#musta burned like hell

[greysfic]

A Hunt

The bayou punishe hubris.

I been in this game a long time. Too long, maybe. Ain't no way to live, got a thousand ways to die. Not four days past I was in Stillwater; couple of horrors crawled from hell again and I was fixing to send one back - the Spider. Coulda done two, maybe, but I'm careful.

Now, when there's a bounty you don't see just two hunters go for it but this time it musta been a bloody business. I didn't see a single living soul as I went about the work. No gunfire where I could hesr it, only the bugs and the birds and the wind. And the shrieking of that fuckin' thing skittering up and down the walls of Healing Waters Church.

Kill itself ain't much to talk about. I got some scrapes, yeah, but most of the blood wasn't mine when I was done putting the hammer to it.

With the Darksight, I saw somebody else had killed whatever was lurking up at Port Reeker. Good, I thought. You and me, we leave this place with our prizes and our good deed done. I can feel a little closer to atonement. So I shook off what gore I could and tried not to let thinking about a bath distract me too much as a lit out for the riverboat.

'Bouta mile along I saw 'em; the energies of the claimed bounty crackling like lightning out in the black. Greedy bastard thought they'd catch me out, put a bullet in me, and take my bounty too. Fair enough in a way - musta fed lead to every other hunter out here that wasn't et by water devils or grunts. Most greenhorns don't make it out the first time, overwhelmed by grunts, a groaning horde flailing with fists and cleavers... just about shit myself my first time. Got lucky. Learned.

So we know where we are. They want to kill me and I mean to leave. I switch back and loop 'round through the Pitching Crematorium thinking they'll maybe ignore me, go to scout the church for anything left. But no, they follow, so I streak north and skirt Blanchard, mainly 'cause I saw it was ripe with monsters - an immolator stalking the stairs and a meathead thumping between the cells.

Son of a gun following tries to cut right through to head me off, coming from the east. I was on the far side by now and they were impatient. Stepped wrong and pissed off the burning corpse. I heard the gunshot. Real sloppy, that. They'd ignited the immolater right near some misplaced barrel of gunpowder. I turn around in time to see the old bone orchard blaze like the sun for a heartbeat.

Silence.

Shoulda taken the other bounty, friend. The bayou punishes hubris.

[waynescreens]

WAYNE CHAPTERS 2/3

[f10werfae]

You’ll always be my girl

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female! Reader

Word count: 1,594

Summary: Y/n's relatives are anything but supportive, on the other hand we have Chris who is absolutely smitten and will do anything to make sure Y/n knows

Warnings: Rude things said about the reader? Slight sexual scenes

C/n = Cousin's name

Bff/n = Best Friend's name

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Requests are always open!

Likes, Comments and Re-blogs are appreciated♥️

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(Y/n's P.O.V)

Let’s just say my extended family were not the most supportive, of anything I do for that matter. Whether it be my relationship with Chris, down to the things I eat at family dinners or rather how much I eat.

Now they don’t hate on Chris, it’s me they have a problem with, they’re adamant that Chris can do better than some small town girl that studies fashion.

So standing in front of my parents' house in a lovely light blue summer dress I had made, was definitely a bold move. It was blue with ballgown-like sleeves, blueberries dotted the corset portion of the chest, as the light blue skirt cascaded down my legs into a flowy fitting dress.

Unfortunately for me, Chris couldn’t make this last minute lunch due to the puppy interview he had to film with buzzfeed, and I refuse to let him miss that.

Taking a deep breath in, I was greeted by my mother who had a warm smile adorned on her face, pulling me into a rib breaking hug. Although over her shoulder, I could already see the judgemental stares of my cousins.

With all the “adults” moving to the backyard to watch the barbecue, I was left to sit in the lounge with the rest of my cousins. A heavily uncomfortable vibe filled the air, the washed out voices from the TV providing a good enough distraction.

“So Y/n, nice dress. Did you make it?” C/n said, a devilish smirk playing on her face, her head resting on her hand.

“Yes, yes I did make it” I said curtly, trying to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“Yeah well it looks sh*t actually, musta' been the lights playing tricks on my eyes” She said leaning back on the chair, my other cousins stifling a giggle or chuckle.

“where’s that boyfriend of yours? Don’t tell me, he’s left you right? He has to have left you, he surely has not stuck with you this long”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I said sitting up straighter, a burning fire of anger settling at the pit of my stomach.

“It means, look at the state of you. An average girl, with ,no offence, not average looks. Your dream is to become a fashion designer, yet your designs look absolutely trash. Why would an A-list celebrity even take a second glance at you”

Deciding to not even respond, I simply stood up, grabbed my purse and walked out of the house. I’m not going to stay in a place where im continuously disrespected and treated like dirt.

My car let out a noise signifying it was now open, throwing my stuff across to the passenger side, I drove off. Driving aimless across town, I settled upon the local ice cream shop. Sure I was lactose intolerant, but I could give less of a sh*t right now.

Getting my favourite flavour, I sat back in my car and ate the treat in silence. Multiple thoughts raced around my head at once, yes I didn’t believe anything C/n had said but those things don’t just go through one ear and out the other. Especially when it’s from someone you used to be close to.

After the ice cream, I finally looked at the time on the car and realised I had been sitting here for more or less over an hour.

Driving off back home, I could already hear the questions Chris would ask me about the barbecue, my head was already thinking of excuses to say.

(Time Skip To Home)

Finally getting through the front door, Chris came out of the kitchen, a frown on his face.

“Babe, where were you?”

“What? I told you I was at my mums today for the lunch” I said puzzled

“Yeah, well she called me thirty minutes ago asking where the hell you disappeared to”

“Something just came up at work and they needed me in to oversee something” An instant lie.

Even though he was clearly not buying it, he nodded pursing his lips and walked over to me. His built arms going around my shoulders, pulling me flush against his front. Both his hands rubbing up and down my back, “if you need to talk bub I’m here, you know that”

“I know” I said smiling genuinely at him, I could already tell a lopsided grin was probably on my face right now.

Breaking away from the hug, I walked upstairs leaving him by the entrance, “Imma just finish this up and then i’ll meet you up there alright sweets?”

“Mhm okay” I replied, halfway through the bedroom door.

In the midst of getting changed, a skype call came through on my laptop, seeing who it was from only made me sigh in relief.

Accepting the call Bff/n's face came up onto the screen, her usual bubbly self instantly setting a high mood

“Eugh what’s up with you miss gremlin, that scowl on your face is horrendous”

She said jokingly and before I knew it, I had broken down into sobs, not because what she had said had hurt me but because I genuinely just couldn’t keep it in anymore.

“Woah woah woah girly, i didn’t mean that” She hurried out, her hands waving frantically into the camera.

“No no it’s not that, it’s something else” I said sniffling, my hands playing with Chris' hoodie strings.

“I went to my mums house today for a barbecue, and C/n was there”

“ugh not that b*tch again, I swear she hates your guts for no reason. The f*ck did she say?”

“Basically it was just her saying I have no proper aspirations in terms of careers, and that soon enough Chris will get bored of me physically and emotionally”

“Girl, I swear the next time I see that ratty tatty cousin of yours, I will be throwing not just hands but also feet” She joked out, causing a slight choking laugh to make its way out.

“Yeah don’t worry, I may beat you to that”

I joke back, laughter coming from both sides of the screens

(Chris' P.O.V)

“Basically it was just her saying I have no proper aspirations in terms of careers, and that soon enough Chris will get bored of me physically and emotionally” I heard Y/n say back to Bff/n, who the f*ck says that to someone?

Not wanting to intrude on their conversation, I backed away from our bedroom and headed towards the house phone. Calling Y/n's mum.

“Yeah hi ma, I needa tell you sumthin”

(Y/n's P.O.V)

Closing my laptop, I fell backwards onto the bed, a deep sigh left my lips as Chris came into the bedroom. A sweet smile on his face as he came over and crawled on top of me, his form now hovering over mine.

“Chris baby what are you doing?” I asked, brushing some of his grown hair out of his eyes.

“I just want you to know babe, i’ll never and I mean NEVER get bored of you alright?”

“Y-you heard all that”

Nodding he dipped his head into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply before placing sloppy wet kisses all over”

“I could never get bored of your smell Y/n, it’s home to me, calms me down”

Placing his lips onto mine, he gently explored my mouth with his tongue, slight moans leaving both of our lips.

“Your lips, how can I get bored of them? You tell me you love me with them, your loving words and your kisses?! If anything they keep me entertained”

He said chuckling lowly, nuzzling his nose with mine, my eyes starting to gloss.

“And don’t get me started on these stunning eyes of yours, God I could just get lost in them forever and I wouldn’t even mind”

“Chris you dont have to do thi-“

“No, no I do and I want to. Words can’t express how much I love you, but I can definitely try”

Moving down my body he looked up at me, this time more darkly,

“Don’t even get me started on this f*cking body of yours baby”

(Time Skip to about 2 hours later ;))

The hot water from the shower sprinkled itself all over my red and raw body. Hickies littered my body from top to bottom, when Chris said he was going to love on every part of me, he meant it.

Taking my soap in his hands, he slowly lathered it all over my body, not in a sexual way but more so loving. He continued to hum a sweet melody while placing kisses on my neck, his hands still exploring my body sensually.

My hands reaching back to play with the hair on the back of his head as I tilted my head upwards to crash my lips onto his. His tongue meeting mine, like it had done multiple times earlier in the night.

“I love you so much babe, Since the day I met you, my life has never been the same. Now remember this okay? You’ll always be my girl. You’re the only I picture to be the mother of my kids, you’re the only one I see a future with”

“Chris-“

“Let me finish bubba, you are my light and if I could marry you this very second I would. I wish I could just skip all this and just go to where you finally bare my last name and we’re connected in every way possible. That’s how much I love you, and that will never change”

[some-kindofgnome]

Kinktober #9: Elevator Pitch: Hawks

In which you and Hawks spend some quality time together, and you’ve spilled coffee on your shirt.

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks) / f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!), vaginal sex, up-against-the-wall-sex, partially-dressed, semi-public, uncaffienated sex, stranded/stalled elevator, hawks is a smarmy piece of shit

Notes: Okay, enough feelings! Only porn. What better way to jump back on the thirsty bandwagon than with everyone’s favourite smug bastard? Today’s prompt was ‘In Public,’ and while this isn’t the most public of public places to have sex, it’s definitely one that I’ve been thinking about... a little too often.

Kinktober Masterlist

“What was that?”

The elevator gives a sickening clash and lurches to a stop. You look up so fast you can feel the strain in your throat, glancing suddenly back to the control panel to see if it can possibly offer you any more information.

The lights die over your head, plunging the elevator into darkness. You give a little scream.

“That’s not good.”

The voice next to you is familiar but grating. Of all the people to be stuck in an elevator with, it has to be Hawks.

He runs the agency two floors above your office. But your companies share many of the same amenities- these elevators, to name one- and you’re unfortunately all too familiar with the self-serving hero.

As if things aren’t bad enough already.

Your manic Monday is already off to an excellent start, proven by the coffee stain on the front of your blouse. Apparently, the morning train was just a little too crowded to be careless with your latte-the half that didn’t get sloshed all over your front ended up on the floor- so here you are, trapped in the dark with the dull edges of a caffeine headache already beginning.

“Hang on-“ It’s Hawks again, and before he finishes his thought the emergency lights flicker to life. He seems entirely too relaxed given the situation. It’s pissing you off. He’s leaning against the opposite corner of the elevator with his wings tucked neatly behind him, arms folded across his chest.

He looks you up and down.

“Damn, you musta put on a few pounds if you’re heavy enough to short out the elevator.”

“Don’t even start,” you hiss. Your headache is getting worse. Spending nine floors with Takami Keigo was supposed to be bad enough already. You don’t have time for this.

“If anyone was going to be too heavy for the elevator, it’s you,” you snap back. You brush past him to the control panel and he starts a little as you push yourself between it and him. His wings give an alarmed little flutter and he steps aside, opening the space between you again.

You’re jamming your thumb against the ‘call’ button, but nothing seems to be happening. You’re not altogether sure how this is supposed to work- you’ve never been stuck in an elevator before. But Hawks looks as though it’s happened to him on a weekly basis. You suppose he sees worse on the daily, given his line of work.

“I don’t think anyone’s comin’ for us, kid.”

You glare over your shoulder at him, hearing the smirk in his voice. He raises a gloved palm to his mouth and yawns. Then he stretches, and his wings follow suit. He can’t extend them fully in here, but you’ve still forgotten how big they really are.

“Might as well get cozy,” he sighs. He slides down the wall, stretching a leg out and hooking his elbow over the other knee, bent.

“No thanks, I’ll stand.” You toy idly with the front of your skirt, brushing an invisible coat of dust from it. It’s when you notice him watching you that you stop and furrow your brow. He’s staring right at your chest. Not even trying to hide it.

You’re just about to say something when his eyes flick up to yours and his smirk, if possible, gets even lazier.

“Rough morning?”

You fold your arms over your chest, hyperaware of the coffee stain that you had conveniently forgotten about seconds before. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re permanently ticked off at him, though.

You decide that he’s not worth answering and avert your gaze. Sullen silence settles over the two of you for a moment. Finally, he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Let me ask you something,” he prompts.

“No thank you,” you answer.

“No, no, that’s exactly it. You don’t like me. I’m not an idiot, kid. But the thing is, I’ve been wrackin’ my brain, and I can’t think of one thing I ever did to deserve it.”

You swallow. Hard. Your cheeks are going hot. The truth is, you’re not entirely sure why you don’t like him.

You’d like to say it’s because he’s self-serving and arrogant. Because he saves people for the clout and not because he cares about their safety. He’s only ever been snarky and sarcastic to you, and you’re sure he treats his staff like garbage. He soaks up the celebrity status like a goddamned sponge.

You’d also like to say that you’ve followed his career so closely for the same reasons. You scour the Internet for stories about him and save newspaper clippings from your coworkers’ subscriptions, looking for evidence that your claims are true. You need to hear somebody else talk about his arrogance because it pisses you off to no end how obsessed with him you’ve become.

“I don’t… I like you,” you scoff. If you could press your back even further into the elevator wall, you could.

He laughs. Throws his head back and laughs and you want to disappear.

“You treat all your friends like that, kid? No wonder you look so sour all the time.”

That does it. You’ve had enough of Hawks, enough of this elevator and this damned headache. You’ve had enough of today.

“Alright, fine. You wanna know why I don’t like you?” Your eyes narrow. Your arms tighten across your chest. Hawks gets to his feet. He’s not all that much taller than you, but he seems to tower over you in the narrow space.

His tawny eyes narrow as he tilts his head, serious but inquisitive.

“Enlighten me.”

“You are the most egotistical, self-centered person I’ve ever known,” you hiss. “You treat women like they’re disposable, you-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stops you, holding up his palms. “Like they’re disposable? What in the hell gave you that idea?”

“You’ve got a different girl on your arm every week,” you retort. Later you will sink into your desk and expire as you remember saying these things to him, but he asked for it. And you’re starting to get claustrophobic.

“So what?” He shoots back.

“So what? So what? So what makes you think you can go around breaking hearts like that? You’re gonna make some enemies, y’know.”

“Sweetheart, those girls don’t want anything to do with me, either. No false pretenses there. I think you just don’t like seeing me with other women.”

Your stomach lurches, rejecting the idea. But you know that it’s true.

“Don’t be ridicu-“

“No, it’s my turn to speak now,” Hawks growls. He steps closer, caging you against the elevator wall. Your cheeks and ears are burning. One step closer and the coffee on your blouse will start to boil all over again.

“If you’re jealous,” he hints, bending down to whisper in your ear, “I’d be happy to treat you like those other girls, kid. All you gotta do is ask.”

“Hawks-“ you choke. He’s so close now that there’s no way you can pretend you don’t want this. You can feel the heat of his body radiating against yours, the soft, spicy Monday morning scent of him filling your senses.

He grins, and his lips brush the crook of your neck.

“That’s what I thought.”

In the next second his mouth crashes down on yours and you’re kissing him back. You from ten minutes ago would be disgusted at the sight of this, but you can’t even deny wanting this. Not when he’s giving it to you. Not when you didn’t even need to ask for it.

You’re not shy about combing your fingers into his disheveled hair, tugging him closer to you. Already he’s tugging the hem of your blouse out of the top of your skirt. He rips off his gloves and pops open a few of the buttons without even breaking his mouth from yours. It’s only as he digs his fingers into the fabric and pulls the folds open around your chest that he pulls back to have a look.

“Look at you,” he growls. “So fuckin’ gorgeous. I wanted you from the second I met you, y’know that?”

You consider pinching yourself. But you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you hook a palm around the back of his neck and pull him harshly down to you again.

“Shut up,” you hiss, dragging his mouth back to yours. Your hands wander, pulling the strap of his belt out of its loop and giving it a harsh tug. It pulls tight and he grunts, then you let go and let the buckle fall open. You reach in further, going for his fly. He lets you. As you dig your hand into the opening of his pants you realize that he’s already hard- already rock hard.

Maybe he really meant what he said.

You shove his pants down around his knees and he grabs you by the backs of yours, hiking your thighs over his hips. His hands crawl up your thighs and under your skirt. He finds the strap of your thong and you nuzzle into his shoulder to keep yourself quiet as he swipes a thumb up your clothed slit.

“Fuck,” he groans in your ear. “Soaked for me already, sweetness. God, lemme have you.”

He shifts his hips forward and presses the head of his cock against your entrance, easing forward until he’s sure he’s lined up correctly. Then he rams into you without warning and you nearly wind yourself on his shoulder as all the air from your body rushes out at once.

“That’s what I thought, baby,” he growls, starting into a brutal rhythm. “You’ve wanted this too, haven’t you? Fuck, why didn’t you say something? I coulda been fucking you this whole time.”

