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#grey canyon
pagetgram · 4 months
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@pagetpaget: I finally went to the Grand Canyon. This is an extraordinary country full of beauty and kind people. The news makes everything seem terrible. I still believe in us.
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NANCY DREW CASE FILES: 13
LAST TRAIN TO BLUE MOON CANYON
Invited on board a haunted train to help solve a century-old mystery of the vanished Jake Hurley, only to uncover another one unraveling in present day aboard the train to blue moon canyon.
"You know what they say it's not the destination it's the journey and this is one ride you'll never forget. You don't want to miss this train"
Bobby Cannavale as Tino Balducci
A hot-shot detective riding the fame from an old case with a big win up his sleeve and an even bigger ego.
Kathy Bates as Charleena Purcell
An award winning romance novelist, diving into a darker mystery genre.
Anya Taylor-Joy as Lori Girard
With a love for attention and mysteries only one can imagine what happened to the girl who disappeared?
LaKeith Stanfield as John Grey
Host of TV's Ghost Chasers, with a rumor of the train being haunted by Jake Hurley's wife Camille, he gets to work finding proof of the haunting, rather than the missing girl. Whatever makes for great Tv.
Nick Robinson as Frank Hardy
The older of the Hardy boys and the more rational of the two brothers. His keen eye for detail is great at always seeing something lurking underneath the facade.
Rudy Pankow as Joe Hardy
The younger of the Hardy boys and the more impulsive of the two Brothers. But, his optimism and lighthearted nature is needed in times where the mystery proves harder to solve.
7.DOG 10.SHA 11.CUR 13.TRN 15.CRE 16.ICE 17.CRY 22.TOT
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drewlyyours · 10 months
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LAST TRAIN TO BLUE MOON CANYON FANCAST
ND #13
Joe Hardy - Felix Mallard
Frank Hardy - Corey Mychreest
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Lori Girard - Dakota Fanning
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Tino Balducci - Bradley Cooper
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Charleena Purcell - Salma Hayek
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John Grey - Nathan Mitchell
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You wouldn't believe the lucky break we caught.
Lucky break? Hey, that was the result of good old-fashioned detective work.
It was the result of your insisting we stop for a cheeseburger.
MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI, SHA, CUR, CLK
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daffythefox · 8 months
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AND I WANT TO KNOW MY FATE
IF I KEEP UP THIS WAY
AND IT'S HARD TO WANT TO STAY
AWAKE
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searchsystem · 2 years
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Canyon / Aeroad CF SL 8 Disc / Stealth/Grey / Bicycle / 2020
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bogsleep · 2 years
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hollergoblin · 1 year
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Conversation
Tino: I really liked this girl, so I sent her an e-vite to my heart.
John: What happened?
Tino: She declined.
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seniouesbabes · 2 years
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Lily Maymac 🌸💋🍒🌸 Hiking in the Hollywood Hills 🤩 @lovewave @revolve
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selenityshiroi · 10 months
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Zelda travelling around Hyrule after the Calamity and people are tripping over themselves to tell her stories about the Hero because they love that feral cryptid mad man and are so proud of him
'I met him when I was about to get eaten by a Hinox...he jumped off a horse, fired 12 arrows in the blink of an eye and then got smacked in the face with a tree...but then he came back and hacked away at it's legs with this stupidly big sword until it finally died'
'He was wearing this weird patched together mask that looked like a monster but he made enough curry for everyone so we didn't like to ask'
'But...the hero was a girl? She wore these lovely green silks and every time she came out of the Gerudo Canyon she had a bag full of electric safflina to sell to Beedle over there. The Gerudo think she's an amazing fighter, which says a lot, and she always thanked me for looking after her horses when she went into the desert'
'I swear to Hylia that he ran through here wearing nothing but his underwear and a mask shaped like a leaf...claimed he was looking for the Children of the Forest. Sorry, Princess, but I'm not sure he was quite right in the head at the time'
'He used to creep in here silently wearing this grey mask and with enough lizards and beetles that we could make enough elixirs to last for a month. Not sure I ever saw his face without it'
And the entire time Link is stood neatly dressed, three steps away, listening to every word and no one pays him the slightest bit of attention. Because none of them cotton on that 'prim and proper Royal Knight' Link and 'I will defeat this Lynel with a stick, a pot lid and a bucket load of adrenaline' Wild Child Hero is the same man. Especially with how many masks he owned.
When they walk away and are out of sight and earshot Zelda just raises her eyebrow with a smile and he is like '...I can explain...it made sense at the time'
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dukegenocide · 1 year
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Master Bath Bathroom in Salt Lake City porcelain tiles and small transitional gray tiles With raised-panel cabinets, dark wood cabinets, a two-piece toilet, gray walls, a drop-in sink, solid surface countertops, and a hinged shower door, this picture of a drop-in bathtub with porcelain tile and a gray floor is stunning.
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slowthypiglordblr · 3 months
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Adventure Flock: AT Cast represented with Birds.
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Jake the Duck...
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and Finn the Dodo
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Princess Bubblegum as a Pink and Grey Cockatoo
Her plumage befits her sweet yet limited morality.
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Marceline the Marital Eagle
She's scary at first glance, but her rock'n talons and sharp beak beguile a warm downy heart.
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Simon Petrikov the Crested Guan
Small, skittish, and unassuming, but this lil guy shines above all the rest in terms of quirky charm.
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Betty Grof the Greater Roadrunner
Quick witted, swift footed, and unfettered even by rattlesnakes, this wacky bird will do anything for her boo.
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Lady Cranicorn the Oriental Storke
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Huntress Wizard the Great Horned Owl
Wise in the ways of nature and a skillful predator, but a complete birdbrain everywhere else.
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Peppermint Vampire Finch
At first, one might think he's just a harmless dutiful servant. But this little nightmare is not to be trifled with.
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Susan/Kira Albatross and Frieda the Tern.
Two travelers of the sky and seas, never to be parted again.
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Lumpy Space Princess the Common Cuckoo
She's a lazy and apathetic moocher, but at least present when needed.
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Prismo the Sarus Crane
Is there any wish in the cosmos greater than spending time with this dude?
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Giuseppe the Sacred Ibis
The most wondrous and perplexing creature in all of Ooo.
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Earl of Lemongrab the Barn Owl
Can be as quiet as a mouse, but has a voice that makes your ears bleed. This guy is just messed up in the head.
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BMO the Junco
Who doesn't love a Junco in the winter?
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Moe the Archaeopteryx
The wisest of all the birds and men in Ooo
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Lemonhope the Yellow Warbler
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Billy the Argentavis
The warrior ever, the hero the skies!
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Flame Princess the Phoenix
The Mistress of the eternal flame
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Water Nypmhs are various waterfowl
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Canyon however is Pelegornis
The only one that can handle Billy's ride.
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Magic Man the Peafowl
A magnificent bastard through and through.
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Vampire King as the Roc
Former ruler of predators until Marcy came along.
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Minerva Campbell the Caladirus
She's a helper to the end, even at the cost of her own life. (was a dove before her ascension)
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Hunson Abadeer the Cassowary
The most evil of all birds.
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The Ice Crown embodies the Snow Owl
Pretty self-explanatory.
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The Lich in the leathery wings of the past
Killed off the dinosaurs of old, and now seeks finish off what remains.
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chiefdirector · 4 months
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Searching | Tim Bradford | The Rookie
Part One
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Two Years Ago
Tim felt his blood run cold. 
The words all made sense out loud, he knew what he was being told. But he himself could not make any sense of it. How could he? How could he make sense of any of this? How could she have just vanished? It wasn't meant to go like this; Tim wasn’t meant to lose her.
His body tensed as his mind began to race. He was meant to protect her, he should've been there to make sure that she was safe. He should've been there with her. He should have done something. He had failed her.
