in that. Too, everyone seems far more interested in the goings on at Kepler House and with Lady Minerva than with Duck himself. By the time they’re seated, their arms feel locked together from shared tension.

The violinists are quite good; Indrid enjoys strings, his recordings of them being his favorite music to listen to while drawing. But his mind is so consumed by futures and by thoughts about the orc beside him that he struggles to focus on the music. Duck is having a similar issue, though he hides it well; were they not side by side, Indrid would miss the way he fidgets with the knee of his trousers.

“Are you alright?” He whispers under the applause.

“N-ye-uh. Fuck. I, the musics real nice but I gotta say I’m gettin kinda bored. But I got no fuckin clue if leavin will piss everyone here off.”

“Intermission is soon. When it comes, keep quiet and follow my lead.”

When the guests rise to stretch their legs and fetch refreshments, Indrid guides Duck to their hostess.

“I’m so very sorry, but I’m afraid my stomach is rather angry with me and it’s best if I go home. Duck has agreed to accompany me so I do not pass out in the street. I’m sure you understand.”

She nods, and in a matter of moments they’re out on the street, each breathing deeply.

“Thanks for that.”

“My pleasure.”

“Guess I oughta just head back to the hotel.” Duck sighs.

“You could. But, ah, we’re not far from Kew Gardens and the weather isn’t miserably cold for once. If you’d like-”

“Hell yeah. Wait, fuck, sorry, tryin to swear less in public.”

“I don’t really mind.” Indrid starts them down the street.

“Lots of them do” Duck tips his head back towards the concert hall, “I mean, at least that rule is easier to figure out. It’s not that there aren’t weird rules and class stuff back home, but I grew up learnin them. Here I always feel like I’m one move away from makin an ass of myself. No one’ll say anything because of Minerva, but I know if it weren’t for her, none of ‘em would give me the time of day. It makes every interaction so goddamn stressful.”

Indrid twinges with sympathy, “When I first started in these circles, I wrote myself notecards and had Ned test me on them.”

Duck giggles, so absurd and loud it draws stares from passersby, “why? You seem to know your stuff.”

“I didn’t come from money, and I don’t always read social situations the way others expect. It was learn or live as a penniless artist for all my days.” As the gardens come into view he adds, “I know the basics of your life in America but if you weren’t here, what would you be doing there?”

“Workin in the Yosemite valley. I was a ranger there for a few years before Minerva called me here.”

“What was that like?”

Duck tells him as they wander the first stretches of the gardens. He’s midway through a tangent about bears when he stops.

“Holy fuck, you’re really still listenin.”

“Of course I am, this is fascinating.”

His companion smiles, “Glad you think so. But it ain’t polite for me to dominate the conversation like this. Now you gotta tell me what you do when you’re not gettin fancy folks together.”

“...You promise you will finish the story about the bear and the tent later.”

“You know it.”

Indrid knows that time passes more quickly with good company, but he’s still startled when the sun sets. The Savoy, where Duck is staying, is closer than his home, so their cab stops there first.

Duck pauses halfway out the door, “Meet me here for dinner tomorrow?”

Indrid grins, “I’d like nothing more.”

--------------------------------

“I didn’t know the line even went this far.” Indrid watches the moors race by them out the window of the train.

“You and me both.” Duck rotates his map, glances at the letter he received a week ago, “okay, once we get off at Amnesty, we need someone to take us down Greenbank road. The house is at the end of it, somewhere around here.” He taps a patch of moor miles from anything else. Indrid studies his fingers and is glad that, of his more rugged habits, one he elected to keep was letting his nails stay claws rather than filing them down.

“My visions suggest that as long as we don’t ask anyone to drive us out after dark, we should have no trouble reaching it.”

Indrid tries not to be too giddy at the prospect of spending weeks and weeks more or less alone in the countryside with Duck. They’re going because an anonymous note informed him that he did indeed have a family estate and--once they determined that the house near Dartmoor did indeed legally belong to him--it was decided he would go to see how the old place was doing and perhaps take up residence.

He asked Indrid to come without even glancing up from the telegram from the solicitor. Indrid agreed without looking away from his drawing. If two months of semi-courtship in a crowded city got them close enough for that, Indrid dares to hope that being out here together will bring them closer still.

Amnesty is small, as they both expected, the air chilly and fog threatening to swallow whole buildings as they make their way to the Lodge where they’ve been told they can find a driver. When Duck asks the young woman working the counter for help getting to Greenbank Hall, she quirks her lips in a frown.

“I’m not sure there’s even a place called that around here….OH! Do you mean Beacon House?”

“Maybe?” Duck looks at Indrid, who quickly looks at the futures.

“Yes, it seems we do.”

“Okay. Since it's still light, I should be able to find someone to get you out there. If it comes down to it, I can, like, drive you out myself.”

They end up being driven by a friendly young man named Jake, who deposits them and their bags on the steps of the massive house with a friendly wave farewell.

“Agh” Indrid shivers as they step through the newly unlocked doors, “I think it’s actually warmer outside.”

“No kiddin. Damn fog means it’s already gettin too dark to see too. I’ll go get some kind of fire started, you see if you can find some lanterns or candles so we ain’t trippin all over ourselves.”

Indrid begins his search, comes to the kitchen and finds some matches and a candle. The solicitor arranged for food and other supplies to be brought in ahead of time, so in theory lanterns should be somewhere nearby. He’s just glad that the paltry light shows no signs of rodents getting into their food.

When he gets upstairs, he discovers two things; one, all the lamps are gas, so he’s able to light them easily. And two, a mother tortoiseshell cat is nesting with her kittens on a guest bed.

“Well, that explains the lack of mice.”

Footsteps behind him, “Got a fire goin in the sittin room, if you wanna pick a room for yourself I can light one th--awwwww” Duck moves past him towards the cat, who hisses at him, “now, there ain’t any need for that, missy. I ain’t gonna hurt you or your babies. But we oughta bring you somethin more’n mice to eat.”

“I saw some tinned food in the pantry.”

“Perfect, lemme go find a bowl.”

----------------------------------

Beacon House has seen better days, but Indrid discovers the houses loss is his gain. Duck decides they can do many of the repairs themselves, and sets about ordering supplies from London or bringing them in from Amnesty. The few times they need help, the cook and several others from the Lodge come to assist in the project. These gatherings are far more pleasant than any Indrid had to attend for work (well, except for the ones where he was with Duck). And they always end before dusk.

Indrid occupies himself with figuring out why. There was no mention of this house when he first researched Duck, and even using the local name turns up very little. It’s not until he finds a diary belonging to one H. Newton in the library that he understands.

October the 15th, 1805

I fear the worst is upon me. I cannot leave the house, dare not even peer out the windows for fear of what I shall see. Lucy says it is my health, that we should travel to warmer regions so it will improve. But I know it is not so simple. Were we to flee, it would merely wait for our return. It may even waylay us before we reached town. I am cursed. We are cursed. We always will be.

Beneath the words is a hastily sketched image; yellow eyes and sharp fangs peering from between the bars of the front gate.

There are no more entries.

Indrid is unsure whether to raise the matter with Duck. On the one hand, he wishes him to know of any possible dangers. On the other, his friend is so very content these days, coming in from some project or other with grime on his skin and a smile on his face. Indrid’s own desire to stay with him here, in a house he can pretend is theirs, threatens to drown out all other reasons.

Eventually, his conscience shouts it down while he and Duck are on their evening walk.

“Oh yeah, Barclay told me about that a few days ago. Some ghost apparently wanders around the moor at night; got somethin to do with a murderous ancestor.”

“That does not alarm you.”

“You know I don’t believe in curses and destiny or anythin like that. People make up all kinds of stories when they’re alone in wild places.”

Indrid’s foresight guides his arm, gripping Duck and keeping him from moving forward.

“Does that look like a story?”

Directly ahead of them, a tor rises like a spike. Atop it, revealed by the rising moon, is a gigantic, fur-covered shape.

“See” Duck whispers, “were we back home, I’d say that was a bear.”

“And now?”

“Given there ain’t been bears in this part of the world in decades, I say we get the hell outta here.”

They take off back down the slope, the hall a collection of yellow squares of light in the darkening distance. A howl splits the air behind them and Indrid quickens his pace, keeps his eyes on the future in hopes of protecting them both.

This means he doesn’t see the burrow in the path until his ankle goes sideways in it.

“‘Drid!”

“Under no circumstances are you to try and help meAH!” He yelps as Duck swings him over his shoulder and continues his flight towards the house. As he’s bounced about, Indrid watches a glowing shape bounding closer.

“Thank fuck.” Duck crosses the gate, slams them closed, and lowers Indrid to his feet. Nothing glares at them from the path. But a growl creeps from the shadows and follows them until they shut the door.

------------------------------------------

“How’s the ankle?” Duck drops his coat on the chair opposite Indrid before tending to the fire.

“Better than yesterday. I should be up and moving tomorrow, if the futures are to be believed.”

“You know you don’t gotta rush. I’m happy to take care of you.”

Indrid picks at the ends of the blanket in his lap, “but I miss being able to aid you with work.”

“There’ll be lots of time for that. We got plenty to do to get the house to where we can live in it full time.”

“We?”

Duck goes completely still, then fails to put the fire poker back in place three separate times. When he finally meets Indrid’s eyes, he looks worried.

“‘Drid? What’s your endgame? With, uh, with me?”

“I…” Indrid grabs his teacup, intending to drink it to buy time and finds it empty, ‘I...I don’t know. I, I wanted to prove to you that I could find you a companion who made you happy, hoping you would give me another chance to locate your perfect match. But lately I, ah, I struggle to see that plan working. As I do not wish you to have any match but me.”

Duck moves across the rug, shadows on his face making it hard to read.

“I know that shows great selfishness on my part. If that is not something you wish to have in your life I, I…” he shrinks back as Duck leans down, certain this is the timeline where he accuses him of being a conniving monster.

“Funny you should say you’re bein selfish” Duck braces his arms on either side of the chair, “because I’ve been beatin myself thinkin’ I was selfish for keepin you out here so long.”

“Keep me here forever.” Indrid whispers. Duck smiles, closes the remaining space between them. His lips are still a bit chilly from working outside; Indrid does everything he can to warm them with his own.

The shorter orc straddles him and he whines so needily that Duck snickers in reply.

“What’s wrong darlin? Kissin too much for you?’

“On the contrary; it is far too little, but my injury means my ability to drag you to my bed and beg for more is greatly impeded.”

“Good thing we live alone.” Duck pulls the blanket from Indrid’s lap, nibbles his ear as the seer catches on and begins frantically undoing the buttons of Duck’s workshirt and shoving his suspenders. When at last he pushes it open he loses himself a moment, tipping forward to tongue at the golden ring in Duck’s left nipple.

“AHheh, gettin right to it. Good” Duck unbuttons his pants, “because I’ve been wantin to fuck you since before we even came out here.”

“Oh I see” Indrid purrs, “you lured me into the countryside to sully my virtue.”

Duck laughs, full throated, as his tusks catch in the firelight, “You forgettin the time we got drunk instead of goin to the opera and you told me you convinced two sailors to take you home?”

“Only if you’ve forgotten telling me about the young ranch-hand you gave several rides to” Indrid nibbles along his neck, his twitching oddly in their quest to grind against him without jostling his ankle.

“Not a chance. But I don’t care about reminiscin right now; right now, I got the best lookin fella in the world beggin for my dick.”

“I’m not begging.” Indrid tilts his head back to help Duck get his shirt open some.

“Not yet.” Duck grins, then shoves his hand down his trousers.

“Ohhhhhyes” Indrid reaches for him.

“Keep your hands on the armrests until I say you can move ‘em.”

“But, but” it’s hard to argue when he’s trying to stare a hole through Duck’s remaining clothes. His partner notices and makes a show of moaning louder.

“Only good boys get to watch the show. You gonna be good for me?”

“The best.”

Duck kisses the tip of his nose, then wiggles and kicks his pants and underwear off. Indrid can only watch, growing more envious by the moment, as he fucks himself open and rubs a thumb along his cock. Indrid tries bucking his hips, only to discover Duck is keeping himself out of reach.

“Cruel creature.” Indrid groans.

“Cruel? I’m giving you a seat to the best show in town.”

“I’d rather you take the best seat in town.”

Duck laughs, is still doing so when he bends to kiss him. Indrid whimpers, nails digging into the upholstery to keep his promise of good behavior. Duck notices.

“Good boy.”

“AHHHnnnthankyou, thankyouthankyouthankyou” Indrid moans as Duck drops his weight into his lap, grinding on his clothed cock with abandon. He flings Indrids hands up to his shoulders. The seer glides them up to his hair, burying them there where he’s now certain they’ve always belonged. Duck mirrors him, lips only leaving his to bite the tip of his ear.

“Fuck, Indrid, that’s it darlin, lemme ride you like the sleek little beast you are.”

He whines, loses his thoughts as Ducks hips quicken.

“I know ‘Drid, you like bein mine, like that I’ll bounce on this fuckin perfect dick as often as you want as long as you’re my good, sweet, ohsweetfuck, fuck, darlin’” Duck drops his forehead to Indrid’s shoulder with a groan as he cums, soaking the fabric of his pants. Before Indrid can think about stopping, Duck picks up again with as much force as before, growling in his ear to be a good little social climber and cum for his lord.

Indrid cums at that with a chirping sound he thought he’d stopped making long ago, legs spasming from the force of his climax. Unfortunately, this means his pleasure is chased by a burst of pain. He whimpers, flinches, and Duck spots the problem.

“Oh, oh darlin I’m sorry” He drops to the floor, rubbing Indrid’s thighs, “thought the position would keep you from hurtin.”

“Apparently not. I, I want you to know I don’t regret it in the slightest.”

Duck smiles, relieved, and rests his head on Indrid’s stomach, “Guess you did find me a match, huh?”

Indrid bends slowly, nuzzling his hair with a hum, “Yes, I believe so.”

#indruck #meet ugy #indrid cold/ duck newton #orc au #victorian au #trans duck newton

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whatcouldgowrong-ohthat · 4 years

Text

We Do This to Live Ch. 5

Chapter Five

Summary: On Earth-198742, there are no heroes. There’s humans. There’s mutants. There are even some that fall somewhere between. But when Boliver Trask manages to get the Sentinel program signed, it’s up to a thief and her brilliant sister to find those that still believe in something more - something good. And maybe, along the way, they’ll get the chance to save mutant kind.

Pairings: Rogue x Remy, Marie x Shuri (eventually), Geneva x Bucky (eventually)

Word Count: 3475 words

Warnings: Violence? Cussing? That sort of thing?

Masterlist to OCs - Masterlist to Other Works

Previous Chapter

---

“Y’the only t’ief crazy ‘nough t’steal more than is asked o’ya.”

Geneva shrugged from her spot on Marie’s bed. She had come home only a handful of hours ago and while she knew she should rest, her powers were matching her emotions. A constant hum was in the back of her ears and her nerves felt particularly prickly. Until she found out what all of this new information meant, she knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep. “T’anks for takin’ a look.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Marie was impressed that in the last twenty-four hours, Geneva had not only caught Jean-Luc up on everything that had happened, but she’d duplicated the contents of the flash drive. It was sneaky…underhanded…and absolutely something Marie was proud of. “Don’t t’ank moi yet.” She clicked on a file. Lab results, videos, photos – everything one could ever hope to find – popped up over the multiple screens. Marie raised a brow, finding a particularly interesting piece of information. “This project was terminated ‘cause the mutant escaped.”

