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vittoriaisfuckingpathetic · 5 months

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fic: take my hand (don't fear the reaper) chapter I

rated M | read it on ao3 | next chapter

“You alright?” Arthur asked uneasily. They mostly didn’t talk about when John would get like this, because it was just easier to not. There were a lot of things they didn’t talk about. John’s hands shook as he tried to light the match once, twice, three times. “I’m fine,” he said with the unlit cigarette between his lips. Finally, the match lit. “You ain’t,” “...I ain’t,” John agreed. He took that first inhale of his cigarette, a slow, easy drag. It felt like heaven. “But neither are you,” A character study taking place before, during, and after Ch 6's final mission from John's perspective. inspired by this tumblr post

John woke uneasily the night before everything fell apart. Sleep had always been difficult to come by for the man, but it seemed to have gotten worse as of late.

The first thing he noticed upon waking was that Abigail was no longer in his cot. The two had been sharing ever since he’d gotten back from Sisika — it was a bit of an awkward fit, but he preferred it that way. It was nice, too, though, being able to hold Abigail in his arms and feel her warmth against his body.

“It’s just… it’s warmer like this,” Abigail had defended (quietly so as to not wake Jack), curled up to his side.

“Seems to me like you jus’ can’t stand bein’ apart from me,” He’d teased in reply, earning himself a playful swat on the chest.

“You be quiet, or else Jack’ll want to climb in, too.”

The second thing John noticed was that in lieu of Abigail in bed with him, Jack was occupying the space that she once had been in, his breath even and indicative that he was sleeping soundly. He couldn’t blame the boy, considering how chilly it was getting day by day. It was November, after all.

But if Jack had A) stolen Abigail’s spot and B) had been there long enough to fall asleep, how long had Abigail been gone?

He elected to give her a few more minutes before he checked on her.

Or, at least, he tried to. His restless mind wouldn’t let him relax, and he anxiously needed to make sure Abigail was alright.

He shifted his weight, testing to see how much he could move without Jack noticing. After swinging half of his body off the cot, Jack had barely moved.

John wondered if Jack inherited being a heavy sleeper from him (or rather, a heavy sleeper before life had happened to him, before the bad things had happened).

He managed to get out of bed without waking Jack.

The little boy’s nose wrinkled, his features scrunching for a moment at the disruption. After a few terse seconds, he cuddled the pillow closer, his face relaxing. John fixed the blanket on top of the boy, making sure he was tucked in safely.

Such a parental action came to him strangely naturally, he realized.

He groped around in the dark tent for his jeans, eventually finding them after a few moments of fumbling. As silently as he could manage (which was quite silent; he had managed to learn when he was young how to move and shadow people without making so much as a peep), he put them on, followed by his boots, and stumbled outside.

The soundscape was familiar, and yet it wasn’t at the same time. He could hear Arthur wheeze rather than snore in his sleep, and he saw figures at the campfire (talking about God knows what , maybe mutiny or killing folk for sport, or some other kind of dumbassery) but they weren’t family, instead foes. It wasn’t exactly what he was used to, but nothing seemed particularly out of place for this new normal.

Like a lightbulb being lit, he realized where Abigail likely was; the slope southwest from his tent. She had often slipped there in more tense moments.

He skulked along the darkest edge of the camp, remaining unseen by all until he reached the unlit scout campfire.

Sure enough, there Abigail was. Away from the warmth and light of the campfire, far from anyone’s prying eyes or ears.

Upon closer inspection, he realized she was shivering.

“You alright? You didn’t come back and I was…” he trailed off. He was worried, he realized. Worried about all of this shit; worried that one day, Micah, or even Dutch, would snap and get them all killed.

John was worried, he realized, because he loved her.

“I needed to clear my head. I’m… I’m scared, John. I’m real scared.” She looked so young, so different like this — hair cascading down her back, wide-eyed, shivering. She looked vulnerable.

John wanted to take that fear from her — but how could he? He felt so helpless. It felt like he was lying in wait for them all to get killed.

What the hell was he waiting for? So many people had already cut and run; Uncle, Karen, Trelawny, Mary-Beth, and Swanson had all disappeared as the days went on. Pearson had left earlier that day whilst John was on guard duty.

“You leavin’, Pearson?” he’d asked, seeing how Pearson’s horse was carrying much more than one would take on a simple trip.

“I… ah, yeah. Just needed to clear my head.” Pearson replied, not looking John in the eye.