Grey repeatedly told him that he couldn't have changed the outcome, as if that would convince the man. Deep down inside Tim knew that was true. There was no way that the LAPD would let him anywhere near this operation. The pair of them were already on thin ice considering that they were both stationed at the Mid-Wilshire precinct. But despite the knowledge that it wasn’t his fault, Tim could not help the guilty feeling creeping back. He was her husband, he had vowed to always keep her safe. Now she could be in mortal danger and he was incapable of helping her.
Grey had also tried to send Bradford home. He lost that battle very quickly. Tim wouldn’t just sit at home and let other people take over. He couldn't. He had to help; he had to find her, even if it was the last thing he would do.
Search parties and covert operations were authorised, Tim took point on anything that he 
could. Captain Anderson gave him a chance, she knew it was risky with how strongly Tim felt about this but she also knew that nobody would look as hard and as thoroughly as he would.
He lasted two days before he was removed from the taskforce. 
——————
One Year Ago
Files were strewn across the coffee table. They had been for days, it was easier to keep them out than put them away every day. It was what he had spent the most of his free time doing, searching through files that he had already read back to front at least a hundred times. But maybe, just maybe, on the hundred-and-first time would he find something different, spot something that had been missed. Maybe in these pages he would find the answer he longed for.
But even at this point, Tim could feel the thought that this was all pointless, that (Y/N) would never be found, creeping in. He was a cop, he knew that the chances of finding a missing person after the first forty-eight hours plummeted drastically, and the chances of finding them alive was even less.
Still he picked up the file again, flipping to the beginning where he saw the initial missing persons report. They used two pictures, one was her portrait taken by the department, and the other was one taken by Tim. The two of them had gone away on a road trip for their honeymoon. At the time, (Y/N) had not yet cut her hair shorter, so the winds of the Grand Canyon were blowing it crazily in all directions. She smiled as wildly at the camera, eyes shining in joy. After Tim had taken that, another tourist offered to take the camera so the young couple could have a nice photo together. In that one, (Y/N) no longer faced the camera but her husband, and somehow her smile was even bigger.
That second photo was framed and carefully placed on Tim’s bedside table. It was his favourite photo and if she was never found, it was the way he wanted to remember her: happy, spirited, and free.
Tim didn't know what it was, whether it was the growing helplessness or the nostalgia of seeing his wife’s smile but he stood up, letting the paper fall to the ground, and meandered towards the bedroom. On the dresser stood her jewellery box, it hadn't been moved since she had left. He gently opened the lid and took out a simple chain. Next he slipped the ring from its place on his left hand and mounted it on the chain before attaching it around his neck.
——————
Six Months Ago
Life went on.
He knew it would, it was expected but that it didn’t mean it wasn’t any less daunting. He learnt to handle the day-to-day. He went grocery shopping, he did laundry, chores, cleaning, errands. He went on, one day at a time, it was the only way he could survive. Weeks seemed like years, months like decades. So Tim counted every single one of them: 547 days since she had disappeared. 562 since he last saw her. 
But life went on nonetheless. No matter how he documented it, the seconds, hours, minutes all flew by. (Y/N) just became another face in the sea of LAPD cold cases, another name that people would vaguely recall. And as she disappeared from the memories of many of his coworkers, he became more and more ghost-like. He never regained that joy he had from when he had her by his side.
He became a hardass, a stickler for rules, vengeful, angry, lost.
He was lost, but that was okay. He was okay with being like that because that meant the memory of her was not. He would remain a ghost, stuck in the past. A being that would never move on from what was taken from it. It provided comfort in some sort of sick and twisted way. He could relish in the memory of her, he could close his eyes and pretend she was there beside him.
He could guide others, help them not become him. Help them be better. He would take on another rookie, he would mould them into a model officer, and he would have to hope and pray that their fate would be better than his.
Part One | Part Three
Series Masterlist | Masterlist
Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989
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sunthug · 1 month
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Chapter 2 - Etched In Parchment
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Bandit Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x Bounty Hunter M!Reader
𝐱: alternate universe - western, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of violence, light angst, drinking (alcohol). 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈 (7.5k words)
series masterlist || prev: chapter 1 || next: chapter 3
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Seven Years Ago…
Commander Graham Bishop pressed the tips of his index and thumb against the edges of his mouth, ignoring the grain of sand on his lips as he blew a shrill whistle. 
The young men in the distance brought their exercise to a halt, an orange cloud of dirt lifting from their skidding feet.
“A’right, gather ‘round,” he called out, circling a hand above his head. Moving to lock his fingers behind his back, Bishop watched patiently as his unit gathered closer.
Your cheeks were flushed from the smoldering heat. Bullets of sweat crowned your hairline as you jogged into formation, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the other scouts.
“Before I let you go for the day,” he huffed, shifting to cross his arms over his chest, “I’ve got a bit of news.”
You glanced up and down the line at the other scouts. Commander Bishop reached for the back of his combat pants and fished out a pocket watch. His thumb released the clasp, opening the compartment to check the time, before returning the silver artifact to its rightful place with a ‘click’.
“Retiring already, Commander?” The question came from your immediate right.
Next to you stood a beaming scout, his shoulders pulled back as he stood at attention. Soft chuckles fluttered through the formation. The pale stubble along his jaw did little to hide his humor.
Commander Bishop returned a wry smile, raising a greying eyebrow in a challenge. “I’ll retire when I’m dead. You’re not gettin’ rid of me that easily, Keller. At ease.”
You stifled another laugh as you were nudged by the scout’s elbow, followed by a look only you could decipher. ‘Don’t we know it,’ it read.
A warm breeze pressed into your back, not explaining the chill that touched the exposed skin of your neck. Something grim washed over the Commander’s expression in an instant. He sighed deeply as he kept his eyes trained on the dirt under his boots. 
“You’re not scouts anymore,” he said, so quiet that it nearly got lost in the wind. You shared a look with the others. The Commander’s words hung in the air as he studied the stone faces that made up his unit. 
“One of these days, I won’t be around to lead you. Hell, one of you might just take my place up here,” he chuffed. That earned a bit of a stir as the young men grinned and muttered under their breaths. 
You remained still, keeping your eyes on Bishop and his somber gaze. 
“The world is cruel,” was the pill that was too big to swallow. “S’why you must stick together, y’hear?”
Every mouth responded in unison, though worry pinched your brow as you took in the man’s words. It wasn’t anything new to get a lecture from Bishop, but there was something almost…bittersweet this time around. 
Like a parting speech.
Commander Bishop shook his head, seemingly snapping out of whatever tangent he had started. He chuckled humorlessly as he rubbed a hand down his face and sighed. 
“Enough of my ramblin’. On with the news.”
You exhaled slowly as the Commander went on to announce the unit’s final assignment as scouts; a patrol through the Southeastern region. There had been reports of outlaws and runaways squatting within the region’s canyon, using it for shelter.
“I’ve spent years preparin’ you all for this. As you step into manhood, you’ll be responsible for more than just…” he paused, bushy eyebrows twitching, “mindless patrols. You’ll be protectin’ the Homelands from the  real  dangers of the world.”
The unit buzzed with excitement while unease sat heavy in your stomach. You ignored the gnawing in the back of your mind as the formation was dismissed, trying to keep up with your comrades and their enthusiasm.
“Hey,” Bishop called out, ushering you over with a jerk of his chin. You approached him without hesitation, standing at attention out of habit. He said nothing to correct you, instead resting a heavy hand on your shoulder. “This’ll be a walk in the park for you, I’m sure.”
You nodded quickly, biting down on the smile threatening to split your face. “Of course, sir!”
Commander Bishop pressed his lips into a thin line, his hand lowering from your shoulder. His eyebrows pushed together, green eyes studying your face pensively.
“I meant what I said about stickin’ together. There will be men out there who’ll try and take advantage of you. Men who you may call your brothers can be just as cruel. I trust you’ll keep your head on straight for this.”
The sounds of the other scouts were distant now, leaving you and the Commander in the field. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, pinned by the stern—and somewhat sad—look in his eyes. He gave you a stiff downward jerk of his head.
“Stay vigilant, son.”
He called you that often. Like he meant it. You swallowed hard and nodded, believing him once again. 
“Always, sir.”