Geneva bit her lip, taking in the x-rays that showed a metal skeleton. A shiver ran down her spine. “What was his name?”

Marie glanced back at the redhead. She knew Geneva had always been hesitant to learn about more of her kind, but it seemed like she was shedding that fear as she got older. “Uh…” She looked back at the information, eyes flitting from each piece of the puzzle until she pulled up the patient’s name. There was a small photo with it. “James Logan Howlett.” Shock washed over her as she told Geneva, “He was military. Part o’that Cap’n America’s Howling Commandos.” A couple lines further down and she realized why this guy was so important. “His mutation was enhanced healin’. No way o’knowin’ ‘ow old the homme really is.”

The familiar creak of her bed let Marie know that Geneva had moved, no doubt standing behind her. The two stared at the sleeping face. A patient used for experimentation and yet…he looked so peaceful in that single image. Who knew what drugs were in his system?

“Ca va,” Geneva muttered, resting her arms on the back of Marie’s chair. “What else?”

Marie exited out of the Weapon X file. “T’ought y’said there were five files.” She glanced at Geneva. “There’s only four.”

“One o’them needed voice recognition t’even move the damn t’ing,” Geneva admitted, running a hand through her hair. “Was called the Sentinel Program.”

Marie’s nose scrunched. “Weird.” She clicked on the Avenger file. Scrolling through the files, her eyes widened. “Oh, mon dieu.”

“What?”

“Shush.” Marie kept scrolling, utterly amazed at the amount of information Geneva had gotten her hands on. “Gen, y’managed t’get the file on all the Avengers and what happened to ‘em. Not the bullshit the media gave us. The real story.”

“Sonovabitch…” Geneva’s eyes sparked a little brighter, excitement coursing through her at the idea of such important information. And she was the one who found it.

A knock came from the door, earning two sets of curious eyes as it opened. Rogue peeked her head inside, leaning against the doorframe. If she had opened it even half a second earlier, she would have caught sight of all the information the pair had been looking at.

Instead, she saw the inner workings of Essex Industries.

Closing her eyes, Rogue took a slow breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marie…”

“Technically not a government organization.” The excuse tumbled from Marie’s lips effortlessly, as if well practiced and thought out.

They had a deal. Marie could hack away to her heart’s content – but she had to stay out of government business. It wasn’t that Rogue and Remy weren’t proud of her capabilities. They just didn’t want to bring unwanted attention their way.

Rogue forced her shoulders to relax as she looked at the girls. “Just be careful.”

Marie threw a thumb’s up her way as Rogue stepped inside. Geneva, ruffling the tween’s hair, looked at her mom. “Somethin’ up, Mama?”

“Your grandfather told Rem and I how your first mission went. Wanted to congratulate ya.”

Geneva grinned, her powers shimmering under her cheekbones. “Merci.”

Rogue chuckled as she sat on the foot of Marie’s bed. “He also told us how Marie helped.”

Marie tensed, looking over her shoulder. It wasn’t a secret that Geneva and Marie hadn’t been seeing eye to eye. If she didn’t know better, Rogue would comment about how much she loved to see them spending time together once again.

But Rogue was a very smart woman. She knew to keep her mouth shut. At least regarding their mended friendship.

“I wanted to talk to you two ‘bout that,” Rogue told them, bouncing her leg as Marie spun in her chair. “Your dad knows that you’re talented, Gen. We’re not doubtin’ that,” she assured her daughter. Just like she had been at Geneva’s age, the teenager was still self-conscious about her own talents. “But where ya might not think everythin’ through, Marie does.”

Marie shrugged. “What’s your point? ‘M a phone call away. She’ll be fine.”

“We don’t want it to have to be a phone call, Marie.” Rogue sighed, looking between the girls before settling her gaze back on Marie. “I know bein’ a part of the Guild isn’t what ya want. And I don’t blame ya at all. This won’t require you to do anythin’ you don’t already. But when Geneva goes on assignments, we’d like it if ya worked together. Someone needs to have Gen’s back and know what to look for.”

Silence fell in the room. Rogue knew it was a hard sell and understood why. With what had happened to Henri, Marie didn’t trust Jean-Luc or the Guilds. She hardly trusted her uncle, Remy.

But…

“I don’t want anyt’in’ t’happen t’Gen. If my ‘elp can benefit ‘er then…” Marie shrugged. “Ca va. ‘M in.”

Rogue looked at her daughter. Geneva simply shrugged. “Sounds like fun t’moi.”

That night, the two were in Geneva’s small house. Her projector illuminated a blank wall, showing them the videos she had stolen.

There was Dr. Strange’s arrest. The Eye of Agamotto had been glowing so brightly against his chest, refusing to leave its owner. They took his cloak though, no matter how feisty it had tried to be.

Charles Xavier’s students being arrested, despite their age. The school being shut down. Xavier being injected with so many needles, so much medicine, that he looked like a husk of the brilliant telepath he had been.

There was a clip of Natasha standing trial, being asked questions she refused to answer.

Another with Stark in the same predicament except…he spoke too much. His confidence screamed arrogance to those deciding his fate. They couldn’t trust him.

Both walked out in cuffs.

Geneva remembered learning about them in school. Photos of the infamous Black Widow and Ironman, teachings of how they were traitors to humans.

“We should show this to Pere ‘n’ Mama,” she whispered, absentmindedly drawing circles on her inner knee.

Marie looked back at her. Her cousin, the mutant, looked so terrified. Curled against the wall as if everything she had been taught was a lie. The media had told so many stories about the evils of mutant-kind. Of the Avengers. It was easy to lose track of what you were supposed to believe. Marie remembered a time where Geneva refused to believe heroes even existed. As far as she knew, the redhead still clung to that belief. To her, the only ones that were good were her own parents.

“We can’t, Genny,” Marie told her, smiling at the annoyance that flashed across her face. It was better than the fear. “Y’pere wouldn’t let y’go on more missions. Y’know that.” Pausing the clips, Marie turned to face her entirely. Geneva’s eyes, staring so intently at the pale images, finally looked at Marie. “’M gonna be helpin’ now. Y’know that too. This way, we can keep learnin’ the truth. If we get enough, we can stop SHIELD.” She took Geneva’s hand in her own, not bothered by the slight shock that tingled her palm. “We gonna do this toget’er. Y’not alone.”

Geneva blinked, her eyes finding their hands. “’M not a hero, petite. Not tryin’ t’be one eit’er.”

Marie nodded. “I know.” She gently squeezed her hand. “And y’don’t ‘ave t’be. Just gotta promise that we do this together. Just us.”

Bringing Marie in to help Geneva provided an almost-guarantee that their daughter was going to be safe. Where Geneva didn’t naturally over-think, Marie did. She knew the security guards’ schedules. She anticipated changes whether they occurred or not. While Geneva was smart in her abilities, there were cracks that Marie managed to fill in.

They worked well together. Naturally performing like a well-oiled machine.

Knowing and seeing that, Jean-Luc sent Geneva on more missions. Bigger and higher stakes that made stealing a few files look like nothing. Not that Jean-Luc believed so. A single promise to Marie had Geneva gathering as much information as she could, sidelining it and keeping it under wraps from the man in charge of it all.

He had no idea that any inkling of HYDRA existed.

Or that he kept sending her in the middle of it.

“This ‘as t’be the stupidest idea,” Geneva muttered, knowing Marie was listening on the comm.

“Jeez, tell moi ‘ow y’really feel.”

Geneva snorted as she stepped into the service elevator, janitorial clothes hanging loosely off her figure. Her hair, tucked behind her ears and hidden well under the company hat, was kept out of sight and mind. It was a fair enough disguise. People were leaving to go home at about this hour. It meant less disturbances. On paper? It totally made sense.

In person? Dressing as a janitor to slip in and out of Pym Technologies? It was slightly more terrifying. A single ding came from above and she stepped out. Just ahead, two workers were hanging a new sign.

Trask Industries.

Nodding to the boys, she kept walking until she came across the janitorial closet. The ID card deftly slipped between her fingers as she asked, subtle accent perfectly intact, “Didn’t think to tell me Trask bought this place?”

Silence.

Geneva opened the door as she asked, “Marie?”

“I didn’t know.”

She hesitated, barely able to gather any sense before she was tugging that blasted janitorial cart out of the closet and down the hall. Her nerves were going haywire as she trudged along. This hadn’t been a part of the plan. Breaking into Pym’s was one thing, but Trask? Alexander Pierce’s best friend?

“Breathe, Genny. It’s gonna be okay.”

Geneva snorted. “Easy for you to say.” She visibly relaxed when that sign was finally out of sight. From here, she could at least pretend it didn’t exist. She could act as if she wasn’t walking into a warzone entirely unprepared.

The doors opened with a hiss. She slipped inside, the doors closing behind her. Metal walls surrounded her, long labs stretching here and there. A quick glance to the last specialist was enough for Geneva to focus on taking out the trash.

“T’ink this is the most I’ve seen y’clean after someone else.”

Geneva wanted to snap at that, but she knew better. Each table had a small trash can next to it and by the time she had gotten to the fourth, the dweeby scientist was finally leaving. She set the bin down. As she looked up, a loose strand of hair fell free. She was alone.

Well, sort of.

“What’s the passcode,” she asked as she walked to the back of the room. There was a second door made of heavy metal. A keypad too. On the other side, something that might help them with sneaking just a little bit more. Geneva glanced through the window. No doubt it was thick glass. Probably bullet-proof.

“135081965.”

The keypad beeped with every input, followed by a much longer one as the door unlocked itself. “Any tricks I should know ‘bout?”

“Shouldn’t be, non. The glass’ll be thick, but y’powers should be able to handle that.”

Geneva chuckled as she took the hat off, shoving it in one of her many pockets. “Should bein’ th’key word, right,” she muttered, almost closing the door before stepping further inside.

The room was massive, bigger than the one before. It made no sense to her. The glass bubble, thick glass secured by metal, was the only thing in the room. And its contents were the smallest thing she’d ever seen.

“There’s no way that’s an actual suit.” Geneva circled the glass.

“It’s called the Yellow Jacket.”

Geneva looked up, bright eyes sparking a little brighter. But... Who the hell? There was no one in the room. “Marie? T’ought y’said no tricks.”

“I got nothin’.”

“Oh! Sorry. Uh…give me a second.”

Geneva’s jaw ticked, fingers crackling with electricity. A static filled the air and prickled her skin before a figure appeared in front of her. A red suit, silver helmet and red lenses, and…was he just small?

“I’m Ant-man.”

“What’s happenin’, Genny?”

Geneva didn’t say anything to Marie. This was the first time she had ever really crossed paths with someone that wasn’t…normal. “I – I’m Geneva.”

“Gen, what’s goin’ on?”

He tilted his head. “That’s your alter-ego name?”

Geneva’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “Not exactly.”

“Oh!” He pressed a button and Geneva curled her fist. She couldn’t help it. It was simply instinct. But seeing the helmet disappear, she was met with a…surprisingly kind face. Well, there was no way the guy was a thief or assassin. “I’m Scott.”

Definitely not an assassin.

“Geneva, be careful. You don’t – “

“Guessing we’re after the same thing?” He pointed to the suit between them. Something so small and so protected. Just how powerful was the thing?

Geneva took the comm out of her ear. She could hardly think with that thing in her ear. Shoving it in her pocket, she dropped the fake accent and told Scott, “’Fraid y’not the one that’s goin’ t’walk away with it.”

Scott huffed. “Look, we’re both thieves, right?”

She shrugged. “Eh. Maybe not on the same level.”

And with that – the lights flickered off.

Geneva’s eyes lit up, glowing in the new darkness. She recognized the whizz that came from Scott’s helmet, but paid him little attention. He wasn’t where her focus was needed. Fingers brushing against the glass, she watched it tremble.

But before it could shatter – something small and heavy hit her stomach.

Geneva’s back slammed into the wall. Fluorescents shattered above as Scott reappeared. Now – between her and her prize.

A hand pressed to her abdomen, she asked, “Were y’just petite?”

“Did you do that?” Scott’s hand pointed to the ceiling.

It seemed to dawn on them at the same time. Maybe this wasn’t going to be an easy assignment for either of them.

Geneva dropped low. Her staff extended. Swiping at his legs, she smirked when he landed on his ass.

Scott groaned. “You’re not a normal janitor, are you?”

“What clued y’in?” Her eyes sparked a little brighter and her staff lit up, crackling with her powers.

She swung for his head. He rolled, shrinking down to an impossibly small size. Geneva hopped to her feet. “Where the fuck…?” She looked around, desperate to catch sight of any sort of movement.

Something.

Anything.

She felt the tug at her wrist. A twist and jerk forced her hand behind her back. Pinned between her shoulders. Geneva hissed. She stumbled towards the wall, her hand pressing against the metal before her jaw could.

“Sonova…” She growled. Electricity shimmered over her hair, flying towards the lights. They burned ever so bright.

“Ah, fuck!”

There he was.

Her power surged through her pinned arm and –

ZzZzAP

Scott flew through the air. She spun, watching a small dent appear in the metal protecting the yellowjacket’s case. He grew in size, twitching here and there. The sparks of electricity still dancing on his suit zapped through the air, seeping once more into her skin.

Her veins and scars lit up as she threw a punch. There was too much going wrong with this assignment. She needed to wrap it up. Marie’s warning now long forgotten, Geneva aimed for his head. He dropped, vanishing once more as her fist, and her powers, shattered the metal and glass.

An alarm rang.

Scott reappeared behind her as the door swung shut. Locked.

With no way out.

“Ya sonova – “ Geneva turned towards him, eyes wide and panicked as Scott’s helmet vanished.

“I didn’t do it! You did!”

“Y’coulda let moi hit ya!”

Scott huffed, crossing his arms as if waiting for her to realize how ridiculous that sounded.

“I know ‘ow it sounds and ‘m not takin’ it back.” She turned away from him. Pressing a hand to the door, she focused on her abilities.

That was when the room’s light went red.

“Whoa.”

Geneva looked over her shoulder. Scott’s attention was still focused on her, staring at her appearance. “What?”

“Well, when the lights went red, it…” He pointed to her skin.

Geneva followed his gaze. Her skin, once glowing brilliantly, looked as normal as it possibly could. Her brow furrowed. The familiar buzz in her ears…the tingle to her skin…Those things she had grown so used to…

It was all gone.

She stumbled then, exhaustion tugging at the corners of her eyes. Scott stepped forward, offering her a hand. “Hey, careful.” He helped her lean against the wall, oblivious to the gas that was appearing through skinny vents. “Are you okay?”

Geneva blinked slowly, looking around. Her comm link. She needed – Her eyes drifted to the gas. Squeezing his hand, she nodded towards it. Their fight forgotten, survival seemed far more important. “’M powers make moi so…”

“It’s okay. I understand. You’re a little battery, aren’t you?” It was a lighthearted joke, something to make her laugh and hopefully wake her up a bit. He glanced at the gas, noticing how it started to fill the room. His helmet appeared, a barrier for him though he couldn’t do anything for her.

“Y’should…” She coughed, resting her head against the wall. “Go. S’meone is bound t’show up and there’s…” Another cough, this time followed by a yawn. “No point in us both getting’ caught.”

“You were ready to kick my ass a minute ago.”

Geneva shrugged, offering a weak smile. She saw his eyes through those weird red lenses. He was concerned and she appreciated it. “That was a minute ago. Sil vous plait, go.”

Another minute passed. A part of Scott didn’t want to leave her. It seemed inhumane. If this was still Hank’s building, he might consider it, but the whole reason he was here was because of Trask. The man was changing everything. He had a plan. He had power. And he had had enough of both to push Hank out of his own company.