“You ain’t comin’ back, are you,” John replied, stating it as more of a fact than a question. Frankly, he couldn’t blame the man. If he was in his shoes, he would be leaving, too. After all, Pearson could slip away much easier than John could hope to.

Pearson’s avoidant gaze finally landed on John. “…Maybe. Probably not. No. I think it’s about time to cut and run,”

“Ain’t that the truth,” John muttered more to himself than directly to Pearson. “You take care of yourself, Mister Pearson.”

“You too, John.” Pearson glanced worriedly behind him, then to John. “You should get Abigail and your boy out of here. Save yourselves,” he added, speaking a little quieter.

“I will,”

“Well. I hope everything works out, Mister Marston. I’ll be seeing you,”

John said nothing else, waving him off.

The plan was ‘Get Out When The Time Comes’ — but when? What if it happened too late? What if they all died trying? What if he got Arthur killed — weak as the man was rapidly becoming?

He huffed out a breath, the cold air making it visible for the briefest of moments. Wrapped an arm around her waist, half expecting her to bat him away or give him a look.

But she didn’t. Instead, she leaned into his touch.

“I am too,” he admitted. “I’m gonna get us outta here.” he wondered if his words sounded as empty to her as they did to him. Getting out was the plan — but beyond that…?

He was a fucking idiot. And Abigail knew it, too, so why she didn’t take Jack and run was beyond him.

“We ain’t exactly got a lot of time left, John. The government is comin’ down on us fast.” She shifted closer to him, likely seeking the warmth that he brought. The skin of her bare arms was cool to the touch. “I don’t want Jack to be made an orphan.” She added softly, shaking her head as if willing the thought away.

“He won’t be, Abigail. We ain’t lettin’ anythin’ happen to that boy.” He left the word again unsaid. Because he’d failed almost as spectacularly as his own father, only realizing how much he’d cared for Jack after the boy was (briefly) kidnapped. Though he hadn’t been harmed, those few days will haunt John for the rest of his life.

“Micah… that— that slime, that scum.” Abigail started, her voice trembling with anger. “He’s been… talkin’ to Jack. Sayin’ odd things, tellin’ him he’d take him fishing. I told the boy t’stay away from him, but if that scum does anything to Jack, I…”

“He won’t, Abigail. I won’t let him, long as I live.”

“I almost lost you once, John Marston. Weren’t for Arthur, you’d be six feet under by now.” She retorted. She sighed and turned to face him, her features softening. She was quiet for a moment, brow knit as her hand went to his scarred cheek. It was rare for her to touch him; rarer for her to initiate it, so he simply stayed still. “I can’t lose you for real this time,”

The air around them stilled, no sounds to be heard except their own synchronized breathing and the far-off hooting of a distant owl.

The forest was eerily beautiful at this time of night.

“You ain’t gotta worry about that.”

“I mean it, John. You’re my… I…” she was interrupted by disruptive yelling coming from camp — a common occurrence as of late.

“I should go see what that is,” he stated, partially because with every passing day, he wondered if some sort of Mexican standoff was bound to erupt.

She slipped her hand in his, another unexpected move. “I’ll go with you,”

He gave her hand a little squeeze. This was different, too. Rarely did they hold hands, or have much physical contact in general, really. Abigail had never been a physical type of person, and John simply didn’t have opportunities to seek it out.

It was nice, having her close.

“—How nice of you to join us, John! I’m sure he’ll give us his wise input now!” Micah spat, circling the campfire like a predator stalking its prey. He had a smug expression on his face. Meanwhile, Bill, Javier, Joe, and Cleet were eyeing the couple dangerously.

“The hell’s goin’ on?” John asked, trying to channel in that intimidating energy that Arthur usually had.

“We was jus’ havin’ a lively conversation, Scarface. ‘S all.” Micah chuckled, shaking his head. He had his arms outstretched affably. “Why don’t you and your… well, we’ll call her a lady — I suppose that’s the polite term, sit down by the fire with us?” Micah’s little comment earned raucous laughter from Bill and more sensible laughter from Cleet and Joe. Javier, meanwhile, was staring at the fire, expression hard to read.

“Watch what you say about my wife,” He’s not sure why exactly he called her his wife, but it felt right. Maybe in a different life, they’d be married for real.

Neither of them had ever really cared about marriage; despite that, they were generally viewed as a married couple, even if neither of them had ever confirmed it aloud.

Still, wife had an extra oomph to it that seemed to get his point across well. Abigail seemed a bit surprised by his statement but said nothing to dispute it.

“Oh! Suddenly she’s your wife now. Marston’s gone soft, ain’t it?” Micah taunted.