Your attention was miles away as you stared out the window, fists tucked under your tightly crossed arms. 
The past had a funny way of creeping up on you. Waking up from a replay wasn’t new, but the dreams continued to catch you off guard. You found a small pattern in their occurrences, and could only denounce it as you being stressed before a contract.
The dreams didn’t always play out the same, with very few details remaining true to the original story. The look on Bishop’s face plagued your mind for years, but the ones you truly couldn’t shake belonged to your comrades—faces you couldn’t bury. 
There were words left unsaid within the creases of the Commander’s eyes, too complex for you to translate at the time. Even now, as the memory returned, it was hard to decipher.
You assumed that was because the man you had once idolized turned out to be a hypocrite.
That final assignment, as you remembered it, was the catalyst for the way your life took shape. Meeting Herschel Shepherd. The transition of leadership. Commander Bishop being declared K.I.A, and the can of worms that had opened—it all packed into the snowball of events crashing down soon after.
With no time to breathe between the onslaught of accusations and mourning, a perpetual tension wound up tight around your being, coiling around your spine with a punishing grip. You found yourself constantly on edge—too aware of the world around you, everything that was wrong with it, and what you could do to make it right.
At first, it was hard to decide if chasing the lawless was ‘in honor of’ or ‘out of spite of’ Bishop. Eventually, you stopped trying to justify each contract and allowed it to be the reason you stayed with the unit. Loyalty was the sole purpose from then on out.
The path you and your brothers took toward redemption was riddled with thorns. It was a decision made together, born out of fear of being thrown into the world your Commander warned you about, trusting in one another. You continued to bear the thorns alone dutifully long after their disappearances. That, you decided, was with honor. 
Your Commander had told you to stay vigilant all those years ago. God forbid you allowed history to repeat itself. 
Voices rose from the corridor, bringing you back to the present. You hardly glanced over your shoulder as the double doors pushed open behind you, giving way to the parade of men entering the conference room.
“Hope you weren’t waitin’ too long,” one of them called out. 
You turned away from the window then, locking eyes with baby blues. Sandy brown hair bounced with each of the man’s steps, sweeping over an amused brow. You clocked the gaudy, golden badge pinned over his heart as you sized him up. 
“Sheriff,” you held out a hand as he approached you. “Pleasure’s mine.”
Phillip Graves needed little to no introduction, considering that you’d done a bit of research on him; joined the service young, passed selection with flying colors, and made a name for himself when he became the youngest Sheriff. He was something of a big deal across the Homelands. 
He grinned widely, causing a deep dimple to set into his left cheek as he accepted your handshake. “No need to be so formal, Sport. Nice to finally meet you.” 
Your eyes shifted to the five men shuffling through the doorway behind him. Officers were marked as such with dull, metal badges similar in shape. They crowded a table like a wake of vultures, their limbs moving in a sea of greys and blacks. Gloved hands slapped down plains of parchment, the rolled edges smoothed out across the red oak tabletop.
“Can’t tell you how grateful I am that you’re in on this,” Graves sighed, hooking his thumbs through his belt loops. “There’s not many we can call on to take a bounty this high.”
We’re a dying breed. You grimaced at the thought. “Glad to know I’m trustworthy.”
“Just sayin’ I’m glad Shepherd got you involved.”
You regarded him with a nod. Whether or not the Sheriff noticed the tension building in your shoulders, you weren’t sure, but he cleared his throat in response.
“Speakin’ of..?” Your eyes slid toward the officers and back.
“Ah, right. Guess I should start breakin’ down what exactly you’re involved in, huh?”
Graves jerked his head with a soft click of his tongue, ushering you to follow him to the table. Your eyes were glued hungrily to the images sprawled out for you to feast upon. 
As you approached the table, you reached out a hand and grazed over a map of the Northern Homelands; terrain that seemed so familiar, you could redraw it with little effort. Your eyes danced around the table, unable to stay on one piece of information for too long.
“It’s a lot, but somethin’ tells me that won’t be a problem.” Graves leaned on the oak with his palms, chin tucked in as he brought his gaze up to you. 
You shook your head. “The more the merrier. What’s all this?”
His expression was mixed with eagerness and amusement as he nodded slowly. As if finally, he got to see the Hunter at work.
“Years worth of intel right here. Got my boys to gather every hit we’ve had since…well, since the fuckin’ genesis, I suppose.”
“Jesus,” you hissed, lowering your eyes.
The officers had put more space between them and the table, giving you and their boss room to breathe. There was still at least one of them lingering in your peripheral vision. 
Sentinels of a colorless void, just…hovering.
You looked up at hazel eyes set into pale skin as one of the officers stalked past. A pink line hugged his brow, the scar disappearing behind his hairline as it curled upward. His eyes remained trained on you, unwavering in their intense contact. You cleared your throat, frowning down at the supply of information. 
Looking over the reports, some dated back four to six years. Graves had been right. They had gone back to the beginning. 
“Your letter mentioned the possibility of a heist.”
The Sheriff swayed in your periphery and took a step back. “We have every reason to believe The Vengeful is going to strike North.” 
He pulled the map in closer, tapping over a cluster of red marks drawn on the paper. You leaned in, recognizing the surrounding areas of great plains and winding rivers. 
“I’ve got some,” he paused, fixing his lips upward in thought, “connections…up there. Caught the bastards lurkin’ around a weapons cache before fleeing to whatever hidey-hole their asses crawled from.”
“They were planning their attack by scoping the area,” you hummed, taking a step back. “Surprised they didn’t cause a scene right then and there.”
The floor creaked with the combined weight of Graves walking around the table and you shifting in place. Your eyes skimmed over the many lines of text. The other reports didn’t offer much—you already knew what these men were guilty of.
A sigh of boredom filled the air as you moved to set the sheet down. You froze in place, arm stretched out across the table, as your gaze fell upon a portrait of a man. A poster. As you continued to move paper aside, you found another. Then a third. A fourth.
“This is them,” it came out with breathless enthusiasm. You licked your lips and looked up at the man standing across from you. “This is who’s haunting the Homelands.”
“Correctamundo.” He reached his hand out and cleared the table, moving the portraits into view.
Each portrait was branded with a bold ‘WANTED’ across the top, like a crown above the men’s heads. You frowned, dragging the posters closer. The sepia-colored images of their scowling faces etched into your mind as you scavenged the details, your eyes moving restlessly across the parchment. “Where do I start?”
Graves looked around and nodded his head. With a silent command, the officers circling the room came together in a single file line to face the door. You looked up to watch in awe, chuffing quietly under your breath at their immediate obedience. 
The sound of their boots on the hardwood floor filled the room as they exited without a word, leaving you in the Sheriff’s presence. Graves already had his eyes back on you when you turned back, stapling his fingers around the back edge of a chair to lean on. 
This was the part of the job that kept you separated; you took the brunt of the work, getting your hands dirty with what the law couldn’t. While officers remained on a need-to-know basis, you were granted access to find out all that you could at once.
You knew too much to be given any sort of real power. Too much to be outlawed. It was the beauty within the danger of your position—that kept you constantly teetering the line of respect.
A perfect misalignment.
“They’re high-value targets,” he sighed, the mirthful energy seeping from his tone in an instant, “but they’re also high-risk. I’d be a damned fool to send you out there blind, of course.”
You wanted to argue that you wouldn’t be “blind”, to correct the man of your capabilities and remind him as to why you were here in the first place. Knowing how to pick your battles, you nodded. “What do you know about them?”
Graves reached out, arranging the posters in an order of his own. A firm hand was pressed into the table as he leaned forward. The first was of a man whose identity was hardly translated into the print. 
A hat on his head cast angular shadows over his eyes. The lower half of his face was protected by a dark fabric filled with ink, the negative spaces making out the shape of a skeletal jaw. You weren’t able to make out anything notable about his features from the image alone.
“Did the ink run out after making this one?” you teased lightly. You traced the suggested outlines of his cheekbones and eyes, trying to take in every detail you could.