But if he stayed…what would happen to Cassie?

“I’m sorry. I – “

She shook her head, pushing his hand away. It was then he noticed how green her eyes were. Like pretty jewels. “Don’t. Jus’ go.”

Scott took a step back, shrinking just in time for the door to open. He stumbled back, feet brushing against the vent just as the door opened. Geneva seemed to be drifting between consciousness and sleep, eyes barely able to stay open. With one last apology, Scott stepped through the vent, making his escape.

Geneva allowed herself to smile, relieved that at least both of them wouldn’t be caught. Competition was one thing, but prison? No, she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. She looked up, nodding slightly as masked guards came in. And right behind them, someone much smaller stepped inside.

Trask.

She grinned. “Y’lot shorter than I ‘magined.”

“And you,” he told her, voice muffled by his own mask. “Were almost smarter than I anticipated.”

Marie sat in her chair, curled up to look as small as possible. The shouting down the hall did nothing to ease the tears slipping down her cheeks. Sniffling, she wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked to the News.

“After apprehending a mutant thief, Boliver Trask has looked to SHIELD in hopes of fast-tracking his newest creation. With long-time friend Alexander Pierce holding office as Secretary of SHIELD, it appears this mutant’s actions were all that was needed to fast track what they are now calling the Sentinel Program. SHIELD officials have plans to introduce these creations to our larger cities first and - ”

She turned the screen off. Head hitting the chair behind her, Marie listened to Remy and Rogue screaming at each other. Shouting blame. Shouting worries.

Another sniffle as Marie stared at the ceiling.

What was going to happen to them now?

Permanent Tags:

@butcherofblackwater

#marvel au #xmen au #mutant ofc #marvel ofc #xmen ofc #original female characters #geneva lebeau #marie lebeau #oc x canon #canon x canon #oc x cc

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samantha-bradford · 4 years

Text

Rooftop Traditions

Two steps at a time Sam ascended the staircase of Quinn's building, the place was low-income and home to some rather shady individuals who made her skin crawl. That and the less-than-ideal weather never seemed to stop their little tradition of meeting up after the last shift of the week, even if she was loathing Quinn's choice of drink.

Reaching the door at the top she immediately spotted the shorter woman a few feet away. A crate used as a makeshift table, two smaller boxes as seats. She was seated in front of the storm lantern with a children's book in hand, likely for the girl's reading lessons. A thermos and two mismatched and dinged up mugs were placed for either of them, the contents steaming from the metal vessels.

Quinn had on an oversized sweater, clean and new. The amount of newer clothing she seemed to be collecting had not gone unnoticed and Sam quietly questioned where her friend was getting the money, or if she was taking gifts from an unknown suitor.

"Another new piece of clothing?" Sam chimed as she approached the meeting place. "Either you found another job or you've been raking in bigger tips from the patrons. Not keeping one around like a sugar daddy and not telling me are you?"

A mischievous grin pulled across Samantha's lips as she shot Quinn a playfully teasing wink. "One of these days you need to let me take you shopping then, or are you holding out and secretly have a stash of scandalous lingerie hidden away?"

Quinn glances up from the book, and her smile comes easily at her friend's ribbing. "Look it's gettin' colder these last few days. I needed a new sweater." She reached for the thermos to unscrew the cap, pouring dark steaming liquid into the second mug for Sam's arrival.

"Hot chocolate and cream liqueur. Deal with it, it was my week to choose the drink and I have a sweet tooth craving. And no, I'm not keeping a patron as a sugar daddy, you know my rules. No sex with customers." As usual not a real answer about where the money is coming from, just about where it's not.

Sam's nose crinkles up at the drink and her eyes roll as her seat was taken. "Uh-huh. Plenty of things you can do that isn't sex, Quinn. Stray hand here, a brush there. Oh, or maybe it's a sugar mommy instead?" A small shrug accompanied the light-hearted tease as a soft laugh caught in the throat.

"How are the lessons going, anyway?" She gave a shallow nod to the children's book Quinn had in hand.

"There's no sugar! I earn it all fair like," some credibility to the 'other job' theory maybe. She scoops up her mug, taking a sip, wrapping her other arm about her midsection against the cooling evening.

"It's goin' slow. Guess that makes sense, kids spend a few years learnin' this stuff right? Some days feel like I'm makin' a lot of progress. Other days it just makes me feel like the dumbest idiot what ever lived."

A short and stifled snicker managed to escape at the reaction Sam had gotten, biting the tip of her tongue in amusement before begrudgingly taking a sip of her drink.

"We'll call it both? The dumbest idiot who makes lots of progress." One hand moved across the air as she spoke, adding a bit of flair to her tease as if the words were appearing in lights. "But we love you all the same, even if the menu changes are hell."

"Thanks," the reply a dry deadpan of sarcasm as she gives her best friend a blank look before shaking her head at the display. "Anyway, I'll get it. It's time to better myself a bit right? Work in the scummiest slummiest bar Stormwind's got to offer and even the dishwasher, bless his little heart, reads better'n I do."

Eyes roll, but the corner of her smile is visible at the corner of her lips all the same. "Menu changes no worse than usual, I got a good memory for that kind of thing. Just don't ask me to be the one writin' 'em. What about you? How'd the date the other night go? You're alive still I see."

"Calling it a date is cute." Sam quipped simply before another sip. "Free diner, hard to turn down. He seemed kinda clingy though so I figured not great to get in bed with. Parted ways at his place and carried on the rest of the way home. Think he wanted a kiss but that's a damn shame ain't it?"

"Damn shame," Quinn agrees, lifting her mug in a mock toast. "I knew he seemed clingy even at the bar, the way he practically floated around after you all night. Better have been a damned good dinner." She bites her tongue in the rest of her usual speech on the risks and dangers.

"Been relieved those city guards who seemed to have the hots for me have cooled. Maybe they found a new barmaid to hit on. Makes my shift quieter, and the patrons less restless." She may trust Sam more than most, but that doesn't mean she ever told her the real reason she had guards in paying her attention all the time.

"I picked the most expensive thing on the menu, so I'd say it was good." A small smile pulled on the lips as if she was proud of herself.

"Well, I'm sure they'll be back eventually, considering everything that happened lately they probably just had their hands full. Or maybe you're right and they just found another bar, heard the Lamb hired some busty bimbo. Sort of a shame though, that lieutenant woman was at least cute. Bet she had some tones under that plate armor too."

"I wouldn't know!" Quinn's reply comes a bit quick and loud, a pink coming to her cheeks as she finds herself exceptionally focused on her mug for a moment and very much not on Sam. For now, she doesn't comment on the meal, but it sounds like how most of the woman's 'dates' seem to go.

"No clients, remember?" Her usual mantra repeated a bit wistfully this time. As if she could ever hide from her friend the crush she'd had on the Lieutenant in question. "Anyway yeah, I guess a lot was goin' on. Maybe that pulled them away. Whatever their business was a fleetin' thing and they didn't tip great. We work the kinda place people go not to be seen by guards. Easier this way."

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. But are they a client if they don't order a drink, or just not sit in your sections?" Both brows lifted as she teased, her head turning just a bit with a faint incline as the smile creased her lips further. "You can't sit there and tell me you've never thought of that woman bench pressing you just for fun, hmm?"

"Might not be a client if they don't come to our bar anymore either," Quinn grumbles. Her blush only grows deeper, fair-skinned cheeks flushed. A cheesy grin that she is trying very very hard to suppress, scrunching up her face at that last sentence. "Light, you're just the worst. People tell you it's good to have a best friend but hells, no one needs someone to call them out like this."

Fingers snapped as Sam quickly pointed across the makeshift table. "That wasn't a denial. I fucking knew it. And you love me, wouldn't know what to do without me. Besides, I wouldn't have to call you out if you weren't so stubborn and in denial. How else am I supposed to set you up with the handsome new delivery boy from the mills." She nonchalantly took a sip of the drink, eyes trained on Quinn over the brim of the mug.

"I'm not tryin' to get set up Sam! Light, I'm about to turn twenty one just, give me some time to breathe!" Nevermind that she's basically not been on a date in the year or so they've been working together. "And no, wasn't a denial, she was cute but c'mon, she was off-limits for more reasons than just bein' a patron. You saw her ring, someone special must've put that there yeah?"

Unscrewing the top of the thermos, she tops up her mug, a fresh waft of steam and the scent of chocolate. "You got plenty of dates for us both anyway, and besides. My time is just too full right now. Got to learn this," a thump on the book, "so I can write so I can do my job." Not that the bar involves a lot of writing.

"Oh come on! He's only a year older than you and just a couple of inches taller, what could go wrong? Big arms, big hands, probably a big something else. I've never seen you on a date, or even talk about one. When was even the last time you had some fun with something other than your hand?" One brow lifted this time as she gave Quinn a look as if trying to call a non-existent bluff.

"Hey, I would sleep with him once. Probably have a great night. But then when I don't want more than that he's goin' to come cryin' to you, and then we have an angry disappointed delivery boy. I try to keep my one night conquests to people we got no connections to thank you." Setting her mug on the box, she leans back on her hands, splaying them behind her and hidden beneath her voluminous sleeves. "Last month," she replies pointedly to Quinn. "Hooked up with a guy I met at Jeanne's little going away thing. I'm sure you saw the guy chattin' me up? That one. Went back to his place and got my fix."

"Wouldn't have to be a one-night thing," Sam mumbled into a sip with a hard roll of her eyes. Quinn's sudden confession had her nearly choke on the drink, a hand quickly covering her mouth but the grin still apparent with the faint chuckle.

"Well, he was at least a looker. I'd say that was an evening well spent then, even if I was the one going home alone at that time."

"Yeah well, see? I'm not a total loaner. I get mine. I just keep it away from my professional life. No one who could fuck up my job, or my friendships, you know? Just keeps it all safe and easy that way. I'll settle down eventually, I got no rush. I'm, you know, acceptably petite so I can find a partner when I'm ready. I get it, not everyone wants a Giantess so you gotta get settled earlier." The near choke does make her smirk in satisfaction though, she doesn't get to surprise Sam often.

"Who you calling Giantess you pigmy? Everyone is a giant to you and I'm certainly not looking to get settled, thank you. It sounds like work, with expectations of being a wife then probably a mother. If I wanted a gilded prison that badly I'd start fishing in the noble waters, they all got a mistress these days I'm sure."

"So find a nice girl to settle with. Then you don't gotta be a mother ever unless you adopt. Plus I bet lots of ladies would be happy to be on the arm of someone who can pick them up, or reach the top shelf. Why are you so keen to set me up with someone when you don't even want to settle yourself?"

"Because why not?"

Scooping a pebble off the roof, she launches the tiny stone over the box at Sam's arm. "I hate you some days."

Snickering as the pebble bounced off the arm, Sam smiled softly. "Everyone does some days, that's fine. But you wouldn't know what to do without me."

"I was bussing tables at the Pig well before you started and I got on just fine." A smirk, "but all things considered, yeah, I wouldn't want to lose you just yet."

"Bussing tables with that top button closed like an amateur, you mean."

"Yeah, like I still do thank you very much," Quinn retorts. "I know you pull bigger tips than I do, I'm just glad to have steady pay. I got grabbed enough before the Pig, I don't need it there. I'll let the wandering hands go to them who don't mind 'em."

"Still wouldn't hurt to show off some leg now and again." Sam bit the tip of her tongue in a slight smile, teasing light-heartedly. "I only mind when they don't know when to quit, I got limits and standards after all."

"Do you?" Quinn asks with a sarcastic tone and a self-satisfied smirk into her mug. "Haven't seen them yet."

"Oh fuck you!" Sam quickly retorted, malicious tones absent as it was her turn to fling a pebble across the table. "I've turned down plenty of advances and you fucking know it, you brat."

Quinn laughs, obviously enjoying herself as she settles back on one hand again, sipping her drink. "You have, I know. I have to find at least one high horse to hold over you, don't always want to be the short one."

"And I'm going to laugh when you're the one with a dozen children instead of me." Sam retorted, matter-of-factly.

"I don't think you're legally allowed to have children, it could do real damage if you dropped one from that height."

Brows knit together as Sam’s jaw dropped in mock offense. "Elves manage to survive!"

Quinn laughed and shook her head, killing the rest of her drink. "Dumbass. Anyway, I gotta head downstairs to my place and do some w...things. Catch you for a shift in a few days?"

"Uh-huh. Things..." Finishing her drink Sam watches Quinn over the edge of the mug, the smirk obvious as she insinuated other things. "And you know it, I'll see you next shift."

"Things!" Quinn pushes to her feet, scooping up the thermos and her mug. "Whatever, don't worry about it," she grumbles, heading for the door on the roof that leads down into the building proper.

With a look and chuckle of amusement, Sam followed soon after. Making a poor attempt, if any, to hide her grin.

[ @quinn-varden ]

#IC #RP

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thelastspeecher · 5 years

Note

46 - Skies (maybe glowing alien!Gucks AU? How often do the kids want to go out flying when they're older? Does Angie? DO THEY END UP WITH CRAYON DRAWINGS ALL OVER THE CEILING?)

46. Skies

Uhhh this ended up a lot longer than I planned. Sometimes I just can’t shut up. And I wanted to write some fluff, since things are currently going down the drain. So here are some flying glowing Gucks. Enjoy.

Prompt List

——————————————————————————————

Stan slapped a mosquito that hadlanded on his arm.

“Damn bugs,” he muttered. Fussing sounded from the baby carrier to hisright. He quickly checked the infantnestled inside, Danny. “Princess, youall right there?” Stan held out hishand. Danny grabbed his finger andgummed it excitedly. “I get it. You just wanted your chew toy.” While Danny chewed on his finger, he watchedAngie pace back and forth on the lawn. “Babe?”

“I’m goin’ to do it,” Angiemumbled to herself. She clenched herhands into fists. “I can do it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with notturning into a giant bug and flying away,” Stan said. Angie looked over at him. “We’ve been perfectly fine so far with justbeing human.”

“But I’m not human,” Angiesaid. “Not fully human.” She looked up at the night sky, filled withstars. “Part of me has always been drawnto the skies, Stan. Now I know why. That’s where that part of me is from.” Stan’s stomach churned. “I know yer not that comfortable with all ofthis-”

“That’s an understatement.”

“-but I need to try. If nothin’ else, it’ll help me make thingseasier on the girls when they get older. They’ll need to learn how to control their alien sides,” Angie pointedout. Stan grunted, not willing to admitthat she was right. “Okay. I’m goin’ to do it now. I’ll do it.” Stan watched with bated breath.

Angie stood still on the grass,damp with dew. She closed her eyes andleaned her head back, her posture relaxed. After a moment, a faint shimmer spread across her skin. Immediately after that, color rippled overher features as her pale tone was replaced with a pulsating, faint pinkglow. Her limbs, already slender, grewunnaturally thin, while her ears grew up and out until they resembled adeer’s. Two feathery antennae sproutedfrom her forehead. Angie opened hereyes, revealing that they had turned pure black. The stars spilled across the sky reflected inher eyes.

“Well, you turned bug, time tocall it quits,” Stan said brusquely. Angie looked over at him. A chillran down Stan’s spine at her obsidian gaze.

“No.” The only good thing Stan could say about herother form so far was that her voice was the same. “I need to try…” Her pink glow became interspersed with alight turquoise. “I need to try flying.”

“Flying? Ang, no!”

“Ma can do it. The girls can.”

“They float, Angie.”