Bill — the fucking idiot he was — was still laughing obnoxiously. “I get it! Cause he wifed up a whore!”

Whatever John was about to retort died on his tongue with the interruption of Arthur. His hands were on his hips, making him seem a little bigger and a little less sickly. “The hell you boys screamin’ for? It’s three in the damn morning. You tryin’ to wake the whole goddamn camp?” His words were punctuated with a particularly wet-sounding cough. Abigail looked at John worriedly.

Micah smirked. “You’re right, Blacklung. You need your beauty rest. Maybe we should turn in for the night, huh, boys?” he asked tauntingly.

Arthur coughed yet again, the action wracking his degraded frame. “Shut the—“ Another cough. “—hell up. Don’t disturb the entire camp with your nonsense.”

“Easy now, cowpoke. Don’t exert yourself yellin’ at little ol’ me. We’re quieting down, ain’t we, fellers?” In response, Micah earned some unenthusiastic, mumbled replies.

John swallowed hard. He wanted to do nothing more than curl up next to Abigail, pull her close, wrap himself around her until morning arrived.

But that would have to wait until later.

With one last disdainful glare at Micah, Arthur turned his heel and headed back towards his tent, sighing angrily.

“I need to say something to Arthur,” John said in a hushed tone. He left details unsaid, knowing there were prying ears nearby.

Her eyes lit up with understanding. She nodded. “Night,” Abigail whispered. Her fingertips ghosted over his skin one last time.

“Night,” he replied, leaning down to brush a kiss against her forehead. It was yet another uncommon gesture for him; hell, he half expected Abigail to dodge it.

But she didn’t. Instead, she gave him an unreadable expression before walking off.

He made sure she got back to his tent before walking off the trees behind Arthur’s lean-to, where he knew the elder man would be.

“I’m fine,” Arthur spoke before John even had a chance to open his mouth. He flicked his cigarette on the ground, stubbing it out with his boot.

“Don’t lie. You look terrible, Arthur.” He leaned against the tree next to him. “…I hate seein’ you like this.”

Silence greeted that comment. He hated that Arthur refused to tell him what was wrong with him beyond his vague answer of being sick (and even that had taken much poking and prodding). Hated that Arthur wouldn’t allow anyone else to help him.

It hurt, watching him suffer. It made John feel helpless, useless, angry. All those emotions swirled together in his gut, churning with each other

When Arthur finally broke the silence, he sounded exhausted. “I’m gonna make sure you get outta here. That’s what I’m worried about.”

His voice cracked, and John hated that, too.

John glanced at Arthur, whose shoulders heaved, fighting a coughing fit.

Yet another silence grew between them, broken only by the chirping of crickets. The moonlight shone softly, casting shadows onto Arthur’s weary figure.

“Listen. If somethin’ happens, I know a safe place.” Arthur said carefully. He put his hand on John’s shoulder, a once-familiar gesture. When they had grown apart following his year of absence, that brotherly familiarity had stopped.

The distance and resentment that had grown between the two had only been an insult to injury following John’s return.

But while Arthur had merely been cold to him, Dutch’s welcome was… different.

“John, son, can I talk to you for a moment?” Dutch had asked, his voice sounding as jubilant as ever. Without waiting for a reply, he had wrapped an arm around John’s shoulder, bringing the younger man uncomfortably close as he led him away from the campfire.

“Listen, Dutch, I’m sorr—”

Dutch’s eyes darkened. “I know you are, boy.” any trace of geniality in the elder man’s voice was gone. “Don’t you ever dare to do that to me again.” his grip had turned into iron; it was a warning sign.

“I won’t, I pr—”

“I mean it, John. I won’t put up with it.”

And for the first time in his life, John had truly feared Dutch for a moment.

The cold look in Dutch’s eyes was gone within a flash. He gave John a winning smile, smoothing the latter’s vest where it had wrinkled under his grip. “Now. Shall we get back to the celebration? We’ve all missed you so much.”

John swallowed past the lump in his throat. God, he needed a cigarette. He let himself slide down, union suit briefly catching and snagging on the rough bark. The ground was cold and likely a little muddy beneath him, but he found himself not quite caring. “Where’s the safe place?”

“Copperhead Landing, northeast of the marsh. It ain’t much— just a dilapidated shack, but ain’t nobody goes out there. If things go south sometime soon, I’ll meet you there, you hear?”

“Okay,” John whispered, his mind going a mile a minute.

Arthur coughed yet again, the action making his whole body shake.

(Every time Arthur coughed, John felt his sense of dread increase a little more.)