Graves huffed out a laugh. “Simon Riley. There’s a reason they call him ‘Ghost’...sonuvabitch is hard to keep track of. Offers the highest risk. It’d be suicide to send you out to look for him.” 
His words sat heavily as you studied the poster. You ran your tongue over your teeth, feeling the prickles of anticipation deep within your boots. A high enough risk to take out anyone trailing him?
“You got John MacTavish here,” his fingers tapped angrily on the portrait next to Ghost’s, pulling your attention, “but ‘Soap’ is more than fitting for this slippery lil’ fucker.”
You peeled your eyes away from the shadowy figure. Narrowed eyes stared back at you from under dark, furrowed brows. The man’s bottom lip was in a soft pout, highlighting the scar on his chin. The sides of his head were cut short against his skull, leaving nothing but a sweep of dark ink growing from the subtle widow’s peak of his hairline.
“What makes him a high risk?” You gave Graves an arched brow. It was hard to find a name like ‘Soap’ with a look such as his intimidating by any means.
The Sheriff’s face dropped, his eyebrows twitching to meet in the middle. Any remaining trace of cheerfulness was wiped from his expression as his words came out hard as stone.
“He single-handedly caused over a quarter of the Eastern Railroad to go up in flames. Who knows what kind of shit that one is rigged with.”
Your eyebrows shot up. There had been plenty of reports on the train robberies. Many were accompanied by some mention of an elaborate diversion, with the tracks destroyed to bring the cars to a halt. Over a quarter of any major railroad was…excessive. 
“Demolitions,” you sighed, looking at Graves astonished. “Got it.”
He pushed the third poster toward you as he continued. “John, fuckin’, Price. Too much of an obvious risk to go straight for the leader.”
Aside from the slight frown, the man’s expression was unreadable in his portrait. His pale eyes were blank and shrouded by dark lashes. Fine hairs crowded his cheeks and across his upper lip. Your fingernail scratched idly at the specklings over his nose.
“His boys do well to protect his ass…unlike that Bealy crew, huh?” Graves tossed you a wink, humor returning.
“Never start at the top,” you reiterated.
A dark cloud formed over your head, wondering if this was the face the other hunters saw in their final moments. Either of these men possessed the capabilities to carry out the deed, but did John Price find satisfaction in being the one to snuff a hunter out? Your teeth bit into your tongue.
The light fluff of Graves’ head moved in the warbled edges of your vision as he observed you. Parchment rubbed against the hard surface of the table as he pushed the remaining poster into your line of sight, hoping to grab your attention.
“With all that bein’ said…this is your target.”
Out of all of them, he looked to be the most prepared for a mugshot. You noticed the curve of his lopsided smile first, nearly taunting as the portrait stared back with onyx eyes. A faint scar on his cheek marked over the shading of his skin, adding to the list of details you’ve been collecting as you picked apart the images.
“Kyle Garrick,” Graves stood upright and puffed his chest. “Goes by ‘Gaz’, and offers the lowest risk. Should be a cakewalk for someone like you.”
You scratched under your jaw, hoping to hide the tension of your muscles. Looking up at Graves, you leaned over the poster. “What’s the plan?”
He jabbed a finger into the table. “The plan’s simple; track Garrick down and bring him back alive. If you get your hands on him by doin’ what you do best, it’ll guarantee us findin’ the others.”
“Don’t worry,” you lifted the poster of Gaz from the table, giving it a final glance before rolling the parchment tight. The texture was smooth against your palms as you clutched it. “Consider him found.” 
Graves met you halfway across the table, taking your hand in a firm grasp. His face was masked with a silent hope, blue eyes pinning you in place.
“Watch your ass out there.”
You nodded, giving his hand a shake before pulling back.
“Always.”
The saloon hosted only a handful of patrons, who were scattered around the establishment. You took shelter at the end of the bar, putting as many stools as possible between you and the other man sitting at the barren counter.
You propped your chin in your palm, leaning against your elbow as you continued studying the files given to you. Sheriff Graves was needed elsewhere by the time the meeting ended, leaving you to your own devices for the night. He apologized for the inconvenience. You told him you preferred it that way, allowing you to focus.
In your hours of studying, the sun had lowered. The clouded sky dimmed to a murky blend of pinks and blues—night approached much quicker than you anticipated. The saloon attracted less foot traffic as time passed, which you were grateful for.
A sigh passed your lips as you looked over the reports of sightings. Your eyes burned as you blinked and rubbed at them, lowering your head.
“Finally ready for that drink, mister?” 
You lifted your head, meeting the kind yet tired eyes of the lone bartender. Her hair was pulled up into a nest of a bun, stray brunette curls framing her rounded face. Her hands moved to her lower back, adjusting the layered belts that kept her skirts in place.
“Ah,” you chuckled dryly. “Seems like it.”
She wiped her palms against the flowing fabric and smiled. “What can I get you started with?”
“Bourbon. Neat.”
You watched as she poured the liquor, sliding the glass down the bar and into your waiting hand with finesse. With a tilt of your hat, you muttered a “thanks” before bringing the glass to your lips.
The initial sip carried a sweet burn as it marked your tongue with its heavy essence, leaving a hot trail down your throat and to your stomach. You couldn’t recall the last time you had a decent drink. With a smack of your lips, you set the glass off to the side and got back to work.
There wasn’t an official report on the sighting at the weapons cache, leaving you to make do with what you were given. The most recent report placed The Vengeful up North, as Graves mentioned. 
In the wealthy city of Longshire, the home estate of lawman Finnigan Clarke was broken into. Cassidy Clarke, his wife, was the one to call in the report. 
Details stated that sometime after midnight, Mrs. Clarke was woken up by a crashing window. The sound disturbed their five-month-old. Concerned, Cassidy left the bedroom. It wasn’t until she made her way to the nursery that she noticed that things had been stolen from the home. 
Thankfully, the nursery had been untouched, and the newborn was fine. The only injury reported was a small cut Mrs. Clarke earned on her foot from the glass. You sighed with relief. 
“That’s quite the read you got there,” the bartender commented. You looked over as she pushed the end of a fresh rag into a glass, wiping the inside dry. 
“Oh, this? You should see some of the shit I see off the paper,” you insisted, taking a small sip of your whiskey. “This is nothing, really.”
Her eyes flashed with interest, but she continued working. You went back to shuffling between the slips of paper, only stopping to lift your glass for small sips. It didn’t satisfy the thirst, or the nagging feeling in your gut as you read back on the gang's past crimes.
You made notes in the pocket-sized notebook you kept on your person, pencil flying across the textured pages in a rush as your brain picked apart information. 
Common sightings up North — is their base here?
Weapons cache report — ???
Ask Phil about it before leaving.
The Clarkes (Longshire) — worth looking into
What was taken?
WHAT HAPPENS TO THE STOLEN GOODS ??
Time crawled as you continued your work silently, breaking from your readings long enough to order another drink when your glass was empty. 
The bartender didn’t bother you otherwise, focusing on her closing duties as she served the last few patrons. The air was still in the saloon, aside from the occasional clink of glass on wood or shuffling chairs.
You were swishing the remains of your second drink when you were approached again.
“I hate to bother you, sir, but…” 
You looked up from the file, facing the bartender. With a shake of your head, you pushed the now empty glass away. “You’re not a bother, especially when you serve me up like that.”
She chuckled, eyes lowering to the organized chaos displayed before you. 
“I recognize that man,” she pointed, tapping the top corner of Garrick’s portrait. You met her eyes, watching them widen as they read over the man’s face. 
Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed that even the lone barfly was gone—it was just you, the bartender, and the sea of quiet.
“Did he do something to you?” you asked, leaning into the bar with a lowered voice. 
She shook her head. A hand reached up to brush away a strand of hair from her cheek as she continued to look over the portrait, her expression calming. She looked at Gaz like she knew him.
“More like he did something for me,” she chuckled softly, a warmth making her russet skin glow. You sat back, eyebrows shooting up. 