You’re in the clouds at this point. The words he’s growling into your ear are blurring together, clouded by the immense pleasure that he’s sending through your gut with every thrust. He fits you perfectly, it seems, and you’re already drawing embarrassingly close to the edge.

“Hawks,” you practically sob, your head lolling against the wall as he fucks you into it. “Can’t hold on- gonna… g-gonna..”

“You’re gonna cum for me, sweetness? That’s it. That’s it. Cum for me, sweetheart, aw, hell, I’m there, baby.”

His voice is growing shaky now, his thrusts erratic, and as the elastic band draws tight in the pit of your stomach you realize he’s not far off, either.

He gives you one, two, three good thrusts and you’re falling, coming so hard around him that your vision whites out for an honest minute. Currents of tension rush from your head to your toes as you clutch at his back and whine and pant through your climax.

He follows close behind you, driving his hips into your sensitive pussy before drawing abruptly out of you and coming in long spurts against the inside of your thigh.

For a dozen heartbeats, the two of you are still, catching your breath. Settling into what you’ve just done.

The emergency light flickers as the regular lighting returns. The elevator gives a telltale beep and a shudder and starts heading downward. Your brain short-circuits.

“Get off,” you hiss, shoving him off you. You tug your skirt harshly down around your thighs, hiding the mess as he hurries to tuck himself back into his pants and zip up. You’re two floors from the lobby when he turns back to you and starts.

“Your shirt.”

“Oh, shit.” Your fingers race to the buttons on your blouse and you fumble to get them fastened again. He reaches over to help but you bat his hands away as the elevator draws to a stop. You’re just finishing the last button when the doors slide open, revealing the surprised faces of a coverall-sporting technician and your boss.

“There you are,” she gasps, relief flooding her features. “The power went out and they told me people were still stuck in the elevator, I- good morning, Keigo,” she greets, giving a little nod of acknowledgement to Hawks, who’s taking his time strolling out of the elevator with his hands in his pockets.

“Mornin’,” he greets idly. Then he calls your name, and you look past your boss’s shoulder. He’s smirking, his eyes lit with the memory of what you’ve just shared.

“See you around,” he calls. Then he’s gone, and your boss is asking you some sort of question, but it flies straight in one ear and out the other. Your teeth sink into your lower lip. Every time you close your eyes you remember him, groaning in your ear and forcing himself into you.

You are so fucked.

[raxistaicho]

I got kinkshamed \o/

Bereft of seemingly any capacity to either ignore me or refute me with facts, Nilsh, ever critical of ad-hom, has decided to attack my character instead of my arguments...

By targeting a 12 year old quote on Deviant Art in order to kink shame me.

I’m legitimately curious where he found this one, all the SW (that’s shrinking women for you normies out there) artists I know of today weren’t even active that far back. I’m guessing somebody he knows musta stumbled on the quote by sheer happenstance, but I’ve got nothing.

But more importantly, holy shit how fantastically petty can you get, my dude. This seriously goes above and beyond me chancing upon his lame claims because his crowd cross-reblogs each other as often as they do. Also nice targeting the entire SW community, as if there’s something wrong with them.

Yes, I make shrinking, breast expansion, and body morph (mostly flattening, but sometimes dullahan-type stuff) things on MMD on Deviant Art (and I used to cross-post on Twitter but that turned out to be a waste of time since nothing came of it). I assure you my work is incredibly tame (hell, I burned bridges with another MMD content creator because I found his work too cruel for my liking).

And... what of it? Are you suggesting there’s a ven diagram between people with fetishes and feminists and there’s zero overlap? Hell, you’re coming perilously close to implying some kind of moral failure on adjacent fetish crowds, like BDSM.

So yeah, if you wanna keep showing your ass continue on with this, Nilsh, but you won’t intimidate me. I know and own who I am, and I know just because I’m a guy with some zany fetishes it doesn’t mean I’m some secret misogynist.

[waynegifs]

“Gave it to himself. Yeah. Took your father's hammer, went after your Big Wheel, tried to bash it. Took one swing at that big plastic tire and the hammer bounces back. Bam. Right in the eye.”

WAYNE 1x08 | “Musta Burned Like Hell”

[alextwdgf01]

The Restoration Of Eroded Soils

Chap. 5: A Checkup From A.B. Normal

4,172 words

"Well, you're obviously suffering from malnutrition and sleep-deprivation. But all things considered, it could be worse." Arthuria stated as she took observations of Ford's current physical health.

"Yeah, well you didn't see him when I first got here. He was a few pounds away from bein' a skeleton." Stan said, poking at his brother's ribs, only for his hand to be slapped away with a grumble.

"He seems to have put on quite a bit of weight since then."

"Most of that is baby fat." Stan smirked.

Ford's face heated up in slight embarrassment. "Shut up, Stan."

The ginger haired woman tutted. "It can't just be baby fat. That wouldn't be healthy for either of you."

Arthuria's words gave the elder twin pause for confusion. Ford frowned.

"What does my...fat have to do with Stan's health?" he questioned.

"I was talking about you and the baby." Arthuria replied bluntly.

Ford tensed, becoming flabbergasted by her knowing of his pregnancy. His expression was alight with surprise and slight hysteria as his eyes flashed over to Stanley.

"I-bu...I-I-Stanley! Did you seriously tell her about the-the situation?!"

"He didn't have to." Arthuria cut in. "You smell of hormones."

This gave the young scientist even greater pause, trying to process her words.

"You...you can smell hormones?" Ford asked owlishly.

The young ginger nodded, nose wrinkling up in sudden disgust as she looked around the living room. "Yeah, and more. What the hell happened in here? Smells like somebody died."

"Things got a little...out of hand around here." Ford chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'll say." Arthuria lifted her satchel into her lap, cocking her head to the side as she regarded the six fingered twin. "So, how'd you end up pregnant? I never took biology in school, but last I checked, men aren't capable of carrying. "

"I, uh..." Ford looked over to Stan uncertainly, reluctant to answer.

Stan nodded to Arthuria, wordlessly saying he could tell her.

"...I study the supernatural, the oddities here in this town. During an outing two months ago, I discovered an intriguing patch of angiosperms I'd never seen before. As I got closer to inspect them, they expelled a mist of pollen all over me and I accidentally breathed some of it in." Ford explained, muttering to himself about how his allergies had been terrible for the rest of the week before continuing. "After a week, I hadn't had any ill side effects, so I wrote it off. But then I started experiencing what would be clarified as early pregnancy symptoms, and well..."

There was a beat of silence as the scientist awkwardly trailed off, before a cackling laughter filled it. Ford flinched, feeling his heart rate spike up at the sudden outburst from the ginger (too, because it reminded him of Bill's laughter). Stan himself even gave her a questioning look at her reaction to his story.

Arthuria just continued her unexplained fit, slapping her knee. All the while, Ford noticed her cap slip down slightly to one side, revealing what appeared at first glance as a tangled knot of slightly darker hair. But it appeared strange. The "knot" was almost triangular in shape and...was it twitching?

Before he could further contemplate this, Arthuria was beginning to calm down, reaching up to readjust her cap as she caught her breath.

"Sorry, sorry." she gasps in a few breaths, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "It's just, I was imagining what you face musta looked like when you first found out you were pregnant."

"If it was anything like the time he realized he'd forgotten to turn the oven off and our parent's apartment almost burned down, he probably looked like this." Stan said, proceeding to imitate Ford's expression at that time.

The two busted out laughing, all the while Ford hurumphed embarrassedly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, I'm glad my current predicament gives you both such joy."

"Hey, I'm just tryna light'n the mood here. The situation's pretty weird, bro." Stan chortled. "But ya don't have ta get all grumpy about it."

"I believe that may be his hormones. They can cause a wom-er, individual during pregnancy to become easily agitated or overly emotional." Arthuria said as she pulled a rolled up magazine out of her bag, bringing into view for both brothers to see. "It's all in here."

Ford gave the cover a scrutinizing look, before his eyes darted back to the woman's.

"Stan neglected to say, but are you an obstetrician?" he asked, almost wary.

"Nnnooooo...but I have performed a c-section before!" Arthuria responded proudly.

"Was it successful?"

The ginger waved her hand in a so-so gesture.

Ford face palmed, turning towards his brother beside him.

"Where did you find her?" Ford asked, irritation slipping into his voice.

"I didn't. She found me." the younger twin responded.

"This is insane. She doesn't even know anything about childbirth, and probably doesn't know much about prenatal care either! I thought you said she could help?!"

“She can! In more ways then you can possibly imagine!” Stan said, his voice starting to raise dangerously.

Both twins were now staring at one another, frowning.

"Please, partel how she can possibly help?" Ford huffed out annoyedly, before turning to Arthuria with a slightly less annoyed frown. "No offense."

She raised an eyebrow. “Huh, I’ll take the offense.” She said while crossing her arms over her chest. ”Listen, I came here because I like Stan and I owe him one. I barely know anything about you, just that you’re Stan’s brother and got yourself impregnated.”

The small group stayed quiet for some time, mulling over what the others had said. Finally, Stan sighed and passed a hand over his face.

“How about we play twenty questions?” He suggested.

Ford rolled his eyes. "Seriously?"

"What? You're the one who can't stop asking how trustworthy and helpful Arthuria is. It's the only thing I could think of." Stan muttered, crossing his arms.

“I don’t mind.” Arthuria shrugged while uncrossing her arms. “I’ll even give you the first one.”

She sat back on her chair, making herself comfortable, her bag resting back next to her chair. The eldest twin pondered to himself for a moment, brows scrunched up in concentration.

"What is your exact line of work?" Ford finally asked.

Arthuria thought for a moment, raising a hand to her chin in deep thought.

“Mmm… thief. People need some things from somewhere and I offer my service to… retrieve said things. At a certain price.” She answered with a bright smile on her face, showing her teeth to the brothers. “My turn. How far are you into your pregnancy?”

Stanford's eyes widened at her response. A theif? No wonder she was an associate of his brother's. How in the hell did he seriously believe she can be trusted to help them?

"Hrum." he clears his throat. "I um, two months. Two months and one week."

She nodded and closed her eyes. “So you’ll probably be due between...late August to mid September, depending. Okay, that’ll give us time.” She opened her eyes and motioned for Ford to continue. “What’s your question?”

"If you are a...thief, as you so boldly state, how did you come to obtain medical knowledge?"

Arthuria laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

“That’s… that’s a long story that’s more suited with a couple of beers. The short version is… being a medic was the only way I could survive Bastogne and the… Battle of the Bulge.“ She shot the twins a shy smile before switching her attitude to a more cheerful one. “What are your eating habit?”

Perturbed, Ford glanced at his brother, as if to silently ask if he should question her about that. Stanley shook his head.

"My eating habits are...sufficient." he responds.

"That's a load of bullshit." Stan reprimanded. "Your eating habits suck."

"They do not. I have been eating healthily."

"Going nearly a month without eating isn't healthy, Poindexter. Even you should know that."

Arthuria tilted her head.

“A month? While you were carrying?” She pointed to his stomach with a worried look on her face. “Am I to assume you just… drank liquid during that time?” Arthuria stood up and took a step forward, her metal boots clicking loudly on the wooden floor.

"Coffee, specifically." Stan answered for his twin.

"That's really not good. Not just the not eating, but ingesting a whole lot of caffeine can harm the baby as well."

Ford crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. “I-I didn’t know for sure at that time I was… And I had some other more present matters to take care of.” He turned away to face the wall.

“Well coffee is gonna have to go, even de-caffe. It’ll harm the baby in more ways than you can imagine. Unless you aren’t planning to keep it?” She said that last part barely above a whisper.

The six fingered scientists heard her words nonetheless, and stiffened slightly, quickly losing himself in deep thought over her question. Did he want to keep it? I mean, he'd been going through the motions of preparing for the inevitable end of the world and trying to stop Bill that he hadn't paid much mind to the pregnancy. And during the past week with Stan here, he's just been assuming that he would have to have the child. But if there now was an option in the matter, does he really want to go through with it?

“Look, I’m only saying this because… Raising a kid is a big responsibility. It’s not some project you can discard once you're bored with it. I don’t know if you’ve realized it yet, but… a life is growing inside of you and it’s gonna come out one way or another.” A look of horror crossed her face and she looked at the pregnant men straight in the eyes. “I’ll need to look at your pelvis.”

"M-my pelvis? Why?" Ford questioned owlishly.

"Yeah. You'd only have to look at someone's pelvis if they were going to give birth naturally. And it's not like Ford can." Stan paused for a moment, wincing. "Can he?"

“That’s why I wanna look at it. I don’t know the extent of the… flower’s power. Obviously it created some sort of uterus inside of you to carry the baby… but I don’t know if it changed you in other ways.” She crouched down in front of Ford resting a cold hand over his clothed belly. “There’s a reason only women give birth. Men’s pelvis' are too narrow to let a baby’s head pass.”

Stanford shifted uncomfortably at both her touch and words. "Aside from the, um...ability to carry and symptoms, I haven't noticed any other...physical changes of my body. None external."

"It still wouldn't hurt to be sure." the ginger woman said.

A cheeky smile spread accros Stan’s face.

“Looks like we are in for an improvised hospital visit.” He said while resting and squeezing his twin’s shoulders. “Unless you have some sort of X-ray machine lying around?”

"I do, actually. I built one a while back to observe the pace of which Fiddleford's arm healed." Ford stated, standing from his seat to look for said item.

"What was wrong with his arm?" the grifter asked.

"It was broken while we were studying a Gremoblin." he responded nonchalantly, sifting through one of the kitchen sink cabinets.

Arthuria rosed from her crouched position and tilted her head.

“And it worked?” She asked incredulously. She turned to look at Stan. “What is your brother? I thought you said he was a scientist?” she pointed a thumb toward Ford.

"I am, but I also build inventions. Some for personal use, and others that I'm paid to construct. Ah-ha!" Ford exclaimed triumphantly, pulling a small handheld device with a screen in the center. "For example, I also have a prototype mind control tie Regan's masters requested I make. So that they could control what he said during meetings and political gatherings. He had a bad habit of getting off topic."

“Yeah, like that sounds like a good idea…” She deadpanned while her hat actually jumped a little.

Ford froze in place for a moment wondering how it had happened. The rest of her body hadn’t make any movement that would result in her hat moving on it’s own. There was something going on under her hat.

Stan just stared at the device in his brother’s hands. “And it works? This thing can take X-rays?”

"Yes. All you have to do is press this button to scan the selected area, wait a moment for the xray to analyze, and then it will pop up on the screen." the six fingered man explained, turning the machine on and handing it to Arthuria.

She carefully grabbed it between her hands and turned the device over, giving it a thorough once over. She brought it close to her face, the object facing her, and it bumped with the cap of her hat, making the back of it rise slightly from her head. As she scrunched her face in concentration, her finger slipped and pressed the scan button. There was a flash of bright light, making her jump and nearly dropping the device on the floor.

“Crap! The switch is sensitive!” She exclaimed while setting it on the table, blinking rapidly. “Crap. Can’t see much of anything now.”

As Arthuria went to scrub at her eyes to rid them of the dots clouding her vision, she unknowingly shoved her cap back. Stanford noticed only when something within her hair seemed to retreat backwards. He squinted, adjusting his glasses to be sure he wasn't seeing things.

Just near the end of where her cap rested, he could see a small lump burrowed in her ginger locks. It was a little darker than her hair and seemed to be the length of a hand. The lump twitched slightly as the thief brought her hands back away from her eyes.

Stan just laughed at her antics, holding his mid-section and trying to catch his breath. “Oh man! You haven’t changed a bit, have ya!” He managed to say between the laughing spree.

Arthuria just snarled at him and adjusted his hat on her head. The flash of teeth was short, but Ford could have swore he saw two of them were quite pointy, like that of a canine. He wanted to question herabout it, when his X-ray machine beeped and a picture of Arthuria’s skull started to appear.

"Uh, why does your skull appear to have holes near the top of the cranium?" Ford questioned, peering down at the screen.

"Huh?" Arthuria turned her gaze down to the screen, eyes going slightly wide.

"They look like the ones for your ears. But-" The ginger haired woman didn't give him a chance to finish his train of thought, clicking a button on the device that caused her xray to disappear.

"Whoops! Sorry, I have clumsy fingers." Arthuria said nervously, wiggling her fingers for emphasis.

This caused the scientist to hurumph in suspicion.

“Clumsy fingers aren't a good quality to have as a thief.” He said while checking the device to make sure it had still saved the picture for him to look at later.

"Eh, what can I say? I do better in situations where I'm underpressure. That's why I'm great at my job." she said, brushing the incident off.

Stan clapped his hands together and cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him instead on the two hot heads starring at one another. “So can she use that machine or not to look at your… pelvis or do we need to go to a hospital?” He asked in a casual tone.

"Yes, it can be used to view one's...pelvis." Ford replied, eye twitching.

"Okay, great. Then, let's get it over with."

Sighing, Arthuria took back the device and turned to face Stanford. She looked him up and down before shrugging. “You’re gonna have to loose the pants.” She deadpanned.

A bright blush overtook the elder twin's face, sputtering indignitly. "I-is that really necessary?!"

"You should know how xrays work. After all, you built one." Arthuria said, quirking an eyebrow.

Stanford blinked owlishly a few times before he realized the truth of her words. It’s true the metal buckle on his belt and buttons on his pants could altered the results and obstruct view of what she was looking for. Begrudgingly, he started to undo his belt and dropped his pants to the floor shortly after. He crossed his arms over his chest subconsciously to avoid covering his boxer-claded netheregions.

“Just get it over with.” He hissed through clenched teeth.

Arthuria crouched down at arms length from Ford, giving him as much distances as she could and raised the device again. She glanced upward toward him.

"Just so you know, I’ve seen worse than a grown man in undies.” She hastily took a picture with the device, raised back up and sat at the table to wait for the picture to appear.