“That’s flying.” Angie looked back up at the sky. “I need to try it, too.” Stan pulled his legs closer to his chest,dread mounting. Angie took a deepbreath. She stared at the heavens asthough looking for an answer. A momentpassed. Then another. Finally, right before Stan was about to tellher that they should definitely call it quits for the night, Angie rose off theground.

“Fuck,” Stan swore softly,staring. Angie’s feet hovered a fewinches above the tips of the blades of grass. Angie let out a joyful laugh, like bells chiming. Her feet slammed back onto the lawn. She promptly sat down. “…You all right?”

“Yes.” Angie beamed up at the stars. “I am.”

-----

It was balmy summer evening. Fireflies danced in the air. Once again, Stan sat between two babycarriers on the lawn, watching Angie tap into her extraterrestrial side. But this time, two others were doing the samething. Stan adjusted his hold on Emmett,who was going through an incredibly fussy phase and wouldn’t calm down unlesshe was being held. In contrast, Emorywas fast asleep in his carrier, not caring about anything happening around him.

Wish I could be asleep rightnow. Then I wouldn’t have to watch mykids turn into bugs. Stan hadlearned quickly to keep his opinions about Angie’s alien appearance tohimself. Not only did it upset Angie,but it upset Danny and Daisy, too. Astime had passed, he’d gotten more used to Angie’s alien side, as well as hisdaughters’, but he couldn’t help preferring them in their human form.

“Okay, girls, time to shift,”Angie instructed, already alien in appearance. Danny and Daisy, standing in front of her, quickly morphed. Their skin glowed a faint gold, antennae sproutedfrom Daisy’s forehead, and Danny’s eyes turned a solid, milky white. “Good work.”

“Now we fly?” Daisy askedeagerly. Stan grinned at the excitementin her voice.

“Yup!” Angie chirped.

“How?” Danny asked.

“Close yer eyes and imagine whatit feels like to be weightless. Like yerin a swimmin’ pool, just floatin’,” Angie instructed. Danny and Daisy closed their eyes. After a moment, they both began to lift offthe ground. Danny opened her eyes,yelped, and fell back down. Daisy,however, upon opening her eyes, soared higher. She did an excited twirl in the air.

“This is great!” Daisy cheered.

“Don’t drift off,” Stan saidquickly. While Angie checked on Danny,Daisy flew over to Stan. She landed infront of him. “Hey, pumpkin.”

“Dad, did you see?” Daisysquealed. Stan nodded. “I love being part alien!” Daisy spun around, her sundress billowingaround her.

“Yep,” Stan said in a tightvoice, his smile forced.

“How’s my brothers?” Daisyasked. She peered closely at Emmett, whostared back at his older sister. “When’she gonna start glowing?”

“I don’t know, sweetie, he-” There was a flash of light. Stan blinked away the afterimages and lookeddown at Emmett still in his arms. “…Nevermind, I guess he’s gonna start glowing now.” A moment ago, Emmett had been a regular human infant, with thick browncurls and a large, distinctive nose. Those two traits remained the same, but he now looked anything buthuman. Unlike Danny and Daisy, who had amixture of human and alien traits, Emmett was looked exactly the same as Angie’sbrother Lute, when he was in his alien form. Stan stroked Emmett’s bangs out of the way. Emmett stared up at him with wide,pitch-black eyes.

“Wowie zowie, he looks likeUnclute!” Daisy gasped.

“…Yep,” Stan mumbled. One of Emmett’s antennae twitched.

“Sweetie, come back, you can lookat yer brothers later,” Angie called. Daisy looked over.

“Ma, Emmett’s glowing!”

“Is he? Good fer him.” Angie sounded pleased. “But we can look at him when we’re done learnin’to fly, okay?” Daisy sighed.

“Okay.” She skipped back over to Angie and hertwin. Stan looked back at Emmett. Emmett made a mewling sound and stretched oneof his minute hands out. Stan’s heartsoftened.

“Hey there, sport,” he whispered,holding Emmett more tightly against his chest. Emmett nestled against him and smacked his lips in a satisfiedmanner. His antennae twitchedagain. Stan kissed Emmett’s glowingforehead. “Wanna watch yoursisters? That’s gonna be you someday.”

-----

Stan sat on the grass, ignoringthe damp dew soaking into his pants and the blades tickling him.

I’ve really gotta mowsoon. Or better yet, get Daisy to do it. He watched sixteen-year-old Danny and Daisydo loop-de-loops in the air, glowing bright pink. They’re in good moods right now. I’ll tell her to do it later. Angie was giving ten-year-old Emory andEmmett the same instructions she’d given Danny and Daisy when they startedflying. Emory bounced on the balls ofhis feet excitedly, already in his alien form, which looked identical to hishuman one, with the except that he was glowing. Emmett, however, was still human, looking down at his feet, visiblydreading what was about to happen.

“Now, don’t worry if it takes abit to kick in,” Angie said. Herantennae twitched in the faint spring breeze. “Just keep tryin’. If nothin’happens tonight, we try again tomorrow.”

“I think we can manage,” Emorysaid proudly, puffing out his chest. Angie chuckled and ruffled his caramel-colored curls.

“I know you can, sugar-cube.” Angie looked at Emmett. “Emmett, you ready?”

“I think…I think I’m gonna go sitwith Dad,” Emmett mumbled. Angieblinked. “I don’t- I don’t feel good.”

“Okay, but-” Angie started. Emmett walked away silently and sat down nextto Stan. Stan put a hand on his shoulder.

“You all right there, sport?” heasked softly. Emmett pulled his legsclose to his chest. “C’mon, kid, talk tome.”

“I don’t like being alien,”Emmett said quietly. Stan stared athim. “I’m already weird enough, since Igot twelve toes. I don’t like that there’sthis other thing that makes me so different.”

“You’re only a quarter alien.”

“Then how come I look full alien?”Emmett asked.

“That’s just how things worksometimes. If I’ve learned one thingabout genetics, it’s that you can’t predict it as much as you think you shouldbe able to.” Stan scratched hischeek. “Of course, I learned that fromlistening to your mom and Uncle Ford talk about the alien thing, but still.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Yeah.” Stan’s hand fell to his lap. He chewed on the inside of his cheek,debating whether or not to tell Emmett. Hetook a deep breath. “I didn’t, either.”

“What?” Emmett stared at Stan. “Dad, what do you mean?”

“When we first found out about thewhole alien thing,” Stan said, waving a hand vaguely, “I didn’t like it. Every time your mom turned alien in front ofme, I wanted to leave the room. I hatedhow sometimes your older sisters looked like…” Stan glanced back at Danny and Daisy. “Don’t tell them this, but I said that they looked like bugs.” Emmett’s jaw dropped.

“But yer so casual about all ofit!”

“It took a while before I couldbe casual,” Stan said. “I didn’t wantany of this, I didn’t like it.” Stantook a breath. “But then I got used toit. And after I got used to it, Istopped feeling so uncomfortable. Andafter I stopped feeling so uncomfortable, I started liking how you kids lookwhen you’re all glowy.” Stan ruffledEmmett’s hair. “You being alien isn’t abad thing. So what if it makes youweirder? Is anyone in this familynormal?” Emmett managed a small laugh.

“I guess you’re right.” Emmett took a deep breath. Like when Angie transformed, there was aripple of color that passed over his skin as his human appearance was wipedaway. In alien form, Emmett shifteduncomfortably. He glowed a tense darkgreen.

“Think you’ll take a stab atflying now?” Stan asked. Emmett shookhis head.

“I think I’ll just start bygetting used to the antennae. It’s beena while since I’ve had them.”

“No worries,” Stan said with ashrug. “Take your time. You can stay grounded with your old man.” Emmett nodded silently. Angie walked over.

“Emmett, you ready to start flyin’?”she asked. Emmett shook his head. “That’s fine. When yer ready, just let me know. Emory ‘ll be happy to fly with ya.” Emmett nodded. Angie turned toStan. “Come with me, darlin’.”

“…What?” Stan asked. Angie grabbed his hand and pulled him up.

“How’s that fear of heights ofyours?”

“I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Want to find out?” Angieasked. She pulled him close. Stan felt his feet leave the ground. He looked down. He and Angie were hovering a few inches abovethe lawn. His stomach turned over. He looked at Angie. Her large, black eyes caught the lightemanating from her skin.

I got used to Angie lookinglike this, I should be able to get used to heights. I can always close my eyes if I need to. Like he had when Angie first learned to fly,Stan quashed the churning in his stomach and grinned at Angie confidently.

“Let’s do it.”

“Gross, Dad,” Emmettmuttered. Stan frowned at his son.

“No flying, no opinion,” he retorted. Emmett rolled his eyes. Angie wrapped her thin arms around Stan’s torsoand rested her head against his chest, her antennae tickling his chin. Stan returned the gesture, embracing her. He closed his eyes as they ascended into thenight sky.

#I'll get to the prompts that other people sent me don't worry folks #there's no rhyme nor reason as to when I get to prompts other than just it's whenever I get inspired #Gluck AU #Stangie #Angie McGucket #Stanley Pines #Danica Pines #Daisy McGucket #Emily Pines #Emmett McGucket #Stangie Family #my writing #ficlet #ask #exsanguinary

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littlemissvincentvega · 5 years

Note

Idea! Sequel to good little thief where Larry takes you to meet his new pal Freddy and hot se- I mean hijinks ensue! Freddy is still undercover but can't help but get UNDER the covers when you've stolen his heart

OMGGGG YESSSS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH i think im gonna make this into a little series if you like!!!!! feel free to send in another sequel idea bc im loving this djasklcdkslalka ♥♥

Squinting in the sunlight, you brush your hair out of your face, strands swatting at your cheeks in the breeze. “There’s some spare sunglasses in the glove compartment, sweetheart,” Larry says. “Probably should’a told you that earlier.”

“I’ll beat you up for that,” you grin, leaning forward and fumbling around in there.

He chuckles and glances at you as you pop them on and lean back in your seat. “So I’ve been thinking of introducing you to a new kid Joe found. Cocky little fucker, but he’s a nice guy.”

“Yeah? What’s his name?”

“Freddy. I think you’d like him, sweetie.”

“What, he handsome?” you tease, and he laughs.

“You’d probably think. But I gotta say, if I looked like him, I wouldn’t be complainin’ much,” he shrugs. “Anyway, you in? I thought we could go on the way back to mine.”

You pat his hand that’s clutching the gear stick and nod. “Sure.”

“Good, ‘cause I already told him we were goin’,” Larry chuckles, and you slap his arm playfully. “Sorry sweetheart, gotta do as I say– remember, I’m the teacher here.” Giggling, you lean over and smooch his cheek, leaving a noticeable lipstick mark to embarrass him. You’re still not dating but, after a couple more jobs together and a few dinners, you had definitely gotten even cosier than before. And neither of you were complaining about it.

“Freddy!” Larry exclaims, pulling him into an embrace. He slaps his back and proudly turns to you. “This is (Y/N), been trainin’ her up lately, but you know that already. She’s a real gem, huh?”

The two guys stand admiring you for a moment. “Nice to meet you,” says Freddy. “Come in, I’ll get you somethin’ to drink.” He discreetly eyes you up as you enter his home and walk past him, following Larry across to the kitchen. Upon admiring your ass as your hips swish side to side, he feels his cock twitch and a smirk grows on his lips. “You guys want a coffee?”

“That’d be great,” you smile, speaking for both you and Larry. “Love the Marvel posters, by the way!”

Freddy smiles, cheeks flushing a little. “Really? Thanks,” he laughs, “I had ‘em since I was a teenager… you like Marvel too?”

“It’s cool.”

“Super cool,” he agrees, grabbing three mugs from the cupboard. “How d’you take your coffee, sweetheart?”

“Same as Larry, lots’a cream, lots’a sugar.”

Larry nudges you and grins. “She’s learnin’ alright, what did I tell ya? A fuckin’ gem!”

“Sure seems like it, man,” Freddy winks at you. Blushing, you cross your legs at the way he’s looking at you. Larry was right, he is a cocky bastard, but you can still tell he’s undressing you with his eyes– put it this way, he isn’t disguising it very well.

“Stop it, guys, you’re embarrassing me!” you protest, giggling. With a chuckle and a, “sorry, sweetheart,” Larry rests a hand round your waist.

“So, you been dealin’ much lately? How’s things?”

“Just okay,” Freddy says, pouring the hot water into the mugs. “Had a chick tryin’ to haggle the other week for a fat fuckin’ brick’a weed, just kept arguin’ with me. So I fucked off back home, not havin’ any’a that shit, not in the mood, man.” He stirs in the coffee, cream and sugar mindlessly, half-lidded eyes watching the liquid swirl around. “What about you?”

Larry looks at you and smirks. “Pretty good. As I told ya, been trainin’ up (Y/N) here– or Alabama, as Joe refers to her– she’s a natural little thief, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh, guess so. Couldn’t do it without you, though, darling.”

“Nah, I gotta agree with Larry there,” interrupts Freddy, sliding over the coffees. “If you came into my store ‘n’ told me to shut up and give you, y’know, whatever it was– diamonds or whatever, I’d be too fuckin’ entranced to say no.”

You laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good, it was meant as one,” he replies smugly, his eyes roaming your body. “You uh, enjoying the criminal life then?”

“Yeah, it’s cool. Keeps me on my toes, it’s exciting,” you nod. “Not to mention my teacher’s a real catch.”

“Shush, you!” you giggle, lightly shoving Larry’s shoulder. “You don’t by any chance have a bathroom I can use, Freddy?”

“Nah, we shit in the sink here,” he teases. “C’mon, I’ll show you.” Larry winks at you as you trail behind his younger friend to his bathroom, curiously looking around his apartment. “Right here.”

“Thanks,” you smile. He returns the smile, the smugness showing on his lips once again, and gently kicks the door shut so you’re both alone. “Why’d you do that?” you ask, chewing your lip. Your eyelashes flutter as you glance from his lips to his eyes, pretending not to know what’s going through his head.

“Just wanted to make you feel at home,” he responds, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. They’re blue and ratty, he probably got them when he got those damn posters. This thought brings a slight smile to your face and Freddy smirks at you. “What’s tickled you, baby?”

You lean against the wall, looking up at him with a devilish grin. “Nothing, I just like your jeans, they’re cute.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

You gaze into one another’s eyes for a few moments and then, almost instantaneously, collide in an impatient, heated kiss. With one hand firmly groping your ass and another holding your jaw, he pushes you into the wall, his cock struggling against his jeans. “Larry never told me you were such a little slut,” he breathes, sliding his hands up your shirt.

“Christ, what’s takin’ ‘em so long?” Larry ponders, one hand clamped around his coffee mug, warming him from the inside. Just as he mumbles this, he hears a slight thump– little to his knowledge, it’s Freddy shoving you against the wall. The penny drops. “That horny bastard,” he chuckles to himself, sloping over to the couch.

Letting out a moan and a giggle, you rub him through his jeans. “Guess he knew you’d figure that one yourself,” you smile, him fondling your breasts. “I’m sure he won’t mind sharing me with you… daddy.”

Upon hearing you call him that, Freddy lets out a groan, his eyes narrowing with lust. He pulls you in for another kiss, grinding his hips forward to get a bit of friction going. He’s desperate to get his cock out, you can tell. “Get on your knees for daddy, babe,” he orders. You happily oblige, and as you kneel down for him, he leans over and locks the bathroom door with a smirk.