“If it’s personal, then that’s not something…I don’t-“ 
“No,” she waved her hands frantically. “I’m not some hussy! That man, he…” Her gaze fell gently on the portrait as she stepped forward. With careful fingers, she rotated the picture to face her, asking with her eyes for permission as she did. You watched her, skepticism and curiosity stirring with the liquor in your gut. “He saved my son.”
“Oh?” You pulled your notebook closer, holding the pencil against the page. “What happened, if I may ask?”
“You must be an officer or something,” she raised a brow, looking just as skeptical as you. 
You shook your head mirthfully. “Something. Go on, you can tell me.”
The bartender looked hesitant, glancing between you and the wanted poster. Her eyes carried a deep regret, shoulders sagging with a sigh as she finally caved. 
“It was a month ago or so. My son had been…hanging with the wrong crowd. He’s got legs like a beanstalk, nearly your height if I had to guess…but he’s young. Impressionable. I’m more than certain he was being pressured.”
She broke away, carrying your empty glass with her as she retrieved the well-loved bottle of Bourbon. You watched her movements, tapping the end of your pencil against the page. The bartender turned to face you, setting the cup and bottle between you.
“One afternoon, he hadn’t come home for supper. I had to be here, so I only hoped he was just running late. It’s just him and I, so not working is not an option. Anyway,” she sighed, pouring into your glass, “he wasn’t home when I returned in the morning. I cried to anyone who’d listen as I walked through Stonebrook. That damned Sheriff was off doing god-knows-what, with his officers following him like a pack of dogs.”
“Sheriff Graves?” You raised a brow. You thanked her for the glass with a nod when it was handed to you, not yet bringing it to your lips.
She rolled her eyes. “The one and only. I was sure no one would help me if he couldn’t…until this one came along.” The bartender nodded down at the portrait, your eyes following. “Heard my pleas for help and didn’t second guess it. I told him everything I knew, and he took care of the rest. He tracked him down and brought my boy back home. I didn’t know he was an outlaw himself, though.”
“Not yet, technically,” you mumbled, not missing the irony.
“Can’t imagine him doing any wrong,” she smiled. Your upper lip twitched. “That man didn’t think twice about himself ‘fore he stepped in.”
You scanned over the reports and map, his portrait, and the bartender’s hopeful face. You bristled at her ignorance, fist clenching on the bar counter as an undeniable heat licked up your neck.
“That man,” you gritted, “Gaz…is more dangerous than a gang of petty teenagers. He’s more than capable of doing wrong.”
The bartender took a half-step back as if the air around you was being contaminated by toxic fumes. Her hands moved timidly to her skirts and she brushed at them with her palm, her eyes not leaving you until she cleared her throat. 
“He saved my boy’s life,” she insisted, as if to convince you, “and was charming. He didn’t want any kind of payment.”
Your head tilted back, jaw unhinging to allow the liquor to drown the choice words in your throat. You glared down at the portrait as you swallowed.
“It’s always the charming ones,” you grimaced, licking the bead of liquor from the corner of your mouth. You lifted your eyes to train on the bartender as you set the glass down with a hollow, punctuating thud.
A silent transmission of mutual understanding passed between you as she took the glass, disposing it into a small wash bin behind the counter. You ignored the words she huffed under her breath and looked down at your notebook.
Asshole with a heart
What would Garrick gain from saving that boy, if not money?
Does Phil know about this?
You closed the book, tucking the pencil between the pages before returning it to your pack. The bartender didn’t return for conversation as you gathered the files. Not a single glance was spared until she heard the jingle of your coin purse.
“Thank you…for your kind service,” you mumbled, gesturing to the payment. You had been less than kind in her moment of vulnerability. You hoped that money would make amends. “Keep the change.”
She gently brought the currency into her palm, eyeing you with a lowered brow. You turned with a nod and pushed from the stool, shouldering your bag. A man remained slumped over in a booth as you passed, his cup half empty as it sat forgotten by his head.
“Wait!”
You stopped as the bartender called out just as your palm touched the door. You looked over your shoulder, finding her at the end of the counter. She looked hesitant again, fingers curling at a pocket stitched onto her skirt. 
“No one worthy of punishment would help a mother and child. I’m sure you’re able to see the good in that.”
“Have a good night, ma’am. Keep you and your boy safe.” 
You left it at that. There was no use being angry at the woman whose son was thankfully saved—even at the hands of some criminal. But her words mixed with the spirits settling in your system, formulating an inebriating cocktail that rendered you irresolute.
In the morning, you cursed at the chirping birds. 
Your stomach rolled while your head pounded, working together to remind you of your poor choice to drink. The only thing that peeled you from the bedding was your duties, beaconing you louder than the call of the mattress.
Pomona tittered at your arrival. Her head bowed, sniffing at you as you situated her saddle and untied her reigns. 
“Yeah. I’m excited, too,” you mumbled sarcastically, scratching under the horse's chin. You weren’t too ecstatic about returning to the Northern region. The lands were littered with history that you were more than willing to leave behind.
It was part of the job, and the job came first—after a fulfilling breakfast.
The trek up North offered stunning views of mountains and creeks. In those quiet moments between a man and his horse, you were reminded of the beauty of the Homelands. 
You had spent a great part of your life protecting it for a reason.
As the sun journeyed beyond the horizon, you steered Pomona through a thicket. The familiar landmarks guided you as you used years of repetitive travel and instinct. You knew a clearing would be ahead, offering a sheltered place to stop and camp for the night.
You pulled the reins gently as Pomona broke through the treeline, urging for her steady gallop to slow down to a halt. 
“Home sweet home,” you sighed, swinging your leg to lower from the saddle. You stroked Pomona’s neck as you walked further into the clearing, holding the rein like a leash.
It was just as you remembered it; tall pines surrounding a clear pond. Charred logs remained untouched from the last time you camped in the area. A makeshift post for Pomona was erected from the ground, close to the water if she ever needed a drink. 
It would be the closest thing to home that you could get.
Once settled by a small fire, you continued to study. You focused on the Clarke report, hoping to find anything notable that you may have missed the first time. As you read over the report again, one detail blared at you. Finnigan was not mentioned as being on the premises. 
You pulled out your notebook, opening to where your pencil functioned as a bookmark. Picking up where you left off, you added to your notes. 
The Clarkes (Longshire) — worth looking into
What was taken?
Where was Finnigan ??
The fire stopped providing enough light for you to continue reading in the dark. You had exhausted your efforts for the day and decided that a trip to Longshire would be in your best interest after all. You put the files away, making room for you to lie down. 
Pomona was stiff as a board on the other side of the fire, her body unmoving aside from the occasional flick of her tail as she rested.
“Night, Po,” you exhaled, fluffing your bedroll as you slid into it.
You lay on your back, listening to the soft crackle of the flames as you stared up at the stars. The usual aches that came with riding for long periods started to grip your muscles, plunging you into the cold waters of sleep.
Riley. MacTavish. Price. Garrick.
Kyle Garrick. Gaz.
Onyx eyes. A taunting smirk. Sepia.
“Should be a cakewalk for someone like you.”
A shrill whinny jolted you awake. The fire had long died out, leaving you and Pomona in the eerie glow of the moonlight overhead. 
You sat up, flinging back the top cover of your bed roll. You looked around the clearing as you jumped to your feet, scanning for any unwanted visitors. It was still you and your horse, accompanied by a gust of wind.
Hooves pounded the ground as Pomona neighed again, awake and afraid. You approached the mare with careful steps.
“Easy, girl. Easy,” you cooed, holding your palms out to her. Pomona bristled again, shaking out her mane as she trotted anxiously. “It’s alright. It’s just us.”
You had doubts as Pomona continued panicking—her animalistic senses were more keen than yours. You placed a hand on the side of her neck, keeping a safe distance to avoid getting stomped. 
“What is it?” you whispered, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
Pomona stilled, blowing a hot breath against your forehead as she leaned into your comforting touch. After a moment to calm down, you reached into the saddlebag for one of her snacks.