Stanford slowly crouched down to pick up his pants and started putting them back on, clinging to the last remains of dignity he still had. He noticed how his brother kept hovering around him and brought one of the chairs closer for him to sit in. Ford frowned, but accepted the offered chair.

“I’m not an invalid, Stan. I can walk around just fine.” He whispered.

Stan just raised his hands in a peaceful manner, stepping away from the chair. “Sorry, sorry… just wanted to help.” He said in a voice just as quiet as Ford’s.

The elder twin’s shoulders dropped. He hadn’t meant hurt his brother's feelings, he just didn’t want to be treated like a sick or infirm person. He wasn’t ill, not completely. He opened his mouth to reassure his twin when they both heard a surprised exclamation come from the other side of the room. Turning their heads, they both saw Arthuria stand up and walk over to them.

“I’ve got some good news and bad news.” She said in a serious tone, the X-ray screen turned toward her. “The bad news is you’re gonna need a C-section. No matter what your decision is, that baby isn’t coming out… the usual way. Your pelvis is still too narrow for a baby's head to fit.” She explained.

"Okay, so what's the good news?" Stanford asked, examining his pelvic xray.

Arthuria smiled softly and pointed to a blurry spot on the screen. It wasn’t very clear, but a bright little dot stood in the middle of the picture. It was round and yet, very deformed,. It resemble a grotesque attempt at sketching a peanut, with little strings attached to it. It had dark spots on it. Ford squinted at the picture, trying to process what she was pointing at.

“The baby looks healthy and in good condition.” She tapped the screen again, precisely on one of the darker spot around the clearer dot. “Pretty sure that’s it’s heart.”

Both twins stared in awe at the small dot that was a baby. Stanford's baby. Stanley's niece/nephew. The eldest took the device from Arthuria and placed his thumb delicately over the dot, lightly running it over the image.

“Surreal, isn’t?” Arthuria said with a soft voice. “You can see the heart, the head and the little noodles are probably it’s limbs developing.” She explained as she pointed to the different parts of the fetus.

Stan nodded but didn’t take his eyes off the little white spot on the screen. “It’s barely the size of a peanut…” Stan whispered.

"Yeah, it'll get bigger as the months progress. By the end of the third month, the baby should be around the size of a lemon." the ginger informed.

She cleared her throat and looked at the brothers with a worried expression.

“Passed that… point, it’ll be harder and more dangerous to remove it. If you decide not to keep it.” She said in a matter of fact.

Throughout the exchange, Ford didn’t say a word. He was too focus on the little dot he could see in the middle of the screen, between his hip bones.

Stan glanced at his twin after a while of him not saying anything. "Ford?"

"I-I...I don't-I still need to think about...this." he finally sputtered out, eyes never leaving the screen.

Stan and Arthuria both nodded in understanding. She tapped his shoulder to get his attention.

“I think my check up for today is complete. I still want to get my hands on some hospital equipment in the near future. There are a few things I would like to check with proper equipment, but it can wait for now.” she said and exited the room, leaving the two brothers to sort out their thoughts.

A few moments later, her footsteps could be heard echoing around the quiet house as she climbed the stairs back to her room. Both twins were still looking at the screen.

“Heh, your own little peanut there, Sixer.” Stan chuckled.

Stanford sighed, rose up and, after a long moment, finally placed the device on the table, monitor screen facing down. He then turned to his brother.

“Stanley, I can’t think about… about what’s growing inside of me with the threat of Bill still looming above my head!” He exclaimed, hands splaying wide on each side of him.

"Oh yeah. That guy." Stan grumbled.

"He's not just 'that guy,' Stanley! He's an interdimensional demon with a gateway to our universe sitting in the basement!"

"Then why don't we just destroy the portal? Wouldn't that solve the problem?"

Pacing back and forth in the small space that was the kitchen, Ford grabbed his hair, tugging at it.

"It’s not that simple! That would only solve half of my problem!” He turned to face Stan and glared. “I gave him access to my mind and body, Stanley! Until the end of time! Destroying the portal… it won’t be enough! And with you here and now your friend! It’s only a matter of time before he acts!”

"Well, it's safe in here for now." Stan said, motioning around them. "I mean, we did put up that unicorn voodu barrier so he couldn't get in here. And so far, he hasn't hijacked your body again."

“But it’s only a matter of time!” Ford went on as he kept on rambling. “He is a demon. He would stop at nothing to get what he wants! And he wants me! The barrier keeps him out of the house and by proxy, my head, but there’s no telling if it would keep him outside if he decidestopossesssomeoneelseandgetin. Themagicisstronbutwoulditbestrongenoughtokeepanallpowerfulbeingsuchashim…” Stanford’s breath became short and he soon found himself gasping for air.

"Breathe, Stanford. No need in getting yourself all worked up." Stan said, patting his twin's back.

Ford pulled himself from the other's touch, glaring. "Don't patronize me, Stan."

"I'm not, I'm just tryin' to get you to calm down." Stan placated.

“I am calm!”

Stan crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at his twin. “Yeah, you reek serenity and balance. Especially at that moment.”

"Well, excuse me if my version of calm isn't to your liking." the scientist said sarcastically. "But I have a huge weight on my shoulders right now."

"Then let me bare some of it, that's what I'm here for! So you don't have to go through any of this alone." Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s why I called Arthuria in the first place. I don’t know what happened, but we can’t do this alone. We need help and… I know you don’t trust her, but having her here is better than nothing.” He said calmly.

Hopefully his brother’s outburst was due to the hormones coursing through his system and seeing him calm would sooth Ford. Amd it seemed to do the trick, the tension seeming to drain from Stanford as he let out a weary sigh.

"I know, I know. There's just too much going on and I feel overwhelmed." he scrubbed a hand down his face, displacing his glasses from their perch on his nose.

Stepping forward, Stanley placed a reassuring hand on his elder brother's shoulders.

“Yeah, it’s a lot. But we’ll get through it together.” He offered him one of his hand, a bright smile on his lips. “Where ever we go, we go together, remember?” he asked, a worried frown on his features.

"I..." Ford looked hesitantly from his brother's face to his offered hand, before suddenly backing up and turning away. "We need to come up with a fool proof plan the defeat Bill. In order to do that, I need to review my notes. Dig up as much information on him as I can."

Stan sighed and his shoulders dropped, defeated. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned around, leaving his brother alone for the time being.

"Then, let's get started." he whispered.

[collecting-stories]

The Truck - ep. 08 - Georgia

Summary: You stop by on break to visit Daryl at the auto shop. The Jeep is almost done being repaired.

A/N: I think basically I’m writing an even slower burn than last time.

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

“I think ya ain’t as smart as ya tell me ya are,” Daryl joked as he caught sight of you walking into Dale’s Autobody shop, still in your uniform from the diner. Three days after Christmas and you’d been working as many hours as Patricia would give you. Both you and your mom trying to stay away from the house and each other  as much as possible.  

“I most definitely am. Why?” You asked, ducking your head down into the car he was working on when he sat down in the front seat. A newer model Nissan he’d been cursing since the owner brought it in.  

“Cause I tell ya all the time not ta come in here and where are ya?” He asked, looking over at you.  

“It’s not my fault, Axel said you said you’re almost done my baby.” You teased. Axel had told you over ordering his lunch that Daryl had mentioned to T-Dog that he was nearly done the work on the Jeep. Took a while, he had lamented, but he was finally, almost done. “Heard you’re glad to be rid of me.”

“Ain’t what I said,” he replied, “said I was glad ta be rid a that fucking jeep. Pain in my ass.”  

“Now I know you’re talking about me.”  

Daryl’s expression changed for a brief second, eyes fixing on the faint pink lines on your cheek. Barely noticeable but they hadn’t been there before Christmas. “What happened?” He tapped his finger against the same spot on his face to indicate what he was asking about.  

“Just a cat scratch. Hershel’s got a couple to keep the mice away and I couldn’t resist trying to pet one.”  

“They’re nasty creatures…yer lucky he didn’t take yer whole face off.” He replied, climbing back out of the car again. “Ya on break?”

You shook your head, “I picked up a shift from Amy, I got an hour to kill before I start for her.”  

“Ain’t I lucky.”  

“So, is my car really almost fixed?” You asked. You pulled the rolling stool over from the work bench and sat down, spinning once.  

“Just about.” He replied.  

Daryl hated to admit it but he’d been dragging his feet on the project and when he realized that he was nearing completion and your car would be fixed he was half tempted to break it all over again. Sure, you liked stopping in now, chatting him up before or after a shift, bumming rides, showing up at his house to spend your afternoons sitting under the car park. But once the car was fixed you wouldn’t need him to entertain you anymore. You could go to your friends houses or anywhere really, but you didn’t have to hang out with him. He wasn’t going to tell you yet but he’d let it slip to T-Dog and once one of them knew they practically broadcast it.  

“You working late?” You asked, wheeling yourself over next to him.  

“Why, ya don’t know anyone else with a car?”

“Why bother them when I have you?” You tilted your head back to look up at him and smile. You looked like a little kid with your eyes closed and a smile wide enough that he could see all your teeth.  

He rolled his eyes at you and reached over, swiping his greasy finger down your nose and making you jump suddenly at the contact. Your eyes opened and you slid back against the car. “Careful ya don’t scratch her.”

“Did you rub grease on my nose!” You whined, trying to rub it off with the back of your hand but only making more of a mess.  

Daryl shrugged, “ain’t nice ta tease.”  

“Do you have a bathroom here?”  

He pointed toward the back of the shop and you got up, headed for the bathroom to wipe the grease off your face.  

In truth Daryl wasn’t the only one who wasn’t looking forward to the car being fixed. Your throat felt like it dropped into your stomach when Axel told you that Daryl was almost finished the car. It sent you thinking...if Daryl told Axel did that mean he was glad it was almost finished? Was he looking forward to having you out of his hair finally? You scrubbed the grease off your face and frowned at your reflection. You didn’t want this to end.  

“So, ya need a ride later?” Daryl asked once you came out of the bathroom.  

“Yeah if you don’t mind.” You replied.

“Nah,” he shrugged as if he was indifferent toward driving you home, “ain’t got nothing better ta do.”  

-

You hung around a little while longer before you headed back to the diner for work. The whole night you felt distracted by Axel’s news from earlier. You were desperate to get some advice from Maggie but there wasn’t much she could offer, Glenn didn’t need any persuading to be madly in love with her. They’d been together since the 6th grade winter dance and there was no doubt in your mind that nothing, not even Hershel’s stupid rules, could keep them apart.  

Glenn and Maggie were the exception to the rule. Daryl wasn’t tripping over himself to profess his love for you. Half the time you weren’t even totally sure that he liked you. There were glimpses of something that might’ve been something but trust you to choose someone so hard to read. You spent the whole dinner rush trying to think up less costly ways to spend time with him that wouldn’t annoy him or make him feel like you were some stupid kid. The word kid alone was not necessarily something you wanted him to associate with you.  

The idea sparked when he pulled up outside at the end of your shift, parking his truck by the door. You ignored Lori’s comment about Dixon’s being bad news. She ‘went to school with him’ and somehow that had made her the only reputable source on him, at least in her mind. Coupled with the fact that it was Daryl driving you home you were just happy to be done work.  

“I hate the dinner rush,” you complained as you pulled the door shut and leaned against the seat. “This lady bitched me out over the table having a mark in it, meanwhile her kids were dunking every fucking sugar packet, jam packet, and salt packet into their cups of water and then splashing them all over the table!”  

“Musta really boiled yet blood if it’s got ya cursing.”  

“I can curse.”

“I’m sure ya can.” He teased.  

You pouted, arms crossed over your chest as you slumped in the seat and Daryl reached over, jabbing you gently with his fingers against your side when he stopped at a streetlight. You laughed from the sudden sensation and pushed his hand away.  

“I’m not allowed to curse at home but I can curse.” You insisted and he only shook his head, smiling.  

“Think yer a little too sweet ta be hanging around me.”  

“Nonsense. I like hanging out with you.” You replied, “which reminds me-“

“Yeah, what now?”

“How would you feel about teaching me some basic car stuff? I don’t know anything about cars and I’d really like to learn.”  

It was the plan that had finally occurred to you halfway through your shift. You didn’t know the first thing about changing oil or fixing a tire. Hell, you couldn’t even fill it with air if you wanted to.  

“Yer dad never teach ya how ta handle a car?”

“No, I don’t even know how to put windshield washer in it.”  

“A’right, I’ll teach ya. After I finish working on yer car.” He replied. You had only been considering yourself when you formulated your master plan but Daryl couldn’t help the brief flutter of excitement that he felt thinking you’d decided to ask him to help. Even if it was just so you could navigate the basics it still meant that you would willingly be spending more time with him.  

“Seriously?” You asked, smiling over at him.  

“Yeah, why not? Ya should know how ta fix yer car.” He replied, “simple stuff…still gotta make money.”

“I might get so good I’ll steal your business.” You replied.  

“Sure ya could.” He pulled up where he always did, your house visible from his spot parking along the sidewalk. It was dark, just the post lantern by the front of the driveway on. “Yer parents ain’t home?” No cars were in the driveway.  

“My mom’s already left for work.” You shrugged, opening the door to the truck.  

“She be gone all night?”

“I can stay by myself, promise.” You laughed to make a joke of it but you usually spent the night in the living room, talking to Tara or Maggie until they eventually went to sleep. You hated being home alone.  

“I ain’t got anywhere ta be.” Daryl shrugged, offering some company.  

“You don’t mind staying?”  

The inside of your house was exactly what Daryl had expected. A far cry from the worn down, dirty home that he lived in with his father, this was pristine. As if no one had ever sat on the furniture or lived in the house. There weren’t any family pictures but there was Christian art in its place. Tasteful, Martha Stewart-esque Christmas decorations were highlighted through out the living room and kitchen, both spotless.  

Daryl pulled a face at the décor at you laughed, “my mom went on a pier one kick a few years ago trying to outdo the Walshs.”  

“Can’t complain, it’s nicer than mine ever was.” He replied, looking over the table top tree, “yer dad at work too?”

“No. I mean, he’s away. Visiting family.” You said, heading into the kitchen, “my mom works overnight at the hospital, she’s been doing a lot doubles lately though. I’ll be right out, I’m gonna change!”  

Daryl nodded but didn’t say anything, flicking on the rest of the living room lights to get a better look at the room. The only pictures that weren’t nature landscapes or birds were on the mantle. A church directory photo of you and your parents from this year and your senior portrait, the traditional black off the shoulder look with a rose in your hand.  

“I hate that picture,” you complained as you came back into the room. “I look hideous.”  

“Don’t think that’s possible but I ain’t gonna argue.” Daryl replied. “Least I ain’t the only one who don’t have family pictures up.”

“My mom hates candid pictures. She’d never hang them up.” You settled on the couch and watched as Daryl walked back to the door to kick his shoes off. “I don’t have beer but there’s soda in the fridge.”

“I ain’t ever drinking beer ‘round you again. Yer a terrible influence. Ain’t Glenn Hershel should be worried ‘bout.” Daryl teased, coming over to sit beside you.  

“What? No! I am not a bad influence!” You laughed, “I’ve never done anything wrong in my whole life.”  

“I been witness to a few things.”

“No one will believe you.”  

“Ain’t that the truth.” He said, thinking briefly that no one would even believe he was here right now, sitting your house with you while you clicked through channels. He’d be hard pressed to convince them that you had even bummed a cigarette off him, especially if they saw the sweet looking church photo of you with your parents.  

“So what kind of car things will you teach?” You asked, ignoring the channel you’d chosen and turning more toward Daryl.  

“What kinda car things ya need ta learn?”

“Everything but how to drive?” You replied, biting your lip.  

“Well I ain’t seen ya drive so I can’t cross it off the list just yet.”

“I’m a good driver.”  

“Yeah? You working tomorrow morning?” He asked, looking back toward the TV.  

“No, I’ve got off.”  

“Alright, I gotta pick up my check in Woodbury, I’ll let you drive me for once.”  

“In my Jeep?”

“Hell no, ya ain’t getting in that thing ‘fore it’s fixed. You can drive the truck.” He replied. The truck was his brother Merle’s originally but Merle was in jail and he hadn’t spent the last three years fixing every inch of it to have it running like new. It might’ve been Merle’s to begin with but that old Chevy was Daryl’s pride and joy. He didn’t let anyone get behind the wheel, not even Rick or T-Dog, but he was offering it up to you.  

“I’ll be the best driver you’ve ever seen.”  

-

Taglist:  @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare  @mainokutan @qrangr  @twdeadfanfic @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon  @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano @cathwritestragediesnotsins @siren-queen03

[themysteriousauthor18]

So I saw this post, and I thought the idea was really cool. Truth be told I am a wee bit uncomfortable with seeing Alastor being sexual, but that's just because I'm somewhere on the asexual spectrum. But that's just my personal opinion, but I do like the idea of regular Angel dropping into an AU were Alastor is a pimp.

I think it be cute and funny to see Angel’s reaction to this version of Alastor.

So being somewhat of a writer I couldn't help myself but try to write a one-shot of this. Hope you'll enjoy it. I don't really know anything else of how Angel got there or what the rest of the word is like in terms of the hotel or anything so, I'm just relying on my own head cannons for that and going off the artwork.

Artist of work above:

@staticapplesin​​ 

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Normally waking up, for Angel Dust, would always involve something that was the cause of disturbing his sleep in the first place. In the past, it had been his regular johns that left or the pain they inflicted on the night prior. But recently it was either Vaggie yelling in the lobby or the princess of hell herself knocking on his door. And sometimes if he was unlucky, it would be Valentino calling.

Those were the wost.

But this morning, when Angel awoke, he heard something he thought he'd never hear.

Silence.

It had taken him a few moments to register that it was in fact quiet in his room. And he assumed that perhaps he'd woken up in the night again and that was the reasoning. But the small bit of hells light peaking through his blinds and into his room suggested otherwise. It was always a little brighter out when it was daylight out in Hell.