You look up at Freddy as he unbuckles his belt, eyes fixed on you. “Mm, tha’s a good girl,” he growls, buckle jingling. He drops his jeans just enough for you to take his cock out– it’s practically throbbing for you. Licking your lips, you take him in your hand, pressing small, sloppy kisses to his tip. The kisses soon melt into licks and, even sooner, you have his cock in your mouth. Gently running his hands through your hair, he mutters words of encouragement as your head bobs back and forth. That carries on for a few minutes, you quietly sucking him off while he quietly praises you, until he tugs on your hair slightly. “Such a good girl, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, whimpering as he releases into your beautiful little mouth.

“Thank you, daddy,” you smile, and he gives you a hand up after pulling his pants back up. You buckle him up, blushing. “Thanks for showing me to your bathroom.”

Freddy lets out a satisfied laugh and unlocks the door, giving your ass a playful squeeze as you make your way back to the kitchen. “I’m in here,” Larry calls from the couch. You grab your coffee from the counter top and join him there. Freddy does too. “You two crazy kids have fun in there?”

“Larry!” you giggle, huddling up to him.

“You were right, man,” Freddy chuckles, “she’s a fuckin’ gem alright.”

#freddy newandyke x reader #larry dimmick x reader #reservoir dogs fanfic #reservoir dogs smut #mr orange x reader #mr white x reader #reservoir dogs x reader

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ask-chef-teruteru · 5 years

Note

Hey uh, sorry if this is weird but like.. im kinda feelin like absolute shit because my mom doesnt love me and nothing i do will get her to love me. But like, what is it like to have a mom who loves you?

“That truly hurts my heart to hear, darlin’. I want you to know, take it straight from me that it ain’t your fault, okay? Love from a parent is s’posed to be unconditional and it’s the saddest thing in the world when it ain’t. It’s a huge misfortune that we live in a world where that ain’t always the case n’ any type of guardian might throw restrictions down; gotta act a certain way or be a certain thing or meet whatever standard they say n’ decide they ain’t gonna love you none if you decide to be your own person or don’t fit whatever mold they tried shovin’ you in. If your mom can’t love you for you, it’s her loss, not yours. Know it might not feel that way to y’all right now, but it’s true. People who matter are gonna love y’all no matter what and the people who up n’ decide y’ain’t good enough? They ain’t worth your time. People are gonna love you just cause you’re you, and y’ought not have to bend over backwards in the hopes that it’ll be enough for somebody in particular, family or not.

That said, I’ll answer what y’all asked too. I wouldn’t be even half the chef I am today if it weren’t for Mama. She’s the one who ignited my passion for the culinary arts in the first place, was always encouragin’ me to learn more n’ keep right on learnin’ more n’ practicin’ n’ givin’ it my all since she saw that it made me happy. Hell, I could wake her up right now, middle of the night when she’s got things to do in the mornin’, just needin’ a word of encouragement n’ I know she’d have one for me once she was awake enough to think. That’s always been the type of person she is though n’ the kind of mom she is. Whether I’m succeedin’ or failin’, she always lets me know she’s proud a me for tryin’, sees my effort. Celebrates with me when I’ve accomplished somethin’ same way she’ll cry with me if I’m feelin’ awful. Heh, guess she’s the reason why I never feel right droppin’ my accent for good neither. Not to mention how all the hon’s n’ darlin’s n’ cher’s are integral parts o’ my vocabulary by now. End of the day, I know I got somebody around who I can take any problem to n’ get comfort over it if not some sound advice.

My dear, I want y’all to know it ain’t impossible to find somehody else who’ll love you just the same n’ fill that same role for y’all though. Bein’ blood relatives ain’t make or break when it comes to a relationship bein’ supportive n’ lovin’ n’ important the same way. If you ain’t already got someone who makes y’all feel unconditionally loved, it’s my wish that you will. Whether it be from another family member or a friend or a partner, I hope you experience that feelin’ for yourself. I love y’all unconditionally too, sweetheart, but I don’t know how much of it can be conveyed through just posts like these. I hope y’all know I mean it though.”

#asks #anon #for as perfect as mama is i cant exactly say i dont know the feelin from the other side of the family #sometimes y just gotta square away with the fact that y cant please everyone n youll be a lot better off once y stop tryin #i hope you can love yourself the way y oughta be loved n be able to be proud of yourself even without her approval

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rainythefox · 6 years

Text

Oh, Brother (RDR2 Fanfic CH.5/Final Chapter)

Synopsis: 1885, Illinois. A young Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur wander into a country town following a lead to swindle a wealthy homestead and break their control over the town. But while scoping it out, Arthur encounters a young John Marston, setting fate in motion that will eventually become a rocky, yet loyal brotherhood. A short multi-chapter story revolving around how Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur met John. (Rated T for violence and swearing) (Mostly Adventure/Friendship/Humor)

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Chapter 5

Six months later...

"Relax."

The breath that came from John's lips was shaky. Arthur reached out and cupped a hand over the drawn revolver that quivered in John's fingers. He steadied the boy, looking down the range where the bottles sat atop the fence.

"Keep steady now. The key is to breathe in and then release it slowly and pull the trigger. Don't anticipate the kick, or you'll always miss your mark. You gotta get used to it."

Arthur stepped back, allowing John some space. John stared down the bottles with a determined gleam in his eye. He fidgeted on his feet, arm extended out with the revolver.

Arthur smacked the boy upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Steady, I said, boy!"

John focused again, letting a breath slip from his lips. He pulled the trigger. The revolver went off, a loud bang to their ears, the kickback tossing John's arms up.

All bottles remained unscathed. John growled in frustration.

"I killed a man with one of these things but now I ain't got the nerve to shoot a bottle."

Arthur chuckled. "That was luck back then. And luck's nice to have, but it ain't always gonna save you. You got plenty of nerve, kid. It's confidence you lack. Here."

Arthur picked his hat off his head and plopped it on John's head, grinding it down on his scalp and getting a small giggle out of the thin boy.

Arthur wasn't sure why, but John liked his hat, even still after running with them for six months. He never gave a reason to Arthur on why, but he guessed it didn't really matter. He'd let John wear it time to time, and it gave the boy a boost of confidence needed in his teachings.

"Now, let's try again. Spread your feet a bit further apart. There ya go. Aim with a steady hand."

Arthur fixed how John held his arms out with the gun aimed.

"Good. Now remember the breathin'. Don't anticipate the kick. Shoot that green bottle now. Go on. You can do it."

John sucked in a deep breath and released it. He pulled the trigger and the shot rang out across the valley. The green bottle shattered on the fence.

John's mouth opened wide with a grin as he jumped in victory. "Yes! I did it, did you see it, Arthur?!"

Arthur walked over and patted him on the back. "Damn kid, good shot! You keep that up, you'll be shootin' better than me."

John laughed. "I wish. There's no way I can shoot like you or Dutch. And I don't even wanna think 'bout tryin' to beat Hosea. You're the fastest I've seen with a six shooter and I saw Dutch shoot a bird out of the sky through the trees with his revolver. And Hosea hit a deer in the eye on a runnin' horse with his rifle."

Arthur took back his hat, ruffling the boy's hair. "Hosea will probably outshoot us well after he's old 'n gray."

"Probably."

Arthur nodded his head towards the grazing horses. "C'mon. I reckon we better get back to camp and skin that pronghorn or we'll be goin' hungry tonight. Besides, you got more lessons comin' up."

John groaned. "What's so important about readin' and writin' anyway?"

They mounted their horses and started back towards camp. John guided his horse to canter alongside Arthur's horse, where their freshly killed pronghorn was stowed.

The Wyoming valley extended in rolling, grassy hills around them within clusters of trees and surrounding mountains. The sun was high with not a cloud in sight, but the wind nipped hard on their skin, warning of coming winter.

Arthur took a drink out of his water canteen and passed it to John. "If Dutch and Hosea say it's important, then it's important. Ya need to be literate in the jobs we do."

"Sometimes I think that's harder than learnin' how to ride a horse or shoot a gun."

Arthur nodded with a soft laugh. "Yeah, it's hard sometimes. They taught me, same as you. I reckon if they can teach a dummy like me, then they can teach you too. I mean look at you. It didn't take long for you to learn how to ride a horse."

"I guess so…"

They rode together side by side while chatting. John could be a talkative boy and today he was full of questions. Arthur kept an eye out around them as they crossed a bridge over a low-running creek into a field of sagebrush and boulders.

His eye caught something down near the water and he quickly pulled on the reins to stop his horse. He recognized the familiar flower that bloomed there, the soft pink petals and dark anthers stood out amongst the reeds and mud.

Arthur got off his horse. He couldn't believe it. He didn't think he was far enough west yet to find one. The flower was his mother's favorite, and he remembered her telling him it brought good luck. He was so young when she passed, it was one of the few precious memories he had of her.

"What is it?" John asked.

"I'll be right back," Arthur replied, sliding down the slope into the creek bed.

Arthur wasn't surprised that John's curiosity and stubbornness got the best of him. He followed Arthur down into the creek bed on his horse. The steed nickered nervously around the reeds and muck.

"John, better not get down in this on that horse," Arthur warned.

"I'm fine."

Arthur bent down once reaching the flower. He admired it for a moment, caressing its petals. He reached down and grabbed the stem, carefully pulling it from the soil.

Just as Arthur stood his full height, he heard it. The unmistakable, nerve-shattering, dreadful noise of a vibrating rattle. He froze, looking into the reeds, but John's horse spooked. The gelding reared with a loud neigh, tossing John of its back and bolted.

John fell with a yelp into the reeds and muck. Arthur scanned the green stalks for movement, his hand hovering over his holstered revolver.

"John, don't move!"

He saw the serpent, the bend in the reeds as it slithered by in haste. Arthur drew his gun and shot it. John got up, his body and clothes now covered with muck. He flicked his hands to cast off excess mud, curling his lip in disgust.

"Ew!"

"I told you not to bring that horse down here, boy."

John spat out mud from his mouth. "Yeah, yeah."

Arthur picked up the rattlesnake, looking the limp body over. He grinned at John and his now even dirtier appearance. "Miss Grimshaw ain't gonna allow that, ya know."

"I'll wipe it off as soon as we get back, don't worry."

"Somehow, I don't think that's gonna be enough."

Arthur cut the rattle off the dead viper and extended it out towards John. John smiled and took it, testing the rattle out with a shake.

"Neat!"

"C'mon, best we get back and clean you up."

Arthur looked over the flower one last time before slipping it inside his satchel. Luckily, John's horse didn't flee far, taking comfort next to Arthur's horse. They climbed up and headed out once more.

"So, what's with the flower?"

Arthur frowned, wondering if he should tell him or not. "It was my Ma's favorite flower. One of the few things I remember 'bout her. She died when I was real young. I always pick one when we come out this way. They only grow out west."

"Oh."

Arthur glanced over at John. The boy became solemn, his eyes falling to the mane of his horse.

"What is it?"

"I never knew my Ma. S-She died havin' me. My Pa never told me much 'bout her."

Arthur understood how the poor boy felt, and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

They were quiet for several minutes. Arthur scratched his cheek, uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "Susan's strict but she cares a lot more than she lets on. And-And Bessie, well, she's the gentlest woman I know. I've come to care for them as mothers, in their own ways. I'm sure you will too. Them two ladies would never let anyone touch a hair on your head. Bessie for sure. She has quite the soft spot for you."

John smiled. "I like Bessie a lot. She's the nicest lady I've ever met. I-I like Miss Grimshaw too. I know she cares, even when she's bein' tough on me."

Arthur chuckled. "I'd be pissin' my pants more if I saw them two comin' after me after you were hurt even over Dutch 'n Hosea. You ever see Miss Grimshaw grab a shotgun while fumin' you better hunker down, boy, 'cause things are 'bout to get ugly. Hah!"

John laughed with him. "I wouldn't doubt that! She can be scary."

They took another trail going up into the evergreen forest along a rocky ridge. The path was worn down to dirt and rocks that jutted out from the soil, so they had to slow their pace some for the horses. Camp wasn't far now.

"I overheard Hosea and Bessie talkin' a couple weeks back, not long after we got here."

"You're a nosy little bugger aren'tcha?"

"Hey, they thought everyone was sleepin' and I happened to not be. But anyways, well, it worried me a bit. Sounded like they wanted to leave us."

Arthur shot his eyes over at John from those words. "Surely, you misheard. What did ya hear?"

"Bessie asked Hosea if they would ever try again. To leave this life behind and start their own family. Hosea asked her if she wanted to, but I didn't hear an answer. I dunno if she shook her head or what. But it's what Hosea said next that confused me."

"What did he say?"

John thinned his lips, thinking back. "He said…he said there's an internal conflict within Dutch, one that he doesn't even know about. And Hosea said he has to stay by his side…to keep Dutch from feeding an inner wolf…whatever that means. That he has to guide Dutch as well as protect us. He said he fears that Dutch is becoming disillusioned with his own beliefs, but I don't know what he means."

Arthur scowled, not sure what to take from those words either. For some reason, he thought back to Dutch's behavior at the Warren homestead when they saved John from being hanged. Arthur didn't see anything wrong with what Dutch did, seeing it as an "eye for an eye" for what Mr. Warren tried to do to a young boy, for all the corruption he was behind in Hickory and Andell. But there had been a certain…burning in Dutch's eyes that Arthur had never seen before.

Arthur shrugged. "Eh, Hosea worries too much sometimes. I'm sure it's nothin'. He and Bessie tried goin' straight once and came back. The thing is…Dutch and Hosea are a package. One cannot function without the other. Like buddy-sour horses if you try and separate 'em."

"So, it's nothin' to worry 'bout?"

"Nah, 'course not."

"Oh, good."

They came upon the camp, hidden in a glade within the spruce forest and half surrounded by an overhanging cliff. The tents and wagon were stationed around the rocky opening. A campfire was smoldering near some sitting stones and a log. The horses were hitched in a grassy patch near the cliff.

The gentle rumble of a small waterfall sounded on the other side of the cliff as the water cascaded into a basin next to the camp before flowing out into a large river.

Arthur and John hitched their horses with the others and got off. Arthur took the pronghorn off his horse and carried it over to the butcher table to skin later.

He looked around camp. Bessie was washing clothes in the basin while Susan hung some sheets up to dry. Hosea and Dutch were at a table, a chessboard in between them. Both looked to be in deep thought as they considered their tactics. Dutch was black and Hosea white, but Arthur didn't understand chess too well and so was lost at who was winning.

Arthur and John had just taken off their satchels and gun holsters when Susan stamped their way with a look in her eye.

"Uh oh," John muttered.

"John Marston, look at you! You look like you've been in a pigsty!"

"Sorry Miss Grimshaw, my horse threw me on the way home. I'm goin' over to the water barrel right now."

"Oh no! That won't do. You need a bath!" Susan pointed down nearby at the basin of clear, cold water.

John's eyes went wide. "What?! No way! I'd rather be eaten by wolves!"

John slipped behind Arthur to avoid Susan's grabbing hands. Susan stepped around Arthur's back, and the two preceded to chase each other around, using Arthur as an obstacle. Arthur watched them go round and round while arguing, catching Bessie's and their leaders' attentions.

"Arthur, help me!" John cried.

"It's just a bath, you little imp!"

Arthur groaned. He reached out and grabbed John, picking the boy up off the ground easily. He started walking for the basin with John fighting his clutches.

"There's no use fightin' it, John. Let's just get this over with."

He stopped at the water's edge. The water was clear and clean, but the basin sloped fast, becoming deep and turning dark blue in the middle. There were tons of fish in the water, and a gentle ripple came from the waterfall.

"I know you don't like water, but the sooner you get clean, the sooner we can get about our business."