“You’re alright. I’m here,” you sighed, holding an apple slice in your palm as she nibbled at it. You brushed the juice and spit on your pant leg when Pomona finished, keeping a hand on her coat.
The snapping of twigs broke the moment of peace, sending the mare into another panicked frenzy. You jumped back and stared into the tree line. The sounds continued as bushes rustled, drawing closer to the edge of the clearing. Footsteps.
You reached for your Colt single-action without hesitation, thumb flicking the hammer. You kept your eyes on the black wall of trees as a bullet slid into place. A finger hovered over the trigger guard as you stared down the sights.
“Come out of hiding,” you shouted, pointing your revolver towards the noise. You walked around Pomona hastily, putting yourself between the unseen threat and the mare. “Now!”
You allowed a beat of silence before firing a warning shot into the air, the ‘pop’ forcing the threat behind the tree line to reveal itself. Pomona squealed over the noise, her cries echoing in the night.
“Hold your fire!”
You aimed the weapon at the tree line as a man stepped into the clearing, his hands held up in surrender. The pond reflected the moonlight, causing his skin to glow in the night as he slowly approached your camp. You squinted, trying to get a better look through your bleary vision.
On the receiving end of your revolver was a timid smile, striking the chord of familiarity as his face became clear. There was only one man you knew who would wear his facial hair that way as it grew out, keeping the mustache thick and the beard closely shaved.
He wasn’t some intruder—this was someone you knew. A friend. You blinked away the sands of sleep as he stopped. Pomona was quiet behind you, the realization quelling her as well.
“Alex..?” you muttered, lowering your gun. 
“Well, look at you,” his mustache curled up with his smirk as he dropped his hands. “The Big Bad Hunter himself.” His eyes slid to the revolver. “You gonna shoot me? Really?”
Alex Keller was just as lighthearted as you remembered him to be—as he’d always been. Meeting under Bishop’s command, your bond remained consistent throughout the years. You watched him take his training elsewhere, choosing to become an officer instead. Even through the slight disagreement between the others at the time, you considered Alex your closest—if not only—friend now.
You flicked on the safety, your eyes trained on the man as you shoved the gun back into its holster. “You didn’t have to sneak up on us like that. Nearly gave Pomona here a damn heart attack,” you mumbled groggily.
Alex waved you off as he approached the mare, holding a hand out for Pomona to sniff. She accepted him immediately, nudging into his waiting palm. He rubbed under her chin, cooing soft apologies as you knelt by the wood pile.
“The hell are you doing here, Keller?” you scolded lightly. You worked at sparking a fire as Alex examined the camp, sitting on the log by your bedroll. Flames came to life along the wood, bathing the area in a dancing glow.
“A little birdie told me that you were out here for a hunt,” he leaned his arms on his knees. “And by ‘little birdie,’ I mean Herschel.”
You stood with a yawn, dusting your hands on your knees. “More like a great turkey,” you rolled your eyes as you sat beside him. Alex chuckled, nudging you in the side with his elbow.
“I also heard that you got your hands dirty killing Marcus Bealy point-blank.”
Your brows furrowed, eyes fluttering in disbelief. The smile faltered as Alex studied you, his head tilting to the side. You watched each other, equally confused and trying to process until you spoke up.
“I didn’t kill Marcus Bealy. Did you hear that from Herschel, too?”
“No,” Alex rubbed mindlessly at his forearm. His eyes focused on the dirt, searching for a way to rectify the conversation within the sands. “Just some gossip in the force. I feel sorry for the guy who found him like that.”
You rubbed your hands together, warming them against the fire’s heat. “Like what?”
“They don’t tell you anything out here, do they?”
“Kind of hard to keep up with news when you’re traveling, Alex.”
His shoulders shook with laughter. “Right. Well, if you really want to know?”
You could picture the scene as Alex described it; Marcus Bealy’s lifeless body lying strewn over the cell bed with shotgun bullets caving his face in. You closed your eyes, willing away the image of blood and brain matter. 
“And they just assumed that was me?” You looked over at Alex. It wasn’t your style to leave a mess—sure, you were never afraid to fight or even kill if it was called for, but you were far from sloppy.
“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” Alex sighed. “I don’t know how you hunters operate, but something tells me that going after another's bounty is frowned upon.”
“You’re right,” you grunted. “It is.”
Whoever did it must've had a vendetta against Bealy or wanted to leave a message. You made a mental note to reach out to Shepherd once you arrived in the city.
The nearby water licked at the stones bordering the pond, filling the air with noise with the fire. Your mind raced with questions as you sat in a comfortable silence. Alex poked at the firewood with an elongated, forked stick, content with being in your company.
“How did you know I was here?”
Alex turned over a burning twig before looking at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his smile pushed up. “Would you believe me if I said I know you?”
Your head shook as you rolled your eyes, looking at the pond. 
“C’mon, now,” he dropped a hand on your shoulder. “You always camp around here when you’re up in these parts. You’re a creature of habit like that, you know.”
You glanced at his hand, offering a small smile as he shook you. You leaned forward as he let you go, your elbows digging into the tops of your knees. If anyone knew you, it would be Alex. Maybe Shepherd also—in his own, slightly morphed way.
“Something on your mind?” Alex hadn’t turned away from you, even as your focus trained on the ground between your feet. You didn’t realize how much you were sulking until you caught the worried look on his brow.
What could you tell him that would satisfy the perpetual nagging that you had been feeling for the past three days? So much was currently on your mind, putting you in a position you hadn’t been in since you were a rookie in the field.
“This bounty,” you sighed, giving in to the moment. Alex shifted in your periphery, turning to face you more. “More specifically, the target.”
“Talk to me.”
While it wasn’t the smartest idea to speak heavily on your contracts, you couldn’t find any reason to worry about Alex using the information against you. Not only would it serve no personal gain, but there was no room for deception in your relationship. You both honored that.
“I’m here for The Vengeful. Herschel pinned me up for the task and has me working with some hot-shot sheriff to hunt down one of the members.”
Alex’s face fell as he listened. “Please tell me you’re pulling my tail.” His face darkened as you shook your head, and he hissed. “Shit.”
“I don’t know what to make of it yet,” you sighed. “Usually, I get assigned, and the rest just comes to me. There’s nothing to second guess. Now? My mind is all over the goddamn place.”
“As it should be. You and I both know what these men are capable of,” Alex nodded.
You ran a hand down your face with a groan. “But then this woman…she told me about her son. How one of them saved her son from some gang. Had the nerve to tell me to see the good in him. As if…” you stopped, pinching the bridge of your nose. “As if he didn’t take our family away.”
Alex remained still as you grew antsy, leg bouncing. The silence was deafening, both of you unsure of how to navigate the topic from there. 
You sat upright, wiping at the dryness of your eyes. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. That damned bartender got in my head.”
“What is your gut saying?”
You snapped your attention to Alex, whose face was as open and guileless as ever. “What?”
“What is your gut saying? Not your head.”
“It saying…” you paused, looking into the fire. It would have been too much to admit that you were scared. Without too much thought, “...that I should do right by our brothers. What would that even be? It’s not like I can kill them.”
Alex leaned closer, draping an arm around your neck to pull you in. “Only you know what ‘the right thing’ is for this. Not some lady. Not Herschel. Hell, not even I can tell you. If you listen to anything, listen to your gut,” he gently poked your middle.
You instinctively brought your hand to your abdomen as he continued. 
“Bishop would have said the same thing.”
“Yeah? Well, look where that got him,” you glowered. Alex gave you another shake. “What? Can we take his word for anything anymore?”
“Yes, we can. You know why?” Alex sat upright, his voice more stern than it had been all night. “Because Bishop had our best interest at heart. Always. That’s what my gut tells me.”
You eyed Alex up and down, begrudgingly residing from what could have been an hour-long argument.
“Sometimes,” he chuffed, shaking his head, “you’re a hardass. You know that?”
“Tell me something new, Keller.”
Alex tilted his head, genuinely thinking about it. You plucked the stick from his loose grasp, jabbing at the fire. With a snap of his fingers, he turned to you again.
