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shadowworks · 3 years

Text

Compulsion

Pairing: Mafia!Dabi X Reader

Warnings: dubconish themes, flirting with Hawks, blood, murder, blackmail, fingering. NSFW, quirkless AU!

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Alright! This piece is for The Smut Pile Mafia Collab

I have to give my wholehearted thanks to @hisoknen @some-kindofgnome , @pleasantanathema, and @ever-enthralled for reading this over the last couple weeks, and making sure it reads well! I am so happy to have you beautiful souls! Also a special shoutout to Raph for brainstorming with me when I was stuck at the very end. 💕

Edit: This has fanart! Beautiful @maewoahoah created a Mafia!Hawks piece right here and a Mafia!Dabi piece here! She’s very talented! ;)

On this ominous winter evening it begins snowing.

You readjust your peacoat and step through the frosty glow of the street lamp to your front door. Your muscles ache a little more than usual, your steps a little heavier. It’s been a long and tedious day at work; far less stimulating compared to Toga’s position working for a bootlegger named Tomura. But both jobs pay the rent. You push papers and withhold your scowls towards clients. Now, you want a bath.

The sound of a muffled radio plays on the other side, and it floods your ears as you walk in with warmth and an iron smell wafting your chilled nose.

“Folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary...

Seeeee, my baby there;

She's stretched out on a long, white table

She looks so sweet, so cold, so fair.”

Toga’s playing blues again. It’s a routine she has before the graveyard shift across town. At this time, she’s in the kitchen making something before she goes, but you’re having trouble figuring out what food smells like copper.

“He-e-e-y,” you call lazily, a sing-songy tone in your voice.

She doesn’t answer, though you hear the clacking of stiletto heels on wood, which makes you amble down the hall to see what she’s doing.

“Think you can smuggle some whiskey tonight? I thought we had some, but Keigo probably polished it off last—“

You stop in the doorway.

There’s a poor bastard lying flat on his back, head twisting too far towards the sink. Ribbons of blood streak down his colorless skin, pouring out from a dark and glossy hole just beneath his jaw. You see it puddle and stain the edges of his hair a sticky red, the only sound besides your heart thudding is the soft thrums from the parlor.

“ When I die please bury me in my high top Stetson hat

Put a twenty dollar gold piece on my watch chain

So the gang'll know I died standing pat.”

You’re in a daze, one where you’re not sure how long you’ve been staring. It doesn’t seem real. Is it real? But it’s not until you hear the sound of heels clicking against the wood floors that you drag your gaze to the noise.

Toga’s standing near the stove, her features vacant, shoulders slouched, and she’s holding a knife that’s still wet.

What the fuck?

You want to scream, berate her, seethe what the fuck was she thinking, or if she was thinking for that matter. But the blonde speaks up before you do, with a voice above a whisper.

“He was going to leave me. Said he was too dangerous.” Toga doesn’t look in your direction, moving to the rim of pooled blood which has stopped spreading out, “I told him I wouldn’t let anyone come between us, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Your jaw goes taut, staring incredulously at her steely face. The lack of emotion gives you a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The man wasn’t a random suit who bled out on your floor, this moron was seeing Toga on and off for months and had been trying to be more present.

Nights spent arriving at your door with flowers and sweets, and driving her to work was becoming a staple in his routine. He preferred staying in Toga’s room if they had the day off, and he always slipped out when the morning frost dusted the grass, a soft bluish hue painting the streets before sunlight.

But that’s not the problem. See, he was a core member inside the Mafia running the northern side of the city, ‘The League’ they like to call themselves. The only men above this guy was his boss Tomura, and the underboss Dabi. You don’t know the former, but you’ve spent time with the latter.

You’re aware of his sadistic nature that flashes behind those teal eyes, and he doesn’t try to hide it, either. The sideway glances during a poker match before he fucked someone over , the smile he wore when you asked about the purple bruises on his knuckles.

So fan-fucking-tastic, the broad has some nerve.

You curl your lip, already shrugging your shoulders from your coat. You toss it over the table and start rolling up your sleeves to the elbows.

Toga finally turns towards you after catching movement by her side, brows raising confused, “What are you doing?”

“You’re gonna grab his feet and we’re gonna move him onto the rug in the hall.”

You step in the blood, grabbing him by the rusty black colored jacket and dragging him from the puddle. Of course it leaves drag marks, your heels making tracks alongside, but you can deal with the clean up later.

Toga hurries over to help, carrying him by the legs and letting you guide the body to the floral rug.

“You don’t want to know what happened?”

You stop. Immediately dropping the dead weight, his blond head lolls off to the side. Your palms sheen with red, but you straighten up and push a beach curl from your cheekbone with the back of your hand.

“Not really. All I want is this fucker out of my house.”

It’s her turn to stare at you incredulously. This is completely out of nowhere for you to be assisting in hiding a dead boyfriend, even if you two are roommates. You’ve only been living together for four months now.

“Toga, I need you to listen, okay?” you say, a bit mockingly, “I can look past the murdering business by pretending you acted in self defense, but if you don’t have the goddamn brains to realize this idiot has friends, then I suggest you don’t stab people!”

Toga flinches slightly at the lilted pitch in your voice, already suggesting panicky, “We can take him to the woods and hide him there?”

“That’ll work.” You don’t think Twice about it.

Working together, you both hoist him a couple feet onto the rug, refusing to look at his face. You didn’t need to be feeling a pang of guilt. It doesn’t take long for you to roll him towards the front door, as the material wraps around his figure.

The hardest part is retreating to the car. The moment you push through the door, you see the distance from where you stand and the car parked a little down the sloping street. You both give a hard look to the powdery snow dusting the ground, quiet and enchanting. It would be beautiful...had you not been carrying a corpse.

“Stop being a little bitch and heave!”

“I can’t! You’re making me hold all the weight!”

“He’s off the ground! How the fuck are you holding all the weight?”

“But my arms hurt!”

“Fucking hell, Toga. What if I had stayed at my sister’s tonight? What then?”

“Stop yelling at me! I get it, alright? I shouldn’t have done it in the house!”

Your bickering toils through the winds, muffled by the falling snow. The burst of cold air is running through your buttoned blouse while crossing to the 1929 Chevrolet causing a shiver to roll down your back. When you reach the car Toga plops the rug down onto the snow first, then you. Your wet fingers feel numb against the metal handle.

There’s one entrance on each side, which likely will make shimming the body to the backseat much harder. You pause, looking at the front in thought.

“I’ll go first,” you say, “when he’s in, you go and grab our coats.”

“Are we burying him?”

“Think the lake’s faster.”

“What if it’s icy? They’ll see the hole if we throw him in.”

You both ponder your options for a little while, this isn’t exactly something you’ve done before...You can’t say the same for Toga, but she seems just as puzzled, almost clueless on how to get rid of her ex.

Meanwhile, the rolled corpse behind you starts to slip downhill, little by little. The slanting street gives speed and the rug starts to roll.. Red droplets trail behind in its wake.

You just happen to see it first.

“Toga—Toga, the body! The body!”

Toga cries out, taking off after the rug as best she can on a frozen sheet. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The graceful snowfall flutters with pain and chaos.

Toga skids against the fresh ice, feet stumbling under her navy blue dress. She falls to the ground with a hard thud, and you see she isn’t stopping. She keeps going alongside the body, sliding until the two disappear under another parked car.

You don’t have time to think, a chill strikes up your spine in your panic.

“Toga!” you call out, taking off after her. Unfortunately you find yourself abruptly on your back, pounding hard on the stones and stealing the breath from your lungs.

If you could sigh right now you would. Or rather, if you could punch Toga right now you would, as rage twists with a throbbing pain in your chest. Was all this worth having a mobster roommate? The odds were piling against her. You have a mind to push her in the lake when you get there.

Several silent minutes go by with you staring up at the cloudy sky. It’s brighter from the illuminating white snow, and despite the icy powder prickling your flesh, you have no choice but to wait for the ache in your chest to fade.

“Enjoying the view?”

You hear a new voice, male, and the suave tone tells you who it is before he treads near. He looks over you with half lidded eyes of honey gold.

He’s very pretty. The drifting snow flakes above his wheat coloured head manage to enhance this, though the uplifted eyes lined in black, and nicely sharp features are the last thing you want to see. You’re nowhere near ready to start lying out of Toga’s mess.

“That can’t be too comfy down there,” Keigo says, bending forward with an outstretched hand,“C’mon, upsy-daisy.”

You take his hand, feeling another leather glove hold your waist and lift you onto your feet. When you settle, he starts brushing the caked snow off your back. Mobster or not, he’s at least a gentleman.

“You alright?” he asks, giving you a once over for any fresh scratches.

You give a slow nod, crossing your arms over your chest. Fear’s got the better of you, and you look anywhere but him., “What are you doing here? I thought you were working tonight.”

“Oh I am! You could say I’m on patrol, need to pick up a few things.”

Your gaze stills to your left, heart skipping. Keigo’s not alone. Standing nearby, a slim figure dressed in black from head to toe is watching you two lazily. A thread of smoke seeps from his parted lips, clouding a handsome face and spikes of black hair. Keigo keeps talking, but you can’t take your eyes off the ghostly presence you know to be Dabi.

“Unfortunately that includes loverboy. He was supposed to be back hours ago, but we figured he’s still fooling around,” a little smirk tugs at his mouth, suggestively “He’s still inside, right?”

You blink, turning back to face Keigo, “I wouldn’t know, I just got home,” you lie.

“Look at you! You look like you’re about to freeze to death.” He starts suddenly, swiftly slipping his arms out from his heavy coat, revealing a black three piece with pinstripes, and a brighter crimson tie. In one smooth motion he twirls the long, beige coat over your shoulders, letting it rest over your figure.

“Thank you,” you say, before your eyes catch something.

Dabi moves towards the clumsy skid marks, head tilting down to the red dots in the snow near his polished shoe. You stiffen.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Your gaze flashes from Dabi’s retreating back to a politely smiling Keigo, “Yeah, I’m fine! I’m really cold is all.”

“Well, we should get you inside. You know you left your door wide open?” Shit, the door. You forgot about the stupid door—

(Dabi looms across the indents in the snow and follows down the hill like a dark shadow against crystals illuminating bright.)

“Ah yeah, I thought I left my purse in the car. It was just for a second, and then I slipped,” You force a smile. Relax. You need to relax. Keigo doesn’t seem convinced, reading something off in your features.

“Is that right?”

(He gets the edge of the old Ford, and notes the specks of red soak wider here. The spots lead underneath.)

“I know, it’s pretty foolish. It’s um...It’s a good thing you showed up when you did, or...”

Your eyes drift over Keigo’s shoulder. The underboss starts to crouch low. Your pupils shrink, a new wave of panic tingles the back of your neck. Damn him, why was he so clever?

“Dabi, wait!” you shout, pushing past Keigo’s shoulder. In your hurry you kick up the snowy crystals, rushing to the taller mobster in his long obsidian coat. Dabi quickly turns, standing up.tall before you hook onto his upper arm like a lover. “I saw an animal go under there that looked hurt. You shouldn’t mess with it.”

A smirk that breaks into a grin spreads on his face, a look of amusement blooming from your look of fright. You want to glare at him, though that could be dangerous. Why does he like seeing you scared?

“An animal, you say?” he parrots back, adopting the same mocking pitch you gave Toga earlier. He’s not in the least bit on edge, and you really don’t like that. He flicks his teal eyes up to look behind you just then, “Good thing I have the city’s best exterminator right here.”

As if on cue, you hear the crunching boots of Keigo walking to the car. “Give me a break with the dirty work, will ya?”

“What, scared of a little pest?” Dabi taunts back coolly.

“I’m not too fond of getting my knees wet, actually,” Keigo returns quite dryly, sharp eyes studying the long pattern marks. He places his gloved hands on his thighs and drops himself to a crouch in front of the vehicle.

You desperately hope Toga proves you wrong. Maybe she had the common sense to bail while no one was looking. It’s all you can do at this point, while Keigo dips his head underneath. You don’t realize, but your grip on Dabi’s arm presses tighter into the wool.

Keigo inspects below for a moment. There’s a long pause like a winter evening should be. Silent. Calming. You can almost believe in the soothing little lie. Then Keigo coughs a laugh that echoes through the street. Bursts of manic giggles grow louder from the mobster, leaving you tilting your head at his pushed back hair, confused.

“There’s a pest, alright! I think I caught something—“

Keigo reaches under, and with an impressively strong yank, Toga’s head pops out in a doe eyed stare. Her arms are wrapped around a bundled rug with a fairly familiar head sticking out.

“Hey there, Toga!” Keigo exclaims, “When did you become a rat?”

Dabi tips his head down, drawing the lit cigarette back to his lazy smile. He’s shockingly calm which does nothing to ease your shivering panic. Toga however, seems fine. In fact, she’s moved on to livelier feelings.

“Hey! Does it look like a rat could’ve done this?!” she snaps, shaking the body in her arms. It bangs against the bottom of the car sending loud echoes through the nearly empty street. Specks of blood dribble on the white ground, and a couple more drops spray her cheeks.

You stare up at the clouds, rolling your eyes. Goddamnit Toga.

“Yeah, I guess a rat can’t hold a knife, huh? Ya got me there.” Keigo turns and beams you a smug look, eyes half lidded in an expression that reads, nice try, but you failed.

You scrunch your nose, quietly shooting him back a glare. Asshole might’ve caught you both red handed, but he didn’t have to be so fucking cocky about it. It’s only charming when he has a winning hand at cards. Beside you, Dabi’s shoulders shake with silent laughter, though you don’t have the guts to flash him the same glower. He is second in command after all.

“Yeah, see? That’s what I thought!” Toga says in victory.

You blink very, very slowly at Toga when she finally meets your vastly unamused gaze,“...Nice work, Toga.”

It comes suddenly. A fiery warmth ghosts the dip in your waist as Dabi leans in. It’s not unwelcomed, raw and soothing even, but it hardly lasts. His hand curls around Keigo’s coat collar and pulls it off your shoulders. The crisp wind rushes to your exposed arms.

“You got any rat poison on you, Hawks?” Dabi tosses the coat to Keigo.

He catches it mid air as he rises to stand. “Nah, fresh out. But we have some back at the house.”

“You want to take care of our rat problem then?”

“Can do, boss man.”

Before you can figure out what they mean–what they have planned for Toga–Dabi’s pristine leather glove presses at the small of your back and directs you toward the pouring light of the open door. “Don’t wait up.”

It’s barely there, but as you shift your eyes to Keigo, his features take on a darkened look toward Dabi.

“Play nice, now,” you hear Keigo say. This time though, the joyous tone is gone.

A new song hums on the radio when you’re pushed through the threshold, you listen to the richly solemn blues as Dabi closes the door. He turns the lock with a click and pockets the key.

“I forgive you

'Cause I can't forget you.

You've got me in between the devil and the deep blue sea”

He doesn’t give you a passing glance, instead he turns and strolls down the freshly bare hall. He hasn’t removed his coat, and each room he passes he tilts his head in to search for something, stopping by the parlor. With a twist of a knob, he shuts off the radio.

“Where’d she ice him?” he asks, still not looking at you by the stairwell.

“In the kitchen.” You return. No point in hiding it now.

His steps creak the wood as he ambles further down, knowing full well where to go. He’s been here a handful of times; of course, those were happier evenings filled with drunken laughs.

You watch him stand by the doorway, staring at the vibrant mess of a crime scene. He pops the tip of his cigarette in his mouth before slipping from your line of sight. Dabi’s got the key to the door, so it’s not like you can run away—especially with Keigo just outside. It’s too risky to try and you know it, but it does cross your mind.

Summing up the courage, you decide to follow Dabi with measured steps, “What are you going to do with Toga?”

When you face the kitchen, Dabi’s near the table where you threw your coat. He has a hand in one of your pockets, and he’s fishing for something inside. It jingles in his grip as he stuffs it into his own pocket. Your car keys.

“Are you going to kill her?” you try again, a little irked he’s swiping your things left and right. He doesn’t release your coat either, laying it over the crook of his elbow.

He draws a final inhale from the dying bud, and crosses to the sink to snuff it out. An exhale of smoke blows out from his lips, “Killing her seems like a favor, don’t you think?”

“I thought it was the other way around.”

He turns, flicking teal eyes sheening with energy at you, “That lunatic’s no longer your concern. Right now, you ought to be more worried about yourself.”

Your features go taut, which in turn makes Dabi’s sadistic smirk return.

“I didn’t help her kill him.”

“No,” he agrees, taking a few strides around the blood to approach you,“but you were willing to stash the stiff.”

“Yeah, for this very reason. I didn’t want you coming after me!”

Dabi draws dangerously close, mere inches apart as he glances down with lidded eyes, the smell of tobacco perfumes from his shirt collar nestled under a violet tie. He crooks his index finger, embellished with a silver ring, ghosting it under your chin. “How’d that turn out for you, babydoll?”

With a ruthless smile, he breaks the fixed stare and rounds you to the hallway. He seems to be making his way towards the parlor again, but the swish of your peacoat in his arm, set you off.

How dare he? You don’t like how he’s walked inside, claiming what’s yours. You might have your life screwed over, but at the very least you want your coat back as some semblance of control.

You stalk after him, picking up pace to aim for his arm. The clacks of your heels are loud, but you currently couldn’t care less about being sneaky, “Give it fucking back. You’re not keeping that!”

You lunge for the black wool, but as your fingers brush the material on his left elbow, Dabi whips the coat, rotating arms. You’re not fast enough, but you try a second reach for his right arm, huffing out a growl at his stealthy reflexes.

“Dabi, I’m serious! You’re such a—”

In a twirling motion his newly free palm shoves at your shoulder, pinning you against the stairwell’s wall. He’s close, so close, the blue flames in his eyes are absurdly intense.

“That makes two of us. You’ll get this back when I say so.”

His voice is low, soft lips almost connecting to yours. You tilt your chin up, glaring at him with fearful, tentative eyes. His gaze flashes with mirth, and he huffs a small laugh at you.

“I’ve always liked this about you. That spark inside you.” He muses. The peacoat spills to the floor. Dabi lifts his slender fingers, pushing back a loose curl from your cheek.

Your stomach flips, as shocks tickle your skin. There’s been subtle flirting between you two before. You just wrote it off as overthinking the moment. Even though he only called you, babydoll, and he sat next to you at gatherings. How he filled your glass with water instead of booze as the nights waned. Now, you feel foolish for denying the little signs.

“You have a horrible way of showing girls you like ‘em,” you counter back, your voice’s quiet but leveled.

“Yeah?” he asks. The arm holding your shoulder tightens, while the other lowers to collect your long skirt. He traces his knuckles on the soft flesh of your thigh. As his hand trails up, his eyes remain fixed on your facial features. “Maybe this will help.”

His slim fingers reach the cotton slip, and it’s easy to pull off to the side, exposing the lips of your warmth. He tests the waters, sweeping the tips of his fingers across your folds. Your mouth parts in a breathless hitch in your throat. Dabi parts his own lips drawing near, ‘til his lips touch yours but not quite pressing together yet. His pierced nose bumps yours.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” he starts, just before sinking two fingers between your folds, pumping deep and slow inside. “You’ll go upstairs and pack what you need. When you come down—”

He thrusts particularly hard into you, sending a gasping moan to fall from your open mouth. His voice remains calm, a hint of glee can be detected. Fucking bastard.

“—You’ll be leaving with me. You’ll work for me...Live with me…And you’ll do everything I say. You got it, babydoll?”

He adds a third finger, soaking his knuckles deep with your slick. He’s hitting the right spots, the perfectly deep pressure. Your attention turns hazy as wakes of pleasure tighten just below your stomach. Your hips buck against his thrusting hand, yet still, you manage to nod your head.

Moans flutter from your lips and vibrate onto his smiling one. To heighten the pleasure he begins swirling your wet clit. “Ah, Dabi...Oh god, Dabi—”

He slows his fingers suddenly, which makes you cry out. He pretends to ignore it. “If you try to escape me...I will hunt you down and hurt you in ways that will marr that pretty skin of yours. I’ll make you scream so loud, and no one will be there to save you. Tell me you understand.”

He curls his knuckles, pressing into a rough spot at the top, pumping fiercely against your slippery, muscular walls. You cry out, squeezing at his shirt collar and coat. “Fuck—I understand, I understand! Baby, right there, ah!”

Dabi gives you no mercy. He tugs and twirls the bud of sensitive nerves, swirling with driven circles that clench your walls in wonderous pressure. You’re close, he’s so close to sending you in high bliss. Your moans get heavier, and your clenching more and more and—

He removes his fingers. Another cry of protest sobs from your mouth only to be swallowed by Dabi’s lips on yours. His tongue massages the moans from your breath, his scent of cigarettes and smoke immerse your senses as you drown in the kiss.

He slowly breaks apart with a wet sound, looking deeply in your lust-glossed eyes. His voice is low and arousingly husky. “Now get your things.”

Before you know it, Dabi pulls away from your shoulders, and turns for the parlor. You try catching your breath, watching his slim, muscular back...Did that happen? Did he rob you of everything? Your home, your life, your orgasm?

Eventually, with light steps you do as you’re told, and turn to climb up the stairs. What choice do you have? He has your life in the palm of his hand. And right before you make it to the top, your hand drawn on the railing, the spinning clicks of your house phone perk your ear.

A long pause. Then finally, Dabi’s rich voice speaks up from the parlor,

“Hey, I’ll be needing a few guys at Togas...Yeah, we found him….Toga did him in pretty good...No, we’ll need the good bleach for cleanup.”

***

P.S, this might be a mini series 👀

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #dabi #touya todoroki #my hero academia fanfiction #boku no hero academia fanfics #mafia!dabi #tw blackmail #tw blood #keigo takami #bnha x reader #the smut pile #tw dubcon #shadow tales

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sconnie-doesnt-know · 3 years

Text

So Wrong

Characters: Lee Bodecker, Reader, Jane Bodecker, assorted OCs, also gonna go ahead and say Lee is kinda soft/dark in this one

Word Count: 8000

Warnings: Infidelity, alcohol usage, smoking, somewhat dub-con sexual stuff, but not really

Summary: The Reader is a young single mother and widow new to the town of Meade. She gets drawn into a social circle that includes the Sheriff’s wife, while also being drawn to the Sheriff himself.

A/n: I truly don’t know where this came from or why I wrote it. I watched TDATT and suddenly this whole thing just popped into my head complete with a Patsy Cline soundtrack. There’s infidelity on Lee’s part, and his wife is terrible, and these are fictional characters so I am trying to not feel guilty for making that happen.

There’s more to this story, probably extending into 1 or 2 more parts. I don’t know what to say for myself, I cannot pwp. Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome. Not beta-read, so please let me know if there’s an error.

Hope you enjoy!

Meade is as good a place as any to settle. Surrounded by wilderness and small towns, it’s quiet, far from anyplace and anyone you know. A welcome adventure and a place to dispose of your grief, finally - hopefully.

You pull up on a quiet street and sit there just a moment to breathe, to look at the life you had that is settled in between the few boxes and suitcases of belongings, the folded up flag, and the little boy you buckled into the seat.

Through a tangled web of connections, you are able to rent a little upper duplex apartment from the widow in town. She claims she doesn’t mind a little noise as your son stomps up the stairs and gives you an open invitation to join her at church on Sundays.

It is six days into your new residence, the first Monday in town when the apparent welcoming committee shows up at your door. She wears a gentle smile on her face and presents you with a warm pie still wrapped in cloth.

“My name is Jane Bodecker, my husband’s the Sheriff. I wanted to introduce myself…”

You know the routine after moving around a few times already. You imagine the conspiring during the luncheon after church yesterday, the ladies munching on dry cookies and deciding who would be the first to talk to you.

You nod and smile, and accept the offering.

“Some of us like to get together to play cards and socialize on Tuesdays, it would be nice to have you join us and let us get to know you.”

Of course she means that they are chomping at the bit to know why a single woman with no family ties has moved into town. You’re familiar with the ritual and know you need to go along if you want to make it work in this place.

You return her smile, “That would be so kind of you, as long as you don’t mind my son coming along.” You gesture to the little boy hiding in your skirts behind you.

“Of course he can. He can play with my boy, Robert. We will see you at two.” She leaves you with her address and directions over, telling you to look for the house with the red shutters.

Their house is in one of the newer, more developed parts, with some manufactured homes lining the street and looking boxy compared to the traditional farmhouses, but it's charming. The red shutters stand out, that’s for certain. It doesn’t take long to figure out that Jane is a proud host, head of the gossip chain, and is required to mention “My husband, the Sheriff” at least once per conversation.

You let the ladies ask their questions and nod politely as they give you the required chorus of condolences. You feel the shift when Jane steers the conversation to what they all want to know. “Now, I don’t mean to spread gossip, but some folks were wondering why you rented a place here instead of goin’ home to your family.”

Your shoulders stiffen, ‘so much for not putting me on the spot’ you think, but you still smile politely as you answer. “I have no other family. My daddy was gone when I was a girl and my momma dropped me off with an aunt and uncle when she was with husband number three and I don’t know where she is. They said it was the first thing she did that made a lick of sense,” you try to joke. “Well, they didn’t exactly approve of me and Jimmy, so when we married they told me not to go back.”

“And the boy’s other kin?”

“Ain’t no other kin. Jimmy’s family was small, they’re gone now.”

“Well, ain’t you a tragedy,” she says in a chirpy, high voice.

Your face tightens and you stare at your lap, “We get by,” you weakly mutter.

They all assure you that they have some nice gentlemen they can introduce to you, and go on about how fortunate you are they are pulling you into their group. You hear about faceless people and their minor transgressions, but get bored with it fairly quickly and use the time to look over the Bodecker home. It’s nice, a mixture of modest and a few state-of -the-art updates. There’s more dust than you expect, the sofa cushions look worn down, with only a few photos on display. The sheriff’s face shrouded in shadows in the one you can see, but you figure their son must take after him since he doesn’t have the pinched look his mother seems to naturally have.

You don’t even meet ‘her husband, the Sheriff’ until your third Tuesday afternoon of cards at their home. Jane herself is practically giving a campaign speech since the election so close. You never paid a lot of attention to local politics, and you try to give her your attention, but when she starts to ramble on it’s just too much. You happen to look to the side to avoid rolling your eyes and catch just when he strolls in, as if on cue with the uniform all perfectly in place. He scans the group of women until he stops on you, eyes lighting up with interest.

Your own breath catches in your throat at the sight of him as he removes his hat and looks you over.

“Well,” he drawls, “You must be the sweet new thing that’s got all the fellas in town rioting.”

You have to look down, lest the embarrassment make you combust.

“Now, Lee,” Jane scolds, “That’s no way to say hello. Come over here and introduce yourself properly.” She guides him over, and you almost say it with her when she recites, “This is my husband, the Sheriff.”

“Apologies, miss. I know you aren’t trying to get them all riled. Janey told me ‘bout your husband. War is Hell, shame to be losing boys like that.”

He holds his hand out to shake yours, his hold firm and warm and you are hesitant to let go.

“I appreciate that, thank you, Sheriff. Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he nods, eyes flicking over you one more time. “What are your plans in this lovely town of ours?”

“Oh. Well,” you freeze up for a moment, it’s the first time someone’s asked and you don’t have your answer prepared. “Well, I was thinking that I would get a job. We get by right now, but once my boy is in school, I would like something else to do.”

Jane jumps on your answer, “Let’s just see if we can’t find you a bachelor around here. Plenty of boys can use someone to take care of ‘em, but if you want a man who will be home on time, you stay away from any of the deputies. I can’t remember the last time Lee wasn’t busy with something or other from the county. I suppose that’s the life we’ve chosen though, isn’t it?”

Her voice sounds overly sweet, but you can sense the daggers in her words. It’s the way he reacts, shifting on his feet and rolling his jaw like he’s annoyed. Jane doesn’t even pay attention to anything but the cards in her hand. Some of the other ladies nod, but the sheriff just lowers his head before he pulls Jane to the side to talk to her quietly.