"It's not that!" John hollered, squirming. "I…I can't swim!"

Arthur narrowed his brows. "Whatchu mean you can't swim?"

"Just that, ya dummy! I never learned and ever since I almost drowned, I've been scared to! Now let me go!"

"I know how to fix that."

"Wha-?"

Arthur tossed John into the basin. Susan gawked, jaw going wide as the splash sounded across camp. John burst out of the surface, gasping, limbs flailing. Soon Dutch, Hosea, and Bessie ran up.

"Kick them legs and move them arms, you'll learn!" Arthur yelled.

"You're evil!"

"Arthur, what the hell are you doing?!" Dutch snapped.

"What? That's how my Pa taught me," Arthur defended.

"Your daddy wasn't exactly right in the head then!" Hosea exclaimed.

"Well, he-" Arthur started, but Dutch smacked him hard across the back of the head. "Ow, hey!"

"Get in there and get him before he drowns!"

Arthur jumped into the water and swam the short distance to John. The clean, blue water turned brown from the muck washing away from the flailing boy. Arthur reached out and snagged John, and like a prickly bur, the wild boy seized onto him and wouldn't let him go.

He got to the basin edge and was helped out by Dutch and Hosea. John clung onto Arthur's back, terrified, soaked, and shivering.

"Sorry, John. I thought it would work with you too."

They helped John down. The boy glared up at Arthur, still shivering and dripping wet. "Your pa was an evil bastard, Arthur!"

Arthur shrugged. "I mean, ya ain't wrong."

"You alright, John?" Hosea asked.

"I think…so."

Dutch sighed. "Susan, Bessie, could you please clean him up?"

"Sure, Dutch," Susan replied.

Bessie took John's hand and guided him for the wagon to clean him up and get him fresh clothes. John followed silently, leaving a dripping trail behind.

Arthur felt Dutch's and Hosea's chastising glares on him. He blinked at them. "What?! He got clean didn't he?!"

Dutch shook his head. "You just graduated to a new level of big brother."

"Try to refrain from throwing John into bodies of water in the future until we can teach him how to swim…the proper way," Hosea said.

"Alright, sure." Arthur scratched the back of his neck, looking down at his own soaked form. "Well, s'cuse me, gentlemen. I better change and get to skinnin' an animal."

The sun had disappeared beyond the western horizon, and the stars glowed like perfect orbs across a black sky. Like infinite shining jewels, they lit the sky up in a spray of brilliance. They glimmered so vibrantly, Arthur felt he could reach up and pluck one from the heavens. He admired their beauty while eating his supper. They seemed so…endless.

John sat beside him, wolfing his stew down. The boy still ate like a starved dog, and Arthur was sure the boy ate nearly double he did. He had gained a little weight since being with them, but was still a scrawny twig.

He was clean now, even his hair seemed a bit less greasy. Arthur was surprised he was even sitting next to him. John sure had been mad for Arthur throwing him into the basin.

"John, I'm…sorry for that. I didn't know that almost drownin' freaked you out that much. Ya know, when my Pa did that to me, I panicked, but…but I learned. I guess."

John wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking up at him. "It's alright. I know you meant well, even if it was really mean. But your Pa…well he weren't right in the head!"

Arthur laughed. "Not arguin' with ya there. But hey, we'll teach ya properly, whenever you're ready."

"Okay."

Dutch approached them at the campfire, a cigar curled in a finger. Hosea and Bessie played dominoes at the table while eating, and Susan read at the other end of the campfire while she ate.

"Arthur, I'm going to need you to come into town with me tomorrow."

Arthur sat his empty plate aside, nodding. "Alright, sure, Dutch. What're we doin'?"

"Meeting a man named Colm O'Driscoll. Supposed to have a good handle on any jobs out this way. We could help each other. He mostly works in California, which is where we're headed. So…could be a promising start."

"Oh, can I come, Dutch?" John asked, thrilled.

Dutch smirked, flicking the ash of his cigar into the campfire. "No, son. Not this time. It may be dangerous. I appreciate your enthusiasm though. Don't worry, you'll get to come with us soon enough."

John frowned. "Okay."

"How's your shootin' coming along?" Dutch asked him.

John glanced up at Arthur then smiled at Dutch. "Comin' along real good, Dutch. I'm gettin' better!"

"Good to hear. Say, how about you and I go out shooting when we get back from town tomorrow? I think it's my turn to give Arthur a little break anyways. I can show ya a little trick you may like."

"Really? Sure!"

Dutch chuckled, ruffling John's head. "That's my boy. Now, don't forget you have a study session with me and Hosea after supper, ya hear?"

"Oh, right. Yes sir."

"Arthur, try to get to bed at a decent time tonight. I need you well-rested for tomorrow, son."

"Don't worry 'bout me, Dutch. I'll be ready."

Dutch patted his shoulder and left the campfire. Arthur sighed and scooped up his empty plate and spoon. John handed over his empty plate as well.

"You want seconds?" Arthur asked.

John shook his head. "Nah, I better get my study over with."

"Yeah, I better get my chores done."

"Will I ever get to go with you and Dutch on jobs?"

"Well, sure. You just got to get better at shootin' and readin' and writin'. You're getting there, John. Dutch is real proud, he praises 'bout you all the time. You'll get to come with us before you know it."

"Ugh, just seems like I'll never get the hang of it."

"You will. I thought the same too. Dutch and Hosea and well…me also…we just don't want anythin' bad to happen to ya. We're just bein' protective, is all."

That got a smile out of John, and he looked grateful. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur playfully smacked the boy on the arm. "Course! Now, get over there and learn some readin'. Maybe we can play some dominoes later."

John left to go to Dutch's tent. Arthur took their plates to the wash bin and went to feed and brush the horses. Since the sun went down, the temperature dropped considerably. Arthur knew that winter was getting close, and hoped they would make it to California before the first snow.

After tending to the horses, Arthur helped Susan and Bessie with the laundry and dishes. He stopped to peak into Dutch's tent. A lantern lit the tent up, and showed Dutch sitting next to John and Hosea sitting across from them. John looked like he was mouthing something from a book.

"He's such a good kid. I'm so glad we found him," Bessie said, looking over at the tent as well. "He deserves much better than what's he had growing up."

Arthur slowly nodded. "Yeah. We all had it rough, but he…well, it ain't been easy for the boy. You can tell he ain't used to nobody carin'."

"You're right. He's sure has taken to you though. Follows you all over the camp…eager to go with you hunting or shopping."

Arthur rubbed his neck. "Yeah, well, he likes to follow Dutch around too, ya know."

Bessie giggled. "Ain't nothin' to be embarrassed about, Arthur. He looks up to you. That's always a nice thing."

Arthur softly snorted a chuckle, lowering his head. "Well, he likes you a lot, Bessie. I think…I think he may see you as a mama he ain't never had."

Bessie put a hand over her heart, a smile gracing her beautiful face. "That…That means so much to me. I'm happy to hear that."

Bessie stood up on her tip toes and kissed Arthur on the cheek. "G'night, dear. You boys be careful in town tomorrow, ya hear?"

"Yes, ma'am. G'night."

Arthur went to his tent to do some writing in his journal. He kicked his boots off and took his hat from his head. He pulled the flower from his satchel and admired it for a moment, thinking back to the blurry memories of his mother. He placed the flower in a jar and sat it to the side by his bag and weapons and his pictures.

John's writing and reading lesson went on longer than Arthur thought it would, and so by the time he was done scribbling in his journal, John finally appeared and crawled into the tent with him. Arthur wasn't surprised. The boy had his own tent now, but there were many nights that he slept with Arthur in his tent. It annoyed Arthur at first, but he had come accustomed to it and didn't gripe about it…too much.

"How'd it go?" Arthur asked, shading the sketch he drew of his Ma's flower.

"Good, I s'pose. Went on longer than usual. We didn't even get to play a game."

"Maybe tomorrow then."

"You draw really good."

Arthur pulled the journal closer to him so John couldn't see. "Don't be peekin'. This is for my eyes only."

"Dutch has a similar journal. He has some drawings in there, but not as much as yours. He writes real fancy though. Maybe one day I'll be able to read what it says."

Arthur heaved a sigh. "You ain't supposed to read or go through other people's things. It's rude and wrong. Better not let Dutch catch ya doin' that, or he may tan your hide."

"Ain't that what we do though? We go through folks' things and steal them?"

Arthur snorted. "Gotta point there. I meant your friends' things."

"Do they always stay up late talkin'?" John asked, looking out of the tent.

Arthur followed his gaze out of the tent and across the way. Hosea and Dutch sat at the table, both peering at the stars as they smoked on cigars. Hosea pointed at something in the sky while talking, but Arthur couldn't make the words out.

"Most nights, yeah."

"What do they talk about?"

Arthur grumbled. "I dunno. Life, philosophy, their dreams. All kinds of things."

"Must be nice to have a friend that you can do that with. To have all your trust in, to care for you and have your back. That you can tell all your hopes and fears to and-and know they will do anythin' for you."

Arthur closed his eyes, releasing a quiet breath. He reached over and grabbed his hat. He placed it on John's head. John smiled, his eyes tearing away from Dutch and Hosea to look up at Arthur.

"You have that right here. We all got your back, kid. We all care about you, and will never let anything like what happened back at that homestead ever happen to you again. You need someone to confide in…we're here."

John's cheeks flushed, but he looked so happy as he reached up at felt Arthur's hat. "Thanks…Arthur. I…I never thought I would find a place I could belong."

"Well, now you have."

"I promise, I will learn and become strong like you and will return it...I'll be loyal and strong and do anything in my power to help and protect you folks. I care 'bout all y'all very much."

Arthur chuckled. "Alright, alright. No need to get all emotional. I get ya and I have no doubt in it. Now, c'mon, let's get some shut eye. We got a long day tomorrow."

Arthur laid on his pallet and fluffed his pillow. He sat his journal aside by his satchel. John got comfortable on the other side of the tent on his own pallet, still keeping Arthur's hat on his head.

"Why do you like my hat so much anyways?" Arthur asked as he snuffed out the lantern.

"I don't really know. When I first saw you in Hickory, I just thought it was neat looking, and wanted it. But now…I think it's 'cause it's yours, and it makes you look like one of them legends or heroes you hear in them wild west tales. And when I wear it…I feel like maybe I can be like you one day. Brave, and strong, and loyal. That I can be a good man."

"Not sure if I'm any good. What we do ain't good. But you'll be a man one day. I plan to give that hat to my son, if I ever have kids that is. But who knows…maybe one day, I'll give it to you instead."

"I always wondered what it would be like."

Arthur glanced over John's way, but couldn't see him in the dark. Only the dancing of flames shimmered within the tent.

"Wondered what?"

"What it would be like to have a brother."

Arthur softly smiled. "Me too."

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews

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sundrenched-smilez · 6 years

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rose, lace, wings, marble, pearl, wine

rose: what makes you feel beautiful?

gettin to dress up or coordinate an outfit!! compliments, eyeliner, painting my nails, trying on clothes, sunlight, my hair when it works w me, esp when it gets v curly!! i lov that!! also whenever i’m topless? sometimes bc i’ve always wanted boobs, and they’re a constant reminder that i made it thru everything i thought I couldn’t, and that i’ve made so much progress and growth over the past yr, and it’s nice bein able 2 appreciate them n have em out :~)) oh!! and not having body hair, that’s always helpful for feelin nice, smooth is goode

lace: how would you describe your best friend(s)?

sam @unstablebystander is my fav person and best best friend!! they’re rly smart and creative, and i love how they think!! they’re super innovative, and r always bettering themselves n tryin new things, and it’s super admirable of him. he’s got Such a good sense of humor, and we can joke abt anything, n tease each other, which is rare for me bc im p bad @ takin junk like that seriously unless ik the person rly well, n know they don’t mean it. so i rly appreciate that, and that we can talk abt anything together. i met them like 4 yrs ago, and im v glad i met him when i did; we were both startin exploring gender and realizing we weren’t cis, and they were a rly integral part of learnin 2 accept and love myself, and finding my gender(s) n all that jazz!! we’re like always on the same page n hella in sync, and it’s wild, and rly fun. they’re rly capable and have been thru so much, and keep goin, and they’re really amazing. i always feel better when i’m around them, n talkin, even if it’s abt simple stuff, we find a way to improve each others’ days and they make me so happy.

roan @agayconcept is someone who i consider a v close friend!!! they’re doin such great work w the kiddos they teach, n makin such a big difference in the world bc of it!! they teach em that everyone’s minds work differently, and that there’s no one way to do something, n how important respect is, and im so happy that they have the opportunity to teach their kids these lessons :~)) im super proud of em. also!!! they’re rly great w fashion n have an amazing taste in music, and in general!! we’re always listen to eachothers probs n comforting each other, n sharin good things in our lives, n that we find, and theyre a huge sweetheart

wings: list five things you love about yourself

i love my hair!!

that i lov tellin bad joaks n laughin w ppl

my eyes r incredibly stunning, esp w eyeliner on, it compliments them so well.

i love how creative and imaginative I am, and the way I think abt things, n what i’m able to create!! my fashion sense is also v loved

my ear for music is smth im proud of and wanna work more with!!

im cheating here’s a sixth!! i love how i interact with and make art!! i wanna get into animation, and i rly love my knowledge of su, bc i can pick out an episode by a single frame, and probably tell u the line bein said if it’s one of the older or more memorable ones, and i think that’s neat

marble: what do you look for in a partner?

I look for someone who’s willing to communicate with me, and talk anything out, even if it may seem silly. someone who listens intently to important things, and will remember things abt me n what i’m into. a big thing i’ll look for is creativity, imagination, compassion and empathy!! i love picking @ creative minds and bouncin stuff off of them w ppl, and as someone who’s into music, art and animation as i am, i feel it’s important to b w someone who’s at least a bit into any of those things. writing counts, bc that’s still creating smth and a lovely thing

ppl who aren’t super short compared to me? just bc i get uncomf towering over ppl. eyes r very very important to me, u can see a lot in them, and i have a thing abt readin them. brown eyes r a big bonus tbh, i’m a slut for em

bein strong isnt necessary but is Very Hot, and i lov outdoors/nature things a lot so that’s important to me to have in common!! humor is also rly important, i gotta b able 2 make bad jokes w em c:

pearl: what is your favourite: scent, flavour, sound, texture?

scent is v particular, bc i have a few!! and im p sure i have synaesthesia and associate things strongly w smell, so one of my fav ones is “animal crossing for gamecube” but i can’t rly explain what that smells like? it’s got a strong memory to it tho!! i rly love bonfire smoke smell, my fav candles (endless weekend, and strawberry pretzel bar) and when u blow a candle out

flavour is probs thai tea? crab rangoon, good french fries, and lemon ice (culvers has it, it’s like!!! lemon ice cream but like a mix between waterice/italian ice, and sherbet. )

sound is for sure an acoustic guitar, specifically when u play w the strings and move ur hands down/up them and all sounds that it can make, and i super love accordion??? it’s such a big instrument in my memory and from my childhood, and it gives off like carnival vibes to me sometimes?? which is unique and fun and very pleasant!! it’s also such a specific feeling to me c:

wine: talk about something you are looking forward to

there’s this rly chill n adorable game comin out this yr? early next? called ooblets!!!! it’s a mix between pokemon, stardew valley, and animal crossing and gosh,,,, it looks so incredible and i can’t wait 2 try it out : DD i love any game where u can grow stuff, interact w villagers/townsfolk and have lil pets n decorate/craft stuff!!! and it’s got All of that : DD!! it is a game for me

#abt me #food m #cassette tapes #:~))

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happyhollow-mellowmarsh · 3 years

Text

The End of the Beginning - Endgame 6/6

Natalie rubs at her face and her wings give a few agitated flaps. There’s an idea forming in her head on how to deal with all of this, how to use Celine’s own rigid views to the group’s benefit, but would it work? How set in stone is she? She has to take a chance at any in any case, if this game has taught her one thing it’s that she has to avoid her stance of not pushing when the situation needs it.