His room was still a little dark though because of the blinds. And as Angel sat up he couldn't help but notice another thing.

It smelled weird.

Not weird in the sense that the room was old, hadn't been tended two in who knows how long. Or even that mild odor that always lingered. That would always make Angel's nose scrunch up.

No, it smelled....sweet? Almost like strawberries.

Unable to lay there a minute longer Angel pushed himself up in his bed. Finding that it was more comfortable than usual. Something didn't feel right..something felt, off.

He pressed the ball of his palm to his forehead as he squeezed his eyes shut. Realizing his head did hurt just enough to call it a headache. Was he hungover? A fever dream maybe?

Angel pushed the thought aside, he was too tired for this shit. He needed food at the very least. And if the hotel was quiet? Well, it just meant he could ease this headache away until Vaggie woke up trying to chew his head off.

Pushing off the bed, Angel's feet stepped over anything that could be cluttering the floors per usual. Although nothing did. As he opened the door to his bedroom, allowing the hallway light to fill his room he briefly caught his pig sleeping in his bed in front of his own.

When had he'd bought nuggets that?

Another stray thought to be pushed aside.

With his head hurting too much and his eyes heavy with the aftermath of sleep, he failed to notice the decor and layout of the building he was in. Heading down the hall to the left, he did not come to stairs but just into a decently sized living room.

As he rubbed his eyes, taking in the room he realized this wasn't the hotel.

"Musta ended up at someone's house.." He reasoned himself with. But that didn't explain fat nuggets being in that room. Or the lack therefor of a random john.

He didn't care right now. At the very least he needed coffee. His feet managed to carry him over to the kitchen separated only by the counters. Something that actually looked better than it sounded.

Tired mismatched eyes looked around for the coffee machine. As they landed on the pink and white-colored machine there was a small sticky note attached to the front of it. He leaned in, his squinting at the note to read it.

'Hey, Angie I know you'll be a little tired after last night. Shit was wild! I gotta head out because some of us have boring jobs. But I prepped the coffee just press the button. See you later, have fun. Good luck ;) '

Angel knit his brows at the note. So he was at Cherri's house? That explained things a little better. But he didn't see how her job was boring. The headache was probably due to last night. Whatever had happened.

He looked over the six buttons on the top of the coffee machine. Finally, pressing the 'begin brewing' button, he sighed in relief.

As he leaned against the opposite counter of the coffee machine he crossed his arms. He glanced down at himself briefly, noting he was still in his usual suit. One of which was a little torn in some places. None of them looked to be claw marks though, rather...burn marks.

The spider settled for holding off any questions until he got his caffeine. He closed his eyes once again, ignoring the mild pounding of his head. So much so that he was practically deaf to the footsteps coming near him.

And with the beeping of the coffee machine Angel's eyes jolted open once again. But as his gaze wandered, in the corner of his eye something caught his attention. He turned his head in that direction and immediately stumbled back, falling into the floor.

Out of everything that could ever happen in his afterlife. Seeing the radio demon, standing in front of him in only his boxers was certainly not something he expected.

His face burned with the color red. Okay, this had to be a fever dream now. There was no way Alastor would even come close enough to allowing something like this.

Angel remained on the floor, staring at the redhead. The demon in question only remained leaning his arm on the wall as he looked at Angel as if he were the crazy one.

"I'm surprised to see you up," the demon paused. His eyes tracing up and down Angel's body for a moment. "And fully dressed at that."

His voice...what happened to his voice?! There was no radio filter on it at all. He just sounded, normal. But to Angel, it sounded weird.

A million thoughts raced through Angel's head as he continued to stare at the redhead. The deer demon rolled his eyes pushing off the wall, and as he approached his hand moved prompting Angel to immediately cover his face.

He waited for something, anything. To be punished for whatever he'd done yesterday because dammit he couldn't remember!

But none of that happened.

"Angel darling, what are you doing?" Came Alastor's confused voice. And with the lack of a radio filter, he could actually hear the confusion in it.

Slowly Angel opened an eye, still finding that confused smile. At least he was still smiling, otherwise, he may have lost his sanity entirely. "Come on now, you can’t stay there all day." A laugh escaped him although it hardly sounded like Alastor's laugh. "Unless you'd rather go again?"

Go again? What?

Angel took Alastor's hand, assuming that this was Alastor and Angel hadn't finally gone insane.

With ease, the redhead pulled Angel up. It seemed his physical strength was still there. He watched the redheads eyes scan his body again. When had he ever looked anywhere but his face?

"What are you wearing?" He heard the man ask. Angel wasn't looking at him. He couldn't. "This certainly isn't one of my works. Well, so long as you change once we head to work."

We?

‘My works’?

"I can't have my darling wearing something as hideous as that." Angel huffed, he actually liked his suit. It was one of the first things he'd gotten from Valentino once arriving in hell. Back when the man wasn't using him as a punching bag.

Angel finally chanced a glance at Alastor who was pouring the coffee. The longer Angel stared, the redder his face got. The colors going even as far as the pink on his chest.

He's shirtless. He's pants-less! He's almost fucking naked!

His thoughts ran wild, and when Alastor looked over his shoulder he couldn't help the blood suddenly leaking from his nose. (He has a nose it's just very very tiny and hidden.) He turned away, trying to cover it.

All the while the redhead looked at him, confused but amused all the same.

"You are acting very strange today. I don’t think I’ve seen you that red since our first meeting." He said as he added some milk into Angel's coffee before handing it to the spider.

Still holding his hand over his bleeding nose, Angel took the cup but refused to look anymore at Alastor. He heard the redhead humming in front of him.

"Sorry to leave the bed this morning but you usually take very long to wake up." A low chuckle. "Not that I blame you."

Angel choked on his coffee. His heart was racing in his chest and ears. This wasn't real right? And if it was, what the fuck happened.

"I have to say though--" he heard Alastor beside him suddenly and the soft clank of a coffee cup being placed down. Before he knew it a claw was guiding his chin over to the redheads gaze. The look in his eyes, was that..lust?

"--While waking up to you in clothes is certainly a surprise." He pulled the spiders face closer. "I like you better without them."

Without much of a warning, the deer's lips were pressed hard against his. Angel's eyes grew wide as the gears tried to process it. But when the demon's tongue slipped into his mouth the gears broke.

Angel was stiff against the kiss as Alastor pulled back leaving a red-faced spider. His eyes curiously searched Angel's as he wiped a strain of saliva from Angel's agape mouth.

"Strange, that little trick usually has you back in bed with me for at least another hour." Before Angel could question anything the redhead's hand pulled away, claw lingered there teasingly.

"Well, if you wish to head to work earlier today than that is fine. I do have a few things I need to get done at the studio. Unfortunately, the day after New Year doesn't grant us the day off."

Alastor called, as he walked off towards the room Angel had woken up in. As he nonchalantly disappeared into that room Angel just stared.

He stared as his head pounded in pain at trying to process everything that had just happened.

"What the fuck.."

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.

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I think I'm going to end it there. I honestly don't know what to think when writing pimp Alastor. Also with the morning scene I wasn’t implying that  Angel is dating Alastor but rather (since Alastor is in Valentino’s place) that Alastor fools around with whoever he pleases. This includes Angel Dust. And safe to say it isn't the first time Alastor’s slept with Angel dust in that Au (Again just my personal head cannon.)

There were a few things I had to just guess on, since he's filling in the spot for Valentino I wasn't sure if he had his radio voice anymore. Or his shadows? I knew for a fact that he probably didn't care about walking around in his boxers but I wasn't sure if he had some humility of walking around just newd. Also, I wasn't sure my mild asexual heart could write that and not die with Angel.

Thanks for reading!

[hayleysstark]

paper stars 

words: 1933 warnings: none summary: Here's the thing: trolls just don't each other's hair. Not unless they're—and his whole face burns just to think the word—lovers. Because this is a lovers thing, which means it's not a thing Branch should ever do with Poppy. But here he is. With his hands in Poppy's hair. And freaking out about it. 

Read on AO3. 

This is a terrible idea.

Obviously, it's too late to back out now—the Pack is already here, inside his bunker, talking and laughing and singing—and it's too late to get lost in all the maybes, all the what-ifs and should-haves, like if I hadn't let Poppy talk me into this, if I hadn't cracked and said okay, fine, if she hadn't turned her stupid pretty eyes and stupid pretty smile on me until I folded like a damn party chair, I wouldn't be in this mess.

But he is in this mess, because Poppy turned her stupid pretty eyes and stupid pretty smile on him until he folded like a damn party chair, because she can apparently turn his iron will to jelly with just a look.

It's humiliating.

But, for better or for worse, he folded like a damn party chair. He said okay, fine. He told Poppy she and her friends (his friends too, now, and it's so stupid, how happy that makes him) could come into the bunker and make a big mess of tinsel and garland and glitter—or, as Poppy put it, "spread a little Christmas cheer" and "brighten up that gloomy hole".

At least the Pack did promise that they would stop to run the bigger things past him, that they wouldn't do anything major before they got his say-so, that they wouldn't push him into anything he didn't want, that they would listen to him even if he said no.

But the Pack doesn't seem to think "a hundred paper stars swinging from the ceiling" falls under "anything major".

"Poppy!" He almost drops the box of pinecones in his hands. "What are you doing?"

"Oh!" Poppy spins around to toss him a bright smile. "Do you like it? Is your mind totally blown? Your mind is totally blown, isn't it!"

"That's one word for it," Branch mutters, swatting the stars out of his way to get to her.

"Okay," Poppy holds up her hands, where she clutches even more paper stars, "okay, just hang on, Branch, picture this. Hundreds of beautiful, shining stars, hanging whimsically over your head."

"Picture this," Branch puts the pinecones on the floor at his feet. "Me, violently ripping them all to shreds."

"Oh, come on!" Poppy plucks a single gold star from her fingers and throws it at him. "You let Biggie get away with the garland over the door!"

"She has got you there," Guy Diamond tosses out, dancing past with a heap of shiny silver tinsel piled in his arms and a candy cane hanging half out of his open mouth.

"Okay, first off," Branch throws the star back at her, "I let Biggie get away with the garland because the garland is stuck to the wall. It's not going to hover over my head like a swarm of wasps whenever I walk past. And I can already tell you those things are going to get tangled in my hair every ten seconds."

"No, no!" Poppy snatches the star out of the air before it can hit her and waves her hands at him. "That's not gonna happen! That's not gonna happen, Branch, it's gonna be great! Promise! Cross my hair and hope to never hug again!"

"Look," he runs a hand down the side of his face, the leftover glitter off the star scraping and scratching at his cheek, "I can't have those things up there. It's just not practical."

Poppy throws back her head and heaves a deep sigh. "You really don't like 'em?"

"I don't like them there," Branch tells her, and he means it. "Not on the ceiling."

Poppy perks back up. "Sooo, does that mean we can put 'em somewhere else?"

"Not over the door, either."

"Oh, you are no fun, Branch," she says, but she leans up on her toes to snatch a star off the ceiling, her quick, thin fingers deftly undoing the tight knot in the glittery white twine.

Branch should probably just leave her to it—he still has to string the pinecones with DJ Suki, but she was still happily munching her candy cane when he left her, and it's safe to say she's probably dead asleep now, passed out in the nearest empty chair, so he reaches up to untie the glittery silver star right over his head—

—but a sudden, sharp tug at his hair pulls him to a stop.

He glances up to see a dozen paper stars twinkling merrily in his thick blue hair. Yeah. Called it. He looks over at Poppy, too, and—

"Hey, Poppy," he says, seriously, "you've got something in your hair."

"What?" Poppy frowns at him, running a hand through her bubblegum-pink locks—he can see it on her face, the second she feels the crinkled cardboard lodged in her ponytail— "Branch!" she tosses a scowl at him before she tugs at one of the many stars tangled in her hair.

"You know," Branch plucks gingerly at one of his stars, too, but it doesn't come out, "I hate to say I told you so—"

"No, you don't."

"—but I told you so."

"See? You loved that. You loved that so much. Too much."

"You're right, I did. Every second."

"Okay, okay," Poppy drops her hands back to her sides with a little huff, "this is silly, Branch! I can't even see what I'm doing, and you obviously can't see what you're doing, either, so why don't we just help each other instead?" She tips her head at him, her tangled hair spilling out, in a bright, gleaming pink river, in front of him.

"Uh," Branch says. His mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

Because.

See.

Here's the thing.

Trolls don't just touch each other's hair.

Not unless they're—and his whole face burns with a furious blue blush just to think the word—lovers.

Not unless they're lovers.

Because this is a lovers thing.

Which means this is not a thing he and Poppy should do. This is not a thing he and Poppy should ever, ever do, but—but she's right, she can't see what she's doing, and he can't see what he's doing, so it isn't practical to turn her down on this, not when she's got such a good point, and—

"Um," Branch squeaks. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. Fine. We can try that."

He reaches out and he pulls a small gold star out of her hair—with the tips of his fingers, so he doesn't actually touch, because this is a lovers thing, not a friends thing, and if he touches her hair, it will mean things that this obviously doesn't mean, things that she obviously doesn't want this to mean, things that she'll never want this to mean, and—

Branch plucks a second star out of her ponytail, but when he reaches for the third, he misses, and his hands are in her hair, and the bright pink locks are so soft under his fingers, and this close, he can smell her favorite strawberry shampoo and if he dies in the next ten seconds, at least he can say he died a happy man because holy Troll Tree, he is touching Poppy's hair—

To get out the stars.

He's touching Poppy's hair to get out the stars, and that's it, that's all, and it isn't making his stomach do flips and it isn't making his heart pound and it isn't making his hands shake, because it doesn't mean a thing, so he would have to be pretty pathetic to get nervous about touching her hair when it doesn't mean anything.

Which means he's just invented an entirely new level of pathetic.

He takes out the rest of the stars and he doesn't touch her hair again.

"Thanks!" Poppy looks up to beam at him. "Your turn, buddy!"

"Right," Branch rasps, and it's good that he has to duck his head down now, because he's flushed all the way to the pointed tips of his ears, and if Poppy sees what a nervous wreck he is, he's going to have to lock himself away down here for another ten years until she forgets about it.

Poppy threads her small, pink fingers in his hair.

Holy hell.

He was wrong before, wasn't he, because this is the second where he can die happy, this second with Poppy's hands tangled up in his hair, nowhere near the quick, light, chaste touches he did to her—it's almost like she wants to touch him, but that's—that's crazy. That's insane.

That's not true.

Is it?

"It wouldn't kill you to relax a little, you know," Poppy laughs. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I-I know," Branch says, and he does—he trusts Poppy more than he's ever trusted anyone before, and that scares the hell out of him—but he's pretty sure if he doesn't hold himself still and stiff as a board, he's going to melt right down into a puddle under her hands.

"You know, I'm thinkin' you should keep this look," she tugs a star out of his hair and tosses it to the floor. "It's festive."

Branch huffs out a small, breathless laugh—he can't tell if that's actually a funny thing she just said, or if he's just a complete basket-case right now. "How long would it take Chenille to call me a 'crime against fashion'?"

"She already calls you that. Like, every day."

"Oh. Great. Just what I needed to hear."

Poppy giggles and pulls another star out of his hair in a shower of silver glitter. "Well, it looks like I got 'em all! You're lucky. I musta had way more in mine."

Branch is lucky, because he didn't pass out with her hands on his head, which he really thought he might do. And he might still do it, actually, because when he looks up, she's so close, he can still smell her shampoo and he can count every freckle on her face.

And her fingers are still tangled in his hair.

This isn't making his stomach do flips. This isn't making his heart pound. This isn't making his hands shake.

He's not staring at her mouth, at the faint shine of pink gloss on her soft lips and he's not thinking about that light, quick, split-second kiss she dropped on his cheek under the mistletoe last week, when she smiled and said maybe next time, and is this next time—?

She drops her hand back to her side. Her eyes flick down to his mouth.

He thinks this might be next time.

She leans in, and he leans in, too, and his heart pounds and his hands shake but maybe next time, and this is next time—

"Branch! Poppy!" Biggie hurries over with a steaming cup clutched in his hands. "There you are!"

Branch scrambles away from Poppy so fast, the whole room spins and he stumbles over his own feet, almost falling to the floor.

"Come on!" Biggie beams at the both of them. "Where have you two been? Come on into the kitchen, we're having a hot cocoa break!"

"Oh," Poppy says, almost breathlessly, and she tugs sharply on the fur trim on her skirt to straighten it. "Oh, yeah, that—that sounds great. Doesn't that sound great, Branch?"

"Yeah," Branch blurts, a flush burning in his face, his heart still pounding and his hands still shaking, and he doesn't know what they're talking about, he doesn't know anything except that he can still feel her hands in his hair. "Yeah. Sounds great."

"Yeah. Great."

"Great."

[meowdymista]

In For A Penny - Arthur x Female Reader

Notes: Adult content for an adult game.

Words: 5220

Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Now on AO3!

Riding in to camp at Clemens Point, it quickly becomes clear a celebration is underway. The upbeat music and loud chatter advise a steady flow of alcohol, long before Bill staggers up to the hitching posts with a whiskey bottle in each hand.

“Mr Morgan! Have a drink with us!”

Arthur chuckles, rolling his eyes as Bill shoves the emptier of the two into his hand. “Thanks, Bill. What’re we celebrating?”

“I don’t really remember,” he slurs, continuing on past to his horse and raiding its saddle bag. “Sean saw some working girl in Rhodes…?”

Dismounting, he scans the camp and spots you by the fireside with Tilly and Karen. “A working girl, you say?” he asks, but Bill has found the opened bottles of fine brandy he robbed off some travellers earlier and is swaying his way over to the medical tent. 

He removes his hunted gains from his horse’s flanks and takes a large swig of the honey coloured spirit, not averting his gaze.

“Hey, Arthur!”

“Hey, Lenny, how you doin’?” He slams the carcass onto Pearson’s table and drains the bottle, joining the young man leaning against the tree trunk.