You track his movements, fascinated until you shake yourself out of it. It’s been years since you felt like that or even saw a man that caught your attention - not since Jimmy. It’s alarming, unnerving.

The wave of guilt that washes over you is more than you can handle.

“Please excuse me, but we must be going.” You get up without waiting for any response and practically yank your son right out of the house as Jane calls after you that she will see you again soon.

You brush off the incident after having some time to think, convinced that it is just because you were caught off guard, and try to go on as normally as you can.

Your days end up filled with social calls, running errands or helping your landlady, and keeping your son busy. He asks to play with the Bodecker boy nearly every day, but you try your best to keep your distance when you can, especially when she starts trying to arrange dates for you even when you politely decline.

You look at the other ladies sometimes and wonder how many of them are just tolerating her the way you do. There’s just something grating about the way her voice goes especially nasally when she has something not-very-Christian to say, or the way she talks so openly and obscenely about the apparent whorehouse in town. She doesn’t even seem the least bit shameful when she begins to complain about her sister-in-law and the trouble she gets up to despite her brother being the sheriff.

Sheriff Bodecker, on the other hand, is a bit more friendly than you anticipated, expecting him to be cold or rude, but usually he’s the one pushing his wife to extend a coffee or supper invitation your way and making small talk when you are still around when he gets home from work or if he catches you around town. Your own mind suspects that it’s maybe just a sense of civic duty to know his neighbors, but it’s nice to have company nonetheless.

Conversation with him comes easily. He talks with you about interesting news stories, about the boys, about some of the other towns, and even plans for the county. It’s interesting, not just debate on whether the new curtains chosen by someone or other are tacky. There are times you get lost talking with him and need to be corralled back in by Jane or Steven getting antsy.

The way he draws your eye is a mixture of curiosity and interest. It makes you notice when he’s driving the patrol car or when you see him around town. You catch how tired he seems at the end of the days, how he’s usually got a piece of candy to slip to kids when they come by and are brave enough to ask. You notice how he knows everyone in town and seems to have an eye on everything, checking in at the shops and breaking up the young men when they start to roughhouse.

In a place like this, Jane Bodecker is far from the only gossiper in town, so while she might not share much about herself or her husband, plenty of others do. Some of the things they say are just nitpicking and you try to drown it out. They’ve been decent to you since your arrival, but it’s hard to ignore the constant whispers of how power went right to their heads.

When the election is over and she gets the right to continue to say “My husband, the Sheriff” you start to really see what they say. She loses the facade of playing the good wife, but still hosts her weekly card meetings to keep up to date. Instead of just coffee and tea, she starts slipping sips of whiskey and gives her opinion a bit more freely than before, and often hurling insults anywhere they can land.

It’s painful to watch her put down everyone, but especially the sheriff when he gets in her way. When you catch him sending a frustrated look at her turned back or rolling his eyes at her complaints about the town and its people, you pretend not to notice and remember to keep a smile on. Her outbursts get more and more unhinged and brazen, and the defeat and exhaustion in his stance makes you ache. There’s a hurt you can’t vocalize without overstepping, but it eats at you, chips at your patience bit by bit.

When the sheriff pulls the cruiser over one day while you’re walking between stores to say hi and make some small talk, you’re pleased. He seems less worn down, it’s nice to see.

“Oh, Sheriff, you’ve got some good timing,” you reach into one of your shopping bags, pulling out a paper bag of hard candies you bought from the candy shop. “While doing the washing, I found a handful of wrappers. Turns out the boys were getting into your candy stash. Thought you might need a refill.”

You hand him the bag and the smile he gives you in return makes your chest tighten up and ache.

“Sweet things from a sweet thing, thank you darlin’.”

You bit down on your lips, desperate to not react to his flirtatious words. “It’s nothin’, Sheriff.”

“Not to me.”

You start to sway from foot to foot, looking down at the sidewalk with a hum and trying to come up with something else to say. Silence hangs in the air for a moment before his radio crackles with a call from the station. You take the opportunity to make your exit.

“I’ll be seeing you, Sheriff.”

He shoots a glare at the radio, but looks back at you with what you could only describe as longing. “Sure will, Sweets.” Usually something like that would sound condescending, but from him it sounds endearing. He winks and pulls the car away, talking to the dispatcher while he drives.

‘Sweets...sweet thing...darlin’’ his voice repeats over and over in your head, fingers trembling and clumsy with the rush they give you and the way your heart races.

You get nearly sick when you recognize the feelings you’re having. It’s like it was when you were first with Jimmy. When you couldn’t even look him in the eyes because you felt too overwhelmed by your feelings for him. When you flushed and overheated when he got close and said pretty things. When you used to hold onto his hand and promise yourself that you would care for him every day and prove your love to him.

That’s when you realize you’re coveting another woman’s husband.

It’s Thursday, which means you need to head down to Main Street to visit the pharmacy for your landlady, Mrs. Martins, and gather some groceries for the week. You had made plans with Jane to let the boys play together while you took ran errands. You don’t have a good excuse to change the plan, but you can’t help but ask again, “You sure you don’t mind him being here?”

“Not at all,” she smiles, a bit wider and more manic than usual, “Now if that handsome Wilford boy happens to ask you for supper, don’t you worry about rushin’ back, ya hear?”

You laugh at her latest unsubtle attempt, “I will keep it in mind, thanks.” She and a few others had started to meddle, putting eligible bachelors in your path and setting up dates on your behalf. You do try. You talk to them, let them flirt, but none hold your interest. They’re boys - lanky and lean, still all reckless and rowdy. Not what you’re looking for, nothing like the solid, filled-out figure of a man, someone secure and stable and in a uniform. But that’s something to think about another day.

Wilford does indeed ask.

You do not feel so inclined to take up the offer, especially when he pinches the round of your ass as he asks you to consider dessert before any supper.

He has you pressed against the wall outside the hardware store, letting the sun blind you and bring tears to your eyes as the bricks snag the delicate threads of your dress.

He only backs away when a loud voice booms out, “There a problem here, son?”

He turns his head to find Lee pulled to the side of the road, window down and arm resting on the frame, his jaw clenched and eyes narrowed.

“No sir, Sheriff, just makin’ some supper plans, ain’t we?” Wilford looks back at you with a leer. Your hands press flat against the building and your knee twitches with the urge to jerk up and hurt him.

“I thought we were expecting you tonight, isn’t that right?” Lee asks you pointedly.

Your attacker looks back at Lee, then to you, and you nod. Finally, you’re given some space.

“I imagine you need to be moving along then?” Lee checks, waiting impatiently for Wilford to answer.

“Yessir.” He gives you a wicked grin and spins away to go back down the street. “Maybe another time when you’re free.”

You shake your head, eyes narrowed at his back as you glare.

Lee taps the side of the cruiser, “C’mere.”

You take a shaky breath and gather yourself with a nod before taking the few steps across the sidewalk. Leaning down you take a moment to look him over in his uniform, the badge gleaming in the sunshine and eyes clear blue as the sky.

“You alright, Sweets?” he asks, voice low and gentle. He’d taken to calling you that since the candy incident, always in that same tone - like it’s precious and important. The way it hits you right in the center of your chest hurts more than the physical damage done a moment ago. You know he isn’t asking if your heart is aching, or if you’re alright being lonely, or any of the ways you’re feeling it right now, but it strikes you in an unexpected way.

“I’m fine,” you smile tightly, “Thank you for checking.”

“These boys just don’t know how to handle themselves when they see a pretty lady.” Your cheeks ache as you try to keep from beaming at the off-hand comment. “Ya know, I’m getting ready to head on home, you need a ride that way? I’m guessing your boy is stirrin’ up some shit with mine?” He turns and scans the road and sidewalk around you, fidgeting a bit as he asks.

“I still have to make another stop and my car is at the end of the block, but thank you.” You stand up.

“Well, I mean it, you and Steven stay for supper tonight, I’ll square it with Jane.”

“You don’t hav’ta do that-”

“No worries, darlin’.” He winks, taps his fingers on the shell of the door by the painted logo and waits until you nod in agreement. “See you soon, then.” And with a nod he pulls off the curb.

You watch the cruiser drive away, then look up and down the street, but no one else is there. You finally manage to draw in a full breath, and rush to get to the cool air of the pharmacy to ease the flush burning you from the inside out.

You make it back to the Bodecker’s before the sheriff, glad to have a few moments to smooth things over with Jane since she clearly had not expected you to turn down the date she arranged for you.

“He wasn’t too much of a handful, was he? I told him before I left that he better mind you today.”

She waves you off, sitting back down at the table with her abandoned cigarette in the tray and a small glass of brown liquor.

“Well, the boys’ll sleep tonight, that’s for sure. They’ve been running circles round the whole damn house.” She ashes the cigarette before taking another puff and settling against the backrest of the chair.

You take a moment to look over the kitchen, a pot is just about to boil over so you make your way to it. “Can I help you out with anything? Give you a moment to freshen up ‘fore Lee gets home?”

“I suppose that’s the least you can do.” Her cheeks draw in another puff and she hums, taking her glass with her as she goes to their bedroom.

The boys run inside, breathless and sweaty, both shouting while they tell you about a nest they found outside before you order them off to get washed up themselves. You look down the hall, waiting to see if Jane was on her way back or if she was expecting you to finish her cooking. Rather than let it burn, you do just that, taking care of the potatoes, adding a few seasonings as you go, and pulling out the meatloaf from the oven.

The screen door squeaks and boots thud through the house when Lee enters and makes his way to the kitchen. You nervously look over your shoulder, catching him leaning against the door jamb, spinning his hat in his hand, a soft smile on his lips as he looks your way.

“This is a sight. If I didn’t know better I’d think I wandered into the wrong house.”

You let out a bit of a nervous laugh, then look back down to the greens you were tending to, “I am so sorry, I kept your wife busy longer than I should’ve. She’ll be out in just a minute.” You go back to busying yourself with finishing up the meal.

“Not complainin’,” he mutters under his breath, but you still hear it and it makes your breath hitch. Jane could set you on edge with her snide remarks, so could Lee, but for completely different reasons - some that had been dormant for so long you didn’t know what to do.

Just then Jane makes her grand reappearance, hair freshly combed and lips tinged with a touch of color; her cheeks look ruddy, but you can’t tell if it’s rouge or flush from the alcohol she’s been sipping.

“Don’t you go adding too much milk to my potatoes, nobody likes ‘em all runny. Here, let me,” she says and nudges you out of the way, “See you gotta mix in just a little bit right there.”

She overpours anyway, her hands moving unsteadily as she mashes the potatoes up, making them runny just like she warned you about.

From behind you, you see Lee go to the table, picking up the liquor bottle and examining the contents, making marks with his fingers against the side of the bottle and shaking his head. He takes a swig himself and sets it back down.

He mumbles something about being sober, then walks down the hall to where Jane disappeared, stopping to say something to make the boys giggle on the way before they wrestle each other at the bathroom sink to wash up for supper.

The meal starts off quiet, just the utensils scraping along the plates, but Jane being the gracious host, finally tries to perk it up with conversation.

“I know Wilford might be a little rough ‘round the edges for someone from a bigger town, but there are still several other young men I can introduce you to,” she offers, unprompted.

You choke a little before you recover and finish chewing your bite of food.

“You needn’t go through the trouble, Mrs. Bodecker. Really.”

“It’s just, you’re so young to be widowed already and all alone. What kinda home will it be for the boy with no man around? And don’t you want more kids? I bet you just glow. Some of the ladies at my bible study wouldn’t mind setting you up.”

The idea makes you squirm. No, you aren’t dead inside, but there’s no way for you to get what - who you really want.

The sheriff speaks up then. “My old man took off on my ma, sister, and me. That’s just the way shit happens sometimes,” he says and you feel the dark cloud start to clear just a bit. You nod at him, acknowledging the little bit of affirmation.

“What was your husband like?” Jane presses, digging a little further into that painful wound. “Maybe that will help me out.”

Your Jimmy didn’t have much to give you, but he gave you all he could. He gave you the kind of love that made your cheeks hurt from smiling, and your stomach swoop with butterflies. Your eyes flick toward Lee and you think again about how alike they seem to you, handsome, intuitive, assertive, strong-willed. He catches your gaze and pauses his chewing for a brief second while he waits for your answer.

“He was a good man, strong and fair. I’d like to think he and Mr. Bodecker would’ve gotten on quite well,” you finally say, smiling kindly at them both in turn.

Lee’s lips curl into a smile while he finishes chewing, then sits back with a stretch. “You’re makin’ me sound like an old man,” he whines, “Call me Lee when I’m not on duty.”

“Yes sir,” you automatically reply. “Lee.”

His smile grows. “Say, Janey? Why don’t you go get that jug of wine up for us?”

She nods and gets up.

“Wine?” you ask, surprised.

“It’s nothin’ special, someone up the road makes it. Tastes better than that church wine, but don’t burn like the shine some other folks are brewin’ up.”

Jane comes back with three glasses and pours generously for you all, her own motions increasingly sloppy from her afternoon drinking.

You sip at it, the taste a little tart, but not as acidic and thank them for their generosity.

“Jane, you do something different with the seasoning tonight?”

“No,” she answers, then goes right back to her chat with you, you think about speaking up, but she goes back to leading the conversation. “So, you still thinking about becoming a working gal?”

“Not right away, but yes.”

“Oh?” Lee asks, “Something at the diner? I think the grocery is hiring?”

“Nuh uh,” her voice takes on a nasty tone, “Nothing like that for her. She went to secretary school.” The lilt in her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t care for that little fact. “Can you believe that? School just to learn to file a paper or take a message.”

“There’s more to it than that,” you quietly defend.

“Jane, what the hell do you know? You haven’t worked a day in your life?” Lee asks.

Jane rolls her eyes, body slumping a bit in her chair. “Well, whatever you do, just make sure you don’t go working at the Tecumsah.” She snorts into her glass as she takes a sip. “That’s where Lee’s sister works. I told you ‘bout her before.” She gives you a look. “That place is a den of sin, if you know what I am gettin’ at.”

“You’re are gonna spoil my appetite talkin’ like that,” he says. He drops his fork and you startle, his glare at his wife making clear this is another sore subject.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing,” she mutters. “I’m gettin’ tired of mending the buttons on your clothes.”

Your jaw nearly drops. You wring your napkin on your lap and scramble for something to change the subject and break the tension, “Jane, there are such lovely flowers planted right by the library, is there a gardening club around here that you haven’t told me about?”

She’s bored by the topic, but it does enough to distract her and send her on a tangent. You nod and hum while you pick at your food. Occasionally you glance to Lee at the side and find him looking at you appreciatively.

You keep turning the conversation away from yourself, getting her to talk about anything you can as she keeps refilling and sipping down more of her wine.

You use the next lull in conversation to make your exit.

“This has been lovely, and I am so thankful for everything today, but we really oughtta get back home. I need to make sure Mrs. Martins gets her items from the pharmacist and I need to try to fix the old projector she’s given me.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Lee asks, leaning forward.

“No idea,” you laugh. “I was hoping to puzzle it together.”

“I can take a look for you,” he offers.

“If you have a moment,” you turn to Jane, “And you don’t mind sparing him.”

She scoffs and waves her fingers, “Nah, take Robert with you.”

He grunts in response while the kids leap up, excited for more time together. You do what you can to clean up and ease the load for Jane, but she’s getting more irritable by the minute, so you shuffle to the door to leave.

You head to the driveway where your car’s parked, waiting for him outside while the boys chase each other around the cars. He steps out the door, swinging his key ring on his fingers, looking at ease without the uniform on, but still strutting with an air of authority. It makes your stomach swoop.

“The Martins place? What road is that on again?” he asks jarring you out of your staring.

“Just follow me, Sheriff. I mean - Lee,” You nod as you get into the driver’s seat, Steven climbing in on the other side.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He mutters it loud enough that you hear him. The tilted, teasing grin on his face as he climbs into his own car almost makes you certain it was his intention.

When you get out, there’s a lump in your throat and the air suddenly feels heavy. Thankfully, the short walk up your drive is quiet, the sheriff walking leisurely next to you and laughing at the boys as they race each other down the sidewalk.

“I gotta go in the back way,” you swallow thickly as you tell him while you open up the gate, “There’s a private staircase for us there.”

He nods and follows.

When you enter the small apartment, you’re grateful that you don’t have much to fuss over and that it is tidy by default.

“Why don’t you boys go play with the Lincoln Logs or race cars? Nothing too loud right now,” you suggest and push them off toward the small room Steven occupies. “I got the parts all together right here, but I think something is missing.” You point to the box with the projector parts and reels.

“No problem,” Lee’s voice is quiet in your small space. He takes out the parts and starts to fit things together, checking a few switches here and there after a couple of minutes before patting the top of it with a, “There you go.”

You smile widely, “That’s it? Really?”

“That’s it, Sweets,” he matches your smile.

You suddenly hate the idea of him leaving so quickly, so you look around for something else.

“Coffee?”

He nods. “It’s like you read my mind,” there’s a glint in his eye as he gives you a generous once-over.

You feel a flush and quickly turn away to the kitchen.

Your hands tremble as you fill the kettle with water and scoop grounds into the press.

The boys break into a fit of giggles and before you can call after them, you feel the warm presence of Lee shuffle up behind you. His boots scuff against the floor as he stops, then seconds later his arms cage you in from behind, his palms resting against the edge of the countertop.

His breaths are deep, his nose just tickling along the neckline of your dress and you feel your back stiffen at the rush.

“You’re so lovely Sweets,” he whispers.

Your breath shakes as you suck it in. “S-sheriff,” you swallow thickly, “Lee? What’re you doing?”

“You’re beautiful, y’know.”

You remain still, unable to whisper anything but his name again.

“I see the way you look at me,” he presses a kiss to your skin that’s so gentle and tender but nearly makes your knees buckle. “Like you want somethin’.”

“I’m not - I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you weakly deny.

One arm leaves the counter to wrap around your middle, pulling you even closer to him while he steps right up behind you, the whole front of him up against your back. The movement makes you gasp and arch just slightly. You’re unable to catch yourself from rolling your head back to lean against him fully and feeling him grunt.

“You don’t need to make any excuses. You want me, dontcha?” he talks with his lips pressed right against your neck, heavy breaths tickling at your hairline.

God, do you want him. The sudden feeling of a warm, masculine body against you is something you didn’t realize you missed so much. For years it’s just been you and your boy and focusing on the day to day, not thinking about the way a strong arm feels pulled around you with fingers just tickling at your sensitive skin - until suddenly that’s exactly what is happening. And how you’ve missed it, your muscles nearly seize up with tension as you try to fight how good it feels.

It’s like trying to drag yourself from a dream, slow and muted as you try to make sense of everything at once; a sharp clarity punches through hard and fast.

“Your wife,” you reach down to cover his hand with your own, ready to try to pry him off.

“That fucking pig? I don’t love her, I don’t want her. She don’t want me either.”

“Don’t say that. You can’t say that,” you tell him and start to pull away, squirming away but getting nowhere since he doesn’t budge an inch. He allows you to spin around between himself and the countertop. “Lee? What is this? What’re you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. You know what this is. You can remember moments like these with your late husband, but Lee is not your husband. You know his wife. You just spent the evening with her in their home.

He doesn’t answer. Instead his free hand starts to skim up along your side until his thumb catches at the curve at the bottom your breast, then slides up so that he can rub his thumb back and forth over your dress, teasing at your hardened nipple.

It makes you whimper and nearly fold in half with how sensitive you feel.

“I’ll make you feel so good,” he coos, his lips parted and eyes tracking the movement of his thumb.

You lift your arms to his shoulders, uncertain yet if you’re planning to push him away or pull him close when you hear the quick footsteps of the boys.

Lee steps back to give you some distance and your hands flutter mid-air as you try to compose yourself.

The boys start to whine over each other-

“Momma. Robert keeps knocking over my building.”

“No, he keeps takin’ the blocks I’m using.”

Some kind of clarity forms and you rush out a solution for them, “Why don’t you get out your TinkerToys and split it all up? Alright? Go back to the other room,” you nudge them away.

Problem solved, they run back to the room, leaving you standing in the kitchen, Lee lingering just feet away and the half-finished coffee press on the counter.

“Jane must be expecting you home by now.”

He grunts and shakes his head ruefully, “She’s probably passed out by now.”

“Oh,” you nod. You search for something, anything to excuse yourself and catch your breath, “I need to go to the bathroom. Excuse me a moment.”

You slip out of the kitchen and into the door just down the hall. Taking a moment to relieve yourself then press a cool rag to your cheeks. You’d nursed the glass of wine Jane had poured, so you knew deep down you weren’t tipsy, you were just overrun by the feelings the sheriff gave you. Once you get your first full breath in minutes, you feel better, calmer and more controlled. You look at yourself in the mirror and decide - you just need to send him on home.

You barely crack open the bathroom door when it’s pushed open wide, Lee wedging in when it’s wide enough and nearly slamming it shut behind him.

“Don’t hide from me, Sweets,” is all he says before he’s got one arm around your middle again, and the other holding the back of your neck while he presses his lips against yours. After gasping in surprise, you instinctively return the kiss - your tongue and lips tentative against his dominating mouth.

It’s strange - all of it so strange after so long. It’s been years since your last kiss and you feel clumsy, out of practice, but he doesn’t hesitate one bit, doesn’t seem turned off by your uncoordinated motions and hands that can’t keep still over his middle and shoulders.

He takes in a deep breath, pausing for just a second to position himself better, then he’s back on you, and you feel ready for him this time. One hand resting on his chest while the other hooks up around his neck, your fingers stroking through the soft, short hairs at the back of his head. He turns the both of you, pressing you against the vanity sink.

“Lee,” you whimper when he wedges a leg between yours.

“Shh, shh, sshh. I got you.”

His kisses are relentless and make you light-headed, gasping for breaths every time he slightly lets up. His hands push and pull, struggling against your dress and your undergarments until he’s freed one breast and can drop his head to suckle at your hard peak.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry, mind painfully aware of the children in the room nearby. You crack open an eye to make sure the door is still closed and try to focus on the sounds the kids are making, but his tongue and lips are too distracting. He pulls as much of your breast into his mouth as he can, greedily swirling his tongue all over the sensitive bud, and pulling away with a loud pop.

You slap at his shoulder while he just looks up at you with a shit-eating grin.

“Feels good, right?” He places his hand to cup your breast, thumb flicking at your nipple. “Let me have you, I’ll make you feel so good, my sweet girl. Please?”

His own eyes close as he ruts up against you, his hard length pressing against your hip and sending a tremor through your body, practically shaking your bones. You don’t move though, your hands stay frozen where you hold onto him, but he continues to lead and coax you along.

One wide hand holds you at the back of your neck, just holding you in place. His mouth moves across your cheeks and at the hinge of your jaw. He whispers quiet promises of satisfaction, telling you how lovely you are and confirming every word with a kiss. His other hand leaves your breast after one final and quick pinch and grabs at the bottom of your dress. The fabric bunching in his fist as he gathers it until he can feel your thigh.

Then he teases you with just the tips of his fingers, sliding right up and over til he meets where your thighs meet. It tickles, makes you shake a little, and then you’re sucking in a hard gasp when he keeps going until he pets and presses over your sex with the pads of his fingertips.

“So wet,” he says on an exhale, pressing right where you feel your excitement leaking. “You want me too. It’s alright.”

To prove his point, he presses harder, flattening his hand until he’s cupping you and making your body jerk between him and the sink. You bend your knees to open your thighs wider with the touch, and he groans and presses hard against you again, the heel of his palm putting pressure to your throbbing clit. You struggle to not hook your leg right over his hip to let him in.

“Lee,” you start to beg, “Please. Oh my god, please.”

It’s so overwhelming you start to sob, the tears already prick at the corners of your eyes. Just being touched, feeling the warmth of him, and the words - it’s all that you remembered being with a man to be and more. His hand keeps a rhythm against you, driving you higher. You hadn’t had a man’s touch in years, but suddenly you need Lee like you need air.

“Please,” you say again. Your body tingles with electricity that has nowhere to go.

“So pretty. You’re so pretty, baby. I’m gonna take care of ya. Am I what you need?”

“Yes,” tears start to roll down your cheeks. He pulls back slightly until he can slip his fingers underneath your panties, gliding right through your arousal. You feel two of his fingers slide into you, and you squeeze around them instantly.

“Fuck,” he grunts. Your wetness drips down his fingers into his palm. He presses the heel of it against you again, right against your sensitive clit this time. “Come on my fingers, sweetness.”

He fucks you with his hand, his thick, solid fingers caressing you while he sends jolts of pleasure through you with pressure on your sensitive button. You squirm to get away, but the hand still at the back of your neck tightens and holds you down, making you take it.

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “It’s alright.”

And that’s it. You freeze for a moment as the pleasure peaks and then you’re trembling as the shocks of it rush through you in a blaze. You can hear the wetness drowning his fingers as he keeps pumping them into you while you clench over him repeatedly and sob as quietly as you can, which must not be very quiet because he starts to shush you and slow the movement of his hand, gently attempting to calm you down.

“You’re okay, s’alright baby, just breathe, c’mon,” you hear him coach, but all you can focus on is the thumping beat of your heart as it races and trying to catch your breath between sniffles, the tears falling freely down your cheeks.

His hand slides out from your panties to grab you steady at your waist, the hand from your neck moves so he can use his thumb to wipe away your tears. He presses his forehead to yours and tells you to breathe with him.

You blink your eyes open, eyelashes glittering with wetness and you take a minute to focus. Once things are clear, you tilt your head back to look at him. His cheeks are flushed, lips wet and rosy, and his eyes - they nearly glow as he looks you over. It’s something to see - awe, tenderness, pride all in the twitches of his lips as his lips turn up with a smile.

“Sweets, will you touch me?” he asks. For such a big man, his voice is suddenly so small.

“Lee, I can’t-I haven’t…” you struggle to find the words.

“It’s alright, that’s alright,” he assures you, circling your wrist with his fingers still sticky from your arousal, and guiding them to the bulge in his trousers. You flinch, but don’t pull away, your arm tenses, but goes with the motion. He presses your palm against the solid length, pushing down to give him some relief. His hips press against you in return and once he’s sure you aren't going anywhere, he lets go of your wrist, then starts to undo the belt and button in quick movements. He tugs the waistband of his trousers and boxers down together, just to release his cock.

You feel the fabric move under your palm, but keep pressing against him, your hand sliding just slightly out of remembered instinct. When the fabric of his boxers slides away and you’re met with the heat of his cock, you gasp. Your hand wraps around him, fingers circling around his shaft to hold him and pulling a strangled moan from him.

“Shit-fuck,” he hisses. “Won’t be long.” He wraps his hand over yours, pulling your fist up and down over him while he pumps his hips into it. Precome drips down from the slit, easing the glide.

His eyes close and he presses his temple to yours, his face pulls up in concentration, focusing on the pleasure, “You’re so soft, so sweet,” he rasps, “Want you so bad, want you all to myself.”

You can imagine it, if you’re ready to be totally honest, you have imagined it.

“Kiss me?” you whisper.

His lips meet yours roughly for a long press, then he tilts his head and licks at the seam of your lips, making you open up to him. His hand and yours start to speed up, he keeps guiding you up and down, just the slightest twist at the head with each stroke.

The kiss turns sloppy, more sharing air and pecks than anything as he spirals with the pleasure you’re helping to give him.

“You’re gonna -you’re gonna make me-” with a pained expression, he nudges you away, his hand stroking frantically as he leans over your sink until he starts to come, streaks hitting the porcelain as he chokes down groans. You watch his neck and face go red, trying not to watch, but you can’t help yourself and catch the way his cock twitches with his release, all swollen and red. You don’t think you could possibly blush more, but still fire burns underneath your skin.