“I’ve got something new for you. That gun of yours? You’re a little rusty with it.”
“You’ve gotta be the most annoying person I know,” you gritted. Your words didn’t hold any real malice to them.
“I love you, too,” he sighed, giving you a gentle pat on the back.
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© 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐆 || 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 / 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 / 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐞.
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january-summers · 3 months
Text
Just thinking about some AUs.
Like: Wash having served on a similar ship to the MoI pre-Freelancer. Similar, but ever so slightly different in lay out so he keeps trying to auto-pilot navigate and getting lost, and Alpha's watching on the camera feeds and at some point just hits "this is too pathetic, i gotta step in" like any back seat gamer watching a let's play, except he actually can... if he can figure out how to get away with it.
So he comms Wash, either through a direct link in his helmet or through a regularly intervaled wall radio. "Uh yeah, I'm... uh... you can just call me... Church? I work in the... uh... yeah don't worry about it but I can see you on the camera feeds, again, and man i gotta tell you for a bad ass space marine this is pretty sad. Tragic really, anyway, turn around, 200 meters and take a left-"
And it keeps happening, and sometimes they just hang out, Wash hiding in a storage closet eating contraband foods (the good chocolate) while Alpha drops some funny stories from the command deck.
And Wash casually mentions him in talk with the other Freelancers, but they never get to talk to Church, and Wash can't introduce him properly, so everyone refers to Church as Wash's imaginary friend.
(... and then no one can figure out why all the AI are low-key obsessed with Wash, like they need him to like them even though he's not their human operator.)
or like (possibly the same AU): There is no Epsilon, Alpha has a moment of clarity about what's happening to him, what's being done to him, and fakes a fragment in order to port himself out and get put wholesale (what remains of him) into Wash's head. It's still pretty traumatic for both of them.
And then they skedaddle, go into hiding somewhere no one would ever think to look for them. Disguised as a sim trooper in a box canyon in the middle of nowhere.
... also thinking about Price deliberately pushing Wash's buttons and trying to provoke his PTSD so he has an excuse to put him on meds, except the meds are (on purpose) meds that Wash knows messes with his head and leads to psychotic episodes and he wouldn't take them, damn the orders, if he knew what they were.
but he doesn't, and he gets into a fight in one of the communal kitchens without his armour on and the first thing the other Freelancers know about it is when they get called for back up to the kitchen to help subdue a man that just killed three other Freelancers (bottom of the pack no-name annoying assholes no one liked or would miss anyway).
'cept the other Freelancers don't clock that it's Wash, because he's out of his armour and Wash is almost never seen without his helmet, unlike the others, so they aren't used to his face, and when they think of wash they think of bright yellow and steady charcoal greys, not "holy fuck that's a lot of blood did he fucking roll in it!?!?" reds.
But by the time they get there, psychotic episode is over, and Wash is in a semi fugue state, kinda clock's Carolina's blue and that he might have done something really bad, so he just drops the knife away from himself and half collapses to his knees like a puppet with cut strings, manages to lock his fingers behind his head before they try to tackle him to the ground.
Wash gets away with a slap on the wrist, and like a months probation. (Director was in on the 'experiment' to begin with, and now they're already down three Freelancers, no need to make it four. ... also Director won a bet about whether Wash could take on/out more than two opponents at a time.)
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eliaswoodt · 5 months
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The Name List
Organized from A-Z (yes I will add more names whenever I find more I like, probably in reblogs)
I currently have 1035 names (and that’s only including the first names. I have a list of last names, too.)
Angel, Atticus, Atlas, Apollo, Ares, Athena, Achilles, Artemis, Adonis, Avery, Aubrey, Aubry, Aceline, Ashlynn, Aislinn, Anjanette, Arthur, Archer, Addison, Arrietty, Amity, Autumn, Alastor, Alastair, Alasdair, Alistair, Alison, Arren, Arin, Astra, Aoife, Adalyn, Adeleine, Astoria, Agnes, Angus, Abigail, Ann, Anne, Ambrose, Adeline, Avarsel, Agatha, Ari, Azariah, Aniyah, Armani, Anastasia, Annabelle, Adah, Adelaide, Avis, Amelia, August, Axel, Adelina, Amir, Amin, Ayala, Arne, Averett, Adil, Astro, Ava, Anti, Ailun, Akemi, Asahi, Akari, Asako, Atsuko, Azumi, Aka, Aren, Akko
Blossom, Bambi, Babs, Bo, Bella, Blair, Bea, Bonnabel, Badeea, Betty, Bailey, Boris, Bee, Bugs, Blaise, Benjamin, Bog, Buford, Beatrice, Bryce, Bryan, Bazil, Brutus, Bellamy, Brigitte, Bailee, Bailey, Bao, Belladona, Belladonna, Bell, Bill, Bishop, Bones, Boneothy, Benno, Behemoth, Barry, Bellynn, Bowie, Bunki
Clover, Canyon, Cleo, Cameron, Celestial, Celestino, Ciro, Camilo, Cain, Charlotte, Clara, Corey, Cin, Charlie, Cassidy, Chiara, Callista, Cisco, Cynthia, Casper Clinton, Celestina, Clement, Christopher, Cornelius, Clifford, Claudius, Carey, Carrie, Coatl, Cyrus, Cyril, Cecil, Caisus, Castiel, Calla, Cosmos, Cherry, Cheryl, Crowley, Crow, Cassius, Cliodna, Clíodhna, Cliona, Conan, Cordelia, Calypso, Cas, Cillian, Chiyo, Chiaki, Chihiro, Calcifer
Danny, Darlene, Dex, Dot, Diana, Daphne, Demeter, Daedalus, Daeddel, Darphel, Dawn, Derrick, Derek, Dravan, Dravid, Drae, Dallas, Dimas, Dominic, Damien, Drew, Delilah, Dakota, Darian, Darius, Darwin, Devan, Darla, Dagmar, Daelyn, Dale, Dae, Dacey, Desmond, Dabria, Daniel, Daniela, Danialla, David, Davis, Donnel, Dennis, Demitrius, Delaney, Daiki, Daiyu