“I’m good. Hey, you heard about Sean?”

“Something about him and a working girl?” He looks over to you again, surprised by the camp’s reaction to you. Usually when an outside woman is brought in, the camp splits down the middle, with the women and Strauss on one side, and the more confident, virile men closest to the poor soul brought in for the evening’s entertainment. Somehow you have found your way into the former, with the exception of Javier who is singing on the dirt by your feet.

“Yeah, a girl he met in Valentine! He-”

“Art’er Morgan!”

“Mr Macguire.”

“Pour yerself a drink!” Sean pushes a tin cup into Arthur’s chest, raising his own into the air and sloshing it down on the group. “We’re celebratin’!”

“Tha’s clear enough to see,” he growls, smirking “But the details are still a little hazy.”

“Oh, it’s a good story, Mr Morgan! It’s a good’un. See, back in Valentine after you boys picked me up from them bounty hunters, I borrowed a few dollars of Bill to get meself cleaned up see-”

“Not that the smell changed much,” winks Lenny, earning himself a laugh. He pats Arthur on the shoulder and moves off to join the fire.

“Bastard,” scoffs Sean, scowling. “Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, I found myself talkin’ to a lovely lady with a beautiful face and, you know-” He gestures at his chest with his hands spread, laughing. 

Ignoring him, Arthur sniffs the cup. “What’ve you put in this? Stinks of moonshine!”

“Nah, it’s whisky! Maybe gin… Maybe bit of everything, but you’re interruptin’ me there! Again! Do you want to know what we’re celebratin’ or not?”

“Fine.” He takes a swig and almost spits it out. Definitely moonshine.

“Well see, of course I needed to support the local economy of that muddy town, so I take her up to bed and we have a grand ol’ time! Honestly, it’s up there as one of the bests!” (“One of the few in total,” comments Charles on his way past.) “Anyways, after we say our goodbyes and I throw her the I’m too young to be settlin’ routine, I ride back to Horseshoe. Tha’s the end o’ tha’, bla dee bla, and then we come crashing into this place.

"All’s well, Mr Morgan. It’s been a coupl’ o’ months and I figure, hey, we’ve had some good scores, I reckon I’ve earned meself a wee pat on the back since none th’ rest o’ you fellers are doin’ it for me. I decided to get me revolver all done up nice at the gunsmit’ in Rhodes when I see her fanning herself outside the parlour house.

“You could have knocked me down wit’ a feather, Arthur! She’s leaning up against a pillar, with her belly out here!” He gestures again, his hand two feet from his untucked shirt. “I thought I’d had it, Morgan! Saw my life flash before me eyes! Sean Macguire, washed up at twenty t’ree!”

“So, we’re celebratin’ you becoming a daddy?”

“Oh no, Mr Morgan! No, we’re celebratin’ that I’m not going to be a pappy, and Ol’ Scar Face gets to keep his title as shitty dad of t’year!”

“I can hear you, you son of a bitch!” cries John from the poker table. Sean waves a hand in his direction dismissively.

“What makes you so sure?” asks Arthur.

“Because she was knocked up before she met me!” He grins widely, trying to instill the same excitement in his audience. Instead Arthur shakes his head, taking another swig, before cursing at the cups remembered contents and tipping it into the grass. “I’m just going down in history as a motherfucker! Not a pappy! How great is that?”

“For the kid? Oh, I’m sure he’s thrilled to pieces!” he says coldly.

“Ouch! Would you rather have another Jack in camp?”

“I would rather you stop risking becoming a father if you ain’t ready to be one!”

“Is that what you told Marston?”

“It’s what every boy is told when he becomes a man!” Arthur grabs a beer from a nearby crate, trying and failing to hide his frustration. “I guess no one ever thought you grown up enough to say.”

The redhead staggers, clutching his shirt. “Ooft, Mr Morgan, you're pulling me heart out me chest! I thought you’d be happy for me!”

“Mm, more like happy for the kid in question.” He looks back over to you, watching you laugh. Immediately he feels himself relax. “So who’s she? You bring her in to celebrate, or somethin’?”

“Who? Y/N?” Sean tops up Arthur’s cup, but he doesn’t notice. At that same moment, you look up and meet his gaze. He holds it hungrily, but Karen interrupts, offering you another drink, forcing you to look away. “Nah, she joined us couple nights back. Musta been the first night you was off huntin’ if you’ve not met her yet.”

“Y/N? That her real name?”

“As far as I know, but you know me, I don’t ask much.” Sean laughs and walks away, leaving Arthur to drain his beer in one.

“Everythin’ alright?”

He starts, pulling his eyes off you to find Abigail getting herself a bowl of stew. Unable to remember his last meal, he follows suit.

“Yeah, just gettin’ lost in my head I guess.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. Sean, I mean.” She gives him a sad smile. “Think he’s just scared of what could have been and relieved it isn’t.”

“Well, like I said, if he ain’t ready to be a daddy-”

“No one’s ever ready to be a parent. Hell, I was scared shitless when I found out I was expecting Jack, and then John…” “John’s scared of his own reflection.” This earns him a laugh as he tears them each a chunk of bread to go with their meal.

“You can’t tell me you weren’t scared when you found out about Eliza?”

“Oh, Miss Roberts, you don’t know the half of it.” They chuckle quietly, the warm evening air suddenly sombre. “Terrified is more like it, but I guess that went away soon enough.” His eyes drag back to you and how your smile lights up by the fire. “Say, who brought in Y/N?”

Abigail follows his gaze to where you’re sat and shrugs. “I don’t know exactly. Probably one of the fellas since we ladies don’t go out much.”

He takes another drink from the cup in his hand, but it no longer strips his tongue of tastebuds. “Hey, you not sitting down to eat that?”

“Not tonight,” she smiles, walking away. “Jack’s already in bed. G’night, Arthur, don’t make too big a fool of yourself, y’hear?”

He doesn’t. There’s something about you that draws him in, something about the whole situation that isn’t quite right, but he can’t focus when his jeans are tightening over his hips. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, but when Karen leaves her seat beside you, his untouched stew hits the ground and his spurs clink towards the fire.

********

“And who might you be?”

You look up from the flames, surprised. The man towers over you, his face unreadable and his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Before you can answer, he has lowered himself next to you, nodding at the guitar playing mexican by your feet.

“Javier.”

“Arthur.”

“Didn’t take you long to serenade the newcomer, huh?”

You blush as Javier chuckles. “Usted me conoce bien.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?” The stranger laughs loudly, drunkenly, his knee knocking yours.

“We’ve been running together long enough, haven’t we?”

“Ah, s’true, you got me there.” He shakes his head, chuckling as he shoves a cigarette between his lips. You watch his strong hands fumble with the small yellow box. His broad thumb pushes the insert too far, losing the majority of the sticks to the turf between his boots, but he doesn’t seem to notice. You grow more and more awkward as you’re forced to watch him drop or snap matches by the handful. He curses and drinks from the tin cup he brought over with him.

You notice Javier watching as well, his fingers continuing to dance over the strings. He mutters something in Spanish, and the smirk spreads enough to flash his teeth. You can only guess it is a friendly insult of some kind, but Arthur seems to come to another conclusion. He nudges you, and nods at the Mexican.

“Have you met the tough Mexican freedom fighter? The one that ran away when things got nasty?”

You hesitate, not sure how to respond. Luckily Javier shakes his head, his tightening jaw the only thing betraying his irk. “Let’s not play this game again, Arthur. It gets messy too fast.”

He grumbles, distracted when he finally gets a match to spark. He tries to hold it to the tobacco, but it burns out before his hands steady. He grunts in defeat, tucking the crumpled cigarette back into his breast pocket and turns to take you in. Somewhat satisfied, he leans forward, his hot breath moving the hair you have tucked behind your ear.

“So how much do you go for?” Your eyes widen with surprise. You try to speak, but no words form. For some reason, this tickles him. “Well? Cat got your tongue?”

“Leave her alone, Arthur.”

“Aw, Miss Tilly, I’m only playing.”

“Is he bothering you?” she asks gently. You can’t answer, your head is reeling with the way he spoke to you so bluntly, like you’re a whore looking for work. She sighs and gets to her feet, pulling you along with her. “C’mon. Let’s get another drink, and leave these assholes alone.”

“What’d I do?” he asks innocently.

“What didn’t you do?” mutters Javier.

“Wha’s tha’ supposed to mean?”

Tilly walks you away to a quieter corner, apologising, but you laugh it off. After all, you can think now. His proximity had put your head in a spin, but away from the heat and the physical contact you could think clearly again. You assure her no offence has been taken; he’s drunk, and something about his breath made you believe his drinks were much stronger than yours.

You clink a couple of fresh beers in cheers, and when Karen swoops round again, you let her pour you another shot of whisky directly into your mouth.

“Take it easy, huh?” Mary Beth says, touching Karen’s arm, but the blonde is already travelling again, this time towards the Irish man in the green bowler hat.

“Remind me again why I put up with you?” she slurs.

“Because you love me, darlin’!”

She laughs loudly, prodding him in the chest. “If I loved you, would I do this?” A crack reverberates across the lake, leaving the red head with a flaming red cheek.

“What was tha’ for?”

Mary Beth sighs in defeat, shaking her head at you. “She’s not normally like that, I promise. That boy is an exception.”

“Funny! I was just saying the same thing about Arthur!” You try to stop her, but she’s quickly confessed your strange encounter. Trying to hide your embarrassment, you find yourself infinitely grateful Tilly hasn’t heard everything he said. You like this group and don’t want anybody thinking less of you because of some drunken remark.

“Odd, he usually keeps to himself when there’s a new lady in camp,” muses Mary Beth.

“Abigail travelled with us a full month before he spoke to her.”

You set aside your empty bottle, feeling a little light headed. The two women muse, silently conversing in front of you until they’re interrupted with a shout.

“Where’s all this moonshine come from?” coughs Arthur, throwing aside a bottle he had found in the grass. “Is Sean trying to get everyone black out drunk?”

“Ah, not this time. That moonshine’s mine,” chuckles Hosea, walking over to pick up the bottle and return it to his tent. “I kept a couple back after we took it up to the Braithwaites. It comes in handy when making fire bottles and the like.”

“Well hide it somewhere more discrete, would ya?” Arthur splutters some more, following him. “I reckon Sean has already broken into your stash.”

“That would make sense,” sighs Hosea. You notice what had been five large bottles under the medical wagon has somehow dwindled to two. You also note that they are the same size and shape of the stuff Uncle had been drinking that morning, but you say nothing.

Following the women away from the campfire towards your beds, you see Mrs Adler close one of Mary Beth’s books she was reading by the lantern.

“It’s no good over here, ladies,” she grunts with disgust. “The boys are loud wherever you go.”

“Guess we had better wait it out by the water,” sighs Tilly.

“Hey, Y/N! What do you think of this?” Karen barrels her way to your side and, before you can greet her, she has tilted the contents of a tin cup into your mouth. The smell of alcohol alone is enough to bring tears to your eyes, and the other girls complain as you cough up a lung.

“Is that moonshine? And… tobacco?” you manage to gasp. 

“I can’t tell no more,” she slurs, squinting at the bottle. She turns around and pours you a cup from a different bottle. “What ‘bout this one?”

Mary Beth grabs her arm. “Karen! What’s gotten into you?”

“Leggo of me!”

Whilst they argue, you take the cup from her outstretched hand and drink it down in one. “Wow!” You shake your head, looking into the cup as though expecting it to contain flames. “This one... raspberry?”

“Who knows?” She yanks her arm free and begins to stagger off. “I found two men making Moonshine outside of Rhodes. Think they’re experimentin’, or at least that’s what Arthur said.” She hiccups and laughs at you as the world begins to spin.

“Y/N, are you ok?”

“Sure,” you say, trying to blink your way back to single vision. Taking a deep breath, you squeeze your eyes closed and reopen them. Mary Beth and Tilly are looking at you with concern. Mrs Adler’s face is unreadable. You can feel your cheeks burning, but also feel the confidence blossoming in your chest. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Have you had moonshine before?” asks Tilly with concern. “It’s strong stuff.”

“A couple of times,” you admit, smiling despite yourself. None of the women look best impressed, but Karen rescues you, wrapping her arm over your shoulders after an about turn and drags you back to the party.

“Have all of you met my friend, Y/N?” she slurs.

“You’ve been with us two days now, is that right?” asks Charles gently. You nod, cheeks still scorching hot. You spot the brooding figure stood at the back of the group and somehow your cheeks grow hotter still. The distance allows you to see him in his entirety - his legs thickening at the thigh from the horse riding, the faded blue shirt tucked in at his narrow hips and stretching up to the thick broad shoulders. The crackle of the fire reflects in his eyes, and suddenly it’s not just your cheeks that are uncomfortably warm.

You don’t resist as Karen pushes another bottle into your hand.

“Who was it that found you?” asks Lenny.

“I wasn’t found as much as-”

You’re interrupted by a snort. “LENNAAAAY!” cries out Arthur suddenly.

Lenny groans. “Oh, not that again!”

He laughs that loud laugh to the group, staggering over to clamp a hand on the young man’s shoulders. “Here, we go out for one drink and I swear the next day the bartender tells me I asked every single person in the saloon if they were Lenny.” He doubles over. “But most of ‘em were white! And half of ‘em were women!”

“It hurt to find out what you think of me, Arthur,” teases Lenny.

Charles is watching the blonde man as he staggers, trying to calm himself down. “How much has he had to drink?” he asks no one in particular.

“Oi! Karen!”

“Uh oh,” giggles Karen, elbowing you.

“Where’s me moonshine gone?”

“Your moonshine?” Hosea intercepts Sean before he can reach you. “I think you’ll find that moonshine was camp supplies!”

“Yeah, Sean! Camp supplies.” She lifts your hand holding the bottle. “Thought you liked sharing?”

“Miss Jones.” Hosea turns around, voice stern. “Is that my moonshine?”

“No, sir,” she answers sweetly. “S’camp’s moonshine.”

He rolls his eyes as she takes another big swig, sloshes some into your cup and throws the rest onto the fire which immediately burns up. You can’t help but laugh at the degree of disapproval radiating from him. Taking the opportunity of your mouth agape, she tips the cup into your mouth and makes you swallow.

“First rule of drinkin’ is to never drink alone,” she states proudly.

“I feel like you’re supposed to ask first,” you gasp.

“Nah, that’s how you end up stuck in camp. If you want something, you have to go get it!”

“Mr Matthews!” squawks Miss Grimshaw from her bed. “God help you if you do not get that girl to bed!” “Shut up you old hag!” Karen retorts, stumbling as Hosea leads her away.

“Apologies, Miss Grimshaw. I’m on it!”

Blinking you realise you are the only one standing this side of the fire. The men are quiet, watching the flames eat at the logs, each of them in their own head. You can feel something watching you, and when you look up, you spot the same cowboy staring at you. As you lock eyes, he blinks and shakes his head as though coming to his senses. 

With a big sigh, he ambles towards the shoreline, dropping his beer on the ground as he passes. The world is swirling, but without his eyes on you, you suddenly feel invisible. Taking a deep breath, you follow him as best you can. You aren’t graceful and you certainly aren’t quiet, but the sound of deep sleep comes from the tents you have to pass, undisturbed even when you almost fall on top of them.

When he reaches the water he stops and leans his head back, looking up to the night sky. “You fool, Arthur Morgan,” he mumbles. “Why’d you have to be such an idiot? No wonder the women hate yer.”

You clear your throat and he flinches so hard, he almost falls over. You apologise, rushing forward to catch him. He grasps your outstretched arms and somehow manages to right himself. It takes a moment to realise you’re still holding on to one another.

“I’m sorry about before,” you begin, dropping your arms.

He mirrors you, shaking his head. “Nah, s’my fault. I ain’t ever been the best drunk.”

“I’m- I don’t mean that. I’m just…” You force yourself to take a deep breath.

“Listen, it was my mistake. There’s a lot going on, we gotta lotta plates spinnin’ and then I saw you, and...” He trails off, looking out at the water, sighing sadly. “I’m sorry for jumpin’ on yer like tha’.”

You follow his gaze out across the shore, listening to the waves lap gently over themselves. Dark smudges of geese fly through the moonlight and into the wisps of clouds that are starting to crawl in across the inky sky. Somewhere a laughing gull cries out, repeating itself like a grandfather clock on the hour.

“We’ve had… a lot to drink.” You close your eyes, but the world spins. He must see you wobble, because a hand touches your back before your eyes open again. You look up to thank him and find his eyes tracing your lips. You realise you’re biting your lip.

With a deep breath you straighten yourself up out of his arms. He doesn’t stop you, if anything it snaps him out of his trance.

“We’ve had a lot to drink and I don’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

“O’course, Miss. I understand.”

You turn your head to look up at him, to learn more about the stranger, but instead you find yourself staring at the muscles in his arms and the soft halo surrounding them. You swallow, and try to drag your gaze upwards, but you’ve already seen the bulge in his trousers, and you don’t make it to his face before noticing the skin radiating from the top of his shirt. His chest, his shoulders, his entire torso looks strong. You wonder if it feels the way it looks…

“You were saying, Miss?”

You feel the words vibrate through your fingers and rumble right down your arm. It takes a moment for the sound to wake you, and when it does you realise your mouth is open and your hand has found its way into the V of his shirt.

He’s already looking down at you. You feel the pulse of desire between your hips and the warmth spread as his grey gaze transfixes you. “Y/N?”

Grabbing his upper arm in one hand and his neck in the other, you pull yourself up to kiss him square on the mouth. With no need for encouragement, he returns the pressure, pulling you flush against his body.

Your body purrs as his trousers tense against your skirts, and a groan escapes your chest as his teeth brush your neck. Your head falls back, your lungs already panting, your nails dig into his shirt. When something brushes the back of your head, you open your eyes to see that you’ve moved a little away out of sight of those still at the fireside. He has you pressed up against the wall of eroded dirt, kissing you deeply, squeezing your breasts and you accept his worship.