“When the time comes, John…” Arthur started, then trailed off as yet another coughing fit started.

“I know,” he responded, barely audible over the former’s coughs. He felt as though he was hardly absorbing the information, too many thoughts concurrently buzzing in his head.

How was he supposed to do this? It was clearly time to get out, but he didn’t know how or what to do on his own. He had to provide for Abigail and Jack and keep them safe and alive and out of danger and what if Dutch came to find them, would he have to kill Dutch to save his family? Would Dutch try to kill them? —

A cigarette was what he needed. It’d clear his mind. The more the thought lingered, the more he craved the sweet relaxation it would give him.

He patted his pockets down anxiously, the rhythmic, repeating motion quickening with every second. Where the fuck were they? He just had them in his jeans pocket earlier.

Arthur was coughing again, the sound echoing in his head like a ticking time bomb — because Arthur was, frankly, a ticking time bomb. God, where the fuck were his cigarettes? They weren’t in his pockets.

“Do you have— have a— a smoke? I need, fuck, I just—” He was still palming uselessly at his jeans pockets because he needed a fucking smoke and he didn’t have one and why didn't he have one yet?

Whatever Arthur might’ve responded with went unheard because John couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears and his own layered, panicked thoughts.

Time was running out, the law was getting closer, and every minute he spent in this Hell-on-Earth, their so-called camp was just a stinging reminder to John that his family, Abigail and Arthur and Jack and Tilly and Grimshaw and everyone else was all going to die and it would be entirely his fault.

He needed a fucking cigarette.

Hosea had already died. Lenny and Mac and Davey and Jenny and Sean and Kieran—

“John,” Arthur said firmly, shaking him on the shoulder and saving him from drowning amongst the sea of his own terrible thoughts. He was holding a pack of cigarettes in his free hand. John grabbed them like a lifeline, relief already flooding his veins just at the sight.

He exhaled (and his head spun— had he been holding his breath by accident?). “You, uh— you got a match?”

Said matches were tossed on the ground in front of John, falling with a thwap. His hands scrambled to grab them.

“You alright?” Arthur asked uneasily, the effect compounded by his voice tinged with illness. They mostly didn’t talk about when John would get like this, because it was just easier to not.

There were a lot of things they didn’t talk about.

John’s hands shook as he tried to light the match once, twice, three times. “I’m fine,” he said with the unlit cigarette between his lips. Finally, the match lit.

“You ain’t,”

“...I ain’t,” John agreed. He took that first inhale of his cigarette, a slow, easy drag. It felt like heaven. “But neither are you,”

Arthur said nothing in reply.

#red dead redemption fanfic #rdr fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #johnigail #john marston x abigail roberts #john marston #john marston fanfic #arthur morgan #abigail roberts marston #abigail roberts #abigail marston #jack marston #red dead redemption fanfiction #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #vittoria.doc #take my hand (don’t fear the reaper)

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thegoblinwitchqueen · 2 years

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In this Eden

Chapter: 8

Dutch Van der Linde X OC18+ Word Count: 7807

AO3

Dutch did not trust her.

At least, not yet .

Still, regardless of how frustrating the whole situation happened to be, she could not blame him for it. And, despite her best efforts to fully engross herself within the outlaws blended family of misfits and petty criminals, Effie was… different.

Whether of her own accord or due to the opinions of the others living amongst the camp, it did not matter how many dishes she washed, clothes she sewed, or wood she chopped—to the people who housed her, Florence was an unknown woman who just so happened to show up, figuratively and literally, at the proverbial front step of the Van der Linde campsite.

As well, the obviously fabricated and last minute story of her past as an acrobatic horse performer was not as believable as Hosea had insisted it to be. As a result, until Effie was able to prove her loyalty to Dutch, and in turn his counterpart Hosea, she was to be kept at an arm's length of distance and watched with scrutiny and suspicion. With bated breath and bit tongues, Effie waited with agonizing anticipation for the Van der Linde gang’s..and most importantly Dutch’s approval….or disapproval.

Ironically, Florence was never really good with just about anything that required patience on her part, and often found herself rushing head first into most things with little to no forethought. Especially when it came to bounties or sinful pleasures which was why she had gotten so caught up in booze and morphine not so long ago.

However, no matter how badly her core ached to enact her revenge on Dutch Van der Linde in the middle of the night just to get it over with.. she had to remind herself of what Buck would say. The man she loved had told her many times in their years together that a little bit of patience could make the difference between a small pay out, or an even larger one. A live bounty paid better than a dead one. That was certain.