When he finishes coming, he reaches for you again, pulling you into another hard kiss. “God, darlin’. Fuck,” he whispers while he attempts to catch his breath. “Fuck. Haven’t been tugged off like that since I was a deputy.” He chuckles, the laugh coming out in hard puffs of air.

You struggle to look at anything in the bathroom, eyes straying back to Lee, to his softening cock, to the come dripping slowly in the sink basin. Just then you hear the boys start to giggle and reality hits you again, making your chest seize up in panic.

“Oh, Lee. No,” you raise a hand to your mouth and quickly rush out the door, piecing your wardrobe back together as you walk back into the kitchen. You hear the water run in the bathroom and murmuring as Lee talks to himself.

Your movement must have distracted the boys because they manage to sound like a stampede heading toward you. You wipe at your nose and eyes as best you can before you turn to see what they want.

Both the boys pause, but it’s your son that speaks up, knowing how you look when you cry. “Momma, you alright?”

Lee exits the bathroom then, shirt tucked back in, belt and trousers back in place - only the flush from the neck up giving anything away. His eyes bore into you with heavy emotion that you are ashamed that you can read so well - concern, sympathy, desire. A mixture that you remind yourself you don’t deserve.

“Yeah, baby. I am. You know I get sad sometimes, I’ll be fine. Are you boys ready to say goodbye for tonight? I think it’s well past your bedtime.”

You grab Steven and fuss with his hair, with his messy shirt, and then turn him around and hold him against you like a tiny human shield. “Say thank you to the sheriff for fixing the projector and for letting Robert play.”

“Thank you, sir,” your son dutifully responds.

Lee can see what you’re doing and he’s not happy with it, his mouth going flat and shoulders heaving as you pressure him into leaving.

He just nods, then nudges at Robert’s shoulder, “Say thank you for indulging us.”

“Thank you,” Robert quietly says.

You send Steven down the hallway to get ready for bed, and then you follow behind as they step toward the door, Robert too tired from a full day of play to put up a fight. Lee opens the door to the back steps, telling Robert to be careful going down. When the boy starts down a few, Lee turns back to you.

Before you can react, he’s giving you another kiss, quick but meaningful. “We’re not done,” he whispers.

“We are. Go home, Lee.”

He gives you a long look before stomping down the steps. “Til next time, Sweets.”

...

#lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker angst #lee bodecker fanfiction #hoedecker club #hoedecker cult #tdatt fanfiction #my writing #fic title so wrong #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader

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p-artsypants · 3 years

Text

The Ghost of Smokey Joe (6)

St. James Infirmary

Adrien Agreste was acting bizarre. Before she can get the truth out of him, Marinette finds herself as the sole heir to the Gabriel brand and the mansion, following the murder-suicide of both Adrien and Gabriel Agreste. The mystery continues as Tikki explains that Adrien was Chat Noir...but if Adrien is six feet under, why is Chat Noir still running around?

Relationships:

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug

Alya Césaire/Nino Lahiffe

Characters:

Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir, Alya Césaire, Nino Lahiffe, Nathalie Sancoeur, Gabriel Agreste | Papillon | Hawk Moth

Additional Tags:

Temporary Character Death, Murder Mystery, off screen murder, Ghosts, Supernatural - Freeform, Haunting, Horror, Psychological Thriller, Eventual Happy Ending, I promise, Song fic, Halloween Flavored, Identity Reveal, Aged Up, Canon Universe, Mabel Voice: He's Resting, SPOOOKKKYYYYYY

Ao3 | FF.net

The night of the visitation, it rained. Like a kick to the gut, a painful reminder of what it was like to fall in love…now was only a soothing presence to losing love.

The old umbrella in her hand didn’t help either. It was his. Adrien’s. The very same he gave her that day over ten years ago.

Marinette had agonized over what to wear for too long. It was a wake, so black, right? She had this outfit picked out and everything. A sharp blazer over her little black cocktail dress, with black pumps. Even though it was a wake, it was a wake for her boss, one of the most influential fashion moguls in the world, and she would be taking his place. She had to look her best.

But then, she changed her mind. It was a social event, yes, and she would be in the public eye and representing the brand, true!

But it felt gross.

The cocktail dress was too sexy for a wake, and wearing that much black made her look goth.

It just wasn’t right.

Then she saw the dress. A rose pink, knee length dress that flared out as it went down. It had little black polka dots on it.

And it was Adrien’s favorite. He said so every time she wore it.

Too peppy for a wake. Too casual, too fun and flirty. But a black cardigan over it, and she felt perfect.

She could almost hear his voice as she posed in the mirror.

“I love that dress on you. You look so cute, Marinette.”

It made tears spring to her eyes.

So no makeup then. Because she knew she would be crying a lot more tonight.

“Don’t forget to pack tissues,” Tikki reminded, helpfully.

“Right, thank you, Tikki.” She tucked the little package in her purse.

With one last pass of the brush through her hair, she was ready.

So now she stood outside of the manor, the gate open.

Well folks, I'm goin' down to St. James Infirmary

See my little baby there

She's stretched out on a long, white table

Well she looks so good, so cold, so fair

The paparazzi stood nearby with their cameras, ready to swoop in like vultures.

She must have paused for too long, because they descended on her quickly, shoving mics in her face and asking questions.

Didn’t they know why she was here? Didn’t they know what she was going through?

An arm reached around her shoulders and started leading her forward. “Alright everyone, that’s enough! Can’t you see she’s not in the mood?” Her rescuer shouted.

The reporters didn’t pass through the gate, as that would have been trespassing. So thankfully, the crowd was left behind as they moved forward.

“Thank you,” she said to the unfamiliar man.

“Of course, Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He nodded.

“You know me?”

“I know of you. Head intern to Gabriel Agreste himself, if I’m not mistaken. I’m from Harper’s Bazaar.”

“Oh...a reporter.”

“Yes, but I really was just here as a guest to pay my respects. I’ve interviewed both Gabriel and Adrien a few times.”

“I see.”

He led her into the house.

Let her go, let her go, God bless her,

Wherever she may be,

She will search this wide world over,

But she'll never find another sweet man like me.

She was early, as Nathalie had instructed. No other guests were here. Just funeral staff, some family, and two steel caskets.

Two steel closed caskets.

Might make retrieving Adrien’s ring a bit of a problem, but not seeing his face…cold, motionless, and waxy would keep her somewhat sane.

The man walked with her right up to the casket, the one with Adrien’s picture next to it.

“It’s a shame. That much skill, the absolute genius spread between the two of them. The world as a whole will never be the same.”

“Yeah.”

“Any idea what’s going to happen next? Not that this is an interview, I’m just curious.”

She shrugged, “well, I’ve been offered the position, and everyone wants me to take it...but it’s so…”

“Overwhelming?”

“Yes.” She rested her hand on the casket. “I wish I could have a moment alone with him.”

“Let me see what I can do.” He smiled, then he called louder, to the room. “The lady would like a few minutes alone, if possible.”

“Is she family?” A staff member asked.

“This is Madam Dupain-Cheng, she’s the successor to Gabriel’s empire. She’s practically family!”

There was no arguing with that, and the group of staff members filed out into the adjacent dining room.

“Thank you,” Marinette called to the man, still not getting his name.

“Don’t worry about it darling.” And he followed them out.

Marinette glanced around the room, just to make sure she was alone. “Tikki?”

“I’m here!”

“I need you to keep watch.” The casket had two doors, one on top that would have been open if this was a regular visitation, and one over the legs. She slid the flower arrangement on top over to the bottom section and ran her hand over the edge. She pulled up slightly, and as she feared, it was sealed.

“It’s locked,” she lamented.

“Let me try!” Tikki zipped around the casket, and a moment later, it clicked and the cap opened ever so slightly.

Marinette took a deep breath as her fingers curled under the lip.

“What are you waiting for?”

“Just…I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to see what he looks like. I don’t want to…” but she put her reservations on hold, and pushed the lid up.

She choked out a startled gasp. “Oh no…”

Now, when I die, bury me in my straight-leg britches,

Put on a box-back coat and a stetson hat,

Put a twenty-dollar gold piece on my watch chain,

So you can let all the boys know I died standing pat.

Instead of the mangled body of her true love, there was only a pile of sandbags.

Tikki, also horrified, went over to Gabriel’s casket and phased inside. Then she popped out, “this one is the same!”

Marinette closed the lid and moved the flowers back into place, her mind moving at a mile a minute. Vaguely, she heard the click of the casket as Tikki put it to rights.

Marinette was panicking, but quickly calmed herself down. This didn’t mean anything malicious, not yet. Maybe they were cremated and the family wanted to keep it a secret. Or because there’s no graveside service, their bodies had already been buried.

Who was she kidding, something was definitely going on.

A mystery that was just aching to be solved, but her first priority was to retrieve Adrien’s ring.

“--A moment alone!” A voice shouted from the dining room.

Marinette whirled around in time to see Felix storming towards her. Did he know? Was she caught?

He brushed past her, “move.” And went directly to the casket, grabbing the lip like she had.

“Please sir! You’ll damage the casket!” One of the funeral home staff rushed and grasped Felix by the shoulder. “It’s shut and locked, it can’t be opened again.”

“I didn’t get to say goodbye!” Felix snarled. “Look at him!” He pointed at the photo on display next to the casket. “He has my face! I deserve to see him one last time!”

“Sir...he doesn’t look like that anymore. It would be very disturbing to see his remains.”

Disturbing indeed, considering Adrien wasn’t in there at all.

Amelie was quick to join the group and she consoled her son. “We talked about this. You knew it was going to be a closed casket.”

“They said the family had time alone. I just...wanted to say goodbye, face to face.” He shook his head and scowled. “He deserved that, at least.”

Marinette made herself small, feeling like an intruder in this family crisis. But Amelie still saw her and brought her in for a hug.

“How are you holding up, dear?” She asked, pulling away slightly.

“I’m…I’ve been better.”

“Of course, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Marinette had met Amelie and Felix more than a few times working at Gabriel. As the years went on, they came to visit more and more often. Amelie was always insistent that she call her ‘Aunt Amelie’ like Adrien. It felt weird to break the habit now.

“Isn’t pink a little too festive for the occasion?” Felix bit. The red from anger in his cheeks had faded. Now he just sounded bitter.

It was Adrien’s voice…but not. It was a shame Felix sounded so much like him.

He looked just like him too, minus the slicked back hair and glasses.

“Adrien really loved this dress,” Marinette whispered. “I know it’s not—I just—“

His face softened slightly, relieved that she had Adrien in mind, and not fashion. “Sounds fine to me.”

Even after the disastrous first encounter they had, Felix and Marinette never became friends. He and Adrien certainly got along, or at least appeared to, but Felix and Marinette were only ever cordial.

It was a wake, after all. He should be nice. He gave her a small smile, one that looked eerily similar to Adrien’s.

Before she could stop herself, she was hugging him.

He didn’t smell like Adrien at all. He smelled like clean cat litter and laundry detergent, not spicy cologne and the smallest hint of cheese. Belatedly, she realized the cheese smell was probably Plagg’s doing.

“Uh…” He said awkwardly, before sighing and patting her on the back.

“I’m sorry,” she pulled away. “Even though…” she trailed off with a blush, embarrassed with what she had done. “You just look like him.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “I worried about coming. I’m prepared for people to see me and burst into tears. Or hug me, like you did. I get it. As much as I would like otherwise, I’m willing to tolerate it for today.”

“That’s kind of you.”

His face softened further. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Amelie gasped. “Felix! You can’t just ask things like that!”

“It’s okay,” Marinette assured, hugging herself. “You’re right. I was—am. I still love him, even though he’s gone.”

“And…you know what happened?”

She nodded. “It sucks. And I really wish I could allow one terrible action to wipe everything away…but I knew him. These last two weeks he wasn’t himself. He was cruel to me in a way I had never seen. It just…it wasn’t Adrien.”

Felix gave her a critical look. “I always assumed my cousin couldn’t hurt a fly. It’s…bizarre, what happened.”

“It’s not public knowledge,” Amelie reminded. “And it should stay that way.”

“Who are we protecting by lying about it? The ‘Brand’? The family? Adrien himself?”

“What are they saying, anyway?” Asked Marinette.

“They’re saying both Adrien and Gabriel died from an in-home accident.”

“Vague,” said Felix. “Suspicious.”

“But better than ‘unknown causes’ at least,” said Marinette. “Maybe it’s selfish, but I want Adrien to be remembered for all the good he did…” As Chat Noir, her brain added, “and not the demons he faced in the end.��

“Still, I can’t help but wonder what made him snap,” he mused, looking at Marinette. “Do you have any idea what may have caused it?”

Her mind went back to two weeks, when he had asked her to dinner. He was nervous, and told her he had something to tell her.

And then that phone call a few nights ago. What had he said? Something about the basement?

“I’m…not sure. I’d have to think about it.”

“Perhaps you two could consider this mystery another day? Not during the visitation?” Amelie urged.

“Sorry mom, you’re right.” He glanced back at Marinette. “If you have anything on this, I’d love to hear it. I care deeply for Adrien, and honestly, I’m highly suspicious of these circumstances.”

Amelie huffed. “Darling, you heard Nathalie, what she saw, what the police found, it’s pretty cut and dry…”

“People don’t just murder their father’s for no reason! Especially with supposedly flawless mental health!”

The room grew quiet, as Felix’s outburst was louder than intended. Thankfully, guests had yet to arrive.

“Sorry. This whole thing…I’ve had enough of death in this lifetime.” He cleared his throat. “I need some water.”

When he left, Amelie squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let Felix get to you. It’s just hard for him. He has so much in common with Adrien, it’s a little scary for him.”

Oh. That made sense. Fear he’d snap too?

“It was sudden for everyone. We’re all going through it.”

“They said you were having a moment alone with Adrien. I'll let you get back to it.” She squeezed her shoulder and left her in peace.

So now Marinette was left to wonder what she could possibly do. Where to even start? She didn’t need anymore time with an empty casket.

An' give me six crap shooting pall bearers,

Let a chorus girl sing me a song.

Put a red hot jazz band at the top of my head

So we can raise Hallelujah as we go along.

There were a few more guests now, but it was still a little early. She saw a man in a suit arranging flowers. He had a name tag on his lapel.

As casual as she could, she snuck over to him. “Excuse me, are you the funeral director by chance?”

“Oh? Yes I am. Bill Hunkerson, at your service. How can I help?”

She had to phrase this very carefully, to not be suspicious. “I’m a very close friend of Adrien’s. He was wearing a silver ring when he died. It doesn’t actually belong to him, and I was wondering if I could have it back.”

The man turned pale, but plastered on a smile. “Well, he’s probably wearing it now. Unfortunately, after we close the casket, we can’t open it again.”

She knew that was a big fat lie. And Marinette hated liars.

She lowered her voice. “Well, since his body isn’t actually in the casket, it shouldn’t be that hard, should it?”

The man stared at her, wide eyed, no longer smiling. “How did you—“ He frowned. “Look miss, I’m just doing what I’m paid for. I don’t know anything. That ring is probably gone forever, and I’d stop this search now.” He straightened his tie and bowed his head slightly. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Marinette opened her purse when she was alone. “I don’t know about you, Tikki, but I’ve got a bunch of red flags and alarm bells going off inside my head.”

“This isn’t good! We need to get that ring!”

“We need to find out what happened to Adrien’s body!”

“Yes, of course, that too!”

Marinette gnawed at the inside of her cheek. “Hey, no offense to Plagg, but wouldn’t he know to bring the ring back to me? If he can’t remove it, then wouldn’t he come tell me about it?”

Tikki’s eyes widened. “You’re right! If he died under normal circumstances, yes…but if he was transformed when he died…”

“Then what?”

“Plagg probably would be forced back into the ring. That’s probably why he didn’t come!”

“Now I’m even more worried and confused.” Marinette crossed her arms. “What if Adrien isn’t actually dead?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if…he ran away? And Gabriel made it out like he died? What if Gabriel’s still alive too?”

“It’s a theory, but I don’t know how well it will hold water.”

She studied the room again, trying not to draw attention to herself. She was supposed to be grieving after all.

Felix sat in the chairs over by the stairs, his back to the growing crowd.

Even if they didn’t really get along, two skeptics working together would be better than each on their own.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked.

“I suppose not.” He sighed.

Marinette sat in the chair next to him, and sat quietly for a moment, trying to decide how to proceed. She didn’t want to reveal her whole hand, but maybe playing a few cards would be to her advantage.

Felix beat her to it. He let out a weak chuckle. “I hate this family.”

What an awful thing to say at wake. “Why’s that?” She asked calmly.

“They die too quickly. It sounds so awful, I know. But it’s just my mother and I now. Grandparents are long gone, then my Aunt Emilie, then my father, and now them. It sucks and I’m sick of stupid funerals.”

“It must be hard. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well...I’m a pro at it now.” He was resting his cheek on his hand, and was staring at the corner of a wall, just pointedly avoiding eye contact. Still, she could see he had red in his eyes. Though she chose to ignore it. Felix seemed to be the type to hide his tears.

“You know...the last time I talked to Adrien, he told me to check the basement.”

This piqued Felix’s curiosity enough for him to look at her. “Basement? What basement?”

“I suppose here, but I haven’t had the chance to, since you know…all this going on.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. I used to come to this house all the time. It doesn’t have a basement.”

“So…maybe at the company?”

“Could be. I wouldn’t know.”

“Okay, I just wondered...since you were family…”

He growled. “Yeah, some family.”

“Do you...want to talk about it?” She offered, really hoping he would take the bait.

He chuckled again, no humor in his tone. “Might as well, no one around left to hide things from.” He leaned back in the chair. “Gabriel is...was a very private person. I tried to love him, since he was my uncle, but he did a very good job at keeping us at a distance. Adrien was the opposite. We talked often, even when his mom and my dad died and things got rough. Sometimes, it didn’t feel like we were welcomed here. But Adrien so wanted a connection. I could feel it in his hugs when we visited. He was starving, Marinette.”

Marinette willed herself not to start crying.

“Mom and I were told by Nathalie that Adrien and Gabriel were caught in a murder-suicide, as enacted by Adrien, early in the morning on the 23rd.”

“Did she tell you where the murder-suicide happened?”

“Nope, just that it happened in this house. As the only living relatives, she asked if we could come and help with the funeral arrangements.”

“Were you involved in all of it?”

“I thought mom and I did all of it together, but there was one thing that Nathalie insisted on and wouldn’t budge.”

“What’s that?”

“Gabriel is going to be interred in the Agreste family mausoleum, but Adrien…” he sighed with disgust. “As punishment, he’s getting an unmarked grave.”

“What!?”

“That was the compromise. The truth about the murder-suicide, which I am believing less and less, would be withheld from the public as long as Adrien was…effectively erased from the family line.”

She couldn’t help the tears that burst forth. “But that’s not fair! He didn’t do anything wrong! He couldn’t’ve!”

“Yeah kid, I know. I agree.” He scowled. “It makes me sick. I hate it. Adrien was suffering in life, and now he’s going to suffer in death.”

“You don’t think he did it?”

“Do you?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I know what’s been said, and what people saw...but it just can’t be true.” And she had evidence to prove it, in the form of that empty casket.

“You won’t mention I said any of this to my mom, right? She’s also having a hard time, but she tells me I’m in denial.”

“I won’t say a word.”

Folks, now that you have heard my story,

Say, boy, hand me another shot of that booze;

If anyone should ask you,

Tell 'em I've got those St. James Infirmary blues.

I’m not sure about next week’s update. I’m going camping and I don't know what the wifi will be like. Fingers crossed!

#ml #miraculous ladybug #the ghost of Smokey Joe #fanfiction #adrienette #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste

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ampleappleamble · 3 years

Text

The more she saw, the more she remembered. And the more she remembered, the more she dreamed.

Axa was learning– and luckily for her coinpurse, she was learning fast– that while booze and whiteleaf still did the trick when it came to helping her fall asleep, they did nothing to prevent the dreams, vivid and ominous and unrelenting. They tended to start off vague, foreboding glimpses into a hauntingly familiar world: a lone woman wandering lost through shifting halls, throngs of kith raising their hands in supplication before a flash of light reduced them to crumbling ash, great dragons screaming with rage and struggling against their chains. But before long, the dream would inevitably gather itself and resolve into its recurring main features: the tree, and later, the temple.

It was the tree from her first dream as a Watcher, the tree from Gilded Vale, and yet it wasn't– although she quickly noticed that Edér was dangling from it still, just as she'd seen him do in that first dream, before she'd known him. Instead of smiling at her and puffing on his pipe, this time he seemed to be aware of his predicament, lifting himself with one hand on the branch from which he was hanging in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his neck. In his other hand he gripped a stubby little candle, very much like the ones they'd seen in the ruined Eothasian temple under Gilded Vale, and he trembled with exhaustion as he held the feeble, flickering flame to the rope that bound him.

He'll never burn through it with that in time, she realized with a jolt, his grip will give out and he'll hang! But as she sprang forward to help him she felt a tug on her ankle, and all of a sudden she lay sprawled in the dirt, the breath driven out of her by her landing. A glance at her feet revealed the culprit: a scroll, of all things, rolling loose and twisted around her boots, little stylized eyes winking out at her from cramped, illegible writing. The parchment trailed into the distance behind her, and when she turned to her fore again she could see its origin: the base of the gnarled, blackened tree, where two figures knelt bowed their heads together, deep in conversation. And just as Axa thought she might recognize them–

She was hurrying down the temple hall again, no longer herself but a memory of herself, and he stood at the altar, turning sharply to receive her. "Is that you, Anthea? My child, what brings you–"

She opened her mouth to ask him–

–ask him ask him please i have to know we have to know we deserve to know if it was all–

–and woke up on the floor again, blankets tangled around her knees and hips.

A pair of golden eyes, shining like coins, peered back at her from beneath the bed.

"Vaargys–"

But as soon as his name was out of her mouth, reality rushed in to replace the confusion wrought by her dreaming mind, and she whipped her head around to blink stupidly at the blond man crouching at her side, concern plain on his sun-weathered face.

"Uh... name's Edér, actually," he drawled, his brow furrowing as the edge of his lip twitched into a grin. "...Kinda rude that y' forgot."

Axa stared blankly for a moment, then winced as the hangover washed over her. "Oh, shut up and give me a hand," she grunted, yanking at the twisted sheets.

"What are you doing in here, anyway? After all that fussing about 'chivalry' and 'propriety' last night, I'd have thought you gentlemen would consider intruding on our sacred womanly privacy a dishonor worthy of nothing less than death." They'd rented two rooms to accomodate the party of six, and for some reason, Edér and Aloth had insisted– and to Axa's surprise, Pallegina had agreed– on splitting the party between the two rooms on the basis of sex. Axa still couldn't quite wrap her head around Aedyre and Dyrwoodan ideas about segregating women and men in the name of some sort of nebulous "decency," but it was no hill she cared to die on, and if it made her companions happy then she was more than willing to acquiesce.

"Uh." Edér slipped his hands under the orlan's armpits and hoisted her into the air, allowing her to wiggle free of her linen bonds. "Guessin' y' don't remember what happened last night, then." He couldn't seem to bring himself to look at her, and when Axa cast her eyes around the room, she noticed it looked different than she remembered it...

Kana's head and shoulders popped out from behind the hulking wooden wardrobe, his face slathered in soap suds and his smile as broad as ever. "Axa! Our little sleepwalker, awake at last!" Edér gently set her on her feet as Kana rinsed himself off, and Axa felt her face burn as she realized what must have transpired while she was dreaming.

"I'd say y' owe me a beer for makin' me spend the rest of the night on the floor," the farmer sighed, "but somethin' tells me I really oughtta just let this one go."

"Oh gods, please tell me I didn't..." She cradled her throbbing head in her little hands, trying desperately to hide from the implication, but it was no use. "And you didn't even try to wake me?"

"Couldn't. You know what they say about waking a sleepwalker. Plus, you kinda tend t' sleep like shit. Figured y' could use the rest." The folk man yawned. "Even if it was my damn bed."

Axa planted her hands on her hips, regarding Edér with disbelief. "I can't believe it. Of all the people in this inn, I had to climb into bed with you?"

Edér huffed out a surprised little chuckle. "Wow. Okay. Who'd you rather've climbed into bed with?"

–oh, gods, if it had been Aloth's bed–

"I– I'd have rather not intruded on any of my traveling companions' personal space while they were trying to sleep, thanks," Axa snapped in reply, quickly turning away to better hide her blushing. It wasn't helping that Kana was in full view now, strutting about with a towel draped over his head, naked from the waist up. "How in Hel did I even get in here, anyway? Didn't you lads lock the door?"

"We were wondering that ourselves last night," Kana chirped merrily, scrubbing behind one ear. "The door was most definitely locked– Aloth was very insistent about that– so we supposed you either tapped into some obscure Watcher ability and phased through the wall somehow, or you picked the lock in your sleep." He laughed softly, taking a seat on his bed and rifling through his pack for a clean shirt. "Perhaps it'd be in our best interests to pay a visit to the Hall of Revealed Mysteries today, ask the Eyeless Face for answers– or mercy, if you'd rather."

"I could certainly do with some mercy. Maybe we should stop by," Axa muttered. "After we've delivered that research to the forgemaster in Crucible Keep, of course." She scowled, crossing her arms and rocking on her heels. "...Not looking forward to going back there, to be perfectly honest. For a few reasons."

Back on his own bed at last, Edér looked up from tucking his trousers into his boots. "Aw, c'mon, Axa, the Knights ain't as bad as all that. Don't get me wrong; they ain't very good, 'specially at actually doin' much for the people. But at least they ain't the Dozens, doin' whatever they please and sayin' it's for the people." He stood, lightly stamping his feet to get his trouser legs to fall evenly, and then got started donning his armor. "In any case, maybe while we're there we can convince 'em to open up Heritage Hill for us. It's not like whatever's been goin' on in there is solvin' itself, and they know it."

"Worth a shot," Axa agreed, massaging her temples. "Speaking of the Dozens, it might be worth it to have a little chat with them, too. As you said, the Knights may be the 'official' peacekeepers here in the city, but it's members of the Dozens who are actually out and about in the streets, winning hearts and minds. It'd probably be a good idea to see exactly what it is they think they're doing. And we'll have to make time to visit Brackenbury Sanitarium as well, get Aloth looked at..." The little woman sighed. "Gods, I'm already exhausted. Either that or I'm still exhausted from yesterday. It's getting harder to tell."

She glanced around the room again, briefly allowed her gaze to linger on Kana's bare chest, swept the room again, furrowed her brow. "Where is Aloth, anyway? Don't tell me he sleepwalked into my room last night."

"He left earlier this morning, to dress in the privy or somesuch," Kana grinned, finally finding a suitable undershirt and pulling it on over his head. "He thought it improper to change in front of you. I tried telling him you were sleeping and wouldn't see, but..." The aumaua shrugged, chuckling and shaking his head.

Edér cinched his belt and smiled nervously, looking at the floor. "Uh, speakin' of, Watcher, hadn't you oughtta... y'know. Get ready?" He gestured vaguely at his own torso, and Axa suddenly felt the urge to wrap her furry arms around herself. She hadn't really been thinking about it before, but now she couldn't help but feel uncomfortably exposed, standing there in her ratty old nightshirt that barely fell to mid-thigh, one shoulder poking out from the drooping neckline.

"Uh. Right. Big day ahead of us, after all." She hurried to the door, yanked it open– only to find Pallegina on the other side, midway through reaching for the knob herself, Sagani and Itumaak close behind her.

"Watcher!" The paladin's golden eyes flashed with surprise. "There you are! We woke and you were nowhere to be found. Per complancanet, do not worry us so." She peered into the room, lip curling in mild disgust. "What... what are you doing in–"

Her headache was getting worse. "Long story. Probably. I don't actually know, truth be told. Short version is I somehow managed to get in here last night while sleepwalking."