His hair is thick between your fingers and you hook your leg around him to pull him closer. The move takes him by surprise, but he recovers quickly, providing you the weight you yearned for. He returns the motion, one hand breaking free from between you and rustling up your skirts in search of your ass.

You lower your leg and shove him hard in the chest. He falls back, confused until your undergarments land beside his head. You try to dispose of his trousers the same way, but the suspenders won’t allow you access. Realising your intentions, he pulls them off of his shoulders, cradling your head in both hands as he continues to nibble your lip, your hands fumbling over his union suit.

Coming up for air frustrates you until you see his exposed chest. You trace your fingers over his skin as his grip moves to your hips, pulling you down onto that bulge.

“Get this thing off me now or so help me,” you moan. Eager to obey, he pulls the waistband of your skirt, making it crack as the buttons pop off. With help, you manage to lift the skirt over your head, your blouse already unbuttoned half way.

He pulls his arms free from the cotton as you tug his trousers from his legs, his feet wrestling clumsily as he tries to kick off his boots. You try to scoop the loose change back into his pockets, but he’s pulled you back on top of him, kissing you again, his hands exploring your exposed skin and tugging at the strings of your corset. You try to help him, but the thick member rubbing against the inside of your thigh wipes any pre-existing intentions

Your entire body stiffens as he slips inside you with a long guttural groan. Suddenly the urgency has dissipated and is replaced with a low throbbing tremor deep into your core. Instinct forces your hips to grind deeper onto him, forcing air out of your lungs to make room.

You can feel yourself building, feel his fingers digging into the bare flesh of your hips, your pelvises trying to make contact with each other. You lift your arms behind your head, stretching your upper body as though somehow you can make more room for him inside you and cram more of him in. He pushes your body up and brings you slamming back down before you can object, and you feel it again, the throbbing of your core as he slowly bounces you over his shaft, groaning.

Before the bubble can burst, he throws you off. You open your mouth to argue, but he’s scrambling to his knees, reaching for your hips and pulling you back into him. You don’t really understand until you’re on all fours and he pushes himself back inside. He begins to build up speed, and you can feel his balls slapping against your clit. You don’t know what to do with yourself, he’s hitting all your sweet spots, your hands reaching for anything to hold onto, but instead returning fistfulls of dirt, sand and seaweed.

Your eyes roll as the bubble of pleasure which has grown ever larger inside you bursts. You can feel your muscles squeezing, then pulsing and squeezing again as though milking him. You can hear him choking at the sensation and as the edge of your orgasm softens, you push back hard and pull away, lengthening each stroke.

Arthur cries out into the night as he empties himself of weeks of pressure. You can feel it pouring into you, feel him twitching against your walls, and you lean back greedily. Eventually there is nothing other than your shared panting. No snoring, no birds, barely any tide.

You land on your front, exhausted. A muffled thud confirms Arthur has also hit the ground. You can barely summon the energy to lift your eyelids - the orgasm far exceeds anything you have achieved on your own or past partners.

Eventually you roll onto your back. The purple of the night is retreating in favour of violet and soft pinks. Following the colours, you see the first trickles of the sun bleeding over the shrine of the camp. You let it wash over you, feel it cleansing your spirit.

Wondering if Arthur is still breathing, you lift your head. He is also watching the serene sunrise, tranquility smoothing the lines of his face.

The bark of a dog snaps you back to reality. People are stirring in camp and you are as good as naked on the beach. As though summoned by the horror, a chuckle ripples over the water.

“Have yourselves a good evening?” asks a man rowing past. You grab your skirts and whatever else is at hand and flee.

************

“What were you thinking?”

Arthur groans, pulling the blanket over his face, but it gets yanked straight back to his waist. “Not now. Please, Hosea.”

“Not now? Put your trousers back on, boy, before there’s a mutiny!”

He tries to reach to see if there’s evidence for the battering, but he vomits spectacularly over the edge of the bed.

“What the devil took over you last night? You! Of all people!”  Arthur is barely able to breath between retches, the remnants of the moonshine, spirits and bile, splashing against the crates. “You take the one girl here without a history and- what’re you doing over here? Go find your mother!”

“Calm down, she’ll get paid,” he groans, wiping his mouth as a loud giggle knocks another nail into his brain..

“Why has Uncle Arthur got his bottom out?”

“Ooft, mark the day, young Jack! Eyewitness accounts report that the sun does not, in fact, shine out of Arthur Morgan’s arse cheeks! Who’d’ve thunk!”

“Mr Macguire, make yourself useful and take the boy with you! And tell the women to stay the other side of camp too!”

“Aw, but they’re already gigglin’ about it.”

“No one will be gigglin’ when I’m finished! Now git!”

“Alrigh’, alrigh’, keep your pants on!” Sean’s cackle splits Arthur’s head open. He tries to move the blanket, awareness creeping in amongst the hangover as the infamous chortle sounds.

“Not you too, Dutch. Go see to the women.”

“My boy, you have royally outdone yourself this time.” His laughter booms off the trees. “Come along, Miss O’Shea, nothing to see here.”

“I think a lot of t’girls will disagree with you there, Dutch.”

“Especially Y/N if the stories are true!”

“Ain’t no stories to be tellin’! Everybody heard them!”

“Shee-yit.” Arthur groans, his memory hissing at the scratch marks on his back..

“Trousers on. Now. Before more people come ogling.” The chest by his feet creaks open, and clothes begin to rain on him. “And for the love of God, sort out the mess you made on the shore! Last thing we need is Pinkerton’s following the trail of bloomers to camp!”

He sits up with a grunt, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes squinting at the bright light of the tent. Hosea kicks a lone worn boot away from the puddle, cursing.

“A little privacy?”

“Don’t make me laugh! You might not be a teenager, but I’ll throw you out by your ear!”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” The old man gestures to the heavens. “Where to start? Disrupting the camp with your racket! Littering belongings for others to find! Playing buckaroo with the girl who’s here for her protection!”

“Her protection?” He scoffs, his hands shaking too much to button his shirt, but his stomach sinks.

“She didn’t tell you?”

He winces. “We didn’t do much talking,” he admits.

“Dutch found her robbing the trailers just above Rhodes. He was going to give her a ride home - to that run down place, Lonnie’s Shack - but Sean had scoped it that morning. Said some bandits rocked up and took out the father living there before setting up camp. So Dutch brought her here instead.”

“Bet you’re going to say she’s not even a whore at this rate,” he groans, trying to push himself off the bed, but the sight of his adopted father’s scowl knocks him back. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.”

“Get up and clean up, mister!” Hosea kicks the chest and stalks away. “Before I give Bill his gelding tongs back!”

[shoulda-been-a-redhead]

Birdcage:: set circa 1998

“De-ja-vu right?” 

“Yeah, no kidding.” 

...,,,...

Dean stalked down the stairway carefully, taking lengthy efforts not to make  a creaking noise on the arid wood stairs. The basement he entered was pitch dark and already stunk of death. The only light was the light from the doorway above him, which soon slammed shut with a vengeance. Have to deal with that later, he thought bitterly. 

He felt around the walls for some kind of switch or lever to initiate light. 

When he found a large lever he pressed it up with a clang, preparing for bright lights to surround him, but the control only yielded a small light in thte middle of the room. 

“What the—!” 

A scrambling happened and huge chains squeaked as the biggest bird cage Dean had ever seen swung suspended by the chains. The figure inside retreated to the furthest part of the circular cage away from Dean as it could, throwing the cage off balance even more. 

“Dean?” Sam said quietly with an urgent whisper. 

“Sammy?” 

“Thank God,” Sam sunk to his knees and crawled to the bars closer to his brother. 

“What the hell?” Dean neared the swinging cage and dodged it. He grabbed on and skidded with it to stop at the bottom of its pendulum swing. The bottom of it was still four feet off the ground. The platform of the bottom of the cage was probably about eight feet in diameter. The height was about twelve feet. The bottom was a sheet of thick, solid metal, and the bars that extended vertical were fused into the platform. The bars were thicker than Dean’s forearm and made of the same metal as the base. They came to an arch at the top of the cage where a single light hung down a foot or so. There was no doubt: it was basically a birdcage. One difference: there didn’t seem to be a door.

“I don’t know man. I woke up in here.” Sam’s face came more into the light and Dean almost flinched back. “What?” Sam asked. 

“Um...” Dean didn’t know where to start. Sam had a dark bruise the shape of the tread indentions of a large boot across his face. His nose was crooked— obviously broken— and one eye was bloodshot and watering. “Nothin’.” 

“Come on. I know its bad.” 

“Yeah.” Dean’s stomach turned with disgusted guilt. “Yeah. Don’t worry we’ll getcha fixed up. How long you been awake?” 

“I dunno. How long have I been here?”

“A few days.” That was not quite true. It had been a week. But Dean didn’t know what answer Sam needed.

“Oh. I have no idea then. They’ve come in like three times.” Sam said. 

“Who?” 

“The people-things.” 

“‘The people-things’. That’s really specific, Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes. 

“They aren’t people, they aren’t monsters, they look like people, they weld things with their hands. Seemed like a good conjecture— people-things.” Sam defended. He winced and touched his eye as blood dripped from above it. 

“What do they come in for?” Dean asked, sticking his hand through the space between two of the bars and thumbing some of the crusty tear-blood mixture off of Sam’s cheek. 

“They come and take blood and leave food.” 

“Your blood?” Dean asked, preoccupied with cleaning the cut under Sam’s eyebrow. 

“Ya see anyone else in here?” Sam asked as he jerked away from Dean’s rough hand unsuccessfully. Dean sighed with a shake of his head. Sam’s hands clinging around the jail bars were wrecked. His fingers were purple and red and yellow with bruising, and needle pinpoint marks shone on the back of his hands.

“How much blood? God, Sam, they musta stuck you twenty times.” 

“I know. I don’t know how much, but I passed out the second time and almost did the first.” He looked at his own hand with little interest. 

“Where do they come from? From up there?” Dean jerked his head to the door up the stairs he arrived from. 

“No. No, there’s another door over there.” Sam looked into the far corner of the space. there was not enough light to see much, and what light there was was divided and ribbed by shadows from the cage’s bars. 

“How’d you get in this thing?” 

“I was passed out.” Sam gestured to his bloodstained face. “But when they come they hold the bars in their hands and they glow, like hot metal, and they bend them so they can reach in. Then they meld it back into place and add more metal. Then they weld that with their hands. I guess it replaces the strength. They don’t talk to me.” 

Dean handed Sam a long knife through the space in the bars. “I’m gonna check it out.” He gestured toward the corner with the alleged door. 

Sam nodded. He slid the knife up his shirt sleeve, carefully hidden in case of emergency. A noise whirred on the other side of the wall Dean was headed towards suddenly. 

Sam’s eyes widened and he motioned to Dean to leave the way he came. Dean gave him a ‘no way!’ look even through the darkness. Sam glared and set his jaw. Dean retreated into the darkest corner of the room and crouched. Sam had to give it to him, he was pretty invisible. 

He stood up shakily and the cage swung wildly. He almost lost his balance, but grabbed onto the pole-like bars to steady. He looked incredibly nauseous as he gained his sealegs.

Shadows danced around the room and a new light came from the doorway. Two figures in white Haz-mat suits entered the room with a small cart, on which were several large empty vials and test tubes. The humanesque figures approached the bird cage without a word or emotion.

One of the figures raised a hand to a bar and it started to glow. Sam stayed put with a glare of death towards the perpetrators. Dean steadied his gun to aim at the white-clad thing, but a small gesture from Sam made him think better of taking the shot. 

The bar heated and bent, then a section of it melted away. The same procedure was followed for two other bars. It wasn’t quite enough space for an escape yet— but it was something.

Dean emerged from the shadow and shot one of the suited monsters dead. 

The other whirled on him and extended its hand. Unexpectedly, Dean flew forward in an unnatural force. The monster caught him by the wrist and its glowing hand burned through his shirt to his skin. He grit his teeth as his wrist seared. 

“Dean!” Sam said, a yell halfway between an admonishment an dan exclamation.

Dean hadn’t thought to ask Sam how they got him to willingly let them take his blood. Now he knew. 

The monster hit his chest and he flew back against the wall. His head hit and his eyelids suddenly heavied. He slid down to the ground and crumpled there. 

Sam leapt toward the hole and grabbed the monster from behind. He pulled it with a headlock and slammed its head down on the sharp point of one of the semi-melted bars. The bar impaled the creature’s neck and it fell limp. 

Sam was breathing hard as he backed up. The cage swung wildly and he tripped, whacking his head on the floor. 

When he came to, the hole in the cage was still there, but he was chained to one of the perfectly healthy bars. Metal restraints clasped around his upper arms, in between his shoulders and his elbows. His neck popped when he awoke and stirred, looking up from his position of his head laying limp on his own shoulder. His vision was blurry for an unreasonably long amount of time. 

“Coulda told me about the telekinesis, stupid.” Sam heard Dean say from across the room. 

He could see most of Dean through the bars, but his face was obscured by one of the cage’s thick ribs. He was tied up leaning against the wall, sitting on his heels, forced into a prayer kneel by the restraints. 

“Yeah,” Sam said guiltily. He closed his already mostly swollen shut left eye and his vision cleared exponentially. One eyed was better than fuzzy, he supposed. 

The door in the corner opened slowly with a creak and a tall figure stepped out. “You’ve taken my helpful metal-melders from me.” A voice said. “It seems I will have to continue the old fashioned way. Free range inside a cage seemed more humane... more conscientious, but restrained works too. In fact it works even better for me.” The figure stepped into the light with a cruel smile. They were mostly human. Well dressed human, even. The only thing a little off was the paleness of their face and the reddish color of their irises. Sam could barely see him, twisting his head as far as he could to watch. 

“Humane?” Dean spit. 

“You don’t agree eight feet of wandering ground is better than none?” The melodious male voice asked. Dean didn’t answer. 

“I suppose you never got the good treatment though, boy.” The man-monster-thing stepped forward. He looked like the old drawings of Dracula in classic books. “Soon enough you won’t miss it either.” The creature adressed Sam. Sam didn’t want to know what that meant. 

“Let him go,” Dean snarled. 

“Let him go?” The creature almost laughed. “You aren’t bargaining for your own life first?” The creature suddenly sniffed in a large inhale of air, like he was trying to smell what wine was being served with dinner. Dean pulled back from him, weirded out a bit. “Oh, I see.” The creature chuckled in ecstacy. “You carry the same blood. You’re family, yes?” 

Dean just glared at the man. 

“Well that just makes everything so much smoother. Much faster.” The creature seemed delighted. It pulled a handkerchief out of its waistcoat pocket, approaching Dean and kneeling before him. Dean snatched with his teeth at the monster’s hands, but to no avail. The monster tied the gag tight around his head, its cloth bit settling between his jaws. 

“Sit tight,” the monster said. “I’ll be back shortly.” He stalked from the room, dress shoes clacking upon the stone floor. 

“Dean?” Sam asked, his brother’s face still obscured by the bar. “Dean what happened?” 

Dean mumbled through the gag in response. He was seething with rage and helplessness. His arms were chained to his sides and his weapons were unreachable. The lock on the chains was nowhere to be found by wiggling around. The tight cloth around his face started to make his eyes and mouth water. He leaned his head back and hit it on the stone wall in frustration. Sam moved as much as he could with his tight restraints binding him to the ‘wall’ of the birdcage, trying to swing the cage so he could see Dean’s face. Eventually the cage spun just enough. 

“Dammit,” Sam said. 

The well dressed moster came back with supplies on a little tea cart. He took a bowl and a towel from the cart and stalked towards Dean. 

“Hey, back off!” Sam yelled. 

The evil beanstalk of a man didn’t even turn to Sam as he said, “Don’t fret. You’ll be even with him soon. More or less.” He placed the large bowl next to Dean’s right side and the towel underneath it. 

Dean struggled as far from the man as he could, grunting and straining against the gag and the chains. 

The man moved Dean’s right arm out from the mummy-ing chains but without any hesitation he pulled a knife from inside his blazer and slit one deep slash line tracing down the underside/inside of Dean’s arm. Dean let out an involuntary yelp, made higher by the restraint in his mouth.

The monster went on to place both hands on the shoulder of that same arm and do a quick maneuver that yielded a horrifying “pop” noise, and a scream from Dean. 

“Stop!” Sam screamed. He kicked his legs from his seated position on the platform bottom of the cage, trying to turn it for a better view. The monster was blocking him from seeing what happened, but he would know the sound of a shoulder coming out of socket anywhere. Another ghastly “clack” noise sounded that Sam couldn’t place or understand. Dean let out one unintended sob, so Sam knew whatever the click was, it was bad news. “Stop it!” He yelled again as the pit of his stomach dropped.

The monster stood and turned to Sam, blood covering his hands. Sam looked around him to Dean, whose arm was slowly pouring blood into the waiting bowl. 

The monstrous creature stalked around the cage to a point where Sam could no longer see him. He felt vulnerable and suddenly his back felt very exposed. He watched Dean through the bars as he tried to move and struggle against the chains, in more pain the more his shoulder moved. Almost a long minute later his eyes widened and he tried to yell a muffled warning to Sam. 

Sam felt a sharp pain in his hand. A needle twice as big as the others was jammed into his vein with vigor. He grit his teeth as he tried to keep the volume of his pained yell down. Another needle jammed into his other hand and his breath hitched. 

Dean’s muffled yells of things like “STOP!” and insults and threats that could barely be made out through the gag caught Sam’s incredibly divided attention. This is what it meant when he said it would be faster this way. Sam thought. 

“Dean, stop it! You’ll bleed faster!” 

Dean didn’t stop struggling, but he was becoming really tired, really fast. 

The monster spun the cage around some so that Dean was lined up in the melded window of no bars in the cage and Sam could see him dying more clearly. The downside: Dean could see Sam more clearly, too. 