“Wait, now hold on. Y’ain’t trust Hex with a bunch of us now? Where was that caution a while ago when he was first puttin’ all this together? It ain’t like his views on humanity were exactly a secret then, and none of y’all thought it might be a bad idea to let him take in a bunch of folks?” She crosses her arms, thinking. “I guess I can’t really force you to do anythin’, but I’d like to point out somethin’--You know where Hex’s home is now, and you’re keepin’ him confined to this swamp. If y’all can freely come here and check on him and what he’s doin’, then that means that an apprenticeship under him would be safer now than it was beforehand. Not to mention he would damn near hate havin’ to put up with a bunch more folks in his swamp, I reckon. So what I’m proposin’ is--”

“Let the folks here make their own choices ‘bout all this. Let ‘em choose between stayin’ here and forcin’ Hex to own up to his offer to actually teach folks for a year, or quit the whole learnin’ magic thing here and now. I figure, if y’all can keep an eye on folks, you can make sure it’s safe both for us to learn, and also you get a year to make sure folks ain’t gonna do anythin’ fucky with magic, instead of tryin’ to figure that out in a few minutes when our group’s feelin’s are raw and hurt over what just happened. Also…. Y’know, probably make it so folks can head home when they want and all durin’ the Apprenticeship so we ain’t just prisoners here. The way I see it, that way y’ain’t yankin’ a sense of control away from people who need it to recover, and y’ain’t gotta worry ‘bout us doin’ anything too rough. The only person who really gets hit by that plan is the guy who helped cause all this mess in the first place.”

Celine clicked her tongue. Annoying, all of this was. They might as well be a bunch of children with no idea how the world worked. She could compromise, but it would hardly be as appealing as a full apprenticeship.

“I had assumed he had been doing better since Mallory came along. I certainly had my concerns, but I never expected the outcome to be this severe. It had been years since he caused any problems, which is a massive improvement for this man. Consider it having been my show of good faith, or an ‘innocent until proven guilty’ mentality.”

“Fine, but I’m going to place conditions on it. Hex can teach you for the year he had promised, but firstly: You will only be permitted to have two elements. If you’re only learning for a singular year, quality is more important than quantity. I need to be sure you can control your elements in a fine manner, so you don’t cause any accidental damage while out and about. If another witch takes you in afterwards, or Hex decides to keep teaching you, you may take more. That’s contingent on your behavior and tendencies, I imagine.

“Secondly: If you choose to stay here, every single one of you will be required to meet with a therapist at least twice a month. More often than that if the therapist deems necessary. You all need to learn how to deal with your outbursts in a healthy manner and how to not make rash decisions or yell every single opportunity you have.

“Third: If any of you egregiously misuse your magic after leaving, I will personally take it away from you. As some examples, I mean murder, mass destruction, torture, and worsening the environment. Behave yourselves.

“Finally: If you opt to not take this one-year opportunity, I will take your magic from you, as I do not believe an untrained apprentice should be walking around without the fine control they need to know. Be responsible with your power.”

Those conditions set in place, Celine turned her attention back to Hex. After all, she did just volunteer him to be a tutor. Silenced or not, she was sure he’d have words to say, though she made no motions to unsilence him herself.

“Consider it your first step to your community service. You can spend your first year focusing on them. Call for me if you’re wanting to leave to do any of your work outside of the bog afterwards, and I can handle providing you with supervision.”

Hex, who’d been both looking greatly unimpressed and highly displeased at all of this discussion happening without him, had indeed also been silently working on both removing his silence and presumably making sure that Celine wouldn't be able to instantly do it again.

"And if I fucking refuse? You've got a lot of fucking nerve deciding what I will or won't do." After being stuck with the lot of you for a year already on his end, he was less than thrilled to keep dealing with you for longer.

“I’m afraid you don’t have much of a choice in the matter when it comes to the house arrest, at least. I have no doubt the others will agree to help me on that.”

Celine responded in a curt manner, before turning to count the remaining ghosts in the classroom and presumably ‘read their souls’ like she had with Mao. It seemed like Celine, at least, planned on the discussion being fully over. Mallory, on the other hand, turned to Hex, wide-eyed.

“Hex… Please. We’ve talked about this, right? Ah… making it up to people. It’s… only for a year, and I can help you now that I’m not sick? I know 18 people is a lot, but with the two of us, I think we can make it work.”

Certainly there would be people more jazzed to learn under Mallory than Hex, in any case. She wasn’t going to do every bit of compensation on her own, but Mallory did seem eager on helping to ease the burden, for better or for worse. She interlocked her fingers together, maintaining a small distance between the two of them.

Hex first showed Celine a look of disdain before promptly ignoring her, and then turned to Mallory with a sigh. As angry as he was with Celine, Mallory held no such place of malice in his heart, and he did hold some value in her opinion. She was free from her magical allergies now, so if she was ready and willing to help...

“...Fine. If any of them truly want to stay here for the remainder of their year, then fine, I’ll at least give them a chance. I won’t force them to live here the entirety of their apprenticeship if they want to visit the human world now, but I’ll keep the living arrangements here for now.”

Which, that said… Hex turned towards the rest of you, eyes glancing over each of you for a moment.

“For those of you who want to stay for some fucking reason: Welcome to your non-killing game apprenticeship, I fucking guess. And regardless of what you do… Congrats on making it to the future.”

Though likely never say it out loud: It truly wouldn’t have been possible without all of you here and the choices you’d made.

#chapter5 #natalie #celine #mallory #hex

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theduplicitousdame · 7 years

Text

Honest Q&A Meme - Naharé Mergrey

What is your full name? “X'nahala Rahz. It's a dead name ta me. Naharé Mergrey is tha name I will live an' die by."

What do your friends call you? “Fer tha most part I respond ta Naha or Powder Keg. Given me temperament tha latter should be pretty self explanatory.”

What is your favorite animal? “Hm. D'lyhhia's lil' dodo has grown on me. Me mammet, Fidget, ain't an animal, but I do love 'im. Sometimes. Tha bugger can get annoyin'.”

Where were you born? “Limsa Lominsa. An' damn well proud 'o it!”

Do you have children? “Aye, I do. Twins. Alexei an' Ana. Me husband wasn't able ta sire so we chose a surrogate.”

Is there a person/people you love? “Love is a pain in tha arse, but I do have people close ta me. Askier Mergrey, me husband, though it ain't tha same as it used ta be. Rollin' Stone m'pretty sweet on. A damn good lookin' man that has his shite together. D'lyhhia Lhuil I care fer like she's me lil' sister."

What is your favorite color? “Ah. Jus' one? That ain't fair. M'gonna give ye four. Black, red, gold, an' purple. I've been told I look good in those colors. They're also relatively easy ta mix an' match.

What is your full occupation? “Heh... Me primary job is with tha Black Pearl Tradin' Company. D'lyhhia helped me get tha job. With 'em I operate outta tha Limsa port managing tha inventory, as well as loadin' an' movin' tha crates. We're also allied with tha Maelstrom as one 'o their trade levies.

When I'm able ta I teach BPT crew basic hand-ta-hand an' gunner combat. What good are tha crew if'n they can't even defend themselves?

Me personal work consists 'o developin' mammets an' turrets, buildin' an' repairin' guns, an' doin' engineer work. I like ta keep me hands busy.”

Are you good at physical fighting? “Damn righ' I am. Fist slingin' was tha firs' thing I learned. Then I learned ta add me feet an' even me teeth. I'll admit I dun play fair. I dun care, either. I'll even use whatever is nearby ta knock ye on yer arse.

As soon as I got me hands on a gun it was all downhill from there. Well, uphill fer me, downhill fer tha sod on tha receivin' end. I put all me attention inta learnin' ev'ry single detail.”

Which form are you best at? “Both. I never let meself get rusty. With tha type 'o environment I work in I can't afford ta let meself get rusty.”

What about magic? “Nay. Nay. An' nay some more. I hate magic. All 'o it. Get it away from me an' keep it that way. I've had too much shite happen ta me an' other people I know from that accursed practice. If'n I see magic users durin' battle then I shoot them firs'. No exceptions. Me half-brother practices tha healin' arts. I tell 'im ta go away an' do it if'n I can."

Which type are you best at? “I dun do magic so I ain't got a type that m'best at.”

Craftsmanship? “I mentioned it earlier. I can build mammets an' turrets. I can also build an' repair guns. Some explosives I can do. Engineering is another thing. Puttin' together Magitek prosthetics I have a knack fer considerin' I got meself one.”

Any other skills? “I can make seashell jewelry, but I dun do it often.”

Are you an only child? “Nay. I have a half-brother, Khajirr, an' a twin sister, Tohba.”

Where do you see yourself in five years? “Alive. Hopefully. If'n only fer tha sake 'o me kids. They ain't old 'nough ta go without me yet. After that? M'not sure.”

Have you ever almost died? “... Aye. Me late brother-in-law was driven ta madness by magics I'd rather not speak 'o. He's tha reason I hate any kind 'o magic. Tha bastard terrorized me an' me family fer tha better part 'o a year. Maybe longer. I've been shot at, stabbed, beaten, scarred... But nothin' compares ta tha abuse from me brother-in-law.”

Do you have a secret, not just a secret, but like a really big secret hardly anyone knows? “Aye, I do. But ye asked me if'n I had one, not tha context. So ye dun get tha context.”

Salty or sweet? “Um, in tha middle? I dun like ta indulge meself too much in one 'o tha other.”

Do you like yourself? “Heh... Sure.”

Do you believe in the Twelve? “Nay. I dun believe in wastin' a good part 'o me time dedicated ta tha Twelve. I only pay partial mind ta Llymlaen.”

Are you religious? “Did ye listen ta me jus' a second ago?”

Do you carry prejudice with you? “I despise most Seeker lads. Tha ones that try ta act like Nunhs, or are Nunhs, are full 'o shite. They ain't as special as they make themselves out ta be. Yer life is more than jus' tryin' ta see who has tha bigger dick an' how many women ye can shove it inta.

An' speakin' o' Seeker women. The ones that even abide by those stupid traditions are nothin' more than glorified breedin' cattle.

Ain't too fond 'o Xaela, either. They seem like a bunch 'o brutes? I dunno. There's too many 'o their damn tribes ta keep up with. I like tha Raen folks more.”

What do you consider entertainment? “Tavern crawlin', an' watchin' people beat tha shite outta each other in taverns or at fightin' events. I like ta jump in meself from time ta time. I like ta see what people are made 'o, an' if'n I can go toe-ta-toe with 'em.”

Favorite drink? “Rum. I dun leave tha house without a flask 'o rum on me. If'n I drink anythin' else then it's pineapple juice. Sometimes mixed with tha rum.”

Do you have any family traditions? “Not really? Sometimes I'll put up some decorations fer holidays, mostly fer Starlight.”

Are you a good person? “I know m'not.”

Thank you for answering my questions. “Tch. I gotta get back ta work.”

Tagged By: @jancisstuff! I had a lot of fun with this!

Tagging: @mirkemenagerie @diskwrite-ffxiv @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast @meandering-mind @vanitysruin @afreesworn @lodsamone @cpl-stone @locke-rinannis @tarot-dancer @subetei-noykin @wsurahbeln @sylsmammets @honhonoura @fyuha @rowahn-xiv

#ffxiv #ffxiv stormblood #balmung #honest q and a meme #honest q and a #nahare #nahare mergrey

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captainsbabysitter-blog · 7 years

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Mama’s Pride

Pairing: McKirk

Rating: Everyone?

Length: 2079

Warnings: I don’t usually have to do these, but there’s some homophobic bullshit.

Summary: Jim convinces Bones to head to their local Pride event and mama McCoy tags along. Questions abound, and Len finds him in the awkward position of coming up with answers he never thought he’d have to give.

Notes: I was given this idea as a sort of prompt by a friend who thought they couldn’t really do the subject justice. Basically all the questions mama asks are questions I was asked by my own dad, and the protestors later on feature an argument I had with another family member at a later time. So... Yeah, enjoy!

~*~*~*~

Sure, jeans and a flannel over a t-shirt wasn’t exactly in tune with the “dress code” for most of the men in the park at the moment, but Len was having fun walking with his boyfriend through Pride. He wasn’t so sure about his mother tagging along. Mama made it clear from the second she noticed the looks her son gave Jim that first Christmas Jim tagged along that she didn’t care who her babies loved as long as they were happy. Really, he couldn’t have asked for a better response to his mama finding out he was bi.

He loved her to pieces, but if she didn’t stop asking questions, he might burst a blood vessel from the embarrassment.

“What do all of these flags mean?” She was probably gesturing toward the rows and rows of various pride flags adorning the booths.

“Each one is for a different orientation, mama,” Jim explained and then enthusiastically launched into a detailed explanation for each flag.

At least Len didn’t have to field the questions alone. They already explained to her by pansexual meant, patiently corrected her when she’d confusedly asked, ‘but who’s the woman?’ and Len was pretty sure he only ground his teeth a little at her wondering out loud why someone couldn’t just choose one or the other. ‘Well because some people like both, mama,’ Jim had answered.

Speaking of Jim, Len took in the sight of his boyfriend with fond amusement. He knew Jim would want to go a little more eccentric with his look, and Len would be lying through his teeth if he tried to pretend those shorts weren’t working for him. The pink, yellow, and blue stripes adorning his left cheek had been streaked there by a young girl eager to add color to anyone willing to sit still long enough. So far, they’ve been dragged to every single booth and mini even going on in the park by the over-excited blond.

Len was broken from his wandering thoughts by a small flag being jammed into his hand by his mama. She apparently decided he needed a bit more pride adorning him.

“I got you and Jim mini flags! See, yours is the bisexual colors and Jim’s matches his cheek!”

All he could do was give her a warm smile. She was trying. A helluva lot more than Jim’s family ever did.

“Thanks, mama.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek before offering his arm. “Let’s go catch up with Jim before he does something foolish.”

“Dear, I thought that was the point of today?”

“Maybe, but he’s got an extra strong nose for trouble. Knowing him, we’ll find him talking to the strangest person he could find.”

They shared a smile as Len caught sight of Jim again. Someone had bedecked the young man in a boa made of a million different colors, and he’d somehow ended up with a tiara.

Eleonore blinked at one of the signs, and before Len could notice her sudden curiosity, she piped up with, “Leonard? What does that sign mean by bears?”

His face instantly heated up and he could feel the embarrassed flush creep up his neck as Len dared to follow her gaze to the gentlemen Jim was now in an animated conversation with. One of the men- a rather large fellow in an open leather vest- was waving around the sign in question.

“Well, mama… Uh…” He prayed Jim would come over and rescue him from the question, but when his knight in metallic short-shorts didn’t seem to pull away from his talk, Len was forced to answer, “They’re gay men that tend to be larger and rather hairy…”

“Oh so they’re bears because they’re furry.”

“… Yes, mama.”

“Bones, there you are!” Jim darted over to grab his hand, pulling the doctor along to meet his new friends. “See? This is him.”