"I heard you get up and leave the room, but I fell asleep again before long," Sagani admitted, looking the little woman over bemusedly. "Wasn't expecting you to just wander off. Didn't these boys have their door locked?" Itumaak tried to sneak past his mistress and sniff around Edér's pack for more jerky, but she stopped him with a sharp snap of her tongue.

Kana opened his mouth excitedly to explain, but Pallegina cut him off. "No matter. The sun climbs the sky quickly, and we have idled here long enough. Watcher, you should return to our room and get dressed. There is much work to be done today." The Godlike gave her a sharp nod and turned to march down the hallway toward the stairs, Sagani and Itumaak following a moment later.

Axa laughed despite herself. "Well! You heard the woman. I'll see you downstairs in a bit, gentlemen." She gave the two men one last glance before stepping out into the hall herself–

–and colliding with Aloth, his face buried in his grimoire and strolling full-speed back into his room, clearly not expecting a fuzzy little missile to barrel directly into his midsection. Both kith tumbled backwards, falling flat on their asses, crying out more from surprise than from pain. And when the shock had abated, both groaned in embarrassment.

"You're up, then," he muttered, clambering to his feet. "However did you get into our room last night?"

"Can I please just go put some gods damned pants on," she wailed in response.

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #fic wip #need some slide whistles and kazoos for all these wacky antics

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laequiem · 3 years

Text

She kills my self control - Chapter 12

/ Includes dialogue from The Cruel Prince Chapter 29

"Entering your brother's coronation, a mortal girl on your arm. It seems we once again share a lover."

He is trying to provoke me, or so I think. Does he want us to fight here? When I do not reply, he continues his mockery.

"How is she? I can only assume you two have been tumbling since I last saw of you."

"Surprising," I say, spinning a false narrative of half-truths, "very creative in her use of accessories."

cw: unhealthy coping mechanisms (alcohol, sex); physical abuse; nsfw

read on ao3 • previous chapter • next chapter • all chapters

Chapter 12 - I believe in days ahead

Soon, it will be over. Balekin will be out of my life. The Grand General will watch over Elfhame until little Oak is of age, and I will be far, far away from this palace.

If I never see Jude again, perhaps she will stop invading my every thought.

Still, as I walk into Hollow Hall with her arm tucked into mine, I feel as though, together, we could overcome any obstacle. I feel pride. I relish in the baffled looks of the Gentry, not caring if they are more surprised by their lesser prince being with a mortal or by me actually being here.

Jude is dazzling in her green gown, enough that I forget my own vanity. It matters not that the borrowed outfit I am wearing is drab, long as I am next to her.

Amongst the gathered folk, the biggest vulture of them all spots me. I gracefully maneuver Jude towards the refreshments table, needing the wine to ground me as I face my brother.

“Little brother,” Balekin says as he catches up to us, “I’ve sought high and low for you.”

I am convinced my eldest brother knows the effect he has on me. In his presence, I feel small. I am back to being the young boy who got kicked out of the palace by his other brother, vulnerable, wanting nothing more than to be accepted by someone, anyone.

I look at the drinks table, seeking something stronger than wine to burn my throat and keep me from spiraling.

“Doubtless so,” I reply with a cocky smile, “I turned out to be useful after all. What a terrible surprise.”

A battle of smiles and stares ensues. I refuse to lose. He won’t hurt me, right? He cannot. He needs me, and he needs me willing.

“And you,” he says, turning to Jude, “What have you to do with this? Leave us.”

I hope my panic does not show on my face. My mind races, trying to find an excuse to keep Jude around, when Madoc comes to stand next to his new ally.

“Jude, you found him,” he says as he puts a hand on Jude’s shoulder. He turns to Balekin, “I hope you’re intending to reward my daughter. I am sure it took no small amount of persuasion to bring him here.”

Madoc's fingers dig slightly in Jude's shoulder. By the way Jude stiffens slightly, I know his touch to be more controlling than paternal. Still, has my father ever even touched me? I cannot remember.

“I will give her anything she asks for and more,” Balekin replies, as if I were nothing more than a lost pet given back to his master.

Jude pours two glasses of wine. I reach for one of them, but she gives the second one to Madoc. They clink their glasses together and drink. It’s the first time I have ever seen Jude drink.

I pour a glass of red wine for myself and drink the whole thing in one go.

“Take the bottle, I am prepared to be very generous,” Balekin tells me, “Let us discuss what you’d like, whatever you’d like.”

I have a feeling that if I were to leave with him, our discussion would be quite one-sided. “There’s no hurry, is there?”

“I think everyone would like to see the matter settled,” he replies coldly.

He speaks with that voice he uses when we are alone in his office. I will my face to keep the mask of indifference.

“Nonetheless,” I say before taking the bottle and sipping from its neck, “we have all night.”

“The power is in your hands.”

I clench my jaw ever so slightly.

“After dinner, I will tell you my terms. But until then, I am going to enjoy the party.”

“I do not have endless patience.”

“Cultivate it,” I say with a small bow as I drag Jude away from both men.

I make towards the dining table, but I am stopped by delicate, blue-ish fingers.

“Where have you been?” Nicasia inquires.

The princess of the Undersea considers us with a look, wincing at our linked arms.

“Jude here made me her prisoner,” I say softly with a smile, “She ties very tight knots.”

“Good thing you finally managed to slip her bonds,” she replies.

I raise my brows.

“Did I?” Do I even want to?

“Must you be like this, even now?”

Even if she betrayed me, I do not want her to worry. Not for me, not for anyone. And I do not want anything to happen to her. She puts her hand on my arm.

“Nicasia,” I say as I shrug her hand off, “Stay away from me tonight. For your own sake.”

I tug Jude away, ignoring the look Nicasia gives her. I feel a sick kind of satisfaction at her blatant jealousy. She traded me after I offered her everything, let her feel as low as I felt.

Across the room, Taryn and Locke are staring at us. I hold Locke’s stare for a few seconds, and he does not look away. The childish part of me is tempted to stick out my tongue at him, but I settle for a wink.

“Part one completed,” Jude whispers, “We got here, got in, and are not yet in chains.”

“Yes, I believe the Roach called that ‘the easy bit’.”

Jude lets go of my arm.

"Don't go anywhere alone," she reminds me as she leaves my side.

Not a command, but it stings all the same. I nod at her and give her a forced smile. I wish the plan did not include 'leaving Cardan to fend for himself'.

It does not take long for the vulture to find me. On cue, Balekin grabs my arm and pulls me along.

"Come, little brother," he says tightly, "let's have a talk."

He starts dragging me towards the room behind the throne. Shit. Where did Jude go? She must have known this would happen. Maybe Locke could help me, but he is way too far.

Then, I spot my salvation. Long, curling horns over a mop of brown hair. The exiled Alderking's son, Severin. I make a B-line towards him and start making small talk. How do you like it here? I hope the food is to your liking! Yes, it is a shame about my siblings. Dull, boring talk in the hopes that he will stay to chat for a while and not leave me alone with Balekin. When I fear the conversation starts to run dry, my brother eagerly joins in.

"It seems, Lord Severin, that we have a lot in common," my brother says.

"How so?" Severin asks.

"Certainly not for our choice in consorts," Balekin scoffs.

I laugh. It's not funny. Balekin's disgust for mortals does not seem funny for the Alderking's son either, who just stares at him blankly.

"Both of our fathers died and passed the crown to us," Balekin tightens his grip on my arm, "Perhaps you can teach me how you dealt with your grief and the responsibility of a new kingdom."

"Perhaps," Severin replies coldly.

Soon, too soon, we are interrupted by one of Severin's knights, the red-haired mortal girl.

"Seve—", she catches herself, "My Lord, we have an... issue. Ben is drunk, and it seems his singing has gathered quite the crowd."

I watch as Severin's eyes widen and excuses himself, following his knight. Once again, I am left alone with Balekin. The perfect opportunity for my brother to resume his threats. He grabs my wrist in his thorny palm.

"Have you enjoyed the party enough yet?" he growls.

"I remember saying after dinner," I retort with more confidence than I feel, "Perhaps I should also start serenading our guests."

"Careful, Cardan. I would rather have you willing, but I have ways to force your hand. I need you alive, not whole."

I tighten my hold on my bottle to hide my trembling hands. Jude would have a plan. I am not Jude. My usual technique, cruelty, does not work on the person after whom I have modeled it.

Thankfully, I do not need a plan as someone drapes their arm around my shoulders.

"There you are," Locke exclaims, "I've been looking everywhere for you!"

Balekin tightens his hold on my wrist, "Yes, he has made himself… hard to get ahold of."

"I go where the wine is," I hold my bottle up as proof and drain the rest of it, "Surely, you remember Locke, brother. He joined me in many of your delightful revels."

"Delightful they were," Locke praises.

"Will you forgive us, Balekin? It seems I have already finished my drink."

He jerked me towards him and hissed in my ear, "Don't try to run."

"Where would I even go? I live here," I remind him, "I will talk to you after dinner."

He lets me go and I drag Locke towards the refreshments, glad for an excuse to get away. It has been months since I last enjoyed Locke's presence, but his presence is definitely more appreciated than a beating from my brother.

I grab another full bottle, not bothering with a glass.

"I saw you arrive," Locke says with an insinuating grin, "quite a statement you are making."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Entering your brother's coronation, a mortal girl on your arm. It seems we once again share a lover."

He is trying to provoke me, or so I think. Does he want us to fight here? When I do not reply, he continues his mockery.

"How is she? I can only assume you two have been tumbling since I last saw of you."

"Surprising," I say, spinning a false narrative of half-truths, "very creative in her use of accessories."

Locke raises a brow. He bought it. Good. After all, I learned to create falsehoods from the best: him. At the dining table, I see people are starting to sit down. I excuse myself and go take a seat at the table.

There is a lump in my throat. Have I been poisoned? It is entirely possible, seeing the quantity of alcohol I have imbibed without even testing it first, taking whatever bottle I can get my hands on. When I finally see Jude, I realize with dread that I was worried. She slips next to me as if everything was normal.

“There you are, how has the night been going for you?” I ask her as I watch the servant refill my cup with dark green wine, “Mine has been full of dull conversation about how my head is going to find itself on a spike.”

I grab my cup and lean back in my chair, watching the wine swirl and its golden specks glitter in the light. She does not answer me. Fine, then.

“Have I told you how hideous you look tonight?”

“No,” she says coldly, “Tell me.”

I turn my gaze to her. I expected her to get angry, scoff or straight up ignore me. I wanted to provoke her-I certainly was not planning on actually telling her. Of course, looking at her, the lie dries in my throat.

“I cannot," I tilt my head to the side and frown. “Jude?”

Her makeup is still perfect, even with the light sheen of sweat coating her forehead. But there, on her jaw, a purplish discoloration. I clamp my hands under the table to prevent from reaching to it.

“There’s a bruise coming up on your jaw.”

“I’m fine," she snaps back.

Around the table, everyone is seated. Soon enough, Balekin gets up for a toast and I brace for the explosion.

#the folk of the air #tfota #cardan #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte #jurdan #judecardan #the cruel prince #holly black #fanfic

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

winter prompt fill 5, indruck, nsfw?

5: your car slid into a snowbank and i’m the mechanic that comes to tow you

Two hours.

Two fucking hours, that’s how far this guy is from town. But because he’s three hours from the one to the west, it’s Duck’s company that got the call from AAA for a tow. On night three of what's forecasted as a week-long snowstorm. And because it’s that kind of job, the call came in at 4:45 pm. At least he’ll get overtime for this.

Being out of Kepler means the radio has real stations, half of them playing blocks of pop hits and the other half blaring Christmas carols. Duck doesn’t mind either, settles on listening to crooning about sleigh bells and winter wonderlands as he tries to keep the truck from sliding into snow piles.

He’s all prepared to be aggravated at whoever was clueless enough to get themselves stranded and stick him with the four hour round-trip, but the closer he gets to his destination the more he sympathizes. Because this is a rural two-lane highway and not a major through-road, the maintenance is spotty at best. Couple that with the still-falling snow and he’s just glad the guy was in the kind of accident where he could still make a call after it.

The last half-hour he’s down to thirty miles an hour, lets out a groan of relief when the dead taillights of a car reflect back at him. Once he positions the truck and hops out, he rolls his eyes; the sedan doesn’t have snow tires or chains on, something even a person with a Nevada license plate should have known to carry north.

Duck wonders if being unprepared is a habit when the driver steps out in far too light a coat for the weather, shuddering and stuttering out an “Th-thank g-goodness.”

“Guessin you’re Mr. Wilde?”

Pale hair falls over red glasses as the man nods. With his hood up, he looks owlish, guarded. He’s all limbs and edges, and Duck can’t help but think of a stray cat that needs a warm bed and some food.

“Go ahead and get up into the passenger seat. Heat ain’t runnin, but it’s sure as heck warmer than out here. I’ll get her hitched up and we can get going.”

Another nod, the man hunching forward as he scurries into the truck. This is the easy part, getting the damaged car hooked to the truck and freeing it from the snow. The hard part comes when they turn towards town, two hours of darkness and icy roads ahead of them.

“I’m so sorry you had to come all this way. I, ah, did not intend to crash, nor to do so this far from help.”

“Hey, it’s what we’re here for. Gonna be slow goin on the way back, since it’ll be real fuckin embarassin to call a tow truck for a tow truck.”

A snicker, “I picture them as growing exponentially larger, like nesting dolls. A tow truck towing a tow truck towing a tow truck towing a car would be the size of a semi.”

Duck chuckles, “Yeah, it’d be a sight. And a fuckin nightmare for anyone who got behind it.”

The cab is warming nicely, so his passenger pulls back his hood. In the darkness he can tell the pale hair is metallic silver, and there’s a hell of a bruise blooming on his forehead. Duck’s never seen anyone quite like him, and if their survival didn’t depend on his concentration, he’d spend the next hour studying him.

“Damn, got banged up in the crash huh.”

“Yes.” The man gingerly touches the bruise, sighs, “It’s my own fault for being careless.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself, nearly spun out on the way to get you from the damn black ice.”

“I wish I could say that was the sole cause, but I was also asleep.”

Duck bites back the urge to scold him; he wants him to be comfortable around him and besides, even if Duck is having a crappy night, this guy is having an even worse one.

“Wouldn’t be the first person who thought they could make it one more town before stoppin for the night and was wrong.”

“True. It’s just that, ah, I’ve been driving three days straight without sleep.”

“Jesus Christ, you on the lamb or somethin?”

In his periphery, he swears the taller man flinches.

“No. Just having bad luck with a chaser of poor choices.”

“Gotcha.” Duck drums on the wheel, “so, uh, Mr. Wilde, what do you do when you ain’t stuck in the snow?”

“I draw. And Indrid is fine…” he peers awkwardly at Duck’s name tag, “Duck.”

“It’s a nickname.”

“Ah. Are you a mechanic as well as a driver?”

“Yep. Do it part-time when I’m not workin at the national forest. Friend of mine, Ned, runs the garage attached to the Cryptonomica.”

“I recall seeing that when I drove through. Quite the Jacks of all trades, you two,”

“Most of Kepler’s got more’n one job. It’s the kind of place that’s always losin fundin or people, just barely stayin afloat.”

“One sympathizes. Do you like your jobs?”

“Trained in forestry, so it’s always what I’ve wanted to do. The mechanic stuff,” Duck shrugs, “nice workin with my hands and beein able to help folks out. And I ain’t half bad at it.”

“I certainly appreciate your efforts. I--wait, hold on, I’m sorry but I need to…” he turns up the radio, playing what Duck assumed was Santa Baby from the melody.

“He is saying ‘buddy.’ What in the world? Why would you change it?”

“Can’t have the fella in the red velvet suit thinkin you’re gay.” Duck jokes.

“Heaven forbid.” Indrid smiles, and Duck likes the expression so much he decides to see if he can get him to do it again.

“You wanna hear a slightly inappropriate joke?”

“Absolutely.”

“How come Santa don’t have any kids?”

“How come?”

“Because he only comes once a year and it’s down a chimney.”

There’s a beat and then Indrid guffaws, covering his face with his hands as his whole body shakes with amusement, “that was horrible, do you have any more?”

Thank god he’s got a wealth of bad jokes tucked in his brain. When he exhausts those he and Indrid trade brainteasers, stopping now and then to talk about their lives. The taller man asks Duck about his jobs, about the woods, and the town, and offers a few anecdotes in exchange. Duck senses they’re about they’re set in a time in his life that’s further away than Indrid would like.

Indrid also readily shares the snacks from his small backpack. Duck eats what he can while still safely piloting the car. Then nearly takes them across the yellow line when Indrid unwraps a Starburst with his tongue, and prays the man will stay in Kepler long enough for Duck to take him to dinner.

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

Given he was expecting a painfully awkward trip at best, Duck’s friendliness is a welcome surprise. Now that they’ve been stuck in the car together for close to two hours, Indrid is confident saying this is most fun he’s had talking to someone in a long time, even before things went all to hell.

It helps that Duck is the picture you’d get if you googled “Indrid Cold’s type”; sturdy, handsome in an unassuming way, undoubtedly pleasant to cuddle, with muscles that Indrid is positive could hold him up against a wall for at least a few minutes. In another life, one that’s so far away he fears he imagined it, he’d wait until they were done with the business portion of this evening, then slip Duck a card with his name in silver letters and his hotel room number on the back. The man is so genuine in his kindness too, Indrid feeling safer in the dark with him than he’s felt in years.

Which makes him feel even worse about what he’s going to do.

“Not too far now.” Duck turns the windshield wipers up a notch, “thank fuck for that.”

Indrid curls forward, holding his stomach, “I, ah, I really hate to say this, but I’m afraid my gas station lunch is coming back up.”

“Shit, okay, lemme pull over.” Duck guides the truck onto the side of the road, “do what you gotta do.”

His hands are on his lap, keys still dangling from the ignition. Indrid lunges over, grabbing them and trying to shove Duck into the door in one go. The mechanic is too fast, yanking the keys to his chest.

“What the fuck man!?”

“I’m so sorry about this!”

“Then fuckin stop!” Duck kicks, misses, and Indrid knees him in the stomach as gently as he can.

“I can’t, I need the truck.”

“Are you fuckin car-jackin me right now?”

“It’s not personal.” He gets the keys away, only for the world to flip ninety degrees as Duck tackles him backwards.

“It sure feels like it is!”

Indrid hoped that his survival instincts would kick in hard enough to make up for the exhaustion and that coupled with the element of surprise would bring him success. Instead, his limbs have no power behind them, and all he can do is curse when the driver flips him onto his stomach, trapping his hands behind his back and pinning him with his body weight.

“Fuck.” It’s a pathetic noise for a pathetic man.

“Explain. Now.” Duck growls.

“I, I, you were right when asked if I was on the lamb.”

“....fuckin what?”

“It was a set up, and I finally, finally got free, and, and I will not go back, I can’t, but if I’m out a car I need a replacement and-”

“And you almost stole a truck that’s got a goddamn tracker in it.”

“Oh.” He presses his face to the seat in shame.

“Somethin tells me you ain’t a seasoned crook.”

“I’m not a criminal at all! I have no idea what I’m doing. I was just going to drive and drive until I hit the coast, I hadn’t even decided what to do after. I, I’m sorry, I waited until we got close to town so you wouldn’t be too far away to walk home safely. I, ah, I wasn’t prepared for having to do this to someone I like.”

Duck shifts above him, mutters, “what the fuck do I do now” to himself, and tightens his hold on Indrid’s wrists.

Indrid whimpers, realizing with horror that his body responded to the mechanics of the fight but not it’s context.

Duck freezes at the noise, and when Indrid hazards a peek the mechanic is staring down in disbelief.

“Are you fuckin hard from this?”

There’s no use in lying, he’s faced worse humiliation than this, “Some. Not on purpose. I, ah, I enjoy rough treatment.”

Duck’s face fills with bitter amusement, “And I like givin it. But not to fellas who nearly steal my truck. Fuckin figures the first guy to flirt with me is doin it for some other reason.”

“That’s not true, my plan involved no flirting.” Indrid huffs, “I was flirting because I think you’re handsome.”

More pressure on his back as Duck leans down to whisper in his ear, grinding against his ass, “Yeah? Were you hopin I’d fuck you in here? Or over the hood when we got back?”

“Maybe.” He manages a smirk.

“Hopin I’ll fuck you now?”

Indrid nods, but Duck doesn’t notice. The mechanic sits all the way back, releasing his hands, “too damn bad, because unlike you, I only take things with permission.”

“C-consider it granted.”

The hand finds his back again, but instead of shoving or grabbing it strokes up and down, “Indrid, I’m serious. I ain’t doin anythin if the only reason you’re offerin is because you think I’ll hurt you if you don’t.”

“I’m not. I want this, Duck, I want to be with you.” He’s going back to jail one way or another after this, unwilling to consider the thought of hurting Duck to get the keys. He’d rather go back with one happy memory and a few minutes of fun freshly stored in his mind.

There’s silence, Duck’s hand still as he thinks. Then it comes down hard on Indrid’s ass, “Okay sugar, happy to oblige you. Besides, seems to me you owe me an apology for that sorry excuse for a car theft.”

Indrid moans loudly when Duck hauls onto his elbows and knees, though it’s the pet name that hits deeper than any of the much-welcome pain. The waistband of his dollar store sweatpants hits his thighs, there’s a pop of something plastic, and then a slick finger is teasing between his asscheeks.

“Vaseline. Great for keepin your skin from cracking in the cold.”

The finger disappears and he whines, pushing his ass back and getting it slapped so hard he yelps.

“Nice try. But this ain’t for you, it’s for me. Don’t got a condom and only got a tiny bit of this left and it ain’t enough to fuck you full on.”

“It’s alright, I like the pain, you could use spit or-”

“Nope” another slap, “that turns into the bad kinda pain real quick. Now open your fuckin legs.”

Indrid does so, gasps happily when Duck slides his lubed-up cock between his thighs.

“Close ‘em and keep ‘em closed. Good, ohfuckyeah that’s good.” The thrusts are already fast, Ducks hands holding his hips in place, “fuck, tell you what sugar, you may be a shitty crook but you’re a damn good lay.”

“Yes.” Indrid moans, scrabbling for a hold on the upholstery.

“Shit, you do like it rough. Like it when I talk like that?” One hand comes down, petting Indrid’s head and brushing his hair away from where it’s stuck over his eyes.

“So much, Duck, please, please, more, I want more AHgod!” Tears slip past his glasses as Duck hits the right side of his ass over and over again. He’s been treated like a criminal mastermind, made miserable because of it, so being nothing more than an eager piece of ass is a welcome change.

“Then I oughta tell you this is what you get for tryin to get one over on me. Think you can throw my ass out in the cold? Gonna turn yours so red you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

He’s so hard it isn’t even funny, and beneath the wonderful cycle of pain-relief-pain-relief his mind chants safesafesafesafe.

“Fuck, Indrid, I’m so fuckin lucky you tried that stunt on me, can’t wait to cum all over that cute little ass, ohyeah, fuck, fuckyeah.” He pulls out, cum spurting onto Indrid’s ass and legs and Indrid hears his own voice saying “thank you” as he does.

As he’s contemplating what form of begging will earn him an orgasm, he’s flipped onto his back, one calloused hand pressing him down by the shoulder while the other jerks him off. He squeaks and squirms, one palm thwacking into the door as his right leg catches the steering wheel.

“Sensitive, sugar?”

“Yes.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you bent over for me.”

“TechnicallyAH, you, you’re the one who bent me over.”

Duck jerks him extra hard in reply, grinning. The sight of him is just the right balance of menacing and protective that Indrid only needs two more bucks of his hips before he’s cumming. The mechanic works him through it, squeezing him roughly just to hear him whimper (Indrid’s certain of it).

He sits back and starts putting his clothes in order as Indrid lays there, panting from exertion and the weight of reality on his chest.

“I don’t suppose you have something I can, ah, wipe off with before you take me to the station?” He asks softly.

“I’m not taking you to the police, Indrid.”

“What? Why?” He bolts up, his mind screaming that he shouldn’t ask too many questions lest it make Duck change his mind.

“I’m not sure what kinda guy fucks someone and then hands them over to the cops, but I’m damn sure I don’t wanna be one.”

“You’d do that without even knowing the full truth?”

“Wouldn’t mind if you told me.” Duck starts the car, adds “seatbelt” as he pulls back onto the road.

Indrid gets his pants up and buckles in, huddling in on himself, “As you probably guessed, my name isn’t Wilde. It’s Indrid Cold. Wilde was the man I stole that car from, who also had a very nice AAA plan it seems. I am, or was, an architect. Quite talented, if I do say so myself. And many other people said so, once upon a time. My firm got a contract with a certain large city to design and help build a bridge. I was head of design, and I was certain this would be the project that made my name. It did. Just not how I hoped.”

Duck slows down as they reach the edge of Kepler.

“Have you ever heard of the Silverlake Bridge?”

“Ain’t that the one that collapsed a few years agooh, oh shit was that your bridge?”

“Yes. Halfway through the project, I became concerned that certain elements of the design would not be as stable as they needed to be and might collapse without warning. The higher ups said it would require a larger budget to do the new, far safer design, but gave me the go ahead to finish my proposal of the securer model. They accepted that design, and I thought that was the end of it. Turns out, they funneled the money needed for the better bridge into their own pockets, both my bosses and the representatives from the city. Unbeknownst to me, they built the weaker bridge. When it collapsed I” he takes a deep breath, the memories surfacing in a tidal wave, “I was shocked, and prepared to accept responsibility, as I could not understand how the design failed. It was only when the investigation revealed how it failed that I understood my warnings had been ignored and I was being set up as a fall guy. Not only for the collapse, but for the missing funds, my bosses swearing up one side and down the other that they’d given the money to me to manage. They’d had this planned for months, and so had built our communication in such a way that I had no proof the money hadn’t come to me. Thus I was blamed, tried, and convicted, and in the minds of many I am responsible for the death of 67 people.”

The engine shuts off and he looks up to see them in an auto garage. Duck is turned to him, face so sad and sympathetic that Indrid could almost believe..

“You think I’m telling the truth.”

“I know you are. Not sure how, but even though I ain’t much of a liar myself, I can usually tell when someone is bullshittin me.”

“I don’t want to go back to prison.”

“You won’t.”

“Duck I, I can’t ask you to hide me, that could put you in danger of arrest.”

“There’s all of four cops in Kepler, and I’d bet my life no one here could pick you out of a line-up as a ‘disgraced architect Indrid Cold.’ And if we need a cover story, Ned’s got a knack for ‘em.”

“We?”

Duck cups his cheek and Indrid leans into it, “You and me. Indrid, I think fate is a load of bullshit, but I can’t shake the feelin me pickin you up tonight was meant to be. Lemme help you, please.”

Indrid sets his hand on Duck’s own, “Okay. Ah, where do I stay? I have fifty dollars left.”

“Could stay with me if you want. No strings attached.”

“Is that your way of letting me down gently?”

“My way of saying you don’t gotta fuck me to have a place to live. If you wanna fuck me just because, say the word and I’ll rail you into next week.”

“I’d like both those things so very much. Though right now all I want is to sleep.”

Duck leans forward, kissing him so chastely that the following lovebite is all the more thrilling.

“In that case, sugar, let’s get you home.”

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #winter fills #mechanic au #on the run

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border-spam · 3 years

Text

Leech Lord - The writing’s on the wall

Here we go, folks. Heavy time. Big one.

Tonight was just them, happy in the afterglow of laughter and far too much to drink. That calm quiet that falls with trusted company you can be at ease around. It was nice.

She'd assumed he felt the same way from the barely audible whistle of his breathing to her right. Figured that he was relaxing too, enjoying the dull heat of wine numbing his joints and their usual simmering pain. It was good, it felt right, until the peace was interrupted by the clink of his glass as he shifted, and the hoarse, strained whisper of -

" You're gonna leave one day, I know you will. I'll chase you away. You'll get sick of having to deal with me just l-like everyone does."