There were too many tubes coming out of Sam to be anything but horrendously painful. Even through his watery, unfocused eyes Dean could see as the monstrous creature stuck needles into Sam’s neck. Draining him. 

“Dean, stop it! It’ll kill you faster if you keep moving around! Listen to me.” 

Dean stopped for a second. The anger blurring his vision died down as he shifted his focus to Sam’s completely calm face. Bruised and broken, sure, but calm nonetheless. 

“You have to stop.” Sam said quietly. A laugh boiled up from the monster behind him but he ignored it. “Stay calm. Just stay still.” Sam got an idea suddenly. It only worked in a very specific scenario, but he didn’t have many other options at the moment. “It’s pretty fowl in here, right?” Sam tried not to emphasize the code word too much in fear of discovery, but hoping Dean would still get it. 

Fowl? Why does he want me to— Dean thought through the code, but Sam said something else which made it clearer. 

“We’re gonna be fine...” Sam sounded suddenly delirious and weak. His head lulled down and his limbs fell even more slack in their restraints. It was almost too convincing. 

Fowl was the code word for ‘play dead’, although they had never used it for the one saying it to be the one playing dead. Dean understood his role now. He knit his eyebrows and got the monster’s attention with a mournful yelp and a few fake, but convincing, sobs. 

The monster grinned. “You listened to him too well I suppose. The way I planned, you would have been dead long before you saw the child go.” 

Dean glared at him with a seething rage. Even if Sam wasn’t really dead, he was definitely being drained and hurt. Dean hung his head and tried to get the tears to fall out of his eyes onto the floor dramatically. He pretended to sob, hoping this was Sam’s plan. 

“He’ll be easier to drain out here with us, don’t you think?”  The monster fell for their trick brilliantly. “Right here?” The creature tapped the ground in front of Dean’s eyeline. 

The monster proceeded towards the cage where Sam lay entirely motionless. 

“Don’t touch him!” Dean yelled through the gag, the words barely recognizable, but definitely frantic-sounding, trying to sell it. 

The monster grinned sadistically. It unclasped the cuffs around Sam’s upper arms one by one. Sam slumped to the side with the first metallic click, then to the front over his criss crossed legs with the next. His swollen, bruised eye hit his knee when he fell forward and Dean winced for him. Sam was selling it so hard that Dean started to worry for if it wasn’t real. 

 The monster swung the cage as if he was trying to get all the marbles to roll to one side of a tray after spinning them around a few times. Sam tumbled toward the hole like a bag of bones. 

The monster pulled him out as he remained tension-less and motionless. Dean watched carefully, trying to act devastated and like he wasn’t calculating a plan in his head. His thoughts swam in bloodloss. His dislocated shoulder numbed his whole right arm... or was that the lack of life in his limb? But he determined to remain conscious nonetheless. For Sammy.

The tall monster dropped Sam in front of Dean unceremoniously. His limbs folded under him and his head hit with a whack. Sam’s face landed cheek to the ground, turned toward Dean, his expression hidden from the standing monster. As Dean watched, Sam’s face scrunched up in pain. Dean’s heart seemed to un-scrunch with relief, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t change his expression as he lifted his gaze to the insanely pleased creature. 

“How’s that?” The monster asked rudely. 

Dean snorted a growl in response. 

The monster grabbed Dean by the jaw and made him look at Sam. 

Dean watched happily as he saw Sam’s hand slide a knife out of his sleeve with bloody fingers. He took his chance while the monster’s hand was still holding onto Dean’s face. 

Sam sprung into action, slicing the creature’s hand clean off with his daggar. The monster wailed and stepped back several staggers. Sam rolled to his feet and grabbed Dean’s silver loaded gun from the pile in the corner. He shot the creature in the chest once and once in the stomach before leaping at the downed villain with its recently severed hand in tow. Dean couldn’t see exactly what happened, but the monster stopped struggling after a gagging noise ocurred. Sam shot it once more in the heart for good measure, then his heavy breathing took him over. He bent, doubled over and fell to one knee. After a few seconds he limped over to his brother. 

He cut the gag off with the bloody daggar carefully and quickly threw it down. He was still panting. 

“Scared me for a second there, man.” Dean rasped. 

Sam nodded. “Good actor I guess.” He put a cold hand on Dean’s destroyed shoulder and Dean flinched. 

“Nasty,” Sam commented. 

“Coming from the guy who just killed something using its own severed hand.” Dean said weakly. 

Sam’s gaze hardened as he re-noticed the full bowl of blood at Dean’s fingertips. It was full. And it wasn’t a small bowl. He helped his brother up from the ground, pulling with his handhold in the wrapped chains around him. He loosened them in several places and found a lock eventually. Picking it was no problem. Once the ‘weak link’ was dealt with they fell to the ground in a rattling ruckus. Dean breathed freely as he thanked Sam. 

Sam took what was left of his shredded shirt off and tied it around Dean’s arm tightly as a tourniquet. At full height, Sam was only a couple inches shy of his brother, when three months ago he’d been almost half a foot shorter. It made things like helping each other limp away from these sorts of situations much easier.

“So, we have a ride?” Sam asked as they stepped over the threshold at the top of the frustrating set of stairs. 

“Dude, do you even have to ask?” Dean chuckled. Now that they were in the light of the mansion’s domed window, everyone looked much worse. The curtain was pulled back on the palor and wounds that were previously hidden by the darkness. 

Dean was over halfway to bleeding out. The bowl back in the basement had been almost a litre full, and two litres was just about the limit for remaining alive. The tourniquet had helped, but blood still dripped from Dean’s fingertips leaving a trail in the not-yet-open mansion. Someone would have an interesting find when they came in for the day. 

The Impala seemed like the homeyest, most cozy thing after the dark dungeon storage basement. 

A collective sigh of relief came out as they backed out of the driveway, Sam driving... Legally, for once. 

[whumpiary]

food for thought drabbles 1: tied to a chair, interrogated and tortured at their own place (bonus points if the caretaker comes home and gets involved)

Josiah’s arms are shaking, shoulders aching along the tendons, pulled tight behind him. Burning. He should've skipped the gym this morning. It’s gonna hurt tomorrow.

It’s funny that that’s all he can think about right now. He’s bleeding freely from the cuts along his chest, down his arms, from the split skin over his eyebrow, but all he can think about is how tight his shoulders are gonna be in the morning. 

“I have to say, proxy boy, you’ve held up better than I expected,” Tucker says, wiping the knife off on the tea-towel he’d taken from the kitchen sink. They’d have to get new ones, Josiah thinks, new tea-towels. But that was fine. The old ones were getting kinda worn out anyway. It’d be good to have a new set. “Ellie used to complain about what a fucking sook you were, but… Guess you toughened up, huh?"

Even hearing her name sends a bolt through him, swings him crashing back down to reality. Some venomous mix of panic and guilt and pain. Shame. He closes his eyes. 

“Just tell me where he is, and all of this can go away,” Tucker says “I’ll even send you a postcard when he’s back home with Daddy”

Josiah snaps his eyes up. He feels an absolute rage surge through him and for once it doesn’t settle in his fists or in a blind fury in his head. No. Instead it settles in his chest like a lump of burning coal.

He leans his head back with precision, and spits in the blonde man’s face. 

Tucker barely flinches, taking a long moment to reach his hand up and wipe his face clean with the back of his knucles.

“Classy,” he grunts “Did your little fucktoy teach you that trick?”

A sharp backhand, clean against Josiah’s cheekbone sends a double serving of pain through the head wound along his brow and he stutters in a gasp as Tucker pulls back for a second, and then-

The sound of jingling keys, boots thumping on the floorboards as they’re kicked off in the hall.

“Guess which absolute winner brought you surprise frozen yoghurt without spilling a single…”

Mal, standing in the doorway, two tiny tubs balanced carefully in one hand as he shuts the front door tight behind him. Half a dozen steps forward. Then he freezes.

His eyes rake over the scene in front of him almost comically slowly, top from bottom. Across two sets of feet: bare ones curling into the drop-sheet, ankles tied to the kitchen chair, and the set beside them, in neat leather boots. Up across two sets of hands, one pair bound tight together, dirtied with streaks of blood, and a pair clean ones, armed with cloth and gleaming knife.

Up across two faces. One he’s seen nearly every day for two years and one he hasn’t seen in nearly ten.

In all his time knowing Mal, Josiah has never once seen the nurse pale as quickly as he does standing there, staring at Tucker. Mal swallows visibly, swaying just a little, his voice is barely audible when he speaks, "What the hell?"

Tucker moves slowly and deliberately around the chair Josiah’s secured to, taking a lot of pleasure in pulling up the sharp end of the and pressing it against his captive’s throat.

“Oh, I musta done something good in a past life, huh?” he murmurs in Josiah’s ear “This is my lucky fucking day”

He straightens up again, knife still tilted perfectly in place, and grins his sunniest grin. 

“It’s good to see you, Mal!” he says, cheery as a fucking picnic on a sunny afternoon “Why don’t you take a seat?”

[karmaholmes221]

Vicomte de phantom

Outside Phantasma

Paris, 1895- A mysterious fire consumed the Opera Populaire. A mob rampaged through the theatre's twisted catacombs baying for the masked man they held responsible. Only his mask was ever found...

I made my way through the grounds of the ornate amusement park, politely trying to slip through the throngs of delight holidaymakers. I couldn’t help but catch bits of conversation as I passed.  ”Hurry up!” A child called to his father.

”You won’t believe it!” A young woman told the toddler on her hip.

”Take a look what’s over here!” A boy around the age of twelve called to his friend.

”Who imagined just how big the place would be?” A man asked  the woman on his arm.`

“The man called Mr Y put it up in just a year.” Another voice sounded.

“It’s a little slice of Heaven by the sea!” A young girl exclaimed.

I continued to slip past people as the crowds grew larger.  ”Look, there’s restaurants!” A voice yelled.

”A midway!” Another voice replied.

”A gigantic concert hall!” A man shouted.

”The biggest funhouse ever seen!” A woman called.

”A volcano that erupts each day at three!” one of the workers shouted.

”Wonders brought from ‘round the world!” A mother told her daughter.

“The season’s just begun, but Mr Y has got it all!” A boy told a young girl who was clinging to his hand.

”Crystal fountains!”

”Grand pavilions!”

“Hell, it musta cost him millions!”  As I reached the grand pavilion the crowd grew even more tightly packed as it grew larger and more festive.

”Over here!” A girl yelled.

”The sights! The sounds! The lights! The smells! The wonder wheels! The carousels! The gardens and arcades, and the marble colonnades!” one of the vendors shouted.

”The rides!”

”The shows!”

”The games of chance!”

”The rush!”

”The whirl!”

”The sheer romance!”

I finally made it to the final throng of people and paused as I overheard their conversation. ”And the rumours…” A woman said to one of her friends.

”What about ‘em?” Her friend asked.

”Things so odd you daren’t doubt ‘em…” A man beside them said.

”Freaks and monsters…” The woman said.

”Aberrations…” The man said.

“Weird mechanical creations…” And older woman added.

”And the Genius who designed it wears a mask!” The woman exclaimed. The small group erupted in a burst of excitement, chattering and pointing.

I shook my head at there enthusiasm, smiling as it brought back memories of my time with the traveling fair in Paris. I opened a door that was all but hidden by the vast posters. It led to the small dressing and preparations area backstage. I stepped in, shutting the door,  and Meg stumbled away from a small hole in the wall where she had been watching the throngs of people move past. She looked absolutely terrified. “Jesus, what a crowd.” She squeaked.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Nervous?”

Meg shifted back and forth. “Just a bit.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I moved and put my hands on her shoulders.  ”Kid, look who you are! The headline act! A major star! You’re already a hit.” one of the showgirls sided up to me.

“Got a match?”  she asked and I handed her one.

“Wonder what he’ll think…” Meg said quietly to herself and I gave her a confused look.

“The boss?” I questioned.

“If he’s even here.” she said, almost pitifully.

I smiled comfortingly at her. ”Honey please… He’s here. And in just two days, he’ll be there tossing you bouquets. At our gala premiere. Picture it! The cream of Manhattan! Celebrities! Millionaires! Watching you!”

“I’ll be waiting in the wing, wound up tighter than a spring, as the house begins to dim. And I’ll practice ev’ry line, hoping desperately to shine. Shining only for him.” Meg said, slipping off into a private reverie.

“Just imagine how they’ll cheer, at the moment you appear.” I continued to encourage her.

A smile now broke across Meg’s face. “Stepping out before the scrim..!Let ‘em whoop and let ‘em call, I won’t hear the crowd at all…”

“No, it’s only for him.” I finished.

”Tell me how I look.” Meg said, suddenly self-conscious..

”Fine.” I assured.

Meg’s face became worried and I knew I had misspoken.  “Just fine? What about my hair?”

I chose my words quickly but carefully this time, trying to keep her upbeat.”Beautiful.”

“Your swear?” she asked and I let out a laugh.

”Trust me, once the boss sees how you put that song across. Hell, he ain’t got a prayer”

“You mean it?” She asked me, hope shining in her eyes.

I turned her around to face the mirror along the wall, both of us gazing at our reflections as I began to speak.” You’ll step out into the light. Looking lovely, burning bright, all vitality and vim!”

I watched as Meg re-lost herself in the vision.”And I’ll rapturously float through the melody he wrote, singing only for him.”

“And before the music dies, up the audience will rise, nearly bursting at the brim! And you’ll stand there in the glow…” I said, continuing to paint the picture.

“And perhaps, at last he’ll know…” Meg said wishfully as another showgirl rushed over from where she had been standing by the curtain.

”Girls! Hurry up! We’re on!” I quickly pushed Meg towards the stage as the girls rushed to make an entrance in the company of the specialty acts;  Ms. Fleck as our aerialist extraordinaire, Gangle, the barker, and our strongman Squelch.

From where I stood  just behind the stage curtain a to watch, I could hear several people in the audience. “Where is she?” A girl asked.

”Look! There!” A woman said.

”In the center!” A man added.

”Just like in the posters” the woman said appreciatively.

”It’s the Ooh La La Girl!” the girl squealed.

”Meg Giry!” The man said happily.

I glanced over to find that Madame Giry had joined me, I offered her a small smile before turning back to look at the stage. Meg smiled at the crowd before beginning to sing. “Welcome each and everyone to our firmament of fun!

”A buffet of Ballyhoo!” the showgirls sang.

Meg joined them.“It’s where coney comes to play and it’s opening today!

“And it’s only for you!” Meg sang with a winning smile.

”And you!” one showgirl said.

”And you!” another repeated.

”And you!” and a third repeated.

“Entertainment day and night, sure to dazzle and delight!” Meg and the showgirls sang

“And of course we’ll be there too!” Meg sang.

The showgirls began waving and flirty with the crowd. “Yoo hoo!”

Meg joined their voices. “We’re so happy that you’re here, for the season’s big premiere! And it’s only for you!”

With that, Meg gave a little curtsey to the audience before running off, throwing her arms around me with a triumphant smile as Gangle began to shout over the din. “Ladies and Gentlemen, Miss Meg Giry, the Ooh La La Girl! Five shows daily, only here at Phantasma. And now the aerial exoticism of the fabulous Miss Fleck – half bird, half woman, all for only 10 cents a ticket…”

“How was I? Tell me?” Meg said pulling away from my embrace to face her mother.

Madame Giry smiled proudly.  “Delightful, Meg. Just perfect. And I say that not only as your mother… But as your producer.”

“Was he watching?” Meg asked earnestly and Madame Giry opened her mouth to reply but I quickly cut her off, plastering a smile on my face.

“I’m sure he was and I’m sure he’ll have much to say about how much you’ve progressed.” I took Meg gently by the arm and began to lead her away from the stage, Madame Giry following close behind.

“By the way, it seems you have an admirer. A certain Mr. Thompson.” Madame Giry informed offhandedly.

Meg and I shared a glance as we followed her. “Is he important?” she asked hesitantly.