Jim ran through introducing him to people whose names he’ll probably never remember while Len kept an eye on his mother. She seemed to be looking the group of men over and a few looked a little uneasy about the scrutiny until she gave them a beaming smile and said, “You boys look lovely!”

“Mama, please…”

“Oh! Sorry, and this is my boyfriend’s mother, Eleonore.” Jim grinned over his shoulder at her before turning back to add in a stage whisper, “We’re giving her the grand tour of gaydom today.”

If Leonard’s face got any hotter, he was sure he’d catch fire, but the men seemed content to coo over his mother’s presence. He took a steadying breath when they finally continued on through the park.

“And now what are they up to?” Her curious tone was followed by her tugging Len through the crowd toward a stage. There was a gay comedian at the mic performing.

“What does he mean by that? What’s a bottom mean?” Eleonore asked quietly, obviously trying not to interrupt the enjoyment of the crowd laughing around them.

Len shot a panicked look toward Jim who seemed perfectly content to leave him hanging with a smirk. His mama looked at him expectantly, not seeming to notice just how uncomfortable he was.

“Um… Well... Shit. Mama, I don’t know how to answer that in a way that won’t disturb you. There’s really just some stuff you probably don’t wanna know.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as he looked anywhere but her.

She finally seemed to notice just how red he face was getting and had the decency to look contrite. “Oh sweetpea I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s okay, mama… It’s just there are just some things you gotta right not to know and you already had to think about me having sex when I came out and I really don’t need you knowing more specific things.”

The three of them wandered around for a while longer, Len progressively being weighed down by the various trinkets mama and Jim picked up from the booths as the two social butterflies made friends with every craftsman and woodworker and quilter (he had to convince mama not to buy a quilt that had what looked like Picasso’s rendition of several hundred dicks as the topper ‘mama those are penises…’ ‘oh dear! They are, aren’t they?’) who bought a booth for the day. Jim’s wallet was crammed with a couple dozen business cards with personal numbers on the backs so he could keep in touch, and Len was just pleased to see his boyfriend so happy.

It wasn’t until they got to the far edge of the park that Len started feeling a bit tense. The chanting shouts he knew he’d inevitably hear at some point finally rose over the din of revelry behind them. He made sure to keep a closer eye on Jim because the last thing they needed was a fight.

What he didn’t anticipate was Eleonore’s reaction. Her eagle eyes caught sight of the signs with various religious vitriol and she scowled darkly. Before he could shift from holding Jim in place to grab her arm, she was off like a shot making a beeline for the protestors.

“Evangeline Martin! What in the world are you doin’ standin’ there with that sign!”

Leonard paled when he realized a good portion of the group were the women in his mother’s Bible study. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him when he invited her along.

“Ellie!” Her surprise was dampened when she saw Len with an arm around Jim’s waist. A sneer twisted her lips as she continued, “I guess I don’t have t’ask what you’re doing here.”

“I’m learnin’ more about my boys and showin’ them love and acceptance like Jesus preached!”

“Jesus didn’t have cocksuckers in mind when he was spreading God’s love,” another woman (Angelica, Len recalls) countered. Cheers of agreement rose up around her.

“Well then he must not’ve been talkin’ about you either!”

Jim nearly choked on his laugh, and even Len had to bite the inside of his lip to stop the wide grin that was trying to form. Mama just kept on talking, jabbing accusatory fingers in their direction, “Y’all should be ashamed of yourselves! These men and women have had more than their fair share of problems just acceptin’ themselves and now all y’all are here making right fools of yourselves tryin’ to make them ashamed of somethin’ the Lord wouldn’t give a pig’s spit about.”

“The Bible says…”

She cut them off before the sentence was even finished, “The Bible says not a damn thing about the subject.”

“Sodomites are condemned, Eleonore!”

“Ezekiel 16:49-50, Sarah! ‘Now this was the sin of your sister Sodom: She and her daughters were arrogant, overfed and unconcerned; they did not help the poor and needy. They were haughty and did detestable things before me. Therefore, I did away with them as you have seen.’ You’re lookin’ awful haughty, and you sure look unconcerned for the harm y’all are doin’ by being here.”

From there, it seemed to become a contest over who could spout the most Bible verses to support their side. In Len’s opinion, mama was winning, but he was kind of biased. The whole ordeal was only amusing for so long, however, and he finally decided to snag her arm and lead her away.

“C’mon, mama. I think that’s enough for today. I bet they’ll have plenty to say next time you go to Bible study.”

“It’ll be a cold day in Hell before I set foot in another one of those groups, baby. Not when that kind of ignorance is the majority,” she muttered darkly. Another second later, she turned warm eyes to her boys. “Are you two alright?”

“Yeah, mama I’m fine. I knew a group like that would be there I’m just sorry you’re losin’ friends over all this…” Len accepted and returned the tight hug she offered with a gentle smile.

“They’re not friends I need if they’re gonna be so nasty. You can’t fix that kinda ugly, sweetheart.” Her gaze settled on Jim who seemed almost asleep on his feet. “Jim, darlin’, you look beat. Let’s get you back home, hm?”

“Mmn… That sounds good,” he mumbled as he leaned into Len’s side. “Boooones… Carry me?”

“Sugar, I’m not carryin’ you.”

“Pleeeeeeease?”

The two of them stared at each other before Len finally relented and ducked down to let Jim clamor up onto his back with a victorious sound. He was out cold before they made it back through the crowds to the car.

As he was getting Jim settled into the back seat and nuzzling into his hair a little, Eleonore finally piped up again, “You know I love you both no matter what, right baby?”

“Yeah, mama. I know.” He grinned at her over his shoulder. “And if I didn’t before, I think you arguin’ down half the church on my behalf would’ve clued me in. I think you surprised Jim a bit, though.”

“That boy…He’s had it hard enough. He deserves to have a couple people in his corner now that he’s outta that house.”

“I’m not about to argue with that.”

When they made it back to mama’s, Len woke Jim so they could head inside. The sun was going down, and Len got them both settled into bed to cuddle up. Jim tucked his head against his chest and sighed in contentment.

“Today was the best. Thanks for going with me.”

“It was fun. It’s not every day I get to see mama lose her mind like that,” he chuckled and gave Jim a soft kiss. “She loves you, you know.”

“Yeah… And I love her. She’s the mom I always wished I had when I was a kid.”

“She’s yours now. You call her mama and I’m not planning on dropping you anytime soon, so just act like she is.”

“Mmmn… And I made a lot of friends today. Did you hate it? I know the whole tons of people in a crowd isn’t your favorite thing…”

“I still had fun and mama sure as hell kept me on my toes. Now get some rest, alright? We have family dinner tomorrow, and about the time Donna shows up with the kids and Joanna gets here we’ll have our hands full of excited babies.”

Jim offered up a serene smile, already dozing back off. “Sounds good. Love you, Bones.”

“Love you, too Jim.”

Tagging: @pinkamour1588 @auduna-druitt @thevalesofanduin @mccoymostly @thinkwritexpress-official @the-space-goddess-16 @southernbellestatues @yourtropegirl @randomlittleimp @gracieminabox

#why does mckirk happen to good people #jim kirk #leonard mccoy #homophobia #pride #tia writes

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flippinoptimist · 7 years

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> Vel / Sawbones, pt 1

#Alternate Selves #ooc eyes only #parasite mention/#slavery mention/#an incomplete log that is still in progress

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homervnned · 5 years

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–– f l o u r - c a k e d h a n d s c l o s e t h e r e g i s t e r .

“ oh, for fuck’s sake. ”

there’s that signature eye roll. they’re talking ‘bout their dead wife A G A I N.

haven’t they read the roll along’s no sentimental bullshit policy ?

“ just eat your fuckin’ cinnamon roll. ”

whaddup. hope y’like your bakers how you like your sweet rolls : rude and emotional unavailable !

( sean teale, human, he/him & cismale ) is that ( spellbound ) by ( ac/dc ) playing? guess ( “brooks baker” / ferris feller )’s comin’ in hot! heard folks say the ( “25” / 52 ) year old ( bakery owner ) was at the thanksgiving fair, ( nearly droppin’ a tray of sweets ‘n goodies at his bakery stand as he thought he recognized the orange-wearing witch who hexed him years ago ) when chaos ensued. during the glitch, ( he tried to follow that damned lady to give her a piece of his mind, but wound up defendin’ himself from incomin’ hooligans with a blow-up baseball bat instead ).

b a c k g r o u n d.

born as ferris feller in letum falls, oklahoma, 1930. his mother, greta feller, raised him and his little sister ( possible wc, if she’s been turned supernatural ? ) on her own. the story goes his father was stationed abroad in the military as a courier and died in a freak accident. there were photos of him ‘round the house, but really, those are just black and white photos of some random soldier his ma had written correspondence with as a volunteer letter writer during world war i. his real father was the local pastor. his mother started sleeping with him after he brought his suits in to be dry cleaned at her laundromat.

ferris took a natural liking to baseball, and distinguished himself as a standout batter early in elementary. his ma worked extra mending clothes in order to pay his little league dues, and soon little ferris was catapulted to local baseball success.

he never was the brightest tool in the shed. always quick with a comeback, but his faculties were always more geared toward the sport than mental acuity. he passed high school with the help of a tutor and very lenient teachers, who all wanted to see the first letum falls baseball star make to the big leagues.

and make it, he did. in 1948, ferris jumped on board with the new york yankees and made major league history with the team for over fifteen years.

but there was always this one gal throughout high school who couldn’t get the hint. she asked him to the sadie hawkins and he said yes out of pity, which he learned was a big mistake. this girl confessed her love for him at the end of their senior prom, ‘n ferris didn’t know what to say except no. that summer, stuff got weird. it started with small things. a beetle in his salad. worms in his burgers at the diner. and then he noticed the trend: it all happened when she was around, watchin’. she cornered him after a game in baltimore about two years after he started playin’ and demanded he propose to her, that she’d seen into the future and they were meant to be. ferris laughed in her face. and she said he’d rue the day. she said, you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya, feller, and then you won’t be so gosh darned smug.

ferris thought nothin’ of it, until the tenth year of his baseball career rolled around and he noticed his hits hadn’t changed. his records hadn’t budged anywhere but up. but... he was supposed to be pushin’ 33. his original teammates were talkin’ about retirement. developing some crow’s feet, some aches ‘n pains, some grays. yet there ferris was, as fresh-faced as when he joined.

and that’s when it hit him. that damn girl hexed him. and with the media talkin’ bout his miraculous youth, ferris knew he needed to step outta the limelight. but just retiring wasn’t an option –– they’d send reporters to monitor his post-game life. they’d see that he still looked the same. sounded the same.

once again: not the sharpest tool in the shed. ferris ups and disappears in 1964. the media speculates kidnapping. murder. the search is on and ferris flees. ducks into the shadows. waits a few years livin’ quiet before he slinks on back to letum falls.

it isn’t until near arrival in ‘66 he realizes he’s... he hasn’t got a plan. he parks the car he bought off the side of the road in delaware and racks his mind for a story. a name. anythin’.

brooks. it works. different letter, different sound. he buys himself a modest house near the outskirts of town ‘n gets his ducks in a row. doesn’t even blink at the idea of a surname, ‘til people start askin’. he’s gotta have a reason to be here. a story. people start sayin’ he looks familiar... and there’s his in: ferris feller’s son. came here in search of my pa, you seen him? he’ll fake shock when folks say feller disappeared years ago. swallow his tears ‘n pay his vague condolences when they say his ma died of a heart attack in ‘64, after learnin’ about ferris’s disappearance. and he’ll... open a bakery. yeah. he’ll lie ‘n say his ma was a baker in baltimore, she met feller after a game ‘n he was the result. he’ll stay a while. open a bakery. bakery. baker. brooks baker. that’ll work.

so he opens the roll along. the town loves it. by 1970, he’s winnin’ awards with his sweets. but the baker’s disposition doesn’t match the confections’ flavor.

he’s bitter. crass. a dark cloud. you don’t walk into the roll along for a chat. but that doesn’t stop some from tryin’. behind that glare, there’s somethin’. behind those icy eyes, there’s a different story.

ask him if he knows baseball. he’ll say nah, never played a lick in my life. he misses it. god damn it, he misses the game.

he keeps facial hair to look around his age. although his age is loose –– he avoids numbers. avoids specifics. folks speculate he’s in his mid-20s and that’ll do. but if he ever shaved? he wouldn’t look a day over 22.

t h e f a i r .

the roll along had its very own tent at the thanksgiving fair, and it was doin’ great business. brooks almost dropped a full tray of sweet rolls when chaos broke out. and then he saw the lady in orange and he just about lost his marbles. chucked the tray onto the nearest table. set off after her. but she disappeared ‘n then he had some hooligans on his hands, so he snatched the closest weapon –– a jumbo inflatable baseball bat and had at it.

no glitz and glam. no heroics. he whacked those monsters upside the head with a useless bubble of hot air, sustained some deep slashes, ‘n then got the fuck outta there. locked himself in the bakery, slumped against the fridge, bloodied. cursed himself for bein’ here. cursed himself for not just dyin’ already.

the roll along was roped into hosting one of the pre-vigil gatherings. the mayor asked for 400 sweet rolls to honor the 400 fallen. brooks thought it was in poor taste but hey, can’t argue with asherby. he spent all night bakin’ the damned things in his blood-stained shirt.

c u r r e n t l y .

he can’t shake it. seein’ that woman. because that might be her. that might be the bitch who did this to him. the bitch who took everything by giving him it all.

so he’s stress bakin’. a lot. pawning it off on everyone and anyone. takin’ out his frustrations on unwitting customers.

people are askin’ more questions ‘bout where he’s from, but it’s been so long and he’s told so many white lies, it’s hard to keep his story straight. what’s it to you? is his go-to response, but that’s not sufficing any more.

c u r r e n t c o n n e c t i o n s .

unlikely friends – duffy freely. they’re an unlikely pair. but somehow, brooks’ bitterness doesn’t scare duffy off. and there’s somethin’ about this girl’s earnestness that’s got something akin to trust risin’ up in him. a friend. who’d have thunk.

smug flirty banter – cal caldwell. the roll along supplies baked goods to letum skate, and ever since findin’ its owner hiding away in a closet from customers and coaxing him out with baked goods, brooks has developed... an intrigue ‘round cal. and, well. the guy’s a warlock. maybe he can help figure a way outta this fuckin’ curse.

w a n t e d c o n n e c t i o n s .

younger sister. she’d be pretty old now, but i imagine if this was filled, she’d have been turned supernatural in her 20s or 30s. growing up, brooks and his sister weren’t very close. brooks was always their mother’s priority because of baseball, and i imagine there was a lot of bitterness when he left town so quickly for the yankees. she’s likely around, and if they have interacted, it would be clipped and tense. dysfunctional as fuck. there’d be a lot of resentment about how their mother died. because, well... it’s his fuckin’ fault.

drinking buds. two shots of vodka, glug glug glug !! brooks is... well. definitely an alcoholic, among other things. he carries such a weight that it’s the only way he really knows how to dull it all. he’s bound to have a person or two for choice company in those need-to-drown-it-out moments.

bitter buds. they don’t take one another’s shit. and in all other universes, maybe they’d be sworn enemies. but for some reason, these two wind up actually getting along.

someone haunt the shit out of him. ghosts, i’m lookin’ at you.

unofficial baker’s aid. alright so. brooks is all about flying solo. managing his own shit. but maybe this customer hangs around so often that they’ve become part of the process? taste testing, helping to get things out of the oven, dealing with customers when brooks is done with their shit, etc.

#othqintro #intro.

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