The groggy cloud behind her eyes dissipated instantly as his threat landed like ice-water, and she clumsily sat forward, wineglass dangling from her loose hand as she stared at him in confused disgust.

" What?... What are you talking about.”

“ Don't put that shit on me, Troy. Don't... don't even fucking dare try to drip feed that self hating poison into who I am. God, what is wrong with you? "

He didn't meet her eyes, still staring at the glass in his hands as he hunched in his seat, like he was about to crumble into himself. Looking somehow so much older and so much younger than she knew he was - like a child carrying the weight of the world. He mouthed something, then stopped. Started again, paused again. Reconsidering what he'd been about to say as his brows furrowed and lips tightened into a grimace.

Chasing what he wanted to express to her, grasping at it futilely, trying to find the right words and stumbling. Same self made snare as usual, tightening around his neck. The same trap he always set for himself, triggering as he stepped blindly towards it.

He sunk a little lower into himself as he wilted under her disgust, hair falling forward and blocking the shame burning across his face.

" I... I'm sorry, Sei. "

By @godkingsanointed

???: She just drives me fuckin crazy man! She just- UGHH

??: She's like fire.

???: Yeah, a hot headed little-

??: NO. Can keep you warm, safe, give light to see by. But if you don't treat it with respect, it you think that's all it's for, try to contain it, you'll be burned.

???: I don't think that's all... I-I respect her!!!! I can't believe you're taking her side in this!"

??: No sides. Just something to think about.

???: Ughhh, screw this!

(Sounds of a door slamming shut)

(A few moments of silence)

??: I know...He's gunna burn her out. All of us.

(Ding of a voice message being received)

???: Thanks. For listening.

??: Ha..we got him thinking.

By @hieroglyphix

S: Wh- Ven?! what the fuck are you- how the fuck did you get in here?

V: Aw c'mon Sei, is that any way to treat a guest? I get that you're a bigshot s-saint and all but c'mon--

S: Last time I checked, people who break into other people's houses are considered burglars, not guests- and get your fuckin' feet off my desk!

V: Hey now, just cause I broke in doesn't mean I stole anything. Im more of a buddy, paying you an....impromptu visit! Yeah!

S: ( sigh ) God, forget the semantics of it all, what the hell do you want?

V: It ain't about what I want, I came here 'cause of what you want.

S: ...Pardon? Oh God, tell me this isn't some kind of-

V: Waitwaitwait it ain't like that, S-Sei, you know i don't run that way anyhow. I came because you need a s-sign.

S: ...A sign.

V: Yeah, a sign. s-see, I know what you're planning on doing, I've seen it all laid out in the path ahead of us. But you're draggin' your feet too damn long, and it's only gonna get worse from here. so Sei, listen to me, I'm your sign. Get the fuck out of here, and don't look back for nothin'.

( silence )

S: So, let me get this straight. You broke into my house, just to....tell me to leave?

V: Well when you put it like that it doesn't sound super great, but...yeah.

( silence )

S: Who else knows about this?

V: Only me, and I ain't about to rat on you. I don't blame you for wanting out, things....well, between you me and the floorboards, things ain't gonna get any better around here.

S: ( deep sigh ) Good God...

V: Look doll, I ain't here to force you into a decision, and I won't judge you for not leaving. I'm just tellin' you which way the wind's blowing. One friend to another.

S: Right.

( uncomfortable silence )

V: Well, you think on what I said. I've gotta get home to my brother, it's spaghetti night.

S: Try not to let anyone see you on your way out, the last thing i need is more brainless gossip out on my hangar.

V: Heh. Not like they caught me on the way in, not exactly the sharpest tools out there. Anyway, nighty night Sei.

( the maglock doors hiss open )

S: And Ven?

V: Yeah?

S: ...Thanks.

V: Don't mention it.

[end echo log]

I’m just a bit shook up…” her voice cracks as she mutters. “He said some stupid shit tonight, bout how everyone leaves him and he knows it’s..” she sighs, letting her head drop to face the table with a weak shrug.

“Stupid as in.. it got to me. He ever say anything to you that’s just.. you know it’s off? I sometimes think it’s me..”

JK waited patiently, wanting to reach out and rest a hand on her shoulder but not quite knowing if that would overstep their tentative friendship as it formed.

“…that I’m going crazy and feeling things that aren’t real, overreacting…” she pauses, swiping her auburn hair back from her forehead, thumbing at her temple as she lets her eyes stare unfocused at the wall behind their shoulder.

JK grunts thoughtfully, then shakes their head a little, their mask tilting downwards as they rumble out a huff of air. “He’s… talking a lot more recently, yeah, bout things no one asked.”

They empty the bottle in a deep dreg, and lower it carefully to the table in front of them, spinning it slowly on its edge. “Like he’s replyin’ to a question that was never said, and he’s pissed about it. Gets snappy at nothin’. Gets angry at nothin’. I don’t say things, I just listen. He likes when you just listen, I think you know that too.”

She nods, watery eyes looking up at them through her thick eyelashes.

“It’s just, the thing’s he’s saying now, this last year?” JK glances to their side again, towards where Troy sleeps.

They turn back to Seifa and reach out then, touching a finger against her forearm as it rests against the table, happy to see she doesn’t flinch away even though she’s hurt too. Proud that though she’s struggling to hold back tears that swell along her lash-line, she’s still listening to them. Really listening, like what JK thinks matters.

“It’s the same kind of things axe-hands I knew in the clan would start to say before they’d go wrong. Harsh things to themselves, about themselves, about how others were seeing ‘em. I don’t like that kind of talk much either, I’ve seen where it goes. People start doing that and they aren’t themselves for much longer. Become the same thing they were worryin’ everyone already saw them as.”

They turn the bottle to its side, idly twirling it with their index finger, only the hollow grind of the glass on the table filling the silence.

“I’ve seen him goin’ the same way. Same way they did, and I don’t know how to stop it, I’m not good with..” they gesture at the bone-white mask still marked with that crumbling splash of old rust-red blood, pausing to collect their thoughts. “..Not good with talking the way it would help. Saw him hurt acolytes the last few months. He used to just grab, threaten…”.

Their leg bounces beneath the table, nerves firing haphazardly as they swallow down the frustration lodged between their teeth. “Now he grinds. Cracks their bones in that metal fist. Not enjoyin’ it, not laughin’, but doin’ it anyway. He smells like bitter antiseptic sometimes, and I think he’s takin’ things out on himself where he figures we won’t know, under the steel.”

“I don’t think he is well. Inside him. None of us are here, lady. We’re all broken a little, but we learn how to live with it. It’s that or die. He doesn’t know how to do it. We gotta…”

“… we gotta watch out for our brother”.

By @godkingsanointed

He'd dare let venom drip about Seifa around them, and Troy knew from the palpable atmosphere change that it wasn't going to be swept under the rug. He would have crumbled, he would have backtracked into sickening apologies, but after the grilling Tyreen had already given him? How helpless and powerless he already felt, child was the straw that broke him.

He span on his heels to face them, spinal implants flaring and eyes all cruel angles and rage. It only took one or two stalking steps for them to be at odds face to face, not that he was sure what he'd do when he got there.

"The fuck was that pal?" He seethed, letting jaw plates click and flicker. They didn't seem intimidated, too full of fury to even care.

"Ungrateful. Fucking. CHILD. She made you, made both of you. Without her, you'd be skag shit right now." They paused to look him up and down before continuing. "Instead of a shit eating skag."

His reaction was instant, flesh hand snapping forward to grab at the decorative chains around their neck he'd gifted them, pulling them close. "You fuckin-" he choked, mind clouded on what to do. He wanted to smash them to bits, he wanted to pull their fucking head off, but he had enough control yet to hesitate.

"If you wanna spar big man, let's go. You know the rules." They spat. They'd set out a few of them a couple of months back, not really thinking it would come to it, more so sharing a part of clan life so he felt included. Clan members could fight out frustrations, as long as it didn't go so far as to lose a body for raids or hunting. No using the prosthetic, no hitting Troys left side, no weapons. That was what they settled on, and now staring him down? They didn't like the idea of fighting him, of fighting any family. Never had. But if he refused to talk and instead was intent to act like this? They could find some satisfaction in landing a hit or two.

Mention of that past conversation seemed to snap him out of it, hitting home just how far JK was willing to take this. They didn't care about title or siren status, as far as they where concerned this was a family matter. And as far gone as he was, Troy had no intention of full on brawling with family. He pushed them away as he let go, face burning in shame and frustration as he backed down.

"Not worth my fucking time..." he mumbled, storming away and letting a metal fist impact a wall as he went,one final show of force.

They stayed put after he was gone, head tilted back and taking deep breaths as they steadied themself. Seifa...didn't need to know about this. She hardly needed defending and she'd scold them for almost coming to blows over a few nasty words but...They couldn't have just bitten their tongue either.

Ven - "I mean boss, have you considered ever actually thinking about what you want?"

Troy - "..." Troy - "...Everything. All the time. I want e-everything. Everything. Everything I see, all the time. The way you love Eli, and the way he smiles at you and it's real 'cause he knows how to love, I want that."

Troy - "...I want it, and how Sei puts her arms around all of you and never me but she looks at me and I feel s-something but I don’t know how to say it in words, I want that."

Troy - "...I want Jak-Knife and the way their mask a-and their face - both of them are beautiful and better than anything I can pretend I see in a mirror and I want everything all the time, Ven, and I don't even know if it's me that's actually wanting."

Ven - "Right..." Ven - "...Ok bud, so first of all, I'm going to get us some drinks..."

By @godkingsanointed

-- Uroboros log - M0noli7h / S0litar3 prsnl e-dev com msg log //Private Line - SAVED- blame=GKT -- Machina: So Adalphus is where you’re saying is the best bet. Aurum: Simple logic. Close enough to Pandora for you to still perform your role, far enough from.. well. What you need to be far from. Machina: Feels apt somehow, ending up wasting away on some off-world base. Never did belong here, huh. Aurum: A feeling I understand better than I’d like. Regardless of our personal opinions you’ve been one of the few colleagues I’d describe as competent, A’Rosk. It’s a reassurance to know you aren’t abandoning your position. Machina: Mutual on that, Sol. Staying on isn’t by choice though. I’m sure you know that too. You remember Fragor. Aurum: I remember what was left of her absolutely ruining a pair of Ausler dress shoes, yes. You’re going to be hounded. You know that. Machina: I know that, I’m just praying it will be gently. The Crusaders are under Troy, and Troy.. Machina: I Machina: I trust Troy

Aurum: That’s your prerogative, regardless of how stupid. Machina: Thanks, you nasty shit. So you’ll manage the fund movements once I’m out, keep the flow going to the accounts I gave you? Aurum: Yes, yes. Not exactly work deserving of my touch, mind you. Junkers leave residue. I prefer to keep my hands clean, Seifa. I’m sure you appreciate that, considering this deal. Machina: Ohhhh absolutely. You scratch my back, I’ll stab yours. Aurum: Cute. I’ll manage your assets this side, and my little history with those slag shipments to Elpis will remain off your people’s raidar. Machina: That they will. Solomon, much as it pains me to say this, it has been a pleasure. Thank you. For.. for everything. Aurum: Not needed, Seifa. It’s just good business. [end log]

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #bl3 #troy calypso #tyreen calypso #calypso twins #leech lord #seifa #ven #jak-knife #my writing #my hcs

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talesfromgringolandia · 3 years

Text

Prince of Nothing - Bo and Shen Ch.4

Inspired by art by Taras Susak:

The rain poured down, tearing up the river and drenching the two miserable figures who were hunched in the small, wooden boat. The sail hung soaked from the mast, and both siblings had the hoods of their cloaks plastered uselessly to their heads. The dense swamp trees on either side of the water were almost invisible through the dense mist, as the children shoved the craft along with the long branches they had improvised as poles.

"So, Shen!" Bo yelled over the downpour. "What do yah think of our first adventure!"

His little sister shot him a grin. "Better than sitting another day in that borin’ old house!"

As she was looking at her brother, her eyes settled on a shadow forming in the distance. "Look!" She pointed. "Is that Mount Elkin?"

Bo turned and saw the massive form. "I think so!" Walking to the back of the boat, he hesitated before reluctantly sitting down in the shallow puddle next to the rudder. "Can you keep us movin' while I steer?"

Shen nodded and, with new found purpose, jabbed the pole into the river bottom, sending the boat gliding forward through the heavy rain.

"Come on, almost there!" Bo encouraged. "One more push. One, two, and...." He put his shoulder against the stern and heaved alongside Shen, pushing the boat the last meter into the mouth of the cave. The volume of the downpour dropped dramatically as they passed inside. Bo leaned against the boat, panting despite the cold, miserable wetness, admiring the curtain provided by the harsh rain.

We're pretty lucky to have found this cave, he thought. He had been hoping for an overhang, at best. This exceeded his most eager expectations.

"Bo?"

"What is it, Shen?"

"I don't think we're alone."

"What?" Making his way towards his sister, he found her leaning against the boat just like he had been, staring at the back of the cave. Covering the ground back there was a pile of white petals, or flowerheads of some kind, with a couple of the parent flowers still desperately clinging to some cracks in the rock. Two chains, originating in huge metal weights, wound their way into the pile of petals.

“I think whoever’s chained up is underneath the petals,” Shen whispered.

Bo nodded slowly.

“Maybe we could wake ‘im up!” she suggested.

“No,” Bo immediately replied, and glanced behind him at the mouth of the cave, where the rain showed no sign of letting up. What did Dad always say about mitigation of risk?

“Alright, Shen,” he decided. “This is what we’re gonna do. You’re goin’ to sleep in the boat, and I want you to make sure you have your spear right beside you.”

“Why?” Shen seemed genuinely perplexed. “What about you?”

“I’m goin’ to stand out here and keep watch, make sure that whatever’s chained up over there keeps its distance.”

“Why, is it dangerous?”

A new voice suddenly entered their conversation. “Oh, yes, quite dangerous.”

Both siblings' eyes shot towards the mass of petals on the floor which was beginning to stir as whatever was underneath woke up. With a sudden flurry of petals, the pile flew apart, revealing two huge, black, decrepit wings. Black armor protected his purple skin at his legs and wrists, and his torso wore what looked like a leather tunic. Black hair hung from a shallow, scarred face.

The owner of the wings winced as he refolded them against his back.

“You have wings!” Shen gasped, taking a step towards the stranger before Bo grabbed her by the arm.

The prisoner glanced behind him, as if just noticing them for the first time. “Oh, I suppose I do.” He looked down at the rest of his limbs. “Arms and legs, too.”

Shen giggled.

“Who are you?” Bo demanded.

The creature coughed a humorless laugh. “Better question is what.”

Shen interrupted. “My name’s Shen, and this is my older brother Bo.”

Bo shot a death glare at his sister, then looked back at the winged prisoner to see that he was also staring at Shen, although in a different manner. He seemed almost curious.

“Ok, Mr.Prisoner,” Bo said, “I don’t think we have much to interest each other, but it's pourin’ real hard outside, so my sister and I need a place to stay. Can I trust you to stay on your side of the cave, and we’ll stay over here?”

“Would you trust the word of a monster you found in a cave?” the creature asked.

“I asked you a question first,” Bo insisted.

“Fine. You stay over there. I’ll stay over here. I never saw you.” He hugged his knees and stared at the floor. “I was hoping you might be with the alchemist…”

Shen gasped. “Did you say alchemist?”

The prisoner smirked. “Did I stutter?”

“Did you hear that, Bo? He might be -”

“Shen,” Bo growled in a no-nonsense voice. “I don’t trust this creature.”

“I do have a name,” the prisoner drawled.

Bo glared at him.

“You can call me Carapit,” the winged creature said.

“It's a beautiful name,” Bo replied, turning back to his sister.

“Now what's gonna happen, is you’re gonna climb into the boat,” he instructed in a whisper, “and you’re gonna go sleep with this right beside ya.”

He handed her a fishing spear, a wooden staff with a sharpened tip. “I’ll be out here, keepin' guard against Mr.Carapit.”

Shen grasped the edge of the boat, prepping to haul herself in. “Bo, do yeh think he’s evil or somethin'?”

He paused. “I don’t know, Shen. But 'e's probably chained up for a reason, and I don’t wanna find out why. He admitted that he was dangerous.”

“But then maybe he can control 'imself.”

Bo sighed. “Shen, I made a promise to Mum and Dad to keep you safe. And that means that we’re going to stay as far away from creepy purple folk we find chained up in caves. Okay?”

Shen scoffed and hopped into the boat. “Alright…”

Bo took up position at the front of the boat, leaning against the keel with his fishing spear in hand. Carapit lay his head on his knee, gazing at Bo with interest.

“Do you sleep?” Bo asked.

“You’re very protective of your sister,” the prisoner noticed.

Bo didn’t reply. After a moment of silence, Carapit smirked, then lay down on his side, facing away from the boat.

Bo tried to stay awake. But the boat ride had been long and exhausting, and try as he might, he just couldn’t stop his eyelids from closing.

#fantasy #fantasy writing #writeblr #writing #serial #fiction #venus #amwriting #bo and shen #carapit #taras susak

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ryleighflynnagin · 3 years

Text

The Hospital

You can hear the children laughing can’t you? You can always hear them. But God have mercy on your soul if you see them. With eyes black as the night they say. Course no one know for sure. For anyone who has ever seen them is said to never return. That was the rumor, anyway But there was one.

One night I had gotten a call about a disturbance in the old hospital. That place was locked up, but kids was always tryin to test their bravery on who could last the longest by themselves. This night was no different. I went down there expectin to see the usual teenagers, vandizin, and drinkin. Couldn’t blame them too much though. There was nothin in this town. Nothin worth stayin for.

There were two kinds of people in this town. The people that were born here, and the ones that got left.

I walked up to the front door and saw the chain had been cut. Yeah, it was those damn kids I had thought. I keep tryin to steer them away from here. Not because of the vandlism. No, I didn’t mind that. Kept me busy in this boring town. No, this was more for them. There was evil in this place. I could feel it.

As I pushed my way in through the front door of the hospital I shined my light. I could see the crude paintings and writing on the walls left by the local graffiti artists. Some were weird zigzag looking things. I think they was supposed to spelled out a name, but I was never too good at readin ‘em. Some were devotin their love to a high school crush. Some were just of...well...ya know, teenagers have a weird sense of humor with body parts. But there were a few black drawings on the wall that left chills down my spine. Satanic stuff. Like pentagram stuff, and upside down crosses. Yeah we got those kinda folks ‘round here too. They just don’t know what they’s getting themselves into messin with that kind of stuff. Though I don’t believe that’s what brought this evil to this place. No, this place has been haunted long ago. Before I was even born actually.

To tell you the truth no one even really remembers when it started. Just that one day this hospital was full of people, and then one day they just wasn’t. It was a hospital that had a pediatric wing all on it’s own. One of the first in the area of it’s kind. Having a place that helps just the youngins was kinda rare for it’s time in all. Then one day, it was as if everyone just suddenly left. No reason, just got up, stopped what they was doin and left. I couldn’t even find any reports on the place when it was abandoned.

I shined my flashlight all around lookin to see if anyone was around. I didn’t hear anyone, and I had called out to let them know police was here. No one answered. If there was any kids, they prolly done scurried off, or kept quiet. I didn’t want to be in there any longer. The place just gives me the willies. I went to turn back to the door, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw somethin scurry. I shined my light where I had seen it, but just some rustled papers floated to the floor. I told myself it was some kinda rodent.

And then I heard it.

That laugh. That twisted evil child laugh. A chill crawled it’s way down my spine like a spider. I needed to get out. I called out to any kids that might be playin some kinda trick on me that I’ll be leavin and they best be leavin too if they knew what was good for them.

I went for the door and noticed it was shut. I don’t remember shuttin the door when I came in. I pushed and pulled on it, and heard somethin clankin on the outside. It was the chains. Those damn kids. I don’t know how they had done it without me noticin, but they manage to lock me in here without me knowin’. Least that’s what I told myself.

I needed to find another way. I heard it again.

I start lookin all around flippin my light back and forth tryin to find another exit. I found a door to the left. I walked over to it findin that it only lead to the basement.

No sir. I’ve seen enough of them horror stories to know, you never go down to the basement, and you never go up the stairs further away from an exit. Stupid, who writes those dumb stories anyway. I mean if they think running to the attic is gonna give them a chance of getting away from the monster, then all they do is end up screamin for help out a winder….sorry. Got off track. Where was I?

Oh yeah...That horrible bone chillin laugh that echoed off those stone walls. To any unsuspecting person, it would just sound like a child playin. But this, somethin about it, just...I don’t know how to describe it. Just evil. Somethin truly...evil.

I saw a broken winder and decided that was my exit. I cut my hand pretty good on the way out and took out my hankercheif. I wrapped my hand as I start my walk back to my patrol car when I notice I was fenced in.

Now I’ve driven all ‘round the property. All three hundred and sixty degrees and not once never did I see a chain link fence in the back of the hospital. I look up to see if I can climb up, but there some barbed wire all across the top.

Damn it. I need to get out of here.

I run along the fence to see if there is an open gate, or atleast a hole large enough for me to fit through. Nothin. There is not even a gate to come in and out. My only way out is through that hospital. But how? The door was chained shut. I look back at the building and notice something else strange. There’s no door back into the hospital. There is no door, to a fenced in area, which also has no entrance or exit.

What is with this place? What did they keep out here? And how did they get it out here?

I shine my light on the ground. I noticed that there was patches of dead grass. Well...not really patches really. More like, lines. Lines of dead grass that criss-crossed to each other. I walked all around shinin my light and saw that they connected at five points in a circle. Oh my God. It hit me. I was standin on a giant fenced in pentagram.

I found what I thought was the winder I climbed out of, and crawled my way back in not caring about the broken glass. As I climbed in I heard that sound again. Only this time it sounded like it was right next to me. I shined my light in the direction I heard the sound, but there was nothin there. I heard it again behind me and wiped around, but again there was nothin there. I ran to the front door prayin for it to open. I pushed all my body weight into the door but it only pushed my back from it bein chanined together. I look for a broken winder to the front of the building but none of them seem broken. I took a chair from the recieption desk and tried to break a winder, but I’ll be damned it would not bust. No matter how hard I hit that winder. There had to be another way out.

That was when I saw it. Well I saw the reflection. But there was no doubt what it was. A little girl with pink ribbons in her hair wearin a hospital gown. Her eyes were black. I was fixed on her gaze. She smiled at first, but then she opened her mouth and this awful black stuff came pourin out of her mouth. I heard a scream that damn near made me go deaf. I wiped around with my light, but just as soon as I did, the screamin stopped and there was no little girl.

Some’a y’all might be wonderin why I never pulled my gun out. Well, there no point tryin kill whats already dead. I didn’t know exactly what was in that place, but I knew nothin live was in there other than me. And nothin good neither.

I tried bustin the winder again. Hell I did try shootin at the damn thing. Nothin would bust that glass. I tried bustin all the winders all the ones that would lead me out to my freedom. Nothin. The only way out was out the back. But how?

I headed back out to the fenced in area. I shined my light all around tryin ta figure out my options. I noticed somethin that hadn’t been there before. I don’t if it was just put there, or if it was there all along and I hadin’t noticed. But I found a shovel.

I know that seems pretty insignificant to some of y’all, but to me an idea started to form. If I couldn’t climb my way out, I was gonna have to dig my way out. So that’s what I done. I started diggin as fast as I could.

It didn’t need to be a big ol hole. I’m not your stereo typical cop. But I’m stronger than I look, haha.

Anyway, I musta disturbed somethin when I was bout half way through diggin, cause that’s when I heard somethin just a rumblin and creekin. The ground shook, and I heard slammin of shutters and doors in the hospital. I took a peek behind me to see what was goin on, but I instantly regretted it.

The walls were drippin’ with this black oily stuff, and there was this fiery red light emanatin’ from inside. I heard a voice in my head to keep diggin’ And that’s what I did. I kept diggin.

Once I thought the hole was big enough to crawl through I threw the shovel down and got down on my bellly and wriggled under the fence as quick as I could. Something grabbed me though. I couldn’t turn around to see what it was, but it was mad. Mad as a crazed bull I would say. I kept tryin ta pull me back but I fought. I fought tooth and nail for my life that night.

As I tell this story to you now, it’s pretty obvious that I got away. I don’t know what happened, or how, but whatever had ahold of me that night, just let go of me, just like that. I don’t what it was, nor did I care. I didn’t have the ability to look back, and even if I did, I don’t think I woulda wanted to. All I know is that once I crawled my way outta that darn hole I just ran. I ran faster than I ever thought possible.

Whatever was in that place was even more angry I got away, cause when I was runnin, I heard the most demonic and terrifyin’ scream I had ever heard. But I never looked back for fear it might have the chance to drag me back in.

I reached my patrol car and jumped in, slammed the door shut, and peeled outta there like I was one of them dukes of hazard boys.

I never told no one till now. Figured no one would believe me. But, now, I don’t care if ya believe me or not. As God as my witness, everything I’m tellin is the honest truth.

If you feel like visitin that place, it’s still there. I don’t recommend it though. You’ll have to find a way around the fifty foot tall fence I had built after that incident. Good luck, I’m sure if someone wanted in bad enough, they’ll find a way. They always do.

#short story #horror #ghost stories #creative writing

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astraladvent · 4 years

Text

Prism: So far...

((A lengthly excerpt from the Prism Arc catch-up event!))

Berrod Armstrong looked around the room. "Ah, this is a good turnout. Thanks for comin'. There's -- a lot to go through, so I'll begin at the beginnin' and we'll work through it from there. Feel free to add any details you noticed or ask relevant questions as I go on. Won't spend too long answerin' questions before I'm done though."

Berrod Armstrong: "Some time ago, durin' a social gatherin' in Costa Del Sol, it so happened that we came into contact with a queer manner o'crystal. There was a fireworks show on, an' it seemed that the crystal fell outta the sky, skipped on the water an' hit a cliff wall near us. The spot on the cliff wall that it hit got streaked white an' chalky. The crystal itself was...strange. Colourful, bright an' packed with aether. Goin' near it or touchin' it was enough to wash a man in the stuff."

Berrod Armstrong: "Didn't take long for us to realise how much it enhanced not only our reserves of aether, but the things we could do with it. The white stuff on the cliff wall on the other hand, killed everything it touched. Stilled the aether in it until it ended up just as white an' dead as the rocks. Fortunately, it was contained to those streaks."

Louma'li Jinjahl looked sheepish. "Also brought out a few...undesirable qualities in a few."

Milo North: "Ick."

Berrod Armstrong eyed Lou for a moment and inclined his head slightly.

Louma'li Jinjahl: "You're really lucky ya didn't end up lickin' it."

Berrod Armstrong: "At -first-, we decided to let the La Noscean an' Lominsan authorities handle it. We arranged for the crystal -- the Prism, we called it, to be collected by the Yellowjackets an' taken back to the city proper for the Arcanist's guild to keep in their custody." He rubbed his face then, "Really wished it all stayed there, but the Gods had different plans it seemed. They cordoned off the streaked area, but a couple of our people got samples of the dead white rocks. They were harmless if you didn't let it touch flesh."

N'hara Tia: "Also got samples of some of the sea creatures it killed. Not the prettiest sight."

Orion Llewelyn stroked the lizard in his lap, attempting to lull the creature to sleep. It was having none of it with all the people around and hissed.

Soyer Perera entered and remained silent. No greeting and not motions beyond walking and picking a spot.

Berrod Armstrong made a face at the mention of the dead sea creatures, but nodded to acknowledge it. "Least chalky fish don't stink..."