[waynegifs]

WAYNE | 1x08 “Musta Burned Like Hell”

[alextwdgf01]

The Restoration Of Eroded Soils: A Checkup From A.B. Normal

Chapter 5

"Well, you're obviously suffering from malnutrition and sleep-deprivation. But all things considered, it could be worse." Arthuria stated as she took observations of Ford's current physical health. "Yeah, well you didn't see him when I first got here. He was a few pounds away from bein' a skeleton." Stan said, poking at his brother's ribs, only for his hand to be slapped away with a grumble. "He seems to have put on quite a bit of weight since then." "Most of that is baby fat." Stan smirked. Ford's face heated up in slight embarrassment. "Shut up, Stan." The ginger haired woman tutted. "It can't just be baby fat. That wouldn't be healthy for either of you." Arthuria's words gave the elder twin pause for confusion. Ford frowned. "What does my...fat have to do with Stan's health?" he questioned. "I was talking about you and the baby." Arthuria replied bluntly. Ford tensed, becoming flabbergasted by her knowing of his pregnancy. His expression was alight with surprise and slight hysteria as his eyes flashed over to Stanley. "I-bu...I-I-Stanley! Did you seriously tell her about the-the situation?!" "He didn't have to." Arthuria cut in. "You smell of hormones." This gave the young scientist even greater pause, trying to process her words. "You...you can smell hormones?" Ford asked owlishly. The young ginger nodded, nose wrinkling up in sudden disgust as she looked around the living room. "Yeah, and more. What the hell happened in here? Smells like somebody died." "Things got a little...out of hand around here." Ford chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll say." Arthuria lifted her satchel into her lap, cocking her head to the side as she regarded the six fingered twin. "So, how'd you end up pregnant? I never took biology in school, but last I checked, men aren't capable of carrying. " "I, uh..." Ford looked over to Stan uncertainly, reluctant to answer. Stan nodded to Arthuria, wordlessly saying he could tell her. "...I study the supernatural, the oddities here in this town. During an outing two months ago, I discovered an intriguing patch of angiosperms I'd never seen before. As I got closer to inspect them, they expelled a mist of pollen all over me and I accidentally breathed some of it in." Ford explained, muttering to himself about how his allergies had been terrible for the rest of the week before continuing. "After a week, I hadn't had any ill side effects, so I wrote it off. But then I started experiencing what would be clarified as early pregnancy symptoms, and well..." There was a beat of silence as the scientist awkwardly trailed off, before a cackling laughter filled it. Ford flinched, feeling his heart rate spike up at the sudden outburst from the ginger (too, because it reminded him of Bill's laughter). Stan himself even gave her a questioning look at her reaction to his story. Arthuria just continued her unexplained fit, slapping her knee. All the while, Ford noticed her cap slip down slightly to one side, revealing what appeared at first glance as a tangled knot of slightly darker hair. But it appeared strange. The "knot" was almost triangular in shape and...was it twitching? Before he could further contemplate this, Arthuria was beginning to calm down, reaching up to readjust her cap as she caught her breath. "Sorry, sorry." she gasps in a few breaths, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "It's just, I was imagining what you face musta looked like when you first found out you were pregnant." "If it was anything like the time he realized he'd forgotten to turn the oven off and our parent's apartment almost burned down, he probably looked like this." Stan said, proceeding to imitate Ford's expression at that time. The two busted out laughing, all the while Ford hurumphed embarrassedly, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I'm glad my current predicament gives you both such joy." "Hey, I'm just tryna light'n the mood here. The situation's pretty weird, bro." Stan chortled. "But ya don't have ta get all grumpy about it." "I believe

that may be his hormones. They can cause a wom-er, individual during pregnancy to become easily agitated or overly emotional." Arthuria said as she pulled a rolled up magazine out of her bag, bringing into view for both brothers to see. "It's all in here." Ford gave the cover a scrutinizing look, before his eyes darted back to the woman's. "Stan neglected to say, but are you an obstetrician?" he asked, almost wary. "Nnnooooo...but I have performed a c-section before!" Arthuria responded proudly. "Was it successful?" The ginger waved her hand in a so-so gesture. Ford face palmed, turning towards his brother beside him. "Where did you find her?" Ford asked, irritation slipping into his voice. "I didn't. She found me." the younger twin responded. "This is insane. She doesn't even know anything about childbirth, and probably doesn't know much about prenatal care either! I thought you said she could help?!" ----edit below---- “She can! In more ways then you can possibly imagine!” Stan said, his voice starting to raise dangerously. Both twins were now staring at one another, frowning. "Please, partel how she can possibly help?" Ford huffed out annoyedly, before turning to Arthuria with a slightly less annoyed frown. "No offense." She raised an eyebrow. “Huh, I’ll take the offense.” She said while crossing her arms over her chest. ”Listen, I came here because I like Stan and I owe him one. I barely know anything about you, just that you’re Stan’s brother and got yourself impregnated.” The small group stayed quiet for some time, mulling over what the others had said. Finally, Stan sighed and passed a hand over his face. “How about we play twenty questions?” He suggested. Ford rolled his eyes. "Seriously?" "What? You're the one who can't stop asking how trustworthy and helpful Arthuria is. It's the only thing I could think of." Stan muttered, crossing his arms. “I don’t mind.” Arthuria shrugged while uncrossing her arms. “I’ll even give you the first one.” She sat back on her chair, making herself comfortable, her bag resting back next to her chair. The eldest twin pondered to himself for a moment, brows scrunched up in concentration. "What is your exact line of work?" Ford finally asked. Arthuria thought for a moment, raising a hand to her chin in deep thought. “Mmm… thief. People need some things from somewhere and I offer my service to… retrieve said things. At a certain price.” She answered with a bright smile on her face, showing her teeth to the brothers. “My turn. How far are you into your pregnancy?” Stanford's eyes widened at her response. A theif? No wonder she was an associate of his brother's. How in the hell did he seriously believe she can be trusted to help them? "Hrum." he clears his throat. "I um, two months. Two months and one week." She nodded and closed her eyes. “So you’ll probably be due between...late August to mid September, depending. Okay, that’ll give us time.” She opened her eyes and motioned for Ford to continue. “What’s your question?” "If you are a...thief, as you so boldly state, how did you come to obtain medical knowledge?" Arthuria laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s… that’s a long story that’s more suited with a couple of beers. The short version is… being a medic was the only way I could survive Bastogne and the… Battle of the Bulge.“ She shot the twins a shy smile before switching her attitude to a more cheerful one. “What are your eating habit?” Perturbed, Ford glanced at his brother, as if to silently ask if he should question her about that. Stanley shook his head. "My eating habits are...sufficient." he responds. "That's a load of bullshit." Stan reprimanded. "Your eating habits suck." "They do not. I have been eating healthily." "Going nearly a month without eating isn't healthy, Poindexter. Even you should know that." Arthuria tilted her head. “A month? While you were carrying?” She pointed to his stomach with a worried look on her face. “Am I to assume you just… drank liquid during

that time?” Arthuria stood up and took a step forward, her metal boots clicking loudly on the wooden floor. "Coffee, specifically." Stan answered for his twin. "That's really not good. Not just the not eating, but ingesting a whole lot of caffeine can harm the baby as well." Ford crossed his arms over his chest and pouted. “I-I didn’t know for sure at that time I was… And I had some other more present matters to take care of.” He turned away to face the wall. “Well coffee is gonna have to go, even de-caffe. It’ll harm the baby in more ways than you can imagine. Unless you aren’t planning to keep it?” She said that last part barely above a whisper. The six fingered scientists heard her words nonetheless, and stiffened slightly, quickly losing himself in deep thought over her question. Did he want to keep it? I mean, he'd been going through the motions of preparing for the inevitable end of the world and trying to stop Bill that he hadn't paid much mind to the pregnancy. And during the past week with Stan here, he's just been assuming that he would have to have the child. But if there now was an option in the matter, does he really want to go through with it? “Look, I’m only saying this because… Raising a kid is a big responsibility. It’s not some project you can discard once you're bored with it. I don’t know if you’ve realized it yet, but… a life is growing inside of you and it’s gonna come out one way or another.” A look of horror crossed her face and she looked at the pregnant men straight in the eyes. “I’ll need to look at your pelvis.” "M-my pelvis? Why?" Ford questioned owlishly. "Yeah. You'd only have to look at someone's pelvis if they were going to give birth naturally. And it's not like Ford can." Stan paused for a moment, wincing. "Can he?" “That’s why I wanna look at it. I don’t know the extent of the… flower’s power. Obviously it created some sort of uterus inside of you to carry the baby… but I don’t know if it changed you in other ways.” She crouched down in front of Ford resting a cold hand over his clothed belly. “There’s a reason only women give birth. Men’s pelvis' are too narrow to let a baby’s head pass.” Stanford shifted uncomfortably at both her touch and words. "Aside from the, um...ability to carry and symptoms, I haven't noticed any other...physical changes of my body. None external." "It still wouldn't hurt to be sure." the ginger woman said. A cheeky smile spread accros Stan’s face. “Looks like we are in for an improvised hospital visit.” He said while resting and squeezing his twin’s shoulders. “Unless you have some sort of X-ray machine lying around?” "I do, actually. I built one a while back to observe the pace of which Fiddleford's arm healed." Ford stated, standing from his seat to look for said item. "What was wrong with his arm?" the grifter asked. "It was broken while we were studying a Gremoblin." he responded nonchalantly, sifting through one of the kitchen sink cabinets. Arthuria rosed from her crouched position and tilted her head. “And it worked?” She asked incredulously. She turned to look at Stan. “What is your brother? I thought you said he was a scientist?” she pointed a thumb toward Ford. "I am, but I also build inventions. Some for personal use, and others that I'm paid to construct. Ah-ha!" Ford exclaimed triumphantly, pulling a small handheld device with a screen in the center. "For example, I also have a prototype mind control tie Regan's masters requested I make. So that they could control what he said during meetings and political gatherings. He had a bad habit of getting off topic." “Yeah, like that sounds like a good idea…” She deadpanned while her hat actually jumped a little. Ford froze in place for a moment wondering how it had happened. The rest of her body hadn’t make any movement that would result in her hat moving on it’s own. There was something going on under her hat. Stan just stared at the device in his brother’s hands. “And it works? This thing can take X-rays?” "Yes. All you have to do is press this button

to scan the selected area, wait a moment for the xray to analyze, and then it will pop up on the screen." the six fingered man explained, turning the machine on and handing it to Arthuria. She carefully grabbed it between her hands and turned the device over, giving it a thorough once over. She brought it close to her face, the object facing her, and it bumped with the cap of her hat, making the back of it rise slightly from her head. As she scrunched her face in concentration, her finger slipped and pressed the scan button. There was a flash of bright light, making her jump and nearly dropping the device on the floor. “Crap! The switch is sensitive!” She exclaimed while setting it on the table, blinking rapidly. “Crap. Can’t see much of anything now.” As Arthuria went to scrub at her eyes to rid them of the dots clouding her vision, she unknowingly shoved her cap back. Stanford noticed only when something within her hair seemed to retreat backwards. He squinted, adjusting his glasses to be sure he wasn't seeing things. Just near the end of where her cap rested, he could see a small lump burrowed in her ginger locks. It was a little darker than her hair and seemed to be the length of a hand. The lump twitched slightly as the thief brought her hands back away from her eyes. Stan just laughed at her antics, holding his mid-section and trying to catch his breath. “Oh man! You haven’t changed a bit, have ya!” He managed to say between the laughing spree. Arthuria just snarled at him and adjusted his hat on her head. The flash of teeth was short, but Ford could have swore he saw two of them were quite pointy, like that of a canine. He wanted to question herabout it, when his X-ray machine beeped and a picture of Arthuria’s skull started to appear. "Uh, why does your skull appear to have holes near the top of the cranium?" Ford questioned, peering down at the screen. "Huh?" Arthuria turned her gaze down to the screen, eyes going slightly wide. "They look like the ones for your ears. But-" The ginger haired woman didn't give him a chance to finish his train of thought, clicking a button on the device that caused her xray to disappear. "Whoops! Sorry, I have clumsy fingers." Arthuria said nervously, wiggling her fingers for emphasis. This caused the scientist to hurumph in suspicion. “Clumsy fingers aren't a good quality to have as a thief.” He said while checking the device to make sure it had still saved the picture for him to look at later. "Eh, what can I say? I do better in situations where I'm underpressure. That's why I'm great at my job." she said, brushing the incident off. Stan clapped his hands together and cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him instead on the two hot heads starring at one another. “So can she use that machine or not to look at your… pelvis or do we need to go to a hospital?” He asked in a casual tone. "Yes, it can be used to view one's...pelvis." Ford replied, eye twitching. "Okay, great. Then, let's get it over with." Sighing, Arthuria took back the device and turned to face Stanford. She looked him up and down before shrugging. “You’re gonna have to loose the pants.” She deadpanned. A bright blush overtook the elder twin's face, sputtering indignitly. "I-is that really necessary?!" "You should know how xrays work. After all, you built one." Arthuria said, quirking an eyebrow. Stanford blinked owlishly a few times before he realized the truth of her words. It’s true the metal buckle on his belt and buttons on his pants could altered the results and obstruct view of what she was looking for. Begrudgingly, he started to undo his belt and dropped his pants to the floor shortly after. He crossed his arms over his chest subconsciously to avoid covering his boxer-claded netheregions. “Just get it over with.” He hissed through clenched teeth. Arthuria crouched down at arms length from Ford, giving him as much distances as she could and raised the device again. She glanced upward toward him. "Just so you know, I’ve seen worse than a grown

man in undies.” She hastily took a picture with the device, raised back up and sat at the table to wait for the picture to appear. Stanford slowly crouched down to pick up his pants and started putting them back on, clinging to the last remains of dignity he still had. He noticed how his brother kept hovering around him and brought one of the chairs closer for him to sit in. Ford frowned, but accepted the offered chair. “I’m not an invalid, Stan. I can walk around just fine.” He whispered. Stan just raised his hands in a peaceful manner, stepping away from the chair. “Sorry, sorry… just wanted to help.” He said in a voice just as quiet as Ford’s. The elder twin’s shoulders dropped. He hadn’t meant hurt his brother's feelings, he just didn’t want to be treated like a sick or infirm person. He wasn’t ill, not completely. He opened his mouth to reassure his twin when they both heard a surprised exclamation come from the other side of the room. Turning their heads, they both saw Arthuria stand up and walk over to them. “I’ve got some good news and bad news.” She said in a serious tone, the X-ray screen turned toward her. “The bad news is you’re gonna need a C-section. No matter what your decision is, that baby isn’t coming out… the usual way. Your pelvis is still too narrow for a baby's head to fit.” She explained. "Okay, so what's the good news?" Stanford asked, examining his pelvic xray. Arthuria smiled softly and pointed to a blurry spot on the screen. It wasn’t very clear, but a bright little dot stood in the middle of the picture. It was round and yet, very deformed,. It resemble a grotesque attempt at sketching a peanut, with little strings attached to it. It had dark spots on it. Ford squinted at the picture, trying to process what she was pointing at. “The baby looks healthy and in good condition.” She tapped the screen again, precisely on one of the darker spot around the clearer dot. “Pretty sure that’s it’s heart.” Both twins stared in awe at the small dot that was a baby. Stanford's baby. Stanley's niece/nephew. The eldest took the device from Arthuria and placed his thumb delicately over the dot, lightly running it over the image. “Surreal, isn’t?” Arthuria said with a soft voice. “You can see the heart, the head and the little noodles are probably it’s limbs developing.” She explained as she pointed to the different parts of the fetus. Stan nodded but didn’t take his eyes off the little white spot on the screen. “It’s barely the size of a peanut…” Stan whispered. "Yeah, it'll get bigger as the months progress. By the end of the third month, the baby should be around the size of a lemon." the ginger informed. She cleared her throat and looked at the brothers with a worried expression. “Passed that… point, it’ll be harder and more dangerous to remove it. If you decide not to keep it.” She said in a matter of fact. Throughout the exchange, Ford didn’t say a word. He was too focus on the little dot he could see in the middle of the screen, between his hip bones. Stan glanced at his twin after a while of him not saying anything. "Ford?" "I-I...I don't-I still need to think about...this." he finally sputtered out, eyes never leaving the screen. Stan and Arthuria both nodded in understanding. She tapped his shoulder to get his attention. “I think my check up for today is complete. I still want to get my hands on some hospital equipment in the near future. There are a few things I would like to check with proper equipment, but it can wait for now.” she said and exited the room, leaving the two brothers to sort out their thoughts. A few moments later, her footsteps could be heard echoing around the quiet house as she climbed the stairs back to her room. Both twins were still looking at the screen. “Heh, your own little peanut there, Sixer.” Stan chuckled. Stanford sighed, rose up and, after a long moment, finally placed the device on the table, monitor screen facing down. He then turned to his brother. “Stanley, I can’t think about… about what’s growing inside of

me with the threat of Bill still looming above my head!” He exclaimed, hands splaying wide on each side of him. "Oh yeah. That guy." Stan grumbled. "He's not just 'that guy,' Stanley! He's an interdimensional demon with a gateway to our universe sitting in the basement!" "Then why don't we just destroy the portal? Wouldn't that solve the problem?" Pacing back and forth in the small space that was the kitchen, Ford grabbed his hair, tugging at it. "It’s not that simple! That would only solve half of my problem!” He turned to face Stan and glared. “I gave him access to my mind and body, Stanley! Until the end of time! Destroying the portal… it won’t be enough! And with you here and now your friend! It’s only a matter of time before he acts!” "Well, it's safe in here for now." Stan said, motioning around them. "I mean, we did put up that unicorn voodu barrier so he couldn't get in here. And so far, he hasn't hijacked your body again." “But it’s only a matter of time!” Ford went on as he kept on rambling. “He is a demon. He would stop at nothing to get what he wants! And he wants me! The barrier keeps him out of the house and by proxy, my head, but there’s no telling if it would keep him outside if he decidestopossesssomeoneelseandgetin. Themagicisstronbutwoulditbestrongenoughtokeepanallpowerfulbeingsuchashim…” Stanford’s breath became short and he soon found himself gasping for air. "Breathe, Stanford. No need in getting yourself all worked up." Stan said, patting his twin's back. Ford pulled himself from the other's touch, glaring. "Don't patronize me, Stan." "I'm not, I'm just tryin' to get you to calm down." Stan placated. “I am calm!” Stan crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at his twin. “Yeah, you reek serenity and balance. Especially at that moment.” "Well, excuse me if my version of calm isn't to your liking." the scientist said sarcastically. "But I have a huge weight on my shoulders right now." "Then let me bare some of it, that's what I'm here for! So you don't have to go through any of this alone." Stan pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s why I called Arthuria in the first place. I don’t know what happened, but we can’t do this alone. We need help and… I know you don’t trust her, but having her here is better than nothing.” He said calmly. Hopefully his brother’s outburst was due to the hormones coursing through his system and seeing him calm would sooth Ford. Amd it seemed to do the trick, the tension seeming to drain from Stanford as he let out a weary sigh. "I know, I know. There's just too much going on and I feel overwhelmed." he scrubbed a hand down his face, displacing his glasses from their perch on his nose. Stepping forward, Stanley placed a reassuring hand on his elder brother's shoulders. “Yeah, it’s a lot. But we’ll get through it together.” He offered him one of his hand, a bright smile on his lips. “Where ever we go, we go together, remember?” he asked, a worried frown on his features. "I..." Ford looked hesitantly from his brother's face to his offered hand, before suddenly backing up and turning away. "We need to come up with a fool proof plan the defeat Bill. In order to do that, I need to review my notes. Dig up as much information on him as I can." Stan sighed and his shoulders dropped, defeated. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and turned around, leaving his brother alone for the time being. "Then, let's get started." he whispered.