Everest, Emery, Ember, Elliott, Elliot, Earlana, Eliseo, Ezequiel, Emie, Evan, Eloise, Eric, Emmet, Elizabeth, Eugene, Ethan, Eret, Ester, Elias, Eos, Ellis, Edwin, Ebony, Elijah, Eliza, Enzo, Elissa, Edward, Eddalyn, Esther, Eda, Edalyn, Edalynn, Edison, Eddison, Estervan, Emma, Eden, Erfan, Eun-hae, Erytheia, Egan, Errol, Eiichi, Eiji, Eriko, Etsu, Etsuko, Eiichiro, Ezume
Flint, Finn, Fae, Fred, Fritz, Fang, Frankie, Frank, Fermin, Freddie, Freddy, Finley, Freya, Fai, Felix, Freda, Faolan, Frey, Feylynn, Faelynn, Failynn, Felipa, Febby, Febbie, Febie, Feby, Flynn, Fuji, Feiyu, Fukiko, Fumitaka, Fumito, Fuyuko
Griffin, Garnet, Gothi, Gertrude, Gabe, Grant, Giovanni, George, Gage, Gregory, Gabriel, Gabrielle, Guy, Gilbert, Guadalupe, Gerry, Grey, Gray, Gia, Grace, Gracian, Gracis, Gracie, Gretel, Gideon, Griffilow, Ghost, Ghazaleh, Gavin, Gryphon, Griffith, Goliath, Grayson, Greyson
Harmony, Hannah, Harlei, Harlie, Haritha, Haris, Harry, Harlan, Harvey, Hadrian, Harley, Hari, Harlow, Howl, Hank, Harper, Herbert, Humphrey, Hestia, Helios, Hephaestus, Hollis, Hunter, Hero, Henry, Helda, Hajar, Hasta, Hadis, Howard, Howie, Hannan, Haoyu, Hisako, Hachi, Hiroto, Hoshiko, Honoka, Hiroshi, Hiro, Haitao, Hamako, Haruhi, Harue, Hayate, Hide, Hideyo, Hidetaka, Hisaye, Hisayo, Heiji, Higari
Ivy, Ivey, Ivo, Ida, Iris, Ilyssa, Illy, Irene, Iren, Isaiah, Ira, Idelle, Ivan, Illaoi, Isabel, Isabell, Isabelle, Isobell, Isabella, Ismelda, Io, Ismael, Isolt, Icarus, izuru, Isamu, Itona, Ichiro, Ichiko, Ichigo, Isoko, Ishiko, Isaye, Inari, Ikuko, Itsuki, Itsuko, Inosuke
Juniper, Jupiter, Jinx, Jamie, Javier, Josiah, Joan, Jake, Julia, Jamil, Jamila, Jesse, Jessie, Jess, Jasper, Janus, Jordan, Joshua, Julian, Juilliard, Julius, Juliana, Jeremiah, Jace, June, Junebug, Jazzy, Jackson, Jackie, Jackalynn, Jodie, Johnnie, Jan, Jaime, Jason, Jorge, Justin, Justice, John, Jay, Janelle, James, Jennifer, Jillion, Jill, Jana, Jonah, Jaycee, Jaxen, Junpei, Jona, Jun, Jin
Kenneth, Kat, Kas, Kris, Keith, Kingston, Kaeton, Kingsley, Kent, Katherine, Kyle, Knox, Kristen, Kristin, Kristeen, Kylie, Kaylee, Kamila, Kehlani, Kendall, Kerry, Kry, Kenny, Kath, Kathleen, Krow, Kix, Kedrick, Kennon, Klaus, Killian, Korallia, Krank, Kaz, Kaede, Kirara, Katsuhiko, Keisuke, Kanako, Kenji, Kaemon, Kamin, Katsu, Kaki, Kazane, Kazuyuki, Kazushige, Kenta, Kei, Kimi, Kin, Kohako, Koichi, Kota, Koji, Koharu, Kosuke, Kuma, Kumi, Kuniko, Kuniyuki, Kideko, Kazuko
Lullaby, Lotte, Lapin, Lorelei, Loralai, Lorelai, Luna, Lily, Lucy, Lee, Liana, Lola, Lethe, Lance, Laurence, Luther, Luca, Lennon, Logan, Lennox, Ilias, Liu, Lui, Luis, Lefu, Liam, Lyall, Lowell, Luella, Leona, Leonie, Leon, Lev, Lincoln, Lin, Link, Laverna, Lazarus, Lewis, Louis, Louise, Levi, Leslie, Lesley, Leilana
Marley, Marlai, Mei, May, Mae, Marceline, Marshall, Marshalee, Millie, Mallorie, Marcela, Melanie, Maddison, Mary, Mirabel, Marsh, Murphy, Montgomery, Mildred, Memphis, Molly, Maverick, Maurice, Muiris, Morgen, Max, Moses, Marion, Merrill, Monroe, Melanthios, Maxwell, Matias, Melissa, Maëlle, Marlene, Meredith, Maybelle, Margaret, Maeve, Moss, Mara, Maria, Myrtle, Mona, Mark, Markus, Michael, Micheal, Michelle, Mahsa, Minoo, Mehdi, Mohammad, Matin, Morpheus, Marlowe, Monica, Marilia, Magnus, Malachi, Malachy, Maggie, Makoto, Megumi, Mio, Maemo, Maemi, Masa, Masaaki, Masashi, Michi, Midori, Michinori, Momo, Motoko
Natasha, Noelle, Noni, Neville, Nixon, Neda, Natalio, Ned, Nausicaä, Noxis, Nova, Nathen, Newt, Noah, Nash, Nox, Nathara, Nathaira, Nathair, Nyoka, Nagisa, Nathan, Nate, Nik, Nick, Naohiro, Naoko, Nara, Natsu, Naoya, Nishi, Nobuko, Nori
Olindo, Ollie, Oliver, Ophelia, Odysseus, Orion, Osono, Oxen, Onyx, Otto, Ottoline, Otitile, Ottavia, Octavio, Olivia-Marie, Oakley, Omar, Olivia, Oscar, Octavian, Octavia, Oz, Octavius, Otta, Oisin, Orson, Orlos, Osiris, Owen, Odalis, Odell, Ozuru
Penelope, Patton, Paddy, Percy, Paulie, Page, Pazu, Phoebe, Phebe, Prairie, Porter, Parlay, Pally, Piper, Parker, Payton, Phil, Paul, Philip, Pyre, Piers, Phylis, Patricia, Payne, Payneton, Pip
Quinn, Quincy, Quil, Quinley, Quinstin, Quinlan, Quillen, Quavon, Quaylon, Quensley, Qing, Qrow, Quilla, Quianna, Quita, Qiao, Quinella, Queenie, Qaylah, Qailah, Qitarah, Quenby, Qadira, Qudsiyah, Quan, Qian, Quinby, Quella
Roseline, Raul, Rahul, Rafael, Roque, Rogelio, Remmy, Rei, Rey, Ray, Robin, Ro, Reika, Rowen, Rowan, Rose, Rosie, Ralsei, Riley, Remus, Rosalyn, Rosalin, Rosaline, Renata, Ron, Rat, Ratt, Reef, Roxy, River, Reed, Rufus, Robbie, Renee, Rivia, Ross, Rex, Ruth, Rosemary, Rosabe, Rosabee, Rosabell, Rosabelle, Rosabel, Rai, Rain, Rosella, Rosalie, Rhody, Robert, Raelinn, Rebane, Ren, Rollin, Ralph, Roxanne, Rox, Roderick, Reginald, Reggie, Rio, Ryu, Ryo, Ryoji, Rinmaru
Sage, Sam, Syd, Selkie, Storig, Sal, Sirius, Summer, Susie, Scott, Sunni, Sosuke, Sophie, Satsuki, Sheeta, San, Sulley, Sully, Savannah, Sappho, Selene, Shaw, Sean, Seán, Shaun, Sawyer, Sabrina, Sebastian, Shane, Stan, Socks, Snom, Stolas, Spencer, Sammie, Stevie, Samus, Sarff, Sullivan, Seth, Susiebell, Susiebelle, Sadreddin, Shellaine, Sverre, Saoirse, Sylvania, Sanae, Silas, Sumi, Shiori, Shinzu, Sile
Toby, Tobias, Teddy, Ted, Tomas, Thomas, Tomothy, Tyche, Taiga, Tundra, Tracy, Timothy, Troy, Tatum, Tommie, Tommy, Theia, Tae, Trix, Trixy, Thanathos, Tod, Todd, Toddy, Tora, Torie, Theodore, Theo, Theophania, Talos, Thanatos, Teddy, Tomohito, Tazu, Tanjirou, Touya
Ulysses, Urijah, Uriyah, Urina, Ukiah, Ulnar, Ursula, Ulric
Virgil, Vanessa, Vito, Venacio, Vylad, Veronica, Valentina, Violet, Velma, Venus, Verna, Veld, Victoria, Victorie, Vinyl, Vincent, Vasuki, Vex, Valor, Valentine, Valerie, Valeria, Valerius, Vitoria, Vic, Victor, Vik, Vikktor, Viktor, Vick, Vicky, Vicke, Vickie, Vidya
Wynn, Willow, Warren, Wilbur, Wylie, Will, Walle, Whisp, Wade, Wendell, Wendy, Willard, Wes, Wallace, Wilber, Wyatt, Wybie, Wynnie, Wennie, Winnie, Wynnston, Wynston, Wynsten, Wiles
Xenophon, Xuan, Xio, Xori, Xanthos, Xander, Xavier
Yen, Yukio, Yae, Yoko, Yume, Yaeko, Yui, Yuzuki
Zane, Zana, Zion, Zachary, Zach, Zachariah, Zander, Ziana, Zoe, Zula, Zenix, Zenith, Zaharia, Zaria, Zack, Zakaeia, Zara, Zakaria, Zev, Zaira, Zanata
82 notes · View notes