Berrod Armstrong: "Anyroad, a couple weeks later the Arcanist's guild called us up for our help with a matter involvin' the crystal. Apparently since we were the once who had 'experience'--" He made quotation marks with his fingers then, "--with it, we were the ones they wanted. Turned out they tried to cast some standard protective stuff around it for safe keepin', but the crystals amplified the magic to the point that it got a bit -too- well shielded. We were hired to work with a fella named Hartsald to break that shield. From the reports it seemed like one hell of a job, but nothin' catastrophic, an' nothin' the team that went couldn't handle."

Berrod Armstrong turned to offer a tip of his chin to Soyer by way of greeting.

Soyer Perera nodded but made no sound.

Berrod Armstrong: "We used the success of that job to curry some favour with the Arcanist's guild, to the point where we managed to get a sample of the crystal for the company for our own to study. Unfortunately, a couple weeks after -that-, we got another missive from the guild. Hartsald had gone missin', an' from the investigation we launched into it, he'd gone barkin' mad before he vanished. He'd been drawin' nonsense on maps, rippin' up books, writin' over an' over again about somethin' called -blàths bloigh-. No language I'd ever heard of. With the help of those of us gifted in understandin' such things, we learned that it means 'blooming essence'. An' so the hunt for Hartsald began."

Natja Bafsk breezes on in like she was here all along, peering around and filing her nails into even pointier points.

N'hara Tia brought a hand to the bridge of his nose. Not a fun assignment…

Milo North: "Baths Bentlow, yeah."

Milo North: "... Blowfly."

Milo North: "... Blarfs."

Orion Llewelyn: "Spoilers: He was found."

Natja Bafsk nods her head agreeably at Milo's valiant effort, knowing damn well she can't do anything better.

Berrod Armstrong: "The hunt led us to the Blac--" He quickly and apologetically eyed Jancis in the distance, "Uh, the Twelveswood, where the search team encountered all sorts of mischievous magics. Weird plants, floaty-stuff. The reports were...wild. Even though that was dealt with, apparently the team came into contact with an anomaly that caused the same whitenin' effect from the cliffs in Costa. I still...don't really understand what I read about what the team there saw, but everyone came outta it okay."

Berrod Armstrong: "Mostly, anyroad."

Louma'li Jinjahl: "And one overly animated annoyin' blue...person."

Berrod Armstrong: "Ah, aye. Jock whatsisballs."

Louma'li Jinjahl couldn't remmeber how many Jock-Jocks it was.

Zachary Evans mouthed the phrase 'blue person' in absolute confusion.

Louma'li Jinjahl: "Jock-Jock somethin' Jock, covered in woad an' crazy, aye."

Milo North: "Somethin' made outta Light."

Bayan Dataq cracked a small smile. This was getting good. Now there were blue people. He wondered what strange Eorzean people that was.

Milo North shivers at the memory.

Berrod Armstrong: "He'd been hired to find Hartsald too -- an' now we know by who. But I'll get to that in time."

Louma'li Jinjahl had a sneaking suspicion of the 'who' but he'd be happy if fate decided to surprise him. Lou just nodded along with Berrod's assertion that they'd get to it, in time.

Berrod Armstrong: "Arcanist's guild hadn't made any headway either, an' so as more time went on, the more everyone feared Hartsald was dead. You know how it goes with missin' persons. Anyroad, -another- issue popped up in Mor Dhona that we went to investigate. After what happened in the Shr...er -- -Twelveswood-, we were expectin' to find Hartsald. Instead, we found a Hyuran fella with an axe an' way, -way- too much power. The team went in, accompanied by one Grave Shadow as an observer, the reports said. The Hyur -- Breaker, or Baby or whatever -- was subdued an' separated from a prismatic crystal that he'd been given with the promise of power. It was there that the monk twin ladies some of y'all came to know were sighted for the first time."

Orion Llewelyn leaned over to Bayan with a hushed voice, "That's where I came in." A thumb was jerked in Berrod's general direction.

Bayan Dataq nodded. The cast of characters was getting a bit much for him to keep track of, but he was doing his best.

Jancis Milburga looks thoughtful, "And that odd sludge that came off of him."

Soyer Perera || It occured to Soyer that it was around this time he had joined the Company too...He had a faint smile at the thought.

Berrod Armstrong: "Breaker was pretty badly affected by what had happened to him. He wasn't an enemy, not really. Just someone who'd gotten a raw deal. We took care of his recovery an' such,an' in doing so, found out he had a connection to those twins...like -- a thread. Oh--" He consulted his book then, "I shouldn't forget the group out in the ruins of Nym either. After the Hartsald incident, we went to investigate some aetherial spikes there an' did battle with an entire group enhanced with shards of prismatic crystal. It wasn't enough to make 'em -crazy- powerful, so they got taken down smoothly enough. One of 'em was above the rest though...Astrologian gal with a -weapon- made with one of the crystals in it. Our first encounter with a prismatic weapon."

Milo North: "Someone had fun lickin' crystals."

Zachary Evans shifted from foot to foot before finally deciding on doing squats. The whole chain of events had given the young man a surge of nervous energy.

Louma'li Jinjahl: "An' she up an' ran before we could finish kickin' her arse. Seems Shadow got to her though an' finished things."

Natja Bafsk 's expression slowly takes a turn for the morose, more and more.

Bayan Dataq 's face gave away he didn't really approve of leaving a mark alive in a hunt, but didn't say anything.

Zachary Evans: "I'm not exactly sure of -how- comfortable I am working with Shadow again...wherever the Shadows are, things go from worse to catastrophic."

Sarij Rahzersyn: "Alright, focus folks."

Zachary Evans: "Sorry, chief."

Sarij Rahzersyn: "And listen tah what Berrod has tah say, ya can ask shite after."

Natja Bafsk nods to Sarij Rahzersyn.

Berrod Armstrong: "It turns out that the Astrologian gal didn't quite get away -- so proven by a box sent to us by a -mysterious benefactor- at the time. It contained the prismatic weapon...broken, though that didn't make the crystal itself any less potent. The box itself was made with...arcane stuff written on it that turned it into a kind of compass that pointed us north, to Coerthas. Again, we decided to investigate, an' the team sent met -- another arcanist? Nah -- a uh, a--" He checked his notes, "Nymian-styled Scholar. He didn't quite have a prismatic weapon, but his -faerie- was made of the stuff. From what I read, his spellwork was...damn powerful."

Tiergan Vashir blinked at that. "His /faerie/ was made of /crystal/?"

Berrod Armstrong: "Aye. Bright an' colourful an' glitterin'...an' -potent-."

Autgar Bloode: "Yes, his fairy was a crystal. He was very strong."

Orion Llewelyn looked away to take a swig of his drink.

Tiergan Vashir frowns deeply, brow furrowing.

Berrod Armstrong: "Was around that time that our study into the crystal itself showed us some of what it was capable of. Like allowin' me to conjure as if it was nothin', for example. Healed a gash on my own arm with a twig an' it didn't even leave a scar." He offered his arm as proof.

Berrod Armstrong: "I should note that the crystal samples in our possession went up to two. The weapon, an' the sample we got from the Arcanist's guild."

Jancis Milburga furrows her brow at Berrod's arm.

Tiergan Vashir: "Did.... you have much conjurying ability before or did you go from none to suddenly proficient?"

Berrod Armstrong: "I tried to learn once. They were nice about tellin' me I would never be able to do it."

Aulen Mistbreaker was totally not taking a nap or anything as he showed up late.

Berrod Armstrong: "I don't have a lick of castin' talent, sad to say."

Orion Llewelyn: "Shame, that."

Louma'li Jinjahl: "Ya punch things better anyways."

Zachary Evans: "That's...disturbing. Granting that much power out of the blue is dangerous."

Autgar Bloode: "You've got plenty of other talents chief."

Tiergan Vashir: "So these crystals can turn anyone into a skilled mage."

Berrod Armstrong: "Nnnh -- well, I knew the -motions-, I just never made anythin' happen, you know? But that crystal changed that."

Milo North: "Or jus' let you throw enough power at a spell."

Orion Llewelyn: "An' those of us already skilled t'start with, well..." Orion leaned back.

Milo North: "That it makes it look like you can do it."

Soyer Perera frowned at that--he hadn't been told they could do that too.

Berrod Armstrong: "Go on," He urged Orion.

Milo North: "Scarier thought is what happens when someone like fuckin' black mage casts one of their clever lil' spells with the power of one of these."

Natja Bafsk nods to Milo North.

Orion Llewelyn: "Huh?" He sputtered. "Oh I've got nothin'. Just sayin' I can imagine how it'd be like for those of us with a lick o' talent an' skill."

Milo North: "Power and the nuance to properly use it."

Berrod Armstrong nodded, "Aye."

Tiergan Vashir: "Is that why Mountain's Shadow has an interest then?"

Martin Adler: "Probably." Martin grunts.

Autgar Bloode: "Save the questions folks."

Aulen Mistbreaker spoke up. "Well... back on the beach. A simple spell I used turned a small flame into a massive pyre by just being near the damn thing."

Berrod Armstrong: "Aye..."

Berrod Armstrong: "Alright -- back to Breaker an' his ability to trace the twins...much like the box had become a compass that led us north, he led a team of us south into the Sagolii to follow the twins' trail. From what I read, the trip was an interestin' one. They utilised their crystals to their full potential and put up a hell of a fight. It was hard, but our team won out with Breaker's help. Poor bastard ended up abed again, an' we took the twins into our custody. Treated them well, mind you."

Natja Bafsk smiles, but with a notable twinge of sadness.

Jancis Milburga: "Had to, those crystals were embedded."

Berrod Armstrong: "That fight was an' educational one, 'cause we learned about the flawed crystals. Turns out that they were not only different to the samples we had, but they had awful effects on the user. Uh --" He consulted his book again, and began to read directly off of it.

Orion Llewelyn: "They amplified the user's flaws."

Milo North: "They got real ugly?"

Berrod Armstrong: "Our samples achieved perfect resonance with the user's aether. Perfect prisms. The flawed crystals however, sought to compensate for their imperfection by resonating oppressively and affecting the user's aether in a detrimental manner -- usually to the tune of illness or behavioural changes."

Berrod Armstrong: "Aye, what Orion said."

Louma'li Jinjahl: "Not ugly enough to not fluster Autgar."

Autgar Bloode would remember that.

Orion Llewelyn snorted, "Not that kinda flaw. Made angry people angrier an' that kinda thing."

Bayan Dataq: "Weaknesses?" he asked softly.

Berrod Armstrong: "After some questionin' -- gentle, mind you, we never treated 'em badly," We learned that -Hartsald- was apparently creating the flawed crystals and temptin' people to power with 'em. First the twins, then he tried to get 'em to bring Breaker on board. S'what was happenin' when we met the lot of 'em in Mor Dhona. What was most interestin' is that they said that we couldn't just go -find- Hartsald. He had to be -summoned-. The ritual to do it was queer as all hells."

Tiergan Vashir: "Summon. Like some sort of voidsent?" There was audible distaste in his tone.

Milo North: "You can summon other stuff, too. Kinda."

Berrod Armstrong: "I would think that if the ritual wasn't...downright stupid."

Orion Llewelyn wavered a hand before Bayan at his question. "Sorta like that."

Berrod Armstrong: "Once again a team went out -- to the Cloud Sea up above the Spine. Aether's rich there an' it was far away from people just in case things got hairy...which they did. Still don't really understand what happened, but they called him. He was strange, with bright blue eyes with rings in 'em," He gestured at his own eyes, ever one to talk with his hands, "Talkin' funny too, not nearly the same as he was before. Borin' an' kinda stodgy."

Bayan Dataq perked up a bit. Sounded like the red haired hyur was describing him. Badly, but still.

Berrod Armstrong: "Seems like he tried somethin', but the team figured it out and put a stop to it before he finished. Unfortunately, one of the twins got turned into a plant -- or was it eaten by a plant...?" He checked his notes again, "Ah, she got turned into a bush. When they finally managed to put Hartsald down, a big ol' pair of flowers grew. One spat out the twin, the other...Hartsald's body. The -real- Hartsald. Poor bastard had been dead all along, an' somethin' was wearin' his face. Accordin' to what I read, he'd been killed long before, even though he wasn't rottin'."

Milo North: "So.... Voidsent."

Soyer Perera frowned a bit deeper. If he were the type to be ungrammatical, he'd say this entire thing was getting curiouser and curiouser.

Jancis Milburga swears to Nald'thal quietly.

Soyer Perera: "That doesn't sound like a voidsent."

Berrod Armstrong shook his head. "Would be simple if it was. Read more like a ghost to me."

Orion Llewelyn: "Aye, I'm inclined to agree with Berrod."

Bayan Dataq shook his horned head. This is why he preferred sheep and horses. Less magic and spirits. More things that were simple to skewer with his lance.

N'hara Tia: "This whole fiasco gets worse and worse when you really stop and think about it..."

Orion Llewelyn: "Like....another soul." He offered up.

Tiergan Vashir: "A ghost that turns people into plants and grows flowers that hold bodies?"

Milo North: "A ghost who makes people inta plants? Ashkin ain't that powerful. Or smart."

Milo North: "Mosta the time they jus' moan about how much it hurts or whatever."

Berrod Armstrong: "Team came back, though the affected twin hadn't regained consciousness. Reks examined her, an' it turned out there -- wasn't a soul in her body. I dunno how that was possible, or how it worked, but that's what happened. We decided to keep her safe, an' her sister didn't leave her side. Breaker was fully recovered an' decided to go out there an' try to make some headway."

Berrod Armstrong: "Took a couple weeks, but he came back...different. He'd acquired a bit of prismatic crystal, which somehow -fused- with him while he slept. It...made him strong. Real strong. I dunno if he's immortal now, but I know it's real hard to hurt him. Or was. We had to press him for answers, but even when he finally caved an' tried to give 'em to us, he couldn't speak of it, or even write of it. He'd been hexed, and pretty badly."

Berrod Armstrong: "The same night he came back to us, somethin' happened to the unconscious twin. Long story short, whatever had been masqueradin' around as Hartsald jumped into her, pulled a switch on us, an' ran off into the night. Was a damn mess, I'm told. Her sister an' Breaker went off to try an' find her."

Natja Bafsk stares down at her lap, ears drooping backward.

Berrod Armstrong: "'nother couple weeks went by. Breaker an' Rookmin -- ah aye, that was her name -- kept in contact, wrote to us an' stuff...an' then the contact stopped. Stopped for a worryin' while, with the last place they mentioned bein' Tailfeather up in the Dravanian lands. Of course, we sent a team up to find 'em..." He rubbed the back of his head then, "An' what a time that was."

Berrod Armstrong: "There were so many things -- a cave full o'gold dust. Talkin' to dragons...followin' the trail on a whole. The trail led to a white, magical coffin' with the words 'Let sleeping beasts lie' on it. Anybody who tried to tamper with the coffin got...frozen? Stilled -- though it came at a cost to the coffin's aether. With enough people triggerin' it, it eventually ran out, an' broke open."

Milo North: "W..."

Orion Llewelyn: "Nothin' like brute forcin' some magic."

Milo North places his face into his hands, "You opened the magic box sayin' please dun open."

Jancis Milburga: "And good we did." Her tone is sadder after the mention of gold dust.

Tiergan Vashir visibly tenses up at this portion of the tale, shoulders locking. He glances back towards Jancis once before his jaw sets and he looks to Berrod again.

Louma'li Jinjahl: "To be fair, at least we did it an' didn't die. Can't say if someone else woulda lived if they did the same."

Berrod Armstrong rubbed at his face with one hand. "I'm glad I can just give the facts here now, because at the time it was confusin' as all hells. Breaker, as it turned out, had been jumped into by the Hartsald-wearer. It was a bad combination, because Breaker himself was fused with a prismatic crystal an' powerful as all hells. Not only that, but in tryin' to resist the thing tryin' to ride him, he unleashed -- well, a beast, is the best way to put it. Y'all would be interested to know that one Mountain Shadow showed up, yellin' at the team for openin' the coffin. He looked pretty chewed up. Even lost consciousness, I think."

Cerina Borlaaq gave a very audible grunt of pure /disgust/ at the mention of Mountain, however, she didn't say anything about it.

Orion Llewelyn finished off what remained of his drink.

Berrod Armstrong: "We know now that Rookmin and Breaker had found the other twin -- Sumintra, which is when the...thing...jumped from her to him. Apparently Mountain was on their trail an' used that coffin thing to subdue the thing -- which we opened. Ah well. Anyroad...there was a fight. Details...don't matter. There was a fight that we won. Autgar managed to kill the thing...for good. Breaker was safe, though the twins were missin' still. Both of 'em this time."

Jancis Milburga glances back at Martin briefly before gazing at Tiergan for awhile, silently echoing Berrod's words.

Milo North: "Course he put a cryptic phrase on the fuckin box instead of, I dunno, -something explainin' exactly what was inside-."

Berrod Armstrong: "Mountain got extracted from the area an' we dealt with the fallout as we always do. Got some blessed quiet for a while after that. We needed it."

Louma'li Jinjahl: "An' he wrote it in ways that only people versed in an arcane science could understand. Coulda gotten better results with a slab o' wood an' some paint."

Orion Llewelyn: "That's got me wonderin' though. It /was/ quiet for a good bit. Us meetin' here though..."

Orion Llewelyn: "does that mean somethin's happened?"

Berrod Armstrong: "Quiet couldn't last, I suppose, 'cause who else came marchin' up to our gates a few weeks later but Mountain himself, with the balls to ask us to -leave it all to him-. Didn't need to consult leadership to outright refuse that, no matter how much I'd like to wash my hands o'this stuff." He smiled at Orion then, "I'll get to that in a lil bit."

Milo North: "Really. Is "There is an awful monster in here, this box is keeping it from killing you. No touch.' So hard? Fuckin' Mountain."

Orion Llewelyn: "Wait, he came /here?/ What'd he want?"

Orion Llewelyn: "Oh well, I guess you just said that." he leaned back again, slightly less agitated.

Sarij Rahzersyn: "To be fair... even if he wrote that people would have opened it."

Berrod Armstrong: "Aye. We said no an'...he was uh, awfully gracious an' decided that in the event of our refusal, -he- would leave it entirely to -us- instead. Apparently it'd be one or the other, so long as it meant we no longer clashed. So he officially withdrew from the matter, an' shared with us some information, includin' the whereabouts of some missin' people. The scholar, the twins, an' the Astrologian."

Mholi'to Valrei offered the room a brief wave as he walked over to an open spot to stand. He was quiet for now as to catch up on the current conversation.

Berrod Armstrong: "Apparently he'd convinced them all to withdraw from the whole ordeal, an' has managed to keep 'em safe in his own way." There was an unconvinced shrug from him, but he went on, "He also handed over his prismatic crystal -- the Scholar's faerie. We have three samples now."

Cerina Borlaaq: "So it is only a matter of time before he tries to swoop in again." She huffed. "We should have just cut him down when he showed up at our doorstep."

Orion Llewelyn: "He gave ya his faerie...?" Orion bunched up his brow.

Berrod Armstrong: "Hmn. Oh -- aye, though it turned back into a chunk o'pretty crystal when it left his side."

Orion Llewelyn ran a hand along his jaw, pensively, saying nothing further.

Sarij Rahzersyn: "Kindly keep murder plans to yerself. Mountain is a company owner of a known company and on the level in the terms of the governing bodies."

Sarij Rahzersyn: "I don't feel like going infront of a judge again."

Milo North: "I ain't sayin' anything about killin'. I'm thinkin' it real loudly though."

Cerina Borlaaq: "I did not ask for your assistance, Sarij. But do not make this company bend to him again."

Berrod Armstrong: "Speakin' of which, couple folks from here parleyed with 'im an' made some requests, one o'which he granted." Very carefully did he pull an envelope from between the pages of the book he'd been reading his notes from. The envelope was handed across to Autgar, though in stretching to do so, Berrod held it dangerously close to the candle's flame. "Ah -- shite, whoops. There y'go."

Bayan Dataq was starting to wonder why everyone was talking about some mountain. And why everyone hated a geographical feature.

Natja Bafsk peers over at the envelope questioningly.

Autgar Bloode plucked up the letter and held it infront of him on the table without a word.

Dylan Skye: "...What is that, Autgar?"

Orion Llewelyn leaned back forward, eyes shifting toward the envelope as well and then to Autgar.

Orion Llewelyn: "Aye, what he said."

Mholi'to Valrei took a few steps closer to Autgar to peek over the man's large shoulders out of curiosity.

Sarij Rahzersyn: "I am saying.... stay the hells away from 'em and not deal wtih em, so if as ya think he tries tah get his fingers involved wit us... we got solid feet undah us rather than having the Immortal Flames kicking in the door again to arrest folks."

Autgar Bloode elbowed Oli. "We can talk about it when were all caught up."

Bayan Dataq 's eyes shot open, and then he looked to Orion for clarification. “What kind of company was this anyroad?"

Mholi'to Valrei frowned as he was lightly jabbed. "Fine, fine," he grumbled. His curiosity still burned bright, but his eyes were forced back towards Sarij. "Honestly, the best thing to do in my opinion would be whatever the hells we intended to do before he showed up. Regardless of what he's offerin'. He smells like trouble."

Louma'li Jinjahl looked on skeptically as this was unfolding. He didn't have history with Shadow, but at this rate, he was hating him just out of spite.

Cerina Borlaaq: "That has certainly worked for us in the past when it comes to dealing with him, yes? Because he has not managed to weasel himself into the company, and out of what ever--" she waved her hand in front of her in frustration, "solid ground you are talking about. Figured you would know that better than anyone else."

Sarij Rahzersyn: "This company is not a wetworks." Sarij replied simply. "Berrod feel free tah continue."

Cerina Borlaaq scoffed loudly, but decided not to press on.

Autgar Bloode was scanning over the letter before he returned it to the envelope and rested it on the table infront of him.

Berrod Armstrong nodded at Autgar, then at Sarij. "I agree that we have to be careful. He's got a legitimate thing going an' -if- he means us ill, which I'll never rule out, he's gonna get us tangled up in a lotta legal shite before the final blow. Either way -- if he says he's out, I agree with Oli there...we press on like he's not around. Granted...it might mean followin' some of his...advice."

Soyer Perera: "And what's wrong with that?"

Jancis Milburga nods in agreement. "Coincidence."

Berrod Armstrong: "Or rather, followin' his methods. He said that he wanted to dissipate the crystals by givin' their aether to the land -- it's why Breaker was put in that coffin, to drain him of the prismatic aether he'd been fused with -- and contain that thing inside him too."

Soyer Perera: "Provided it doesn't harm anyone or the land itself--we have enough mages here to confirm if the method would actually put it back into the land, right?"

Mholi'to Valrei: "Then make sure that information is verified independently somewhere else. Facts are facts, regardless of who's sayin' it. Are you sure that it's the best method, all things considered?"

Berrod Armstrong: "So we have three samples. I want us to begin lookin' into ways to gettin' these crystals smelted down into the land, for lack of a better term. Once we find a way to do it safely, that's how we'll handle any o' the prisms we come into contact with goin' forward."

Berrod Armstrong: "Aye, those things are a menace in man's hands."

Mholi'to Valrei nodded back. "A broken clock's right twice a day."

#FFXIV #Crystal #Balmung #Astral Advent #Astral Agent #Prism #Story Arc #RP Event #Catch up Post

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ask-de-writer · 4 years

Text

LOST TIME (part 1 of 3) A fantasy of Flocking Bay.

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

LOST TIME

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

5556 words

written 2003

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express written consent of the author or proper copyright holder.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan Activity, fiction, art, cosplay, music or anything else is ACTIVELY encouraged!

///////////////////////

It stands out even in the dark ... It shouldn’t. It’s just a house. A damned old house. Not even that old really, not for New England. It’s a two story salt-box style with an observation deck under a cupola at the peak. It is probably just the setting. Rusty old iron fence, gnarled elderly trees, unkempt lawn not quite out of control, windows that the neighborhood kids haven’t broken. It should be a witch’s house but it isn’t. It is mine. I just closed on it yesterday.

The kids are going to have a field day this time. I don’t like the daylight... been on night shift as far back as I can remember. That’s a longish way back. But I’m not a witch, nor vampire. Nothing exotic that I know of. I’m just one of those people (you probably know one or two) who don’t show their age. If you envy me, think again. YOU try to explain to a traffic cop why your ID has you pegged for seventy+ and you don’t look over twenty. I carry a copy of my fingerprint record from the military, because they can check that.

Funny part of it is, I really don’t have the slightest idea how old I am. Traumatic amnesia the doctors called it, during the war. The head wound was minor, they said.

That is a matter of opinion. It robbed me of my past, my name, my identity, my loves and hates but left my skills intact. I was an empty shell. I am still trying to find my past.

The name that I use comes from more or less modern myth. Vandervekken. The Flying Dutchman. Wandering Dutchman would be more accurate. He sails the seas off the Cape of Good Hope until Judgment Day. He can’t find his home either. I bought the house because it is the first place that I have seen in over fifty years where I want to stay. You explain it.

The rusty gate opened silently, thanks to the bit of oil that I put on the hinges. Going up the uneven walk, between the looming trees is an experience. The door lock is old-fashioned but still works smoothly. Covered furniture could have made ghosts to haunt the place, if I were superstitious or given to being easily frightened.

As I said, I like the night. I even enjoy things with a bit of a spooky atmosphere. I also like antiques and handcrafted things which is why, if I ever find out who did it, I will cheerfully throttle whatever philistine covered the finely inlaid hardwood parquetry floors with battleship gray paint.

Stripping and refinishing those floors was on my priority job list. Actually, I shouldn’t beef too much. Pointing out the problem got me a price reduction of nearly $2000 on an already underpriced house with all of its furniture as part of the deal. Estates can be wonderful when you are on a tight budget. Too bad that someone else had to die to create my good fortune.

As I pulled the dust covers from the furniture, I saw that my good fortune was been complete. It was all sturdy, hand-carved hardwood with Chinese silk brocade upholstery. The furniture alone was worth what I had paid for the house and contents. The tops of even the smallest hall tables were inlaid with rich veneers, ivory and mother of pearl. You couldn’t buy furniture like this any more. Besides the cost, the ivory in the inlays is no longer legal to obtain. I could get as much from the sale of just one or two pieces as I could from a year of writing if I could bring myself to part with any of this treasure. It just feels like the house would not be complete without it.

Whoever it was that had died and left this for me to have has whatever blessings it is in my power to bestow. The only wonder is that this place stayed on the market long enough for me to find it. Usually, deals like this get snapped up by the real-estate brokers before people like me ever see them.

When I got to the kitchen, I received another little jolt. I knew that it was fairly up to date, but some thoughtful soul had stocked the fridge and set out a bit of a snack for me. Just cookies and a glass for the milk, which was staying cold in the cooler. Thoughtful. I wondered who did it.

While munching on the cookies, I opened a few windows to air the place out a bit. Going out to my car, I saw that the flags of the walk needed leveling because of the weeds that grew up between them. I drove around to the alley behind the place, opened the garage and parked Lilitu, my classic pre-war Packard touring car. She looked right at home in there. Few, even of modern garages were big enough for her. I ferried my few personal goods up to the house. On my last trip, I saw a couple of wide-eyed kids looking over the back fence.

“Told ya, told ya so!” one of them chanted. “There’s somebody sneakin’ inta the ol’ Vekin place!”

“I wouldn’t call it sneaking, to move into your own place,” I answered as civilly as I could manage. “I just bought it. Why do you call it the Vekin place?”

“If ya ain’t sneakin’, why ya goin’ in the back way? An’ after dark, too?” she shot back. I could now see that they were a girl and a boy. She was obviously in charge.

“I like nights. I’m a writer, so I can keep any hours I like. Why is it the Vekin place?” I asked again.

“Dun’no - Crazy guy named Vekin used to live there,” she contradicted herself.

“Lot of folks tried to buy the place since then,” the boy piped in.

“But nobody ever stays,” the girl finished for him firmly.

“So, this is the neighborhood’s haunted house?” I inquired jovially.

“No,” was as far as the boy got.

“Its down the street, on t’other side,” she cut in.

“I looked at that one,” I said thoughtfully. “The old Victorian. Somebody’s broken out all the windows. Not like here. If the Vekin house is so bad, why hasn’t some kid chucked rocks at it?”

“‘Cause we’re not THAT crazy!” exclaimed The boy, getting out a whole thought. The girl gave him a push, and they ran off into the night.

I got up about noon, after the most restful night’s sleep that I’d had since the War. After my breakfast and a quiet tour of the place from attic to basement, I went out. My goal was the local newspaper. THE FLOCKING BAY VOICE was sprawled across the plate glass window in Old English style letters of gold leaf and black. Smaller letters proclaimed Est. 1841. I pushed open the door. My nose was assaulted by the multiple odors of printer’s ink, paper and grease. The VOICE occupied one large room. An elderly web press crouched at the back of the space, behind several rolls of newsprint. Cubicles made offices in the middle of the room. An old oak counter that had once seen duty as a bar had several signs suspended over it on thin chains. They read ‘submissions’, ‘advertisements’, ‘subscriptions’, ‘billing’.

There was a bell on the counter. Some wag had put a sign on it, “Please ring bell, it won’t help but it will give you something to do.” I gave myself something to do, energetically, a few times.

A trim little blond lady answered the bell’s summons. She wore a green eyeshade and a pin on her sweater announced, ‘Lois Martin - cook, bottle washer & EDITOR in CHIEF.’ “What can I do for you, today?” she asked.

“I came to see what I can find out about the Vekin place,” I answered, trying not to stare at her.

“Just a moment, I’ll get the file out of the morgue. I was going to get it anyway. Somebody went and bought the place again.”

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “Someone buys a house and that makes news in Flocking Bay? This town must be even quieter than it looks.”

“Oh,” she retorted, “it can get downright interesting around here when the old Vekin place sells. You’ll see.” She disappeared among the cubicles and I heard her feet clattering down a flight of stairs. I heard a file drawer creak and slide, then slam shut. It wasn’t long before she reappeared, a rather fat file clutched in her hand.

“If you’d like, we can have lunch over at Mike’s Soda Shop,” she proposed. “He makes decent submarine sandwiches and real ice-cream sodas.”

“Well ... ” I pretended to hesitate, “I haven’t been invited out by a beautiful blond in a long time, so, yes.”

“I hope that I haven’t just made a fool of myself,” she remarked, laying aside the eyeshade. “You are Mr. Vandervekken aren’t you? The man who just bought the place?”

“Too true,” I said.

“Then I’ll make it an interview and deduct it from my taxes,” she smiled.

“You make enough to pay taxes?” I asked, looking back as we crossed the street.

“I have hidden assets. The paper is a tax shelter.” She opened the door of Mike’s and ushered me in.

As I was seating her, I just couldn’t help blurting out, “Your assets seem to be pretty obvious.”

She grinned, “Go ahead and stare. I don’t mind. If I did, I wouldn’t wear a snug sweater and put my pin just here.” She pointed, then added, “Looking at it will keep you off your guard while I ask my questions.”

“OK, Ms. Martin, but let me look at the file first. You can order for me. You know the food here,” I said, reaching for the file.

“Lois,” she replied, “call me Lois, everyone else does.” Then she hollered to the man behind the counter, “Oh, Mike! Two butterscotch sodas and a big turkey sub! Divide it in half!”

“How did you know that I liked butterscotch?” I asked. “It’s not that common a preference these days.”

“I just had a hunch, that’s all. You looked like another butterscotch type person.”

I was leafing through the file on the rather beat-up table while we waited. I couldn’t resist snorting with amusement at the name of the house’s builder. Capt. Von Der Vekin. The house had been built in 1894 by the Capt. and his elusive son, Charles. Nobody had ever seen Charles until he came into town, on April 1st, 1900, to report his father’s demise and burial on the property. He ordered a headstone hewn of the local limestone. Charles had returned from WW I with honors and lived quietly, claiming to be a writer, though nobody ever saw any of his work in print. When asked, all that he would say was ‘Pseudonyms are great for privacy’. He was not so lucky when he volunteered to assist the French resistance in 1939. He never came home.

Next==>

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to Flocking Bay

#LOST TIME #Part 1 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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dngrdyke · 4 years

Text

Home Renovation With the Homosexuals

TW: gore

Monday.

Dyke and Faggot rode for hours until they found what they were looking for. Dyke had seen it a few times before the two teamed up, but she didn't have the strength or the motivation to fix it up. Now that she had Faggot to help her, she figured it would be a good time to put down roots.

The building itself used to be a house, she thought. It looked like it anyway. Four walls, two storeys and an attic? Didn't matter. Out there, it's free real estate.

The outside used to be white but over time it ended up looking kinda dusty and run-down, just like the rest of the buildings left after the Analog Wars.

"This is it?" Faggot asked when they pulled up. "I was expecting something with a little more..."

"Little more what?"

"Just a little... more."

"Oh, alright Mr Picky. You think you could do better?"

"No, no! That's not what I'm saying!"

Dyke laughed and kicked down the bike stand. "I know it ain't. I'm just yankin' your chain, kid. Now c'mon and haul ass. I want this place ready for the afterparty. Bring the radio."

Faggot grabbed it and followed Dyke inside. Some other Desert folks had obviously taken refuge inside. Here and there were empty soda and beer cans, as well as empty food packets.

"You keep checking down here. I'm gonna make sure the upstairs is still okay," Dyke said. Even though she said it calmly, she took out one of her guns, just in case. You never can be too careful in the desert.

The stairs were sound, and two of the upstairs rooms even had mattresses. The attic was clear as well.

"Faggot, we struck gold!" she yelled down.

"Fuck yeah! Can I put the radio on now?"

Tuesday.

Dyke stole- well, borrowed- some tools from D's station and was currently nailing down some loose floorboards upstairs. Faggot was blasting the radio while cleaning the kitchen room. Turns out Blind hadn't killed the water supply, so they even had running water. And the bathroom had a shower! Just imagine. No more shitty face splashes for her. Sure, the water would be cold, but damn it if that mattered.

She heard the song end from downstairs and D's voice started with the announcements.

"Crank it up!"

The voice got louder. "-and we remind you folks again to be on the lookout. Scarlet Ripper and the Mongoose don't wear masks, 'cause if you see 'em, you're dead. Our next announcement is just a little reminder from the DB and F- and from the Killjoys themselves- that there's still a drag race goin' down at the Hub Thursday night. For all you rock’n’rollers with motorbabies, don’t sweat it tryna find a babysitter for the night. Bring ‘em along. Fun for all the family. So, far our challengers are,” he cleared his throat dramatically. “Ahem. Party Poison and the Kobra Kid, Dyke on a Bike and Jet Star, Roadkill and Rock Machine-”

“Hey, Dee! Who’re Roadkill and Rock Machine?” Faggot called up.

“No idea, kid!”

Wednesday.

Most of the shit in the house was done. As housewarming gifts, Kobra and Ghoul had given them all their leftover cans of spray paint. Poison wasn’t too happy, but he settled for a trade: he got to paint a mural in the “living room”, as Dyke was calling the front room with some stolen beanbags. He spent the whole day locked in there with Cherri, the windows thrown open, and nobody else was allowed in. Except Ghoul, but Ghoul went where he wanted anyway. Dee, Jet and Kobra took the stairs and the upstairs rooms, while Faggot took the attic. He insisted on it. Said he was gonna make it look like “the coolest motherfuckin’ loft you ever saw.” They all camped out that night so nobody would die from inhaling the paint fumes, even though they were all pretty spaced out from them anyway. They all went to bed pretty early (by their standards), but as Dee was drifting off she muttered to Poison beside her. “I’m gonna kick your ass tomorrow night.”

He didn’t respond.

Thursday morning.

The crew were up bright and early with the rising of the sun. They had a party to prep for.

Poison took over the bathroom for a solid three hours to redo his roots. “Being this awesome doesn’t come from shitty dye jobs,” he said, grinning at Dee leaning against the doorway. She flipped him off as she walked away, shaking her head.

“I’m gettin’ the booze at the Rendezvous!” she called out as she left the house, popping the collar on her jacket and snapping on her mask. Sunburn was a killer in more ways than one.

The Rendezvous was a spot pretty near the new Killjoy House. You got in contact with Cherri Cola, who got in contact with his contact, who got you anything you wanted from Bat City. Then you met him at the Rendezvous. Dee went all out for this party. The strongest, rawest vodka, straight from the slums of the Lobby.

In the heat-haze of midday, Dyke saw two figures kneeling on the ground beside a third body. As she got closer, she could see that the body was a Drac, and the two figures were men without masks. She drew her guns when she saw the glint of knives in the sun. They were taking the kidneys out of the corpse.

She cast a shadow over them as she stood with her guns pointing directly at each of their heads.

“Now I just know you motherfuckers ain’t doin’ shit to that Drac.”

The one on her right looked up. He wore a mesh shirt and stony grey skinny jeans. She glanced at his left hand. Brass knuckles, spikes. So he was one of those rebels. His partner, arms deep in blood and gore, continued to work. His jacket was laid neatly beside him, and his shirt was a deep red and tattered. From what Dyke could see, his pants were tight and tartan, though they were so dark it was hard to tell.

“What’s it to you, Red?” the one looking at her asked.

She shook her hair out of her face and tightened her grip on the guns. “I happen to know a thing or two about the desert, boys. And one thing I know is that if you mess up someone’s body, the Phoenix Witch can’t take ‘em. Now, I know it’s said she can’t save the Dracs, but if it was me? Hell, I’d hope their souls never got free. Otherwise they’d be comin’ after me worse than a Scarecrow for Doctor D.”

The second man looked up at Dee. His eyes stared into her soul, willing her deepest fears into the open. But she would not give in.

“These people would have you killed, would shoot you where you stand, and yet you would give them over to the afterlife? You would give them their peace?”

Her hands never wavered, even as she shrugged. “They’re people too.”

The man smiled at her, but the smile held no emotion but morbid curiosity.

“They may have been people once, but after the masks? No longer are they anything but meat.”

She stretched her neck out. “Alright Mr Bigshot, I’m gonna give you and your buddy here five seconds to grab your jackets and get the hell outta my sight. One.”

The two men stood calmly, one with a kidney in each hand. The man with the brass knuckles picked up their jackets. Dyke’s guns followed them with every movement until they were safely speeding away on another motorbike. She shook herself off and put her guns away.

“Damn,” she muttered. “What a fuckin’ morning.”

Thursday afternoon.

“Honeys I’m home!” Dyke called, opening the front door with her butt. She had crates of vodka in her arms which rendered them almost completely useless. She put them under the stairs and dusted off her hands.

“She’ll either love you or hate you, man.” Faggot’s muffled voice came from the living room.

“I’m taking bets,” Ghoul said. “Who’s betting what?”

Dyke heard more voices talking over each other as she walked quietly back to the door of the room. That was another thing about the house: almost every room had a door. Front door, back door, kitchen door, bedroom door. Only door that wasn’t there was the bathroom door. Everyone had agreed to leave it like that. It was just funnier.

The floorboard creaked under her foot and she heard Poison shushing them all.

“Dee? That you?”

Those assholes hadn’t even heard her come in. Fuck.

“Yeah, I’m back. Can I come in?”

Poison opened the door and stepped out quickly. Dee only saw a flash of colour before he closed the door with a snap.

“The mural is done.”

“So… can I see it, then?”

“You have to promise you won’t get mad.”

She thought for a second. What the hell. “Okay. I promise. I won’t get mad at you about the mural.”

“Close your eyes.”

Dyke shut her eyes tight and Poison guided her into the room.

“Now, on the count of three, open ‘em.”

She held her breath.

“One.”

It was killing her. The suspense. What if it was really terrible?

“Two.”

Nah, Poison wouldn’t do that to her. Unless he thought it was funny.

“Three.”

She opened them.

In front of her in every colour under the sun was a larger-than-life depiction of her darling. Carla, with flowers in her hair being blown about by the non-existent wind. Carla, her love. Carla, the Destroyer.

She said nothing.

“Uh, Dee? You gonna say anything?” Kobra asked nervously.

Dyke turned to Poison, who was slowly inching closer towards freedom.

“Party Poison,” she said seriously.

“Oh, fuck.” He debated running, but ended up deciding against it. He probably deserved it.

“You are…”

Jet tensed, ready to tackle her to the ground if it looked like she was going to go for him.

“Amazing,” she finished. “You are amazing. This is… This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The sigh of relief that escaped everyone’s lips was heard all across the desert.

“Never scare me like that again, Dyke.”

“Not a chance, Pee-head.”

a lil different than usual... filler during MTBBW that you can read here. very much a collab with another friend who thought of scarlet + mongoose........ if u know who they are let us know by liking ;)

#my chemical romance #my chem #mcr #killjoys #the adventures of dyke and faggot #gerard way #ray toro #mikey way #frank iero #danger days oc #danger days

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hysterialevi · 5 years

Text

When the Devil Cries pt. 34

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

Author’s note: Real quick, I just wanna thank you guys for sticking with this story for so long. There aren’t that many chapters left (I’m estimating only about 1 or 2 after this one), and the fact that this fic is almost over has me feeling emotional lol. I hope you guys enjoy the last few parts of this story, and again, thanks for being there for all this time :)

From Arthur’s POV

O’CREAGH’S RUN

A COUPLE OF WEEKS LATER

“You got everything?” Hamish asked, eyeing my bag.

I shut the leather flap closed, placin’ my hands on my hips.

“Yeah. I think so. Eddie and I should be ready to go.”

The veteran limped over to me and patted me on the shoulder, displaying a warm smile.

“Well then, you boys stay safe out there, you hear? Things can get pretty wild on the roads nowadays, but you already know this. I just hope your plan to get out of America works for you.”

I nodded in agreement, gazing at Eddie through one of the windows as he readied the horses outside.

“Yeah, me too. Lemme tell you, it’s been one hell of a journey, runnin’ around with that boy, but...I know it’s gonna be worth it. I just have this...feelin’ in me, you know?”

Hamish followed my line of sight and peered at Eddie with an almost fatherly expression, reminiscing about the times when he was our age.

“I believe that feeling is called ‘hope,” he replied. “You become very familiar with it when you fight in a war. Sometimes, it’s all you have. Guns are fine and dandy, sure, but what happens when you don’t have one? That ‘feeling’ is the only thing you can hold onto, and if you’re lucky...it might just save your life.”

I took my attention away from the pianist for a moment and changed the subject, curious to know more about Hamish’s past.

“Sounds like those were bad times,” I remarked seriously. “How anyone survived that war is beyond me.”

Hamish raised a brow, appearing confused. “You wasn’t around back then?”

“I was,” I corrected, “but I was knee-high to a grasshopper. Just a lil’ boy. I hardly remember anything from back then.”

The veteran let out a sigh. “Consider yourself lucky. Ain’t nothin’ pleasant to remember about the Civil War. Colored folk were in chains, our people was beatin’ them, and of course...there was death. Everywhere you went. Sometimes, the bodies lay so thick, you coulda walked across the whole field without your boots touching mud.”

I shook my head in a sympathetic manner, lookin’ Hamish in the eye.

“It’s a good thing those times are behind us, then.”

He gave me a weary expression. “Behind the government, perhaps. But not us. There’s still conflict in this country every single day. A thousand little wars ragin’ on in the unseen corners of America. That’s why you absolutely cannot let anything happen to you, or Mister Ryan.”

Hamish paused at the mention of Eddie’s name and switched to a more inquiring tone, leaning casually on his crutch.

“Say, how did you meet that man in the first place? I’ve spoken with Eddie a bit, and he says y’all haven’t known each other for that long, but the two of you seem real close to me.”

A chuckle escaped me. “I ran into him in Saint Denis. Quite literally, actually. I had just come stumblin’ outta some pompous saloon and accidentally slammed right into him. It was...memorable, you could say.”

Hamish returned the laugh. “Tell me, what was Eddie like back then? How’d a simple pianist end up running around with America’s most wanted?”

I backtracked through all the months I’d spent with Eddie, the memories bombarding my head like the continuous flash of a camera.

“To be honest, I couldn’t quite tell you. He was a kind, law-abiding citizen who had never killed a man before, and then...there was me. A rotten, ol’ thief come looking to pick that city clean.”

The other man smirked at that, clearly not buying it. “And yet, Eddie insists you’re one of the noblest men he’s ever known.”

I grinned in response, carrying on with my story. “Well, I suppose Eddie just...brought somethin’ out in me. I saw the struggles he was dealin’ with, and I wanted to give him better. So, I helped him out with his troubles, taught him how to survive, and gave him shelter within the gang, but...now that’s fallen apart, too.”

I sighed in a despondent tone, glancing at the floor. “...Seems like that happens all too often, nowadays.”

An encouraging glint twinkled in Hamish’s eyes. “So it does. But you’ll make it through this, Arthur. You and Eddie. I know a survivor when I see one.”

I picked up the leather bag and slung it over my shoulder, preparin’ to head outside as I spoke with Hamish along the way.

“I just...I wanna give Eddie the life he deserves, y’know? But I dunno if I can do it.”

The veteran followed after me, still remaining optimistic.

“Why not? You’ve gotten this far, ain’t you?”

I stopped right in front of the door, turnin’ around to face the old man.

“Well, yeah, but how long will we be running? I’m a criminal, for god’s sake. An outlaw. I’m constantly on the lookout for Pinkertons, bounty hunters, rival gangs -- how in the hell am I supposed to help Eddie find a normal life when I can’t even find one?”

Hamish chuckled lightly, pointing out the obvious. “You rely on yourself too much, Arthur. Remember, you ain’t bearing all this weight by yourself. Eddie’s there to help you just as much as you’re there to help him.”

The veteran laid a hand on my shoulder, attempting to reassure me. “I know it’s comfortable believing that you’re capable of findin’ all your own solutions, but the reality is, sometimes you need other people to fill in the blanks. You haven’t been able to find a normal life, Arthur, because you ain’t meant to do it on your own. Don’t be afraid to lean on Eddie every once in a while. The boy’s strong. He can take it. You just gotta let him know what’s goin’ on.”

Falling silent for a minute, I took what Hamish said to heart and thought about it for a while, suddenly changin’ my whole perspective on my relationship with Eddie.

I...I supposed Hamish was right.

I had gotten so used to fixing my own problems and building up my own pride, that I forgot there weren’t no shame in askin’ for help when I needed it.

Things was just always so tense within the gang, and everyone was concerned with their own problems, that eventually, I learned to look out for myself. Didn’t even take a moment to step back and consider that perhaps, I wasn’t as alone as I thought.

I knew Eddie was capable of protecting himself, and of me, but I was just too afraid to let him do it.

I rested a hand on the doorknob and simply stayed still for a moment, listenin’ to Hamish as he continued to talk.

“Love goes both ways, Arthur. Whatever you’re willin’ to do in order to keep Eddie alive, I know that man feels the same way about you. It’s how love works.”

“Wait,” I said, pausing for a second. “...Love? How did you know that we were...” my voice trailed off awkwardly, causin’ me to clear my throat. “Did...did Eddie tell you?”

The veteran chortled. “Didn’t have to. The bond between you two is pretty obvious. In fact, I suspected it from the moment you set foot on my doorstep. I just never said anything ‘cause I didn’t wanna pry.”

My face started to feel hot with embarrassment, and I sheepishly rubbed the back of my neck. “Ah. I see.”

Hamish quickly offered some reassurance, noticing my mood.

“Hey, you’ll get no judgements here. I must admit I’m a tad surprised, but frankly...” he sighed, his eyes sinking with profound sorrow, “...I’ve seen the damage unfair judgement can do. My own partner -- a colored woman -- was killed years ago because of it. ...You just take care of Mister Ryan while you’re out there, alright? And yourself.”

I nodded firmly at that, somewhat more relaxed now that our secret was out in the open.

“Oh, believe me. I will.”

A paternal smile radiated on the old man’s face and he pulled me into a hug with one of his arms, happily pattin’ me on the back as he said goodbye.

“Then I wish you luck. I’ll miss your company, Arthur. Yours and Eddie’s. It was a pleasure havin’ you boys stay.”

I laughed warmly at that, opening the front door.

“Heh, well, thank you for everything you’ve done. Y’know...this might be the first time I’m leavin’ someone’s house without any of their belongings.”

Hamish shook his head in an amused manner, separating the hug. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. Let’s just see if you can keep it up.”

I stepped out the door and made my way into the crisp weather outside, throwin’ one last wave at Hamish as he stayed behind.

“I’ll do my best.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Strollin’ away from the quaint cabin as a light breeze whistled past me, I approached the horses while Eddie secured our stuff onto their backs and whistled to himself, his face shielded from the sun due to the Nevada hat sittin’ on his head.

His leg was looking much better now, thanks to all those weeks of recovery. He still weren’t able to walk or run as well as before, and it had been a while since he last left the house, but the man didn’t require a cane to get around no more. At least, not most of the time.

I was just happy to see Eddie on his feet again.

It scared the hell outta me, watchin’ him go through all that just ‘cause of one bullet. There was a lot of pain and frustration involved with his healing process, and part of me worried he’d never be able to walk again. As for the other part, well -- I was just grateful that he was still around in the first place.

After all, it didn’t look like many of our people survived Rodrick’s attack back at Beaver Hollow. And considering what happened to fellers like Kieran, or Lenny, or Strauss...I considered ourselves lucky for gettin’ away how we did.

I only hoped our luck would last long enough for us to get out of America.

Our plan at the moment was to get to Saint Denis and hop onto the next ship to England, but I had seen enough of my friends get killed to know that nothin’ was ever that easy. The road to freedom was rarely ever a straight path, and I doubted this one was going to be any different.

I supposed we would just have to wait and see what the future held.

“Morning, handsome,” I called out cheerfully, slingin’ my bag over my horse’s saddle. “You ready to go?”

The pianist fed his mount a quick snack, patting him on the neck.

“Ready as I’ll ever be. It feels like ages since I last stepped outside. What about you, Arthur? How are you feeling?”

I let out a hesitant sigh, admittedly nervous about going to England.

“...I’m ready,” I answered, not sounding as sincere as I hoped. “Just...not quite used to the idea of livin’ halfway across the world yet.”

Eddie picked up on my tone and gave me a concerned look. “If you’re uncomfortable with going to England, we can always go somewhere else. There’s still time to decide. Remember, this isn’t just about me. I wanna make sure you’re safe too.”

“Well...where else would we go?” I asked. “Ain’t like we got a lot of options.”

The other man offered some suggestions. “Canada, perhaps? Or even Mexico, if you prefer.”

I waved a dismissive hand, goin’ along with our original idea.

“Nah, both of those places are too close. I’d feel better knowin’ we had some ocean between us and them Pinkertons. If they’re gonna come after me, I wanna at least make ‘em work for it. Besides, accordin’ to Javier, Mexico ain’t the best place to lie low right now.”

The pianist shrugged uncertainly, takin’ my word for it. “Well, alright, I guess.”

I came to a halt, noticing that Eddie still had a worried expression on his face.

“...Look, I’ll be fine,” I reassured him. “I just need some time to wrap my head ‘round this whole thing. I’ve never left America before. You know this. England’s a whole new world to me.”

The other man clearly wasn’t convinced about my commitment to this just yet, but decided to trust me anyway.

“...If you say so. Just let me know if you change your mind, okay? I don’t wanna drag you into something you’re not willing to do. And besides, the more backup plans we have, the better. I hate to be the pessimist, but there really is no guarantee our trip to England will go smoothly. And that’s assuming we even reach Saint Denis.”

I chuckled sarcastically, unhitching my horse. “You certainly know how to comfort a man, don’t you?”

Eddie smirked in response. “I learned from the best. Anyways, now that we got that out of the way...” he mounted his horse, stickin’ his boots in the stirrups, “...shall we get going?”

I followed his actions and climbed on top of my own mount, makin’ myself comfortable in the saddle.

“Yes, let’s.”

Turning away from Hamish’s lone cabin, the two of us began trotting at a casual pace as we slowly made our way back to the road, finally resuming the seemingly eternal journey we started months ago.

I couldn’t lie -- I was gonna miss O’Creagh’s Run. There was just a certain air to the place that offered a sense of sanctuary, and I always felt like we was hidden from the rest of the world whenever I wandered near here.

I supposed I was just more a nature person. America had its flaws, sure, but part of me honestly wished we could stay. Ever since I was a little boy, the view of lively meadows, never-ending forests, and purple mountains crowning the horizon always made me feel at home.

Somethin’ about them just brought you closer to the sky, I guess. They seemed to compliment the stars like nothing mankind ever built, and no matter how large people made their cities or how brightly they lit them up...I knew the wild west was always gonna have my heart.

It just made me sad to know that those times were comin’ to an end.

All them years I spent runnin’ around with Dutch and Hosea -- creating our own society and riding across America -- they were nothing more than a handful of lost memories now.

Hosea was dead, Dutch had lost his mind, and I...well, I hated to admit it, but the era of outlaws and gunslingers was over.

Despite all our efforts to stay ahead of it, civilization was spreading rapidly across the whole world, and people like me had no place in its society.

If I was gonna keep Eddie alive and hope to have a future with him, my entire lifestyle was gonna have to change.

My criminal background, my time spent runnin’ from the law, my love for a freer life -- it would all have to go. I would have to become a...civilized man, and live in a civilized place.

I didn’t know if I was ready for that kind of a difference, but what I did know was that I loved Eddie. And regardless of how much I longed for another life, that man meant more to me than anything else right now.

Even if it meant giving up everything I had in America, I was gonna do whatever it took to help him...because I knew he’d do the same for me.

I just hoped we’d be able to reach Saint Denis first. We were finally nearing the end of this harsh journey, and Lord only knew what sort of obstacles we was gonna face along the way. I had a feeling neither Atticus nor the Pinkertons were going to let us go that easy, but if I had any say in it, they weren’t gonna stop us from reaching England.

Nothing was.

~~~~~~~~~~

A COUPLE HOURS LATER

EASTERN NEW HANOVER

Roaming through New Hanover’s wide, open fields, Eddie and I ventured down a path that would lead us alongside the Kamassa River and straight into Bluewater Marsh, hopefully taking us to the northern region of Bayou Nwa before the day ended.

So far, things had been peaceful enough except for a few random crazies on the road, but...we had yet to run into anything life-threatening.

The weather was only partly cloudy, the roads were empty, the birds were soarin’ in the sky, and our heads were still on our shoulders. S’far as I was concerned, that was a win in my book.

As for Eddie, the man seemed content with our plan and didn’t show as much hesitance as I did, but there was still a certain...melancholy surrounding him. Sorta like he was about to visit a cemetery or something.

Though, the more I thought about it...he kinda was. After all, the last time Eddie set foot in England was when his family had just been murdered, and his previous partner, Nathaniel, was killed.

Goin’ back to that place after all these years...I imagined it must’ve brought back some terrible memories for the man.

I knew from personal experience that there weren’t nothing pleasant about returning to an old graveyard, and the longer Eddie stayed silent, the more I worried about his well-being.

I leaned over in my saddle and brought my horse closer to the other man, wantin’ to check up on him.

“Hey, Eddie,” I said, peerin’ at him from under my hat. “You doin’ alright there? You seem kinda...preoccupied.”

The pianist took his eyes off the road for a moment and glanced at me, his brow furrowed with suspicion.

“...I won’t lie to you, Arthur,” he replied in a perturbed voice. “I’ve had a strange feeling ever since we left the cabin. Like...someone’s watching us.”

I took a look at the surrounding area, scanning the trees to our side.

“You see anyone?” I questioned.

“Not yet,” Eddie admitted, “but the feeling’s still there.”

“Well...just keep your eyes open,” I warned. “I doubt it’s Atticus, but there’s still plenty of bandits in these parts. Could be them.”

The pianist wasn’t so sure. “Maybe, but bandits don’t stalk you, do they?”

I let out a troubled sigh, shakin’ my head. “Not usually, no. Again, like I said -- just keep your eyes open. We don’t need any surprises.”

Tryin’ to ease Eddie’s nerves, I decided to switch topics and took on a softer tone, hoping to calm the man down a little.

“Listen,” I began, “when I asked if you was doin’ okay, I was more referring to the fact that we’re going back to England. To your homeland. I know you haven’t seen it in a long time, and I was just...curious, I guess. About what’s on your mind.”

Eddie chuckled in response, though it sounded more like he was laughing at himself.

“You know, it’s the strangest thing. From the moment I set foot in the States, I spent every second wishing I could go back home. I missed London. I missed my family, the people, the buildings, the culture, the way of life...”

I jumped in. “But now...?”

“But now...” he continued, “I honestly wish I could stay here. In America. With you.”

I grinned, admittedly a tad surprised. “Is that so?”

Eddie returned the smile. “I’m afraid it is. But...I know it’s not safe for us here anymore. I know we have to leave. It’s just -- I’ll miss America. Despite everything we’ve been through.”

“Aw, don’t worry,” I reassured him. “We’ll come back someday.”

The pianist smirked. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Ridin’ in silence for a few moments, a random thought suddenly crossed my mind when I glanced at Eddie’s mount, causing me to raise a question.

“Hey, I just noticed something. Whatever happened to your other horse, Bullet? I haven’t seen him around for a while.”

Eddie frowned at that, sighing mournfully. “He died, I’m afraid.”

My eyes sprang open in surprise. “Died? When?”

“He was shot down when Rodrick attacked our camp,” he explained. “I didn’t even get the chance to try to save him.”

Bewildered by the news, I thought back to the ambush and replayed all the events in my head as clearly as I could, suddenly realizin’ something I completely missed before.

If I recalled correctly, I took cover behind a dead horse at some point during the shootout. It was right after Eddie had just been shot in the leg and I was tryin’ to make my way to him.

...That must’ve been Bullet.

“Aw, shit...” I breathed out. “I’m sorry, Eddie. He was a good horse.”

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “he was. I’ll miss that big brute. I’m just glad it wasn’t you.”

I leaned to the side and placed a hand on top of Eddie’s, comforting the pianist.

“Oh, you know I wouldn’t let that happen. And neither would you.”

Smiling warmly at the comment, Eddie’s face radiated with affection as he tightened his hand ‘round mine, gazing lovingly at me.

Just before he could reply however, a third voice suddenly cut him off from a distance and darkened the mood with a sense of dread, causin’ us to stop dead in our tracks.

“A sweet sentiment,” their voice flatly observed, “...but I’m afraid that’s all it is.”

Turnin’ to see just who the hell had interrupted us, I brought my focus to the opposite end of the road and spotted a mysterious man sitting on a horse, only to quickly recognize the Pinkerton badge shining brightly on his coat.

There was a large array of other agents protecting him on both sides -- all of them armed to the teeth -- and the more I searched the thick trees surrounding us, the easier I started to notice the sons-of-bitches hidin’ in the bushes.

I guessed Eddie’s instincts were correct.

“...Shit...” I cursed under my breath. “Milton.”

Eddie paused. “Wait, you know this man?”

I kept my voice low, makin’ sure that the bastard couldn’t hear me.

“He’s one of them Pinkertons,” I explained with a whisper. “He’s been hunting Dutch for months now. Even before I met you.”

“...Dammit. What should we do?”

I signaled Eddie to stay back with a simple gesture, remindin’ him to remain calm as Milton slowly approached the two of us.

“Just let me do the talking,” I said. “Don’t shoot anything yet.”

Eddie was obviously unsettled by the encounter but followed my lead anyway, keepin’ his hand close to his holster.

“...If you think that’s best. Just be careful.”

I gave him a nod, ensuring that I would.

Finally bringin’ my attention over to Milton, I tapped my spurs into the side of my horse and steadily trotted closer to him, wandering down the road alone as the other Pinkertons kept their guns nailed onto me.

I didn’t dare take my eyes off of Milton’s friends -- especially not that sleaze Ross -- and with every torturous second that passed by, I could feel Milton’s glare practically piercin’ through me more and more.

It was evident that he didn’t intend on lettin’ us walk outta here alive, and just by studying his arrogant demeanor, I could tell he had already captured some o’ the other folks in our gang.

My only question was who.

“Mister Morgan,” Milton greeted as I came to a halt. “Nice to see you again. It’s been quite a long time since we last spoke.”

I sighed to myself, already wishin’ I could kill this man. “...I do my best to avoid you.”

“So I see.”

The Pinkerton’s iron sight traveled over to Eddie, leading him into his next question. “...I assume that’s Mister Ryan?”

I followed Milton’s gaze and briefly glanced at the pianist, surprised that he knew him.

“Oh, there’s no need to be shocked,” Milton remarked, noticing my expression. “Micah Bell hardly left anything to question, after all. He’s been quite the informant as of late.”

An irritated breath escaped me. “Of course. Well...what is it that you want?”

The agent rested his arms on the horn of his saddle. “I want many things, Mister Morgan. Van der Linde, most of all. But also...you.”

That triggered a sense of alarm within me, but I decided to hold it back for now.

“So...what,” I asked, tryin’ to hide my agitation, “you here to kill me? Claim the price on my head? Is that it?”

Milton nonchalantly shook his head. “Not kill. ...Not yet.”

The Pinkerton raised his hands in a diplomatic manner and slowly walked towards me, closing the distance between us until there were only a couple meters left.

“I’ve come to make a deal, Mister Morgan.”

I let out a scoff. “A deal?”

“I’m offering you a chance to surrender,” Milton continued, disregarding my reluctance. “Lay down your weapons, and come with me peacefully. If you tell me where to find Van der Linde, I promise you won’t be executed.”

I refused to humor him.

“Ol’ Dutch? I haven’t seen him in weeks.”

The Pinkerton obviously didn’t believe me. “Is that so?”

“I’ve lied about many things in my time, agent,” I countered, “but that ain’t one of them.”

Milton’s mind remained unswayed. “Even so, my offer still stands. You may not know where Dutch is at the moment, but I’m sure a man like you would know how to find him. Help me locate Mister Van der Linde, and you have my word you won’t swing.”

I shrugged. “And you expect me to just believe you?”

The agent’s expression hardened with impatience. “You don’t have a choice.”

Cocking their guns as a warning, the other Pinkertons immediately assumed a more hostile stance as they cornered me and Eddie within the confines of this road, preventin’ us from going anywhere.

There were far too many of them for us to simply escape without a fight, and judging by the faint rustling I heard from behind me, I could only assume they had blocked us from the rear as well.

We were trapped.

“So,” Milton said, readying his own pistol, “what’s it going to be, Arthur? Shall we handle this like civilized folk...or do I need to order my men to open fire?”

Observin’ the Pinkertons with an alarmed glare, I started to grow restless as my heart began to pound heavily and I slowly realized just how many of them there actually were.

It looked like an entire goddamned battalion had ambushed us, and for as far as the eye could see, there were nothin’ but Pinkertons blocking us from every direction, making me feel as if we was trapped in a human cobweb.

It was clear to me that we had to get the hell outta here as soon as possible...but I just didn’t know how.

Eddie trotted closer to me and kept his voice hushed, whispering in a panicked tone.

“There’s too many of them, Arthur,” he stated, his eyes frantically dartin’ around. “If we start shooting, we’ll be slaughtered...!”

I glanced back at him, adamant that we would make it outta this.

“We can’t surrender now, Eddie. We’ve come way too far. If they take us, we’ll go straight to the gallows. You think that’s any better than dyin’ here?”

The pianist found himself at a dead end. “Well -- what else can we do? Do you believe Milton will actually spare you if we surrender?”

I shook my head. “I doubt it, but it don’t matter anyway. I ain’t gonna become a traitor like Micah. If Milton wants Dutch, he’s gon’ have to find him himself.”

“No,” Eddie disagreed, “Dutch betrayed you, Arthur. Not the other way around. You were his son and he almost killed you...! Don’t you want him to answer for what he did? Perhaps this is your chance.”

“I ain’t in the revenge business, Eddie.” I reminded him. “If Dutch is gonna die by my hand someday, so be it. But I won’t give these snakes the satisfaction.”

The other man sighed out of discouragement.

“Very well, but...” his voice trailed off into a grim silence, leadin’ me to urge him on.

“What is it?” I questioned.

Eddie gazed at me with an expression sharpened by genuine fear and clenched his jaw out of distress, knowing damn-well what the near-future held.

“...I don’t want to die, Arthur,” he confessed morosely. “If we don’t do what Milton says, his Pinkertons will kill us right here. We’ll...we’ll be dead. ...I’m not ready for that.”

I let out a heartbroken breath at the statement and bit my bottom lip, reluctant to admit that Eddie was right once the dreadful news sunk in.

We...we truly were done for, weren’t we?

We couldn’t surrender, and we couldn’t fight all these men either.

Just like that, all our efforts to get outta this country had been snuffed out like a dying candle because of these goddamned Pinkertons, and for the first time since I met Eddie, I was powerless to stop it.

...This was where we were gonna die.

This was how our journey was gonna come to an end.

These were my final moments in this godforsaken world, and the retribution for all the sins I had committed had caught up to me at last.

Even if I had to die today though, I refused to let the Pinkertons use me as their toy.

I was gonna go down fighting like the outlaw I was born to be, and I’d do it side-by-side with the man I loved.

There weren’t no glory in this kind of death, but perhaps there would be peace.

“...Arthur?” Eddie asked, bringin’ me back to reality. I could tell he was waiting for a decision. “What are you thinking?”

I steadily lowered my hand so that it was next to my holster and glared at Milton with an unbreakable stare, somehow tryin’ to comfort Eddie even in the face of imminent death.

“...We stand our ground.” I said with a heavy heart, attempting to remain strong for both our sakes. “Milton’s a goddamned fool if he thinks we’re gonna surrender.”

To my surprise, Eddie didn’t even question the choice and simply reached for his own revolver, barely wavering as he walked his horse to my side.

“Then I’ll stand with you.”

I gave Eddie a look of profound remorse, hopelessly wishing I could whisk him away from this mess.

“You know I love you, right?” I whispered compassionately, unable to believe I was truly sayin’ goodbye to this man.

“There’s no doubt in my mind.” He confirmed, maintaining his composure. “I love you, too, Arthur.”

Finally done with waitin’ for an answer, Milton raised his voice and called to us from the other end of the road, demanding a decision from us.

“Well? Have you made a choice, Mister Morgan? Will you accept my offer? My patience grows thin.”

I threw the Pinkerton a steadfast grin and lightly scoffed to myself, strangely amused by the fact that, despite cornering us, he still lost this battle.

“Not a chance, Milton,” I replied firmly. “...I’m afraid we’ll be outlaws for life.”

The agent responded with an ice-cold glower.

“...So be it.”

Boldly elevating his arm into the air with an open hand, Milton signaled the other Pinkertons to prepare for a fight.

“You chose this path, Arthur,” he announced, narrowing his eyes in anger. “Let it be known that I offered you mercy.”

The rest of the Pinkertons readied their rifles, eagerly taking aim.

“May God spare you from the suffering you’ve inflicted on His creatures, Mister Morgan,” Milton prayed apathetically. “...Because I certainly won’t.”

Striking like a thunderbolt, an unexpected bang echoed throughout the entire field as everyone instantly froze and birds soared away in the distance, all of us stuck in disbelief until we noticed a bullet hole buried in Milton’s skull.

It didn’t look like the agent had realized what had happened just yet, but after about a second of staring blankly into the space ahead of him, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he collapsed to the ground, rendering us speechless.

I hurriedly searched for the source of the shot, only to spot Rodrick Kinglsey mounted on a horse in the distance.

Goddammit...

That son-of-a-bitch found us.

The madman cocked his smoking repeater and chuckled maliciously, goading the Pinkertons into a fight as the rest of Atticus’ gang joined the scene.

“You government boys did us a huge favor,” he mocked, “but we’ll take it from here.”

“Shit!” Agent Ross exclaimed sharply, finally snappin’ out of his state of shock. “There’s more of the bastards! Open fire!”

Not even wasting a single second, the Pinkertons began raining bullets on Atticus’ gang as guns fired off in every direction and smoke filled the air, forcin’ us to ride blind while horses frantically trampled all over the scene.

“Eddie!” I shouted over the commotion, “RUN!”

Takin’ this opportunity to flee, the pianist and I immediately hauled ass away from the battlefield as we shot down Pinkertons and outlaws alike, not sparing even one bullet during our escape.

Unfortunately for us, some of Atticus’ men had managed to single us out from the crowd -- including Rodrick -- and started to chase after us, shootin’ wildly as if there was no tomorrow.

“Shit!” Eddie yelled, dodging a bullet that just barely missed his head. “Where are we going?!”

I gestured in front of us. “Just keep headin’ south! We’ll try to lose them up ahead!”

Whippin’ my reins with a sharp tug, I glanced over my shoulder and fired a few shots at the men behind us, struggling to keep my aim straight with how much my horse was diggin’ its hooves into the ground.

I managed to kill one of Atticus’ men and sent them crashin’ into the dirt below, practically turning them into a human tumbleweed as they rolled through thick billows of dust.

It looked like the Pinkertons were keepin’ the rest of their gang busy with all the chaos surrounding Milton’s death, and fortunately for me and Eddie, I had yet to see any sign of Atticus Rose himself.

Though, if Rodrick was here runnin’ after us, I had no other choice but to assume he was close.

We would have to deal with him sooner or later.

“Arthur, look!” Eddie called out, pointing ahead. “There’s a bridge!”

Peering over the wavy hills laid out in front of us, I leaned forward in my saddle and gazed through the numerous trees, makin’ out a long hanging bridge not too far away from us.

It was positioned just above a colossal waterfall and connected the gap between two massive rock formations, both of which towered over the land like a pair of skyscrapers.

That could be our way out.

“Get across the bridge!” I told Eddie. “We’ll cut it down from the other side!”

The pianist glued his eyes onto the multiple people ridin’ behind me, instantly slipping his pistol out.

“That might be harder than you think...!”

Bringin’ my attention back to Rodrick and his men, I signaled for Eddie to follow my lead as the two of us started gunning them down together, both of us desperately tryin’ to pick up our speed.

It wouldn’t be too long before we’d be crossin’ that bridge now, and if we didn’t put enough distance between ourselves and Rodrick’s men, our plan to trap ‘em on the other side would’ve been one of futility.

“You go on ahead!” I exclaimed at Eddie, killing another one of Atticus’ people. “I’ll make sure these bastards stay back!”

“What? No!” Eddie rejected. “I’m not leaving you here, Arthur!”

I hurriedly reloaded my pistol. “Look, that bridge is too narrow for us to cross it at the same time anyway, so you may as well just go in front of me! Now, hurry!”

Letting out a reluctant sigh, the pianist pondered the dilemma for a moment before snappin’ his horse’s reins and bolting ahead, rushing directly towards the bridge’s entrance.

Just before he had any time to react however, I suddenly noticed a small group of Atticus’ men hidin’ on the other side, ready to cut the bridge down right as Eddie was about to cross it.

“Oh, shit,” I cursed, “Eddie! STOP!”

But it was too late.

Even though the pianist had already yanked the reins back with a great amount of force, the poor animal still slid onto the bridge’s rickety planks due to its incredible speed and let out a panicked neigh as the structure came swingin’ down, causing both the horse and Eddie to go plummeting towards the waterfall.

“EDDIE!” I yelled, immediately hopping off my own mount. I sprinted towards the edge of the cliff and looked down, only to see that the man was now dangling from a thin ledge as the waterfall raged underneath him.

“A-Arthur!” Eddie shouted back, his voice strainin’ with effort. “I can’t hold on much longer!”

“Here!” I said, extending an arm. “Grab my hand!”

Before I could get anywhere near the man though, the sound of someone cocking their gun abruptly reached my ears, leadin’ me to come to a halt.

It was Mister Kingsley himself.

“...I wouldn’t do that if I was you, sunshine.” He warned, wearin’ his usual grin. “You might hurt yourself.”

I steadily rose from the ground and turned to face the crazed man, secretly panicking on the inside about how Eddie was about to fall at any second.

“You son-of-a-bitch...” I muttered lowly, clenchin’ my fist. “What d’you want with us? Atticus, I understand, but you -- what the hell do you get outta this?”

Rodrick sauntered towards me and smiled widely, shrugging casually.

“Entertainment, my good sir,” he answered simply. “Entertainment. You see--” he let out a melodramatic sigh, “everybody’s so boring, nowadays. They’re always bein’ held back by polite manners, or etiquette, or some goddamn pretense.”

Rodrick gestured to me. “You though? You’re so easy to rile up. All someone’s gotta do is point a gun at Mister Ryan, and you’re ready to kill a man.” An amused chuckle escaped him. “You can pretend to be a good man all you want, Arthur. Everyone knows you’re just as rotten as the rest of us. Nothin’ but another thief with larceny in his blood. Ain’t no shame in it though. In fact, that’s what I like about you.”

I strengthened my gaze and glared at Kingsley, starin’ him down.

“I used to be like that, but not anymore.”

He scoffed in a bored manner. “Pfft...come on, Morgan. Don’t tell me you’ve grown a conscious suddenly. All because you helped one man? What about the other men in your life? Lenny? Strauss? Hosea? All of ‘em died ‘cause you felt Eddie was more important. Tell me...d’you feel like a hero yet?”

“Shut your mouth, Kingsley!” I snapped, raisin’ my voice.

“Or what?” He asked with a smirk. “You’ll kill me? I’m the one with a gun in my hand, sunshine.”

Rodrick strolled closer to me and playfully tapped the barrel of his pistol against my hat, clearly enjoying himself.

“Oh, how easy it would be to put a bullet in your head right now. I could take away everything you’ve worked for, everything you’ve achieved. I could destroy Eddie’s entire life with just the simple pull of a trigger, and he’d never see you again. I gotta admit...havin’ that much power at my fingertips -- it’s almost addicting.”

Kingsley suddenly pointed his gun away from me and took a few steps back, reachin’ for his knife.

“...But I won’t do it. After all, where’s the fun in shootin’ such an interesting creature like you? Naw...you and me, we’re gonna fight man-to-man. Outlaw-to-outlaw. Killer-to-killer.”

He brandished his knife and began circling around me, encouragin’ me to follow his actions.

“Well, come on then, sunshine! Do your worst. ...Show me exactly what kind of a monster Dutch van der Linde created.”

Barely givin’ me a chance to fight back, Rodrick aggressively lunged forward and started slashing erratically at me, sporting an insane smile as the sky grew darker above us, and the rumbling of thunder lurked in the distance.

By now, the clouds had evolved into one, monstrous shadow that blotted out the sun and stretched across the entire region, leavin’ just enough room for a slice of sunlight.

As for Kingsley himself, the bastard fought more like a wild animal than a man and moved sporadically around me, makin’ it even more difficult than usual to read his patterns.

“What’s the matter, Arthur?” Rodrick taunted, throwin’ a punch at me. “You ain’t got any fight left in you?”

Spitting out a mouthful of blood, I hurriedly reached down and whipped out my own knife before retaliating with a few solid cuts to his chest, rippin’ through the fabric of his suit.

Despite managing to make Rodrick bleed however, the wound didn’t seem to slow him down at all. He simply bounced back from the injury as if it was nothing, and if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve said it actually fueled him to fight harder.

The man suddenly grabbed me by the collar and slammed me against a nearby boulder, knockin’ the wind outta my lungs.

“Gonna have to do more than that, Morgan...!”

Forcing his knife towards my throat, Rodrick wrestled with me as I desperately tried to push him away and practically crushed his hand with an iron grip, making my arm tremble due to the amount of strength I was puttin’ on it.

The two of us scratched and clawed at each other like a bunch of animals and nearly tore each other apart in the mud, our faces becoming more and more bruised as the fight carried on.

“Why won’t you just die...?!”

Closin’ my fist, I repeatedly slammed my knuckles into Rodrick’s cheekbone and damn-near smashed his face in, doin’ everything I could to get the madman off me.

Luckily, with one final punch to the nose, I put enough power behind the attack to send Rodrick reeling and shoved him away from me, afterwards tackling him to the ground.

Keeping the man down with my weight, I began pressing my own knife into his throat and struggled against his resistance, lettin’ out a pained groan when Rodrick started twisting the skin on my wrist.

There was blood streaming down from his nose at this point, but even with the numerous lacerations decoratin’ his body and a broken nose, Kingsley still brawled with the same amount of prowess as he did before.

He jabbed his knee into my gut and threw me off, takin’ a second to regain his footing.

“You fight like the devil himself, sunshine,” Rodrick growled in a deranged tone. “I almost don’t wanna kill you!”

Rising back to his feet with an unbalanced sway, the maniac loosely charged at me again and aimed straight for my throat, tiredly trampling through the soupy mud beneath our feet.

Thanks to his fatigued state however, I managed to grab him by the shoulders and hurl him in a different direction, pinnin’ the lunatic against a tree as I practically held onto him for support, admittedly more beaten up than I cared to show.

Determined to put an end to this vicious fight, I wasted no time in takin’ hold of my knife and immediately thrusting it forward, eagerly planting the blade deep into Rodrick’s abdomen as the man’s eyes widened in shock.

It was the first time I had ever seen the outlaw in a state of fear or pain, and as malignant as it might’ve sounded, just gettin’ the chance to watch that cocky grin finally be wiped off his goddamned face granted me with a dark sense of satisfaction that I had never felt before.

I drilled the knife even further into his stomach, almost snarling at him while his hot blood stained my hand.

“You’re wrong, Kingsley,” I said through gritted teeth, stabbing him again. “I am a good man.”

I drove the blade into him one last time, twistin’ the weapon inside his chest.

“...But only when I need to be.”

Watchin’ the life vanish from his eyes, I didn’t even bother to blink as Rodrick writhed in pain and blood gathered in his mouth, causing him to choke.

His face was red with agony and the veins in his forehead protruded from his skin, makin’ me think they were about to burst.

Though, to my surprise, Kingsley managed to conjure one, final smile and let out a hoarse laugh, revealing the bloodied teeth beneath.

“...Oh...you got me, Morgan...” he wheezed out. “...You got me. My only regret is...lettin’ you kill me before going after Atticus. My, my, what a show that would’ve been...”

Rodrick weakly patted my hand, uttering his last words.

“...Go on...and raise some hell, would you, sunshine? I know it’s gonna be beautiful...it always is...”

Drifting into a deathly silence, Rodrick’s body finally fell limp as his last breath escaped him and his hand slipped from the knife’s hilt, allowin’ me to relax for the first time in a while.

I couldn’t believe he was actually dead.

After so many months of him tormenting me and Eddie -- there were times when I felt like the bastard would never die.

He just seemed so invincible. So welcoming to death. So...inhumane.

But I was foolish to think in such a way. It was clear to me now that Rodrick bled just like every other son-of-a-bitch on this Earth...and boy, was I glad that he did.

Removin’ my blade from the man’s torso, I stepped away and let his body collapse to the soaking wet ground, instantly bringing my focus back to Eddie now that Kingsley was dead.

I had no idea if the pianist was still latched on to that little piece of rock on the cliff face, but to think that he already fallen to his death made me sick with worry.

“Eddie!” I called out, kneeling by the edge. “You there?”

Thankfully, I got a response.

“I’m here, Arthur! But the rock’s too wet! I-I can’t climb up!”

I reached a hand down, suddenly realizin’ just how much blood was covering it.

“Come on! I’ll pull you up!”

Grabbing onto my arm, Eddie grunted with effort and hoisted himself onto my level, usin’ the thin ledges in the cliff’s side as leverage.

“I got you, darling,” I comforted, helping him over the edge. “I got you.”

Finally returning to the surface, Eddie gladly plopped himself on the grass and simply sat there for a moment, briefly catchin’ his breath.

“Jesus Christ...” he panted out, “that...that was close. Thank you, Arthur. I would’ve slipped soon if you didn’t help.”

“No need to thank me,” I replied, also out of breath. “Let’s just get the hell outta here...and go to Saint Denis. I’ve had enough of this goddamn place.”

Eddie nodded in agreement and stood up from the ground, only to freeze mid-action when he noticed Rodrick’s body sitting against the tree.

The pianist paused for a second, staring blankly at his corpse.

“Wait...Rodrick’s dead?” He asked, clearly in disbelief. “...You...you killed him?”

“I did.” I said firmly. “And I’d do it again.”

Contrary to what I expected, Eddie sighed in regret and hung his head low, recalling all the encounters he had with that lunatic.

“That crazy bastard...” he whispered softly. “Both him and Middleton pursued me for years. I never thought I’d be blessed to see the day he died. My only regret is that I couldn’t help you finish him off.”

I laid a reassuring hand on Eddie’s shoulder, urgin’ him to look away.

“Well...he’s as dead as they come now, thank God. We should move before we end up like him.”

“Yeah. You’re right. Come on, let’s...”

Eddie suddenly paused, jerking his head around in confusion as if he had just heard something.

I shrugged. “What?”

The pianist brought his gaze upwards, leadin’ him to point towards the sky.

“Arthur, look.”

Following his line of sight, I turned around and saw a magnificent rock formation dominating the landscape in the distance, as well as a group of people who were fightin’ on top of it.

The rock was shaped like an anvil and tilted towards the clouds with an incredible height, almost as if it were a ramp to the heavens themselves.

Once I took a better look though, I realized that the people standing atop weren’t just some random passersby. The majority of them was Pinkertons...and they were fighting Atticus.

“It’s Atticus,” I remarked nonchalantly. “So what?”

Eddie gave me a resolute stare, formulatin’ a plan in his head.

“...We have to kill him, Arthur.”

I pulled back at the idea, lookin’ at the other man in bewilderment.

“What? Eddie, we can’t--”

“--We have to,” he reiterated, taking hold of my hand. “If we don’t, he’ll never stop chasing us. Atticus already followed me to America. What makes you think he won’t follow us to England? This is our chance to eliminate him! Rodrick is dead, and the Pinkertons have him cornered. We can do this.”

I let out a deep breath, still tentative about the proposal.

“...You know how I feel about vengeance, Eddie.”

The pianist persisted. “This isn’t about vengeance. We’ve been looking at this all wrong, Arthur. We’re never going to be free if we just...keep running! We need to face Atticus head-on. We need to kill him. Otherwise, this journey’s never going to end. You know that.”

Chewin’ on my lip in thought, I pondered the decision for a while as I weighed our options, genuinely torn about what to do.

On one hand, I knew Eddie wasn’t gonna leave this place so long as Atticus still breathed. They had too much history. Too much to settle. They both needed closure.

And on top of that, I couldn’t deny that I conceded Eddie’s point about Atticus chasin’ us halfway across the world. That old man had done it before, after all, and I’d seen how relentless he could be for myself.

What worried me though, was the number of Pinkertons we’d have to fight through in order to reach him. They was givin’ him hell at the moment, and I wasn’t sure if Eddie and I would be able to kill that many people on our own.

I mean, we barely escaped death not too long ago. The last thing I wanted to do was tempt it even more.

But, then again...I knew Eddie well enough to know that once he had his mind set on something, it’d be foolish to get in his way.

As much as I wanted to just leave and high-tail it outta here, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. Maybe this was our chance to get rid of Atticus.

Maybe we could finally put an end to this godforsaken war, and close this chapter in our lives.

We just had to be brave enough to do it.

“...Okay,” I agreed at last. “You’re right. Atticus needs to die.”

Eddie’s expression perked with hope, and a glint of excitement twinkled in his eyes.

“You mean, you’ll help me kill him?”

I nodded assertively and thought back to the day Eddie and I killed Middleton, swiftly takin’ out my revolvers as the two of us made our way to Atticus.

“For you...anything.”

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