The same could be applied to Dutch Van der Linde.

Effie surmised that she could just kill him, face the repercussions of her hot blooded actions by way of a gruesome death at the hands of his men, or…she could find a way to capture and turn in the Bastard as a last fuck you. Just to shatter the man’s ego and prove that he was not as untouchable as he thought he was. Florence decided that waiting for a moment to separate Dutch and strike when least expected would be her best option. As well as a safer one.

And so, Effie decided to play the part of a good girl by helping around camp, performing various activities to help with chores, and kept a relatively low profile simultaneously. Before she had realized, it had been almost two laborious weeks since her first interaction with Dutch and Hosea after she had awoken from her ordeal in the woods.

The days had come and gone with little to no significant issues other than a, albeit petty, bicker between Effie and Miss Susan Grimshaw over whether or not a frying pan was cleaned to the camp dictator's unattainable standard of satisfaction. By the end of second week, the young woman was nowhere near as close with the gang as she had started and things were not looking as though they would improve any time soon.

The thread of her patience was running ever thinner… ready to snap at any given moment.

At first, she thought the women of Dutch’s clan avoided her gaze because of the unsightly injuries upon her nose and eyes thanks to the hefty branch that ran into her. But after a few days, the wounds gradually started to turn a nasty shade of green and yellow; by the end of the second week, they had almost fully healed. Still, the girls would continue to whisper, or avoid her, without a good reason….At least a reason good enough for Effie.

The only woman who gave her any sort of attention was Miss Grimshaw, and most of their interactions were not particularly pleasant. Even Abigail had begun to avoid her too, but after seeing a somber expression across her face whenEffie had tried to start up a bit of small talk around the wash tub, Effie suspected that Abigail's reluctance to interact with the strange woman was at the request of Dutch.

Frustrated, but nonetheless, Effie decided that she would play along with his game of divide and conquer. She knew this war tactic very well, and her pride helped her through the long days of silence by reminding her that she was the brains behind every score held by Ike Skelding. Florence Barlowe was smart and fierce. If she could survive three days of dehydration and hypothermia, she could survive a few catty women.

However, pride could only hold out for so long…and after a while, Florence couldn’t help how the expressions of wariness, unwelcomed auras, or avoided eyesight caused her to feel jaded and left out in ways similar to a young girl still struggling to navigate the subtleties of societal unspoken laws. Mind games as it were. Fuckin…childishness and mind games. Psychological warfare seemed to be Dutch’s preferred method of torture…hers as well, but that was besides the point.

Life around the Van der Linde camp was difficult for everyone,but especially at night for Florence. Effie knew she was not welcome to rest on a cot next to Karen, Mary Beth, and Tilly and it only took two days for her to realize this after multiple instances of finding her bed of stiff canvas moved from underneath the designated tent to various places the women of Dutch’s clan deemed fit for a suspicious stranger.

Far away.

Out of spite, Effie returned her cot once or twice but eventually stopped moving it back to its original spot next to Tilly. The whole thing grew tiresome and not worth the hassle. So, After her chores were completed when the stars grew bright and many in number, Effie spent her nights alone on her cot slightly out of the camp's perimeter near where Kieran and the horses slept.

When she awoke, she was met with disgruntled demeanors and Effie decided the path of least resistance was to eat her meals alone amongst the gang's horses where she slept. She did not mind it, even enjoyed it, for their rumbling bellows and pawing replaced conversations dull with small talk or questions she was exhausted of answering time and time again. Perses seemed to enjoy the companionship as well, even taking a liking to Charles Taima.

The only one who she did spend time with was Kieran, but even he was not an official member of the gang. Much like her, he too had to prove his worth to Dutch Van der Linde and co., and still faced ridicule from the various members…ahem, Bill Williamson… who had only recently warmed to the idea of an O’ Driscoll amongst them. However, unlike Kieran, Effie could not win Dutch’s approval through raiding a log cabin owned by the man’s former rival, Colm O’Driscoll, to take home a vast amount of stolen money. No, Florence had to find another way to prove herself.

A way in which she had yet to discover.

However, it seemed that despite Dutch’s reluctance to allow Effie into his family, she was hardly ever alone. No matter where she sat, slept, or even shit, there just so happened to be one of Dutch’s boys lurking around the corner, just waiting for her to make a wrong move, say the wrong thing, or show her true intentions for being there amongst his unwanted riffraff.

Her reluctant companions often rotated in cycle between Bill, Javier, Sean, John, and Charles. Mostly Charles. Effie was able to figure out she was being followed rather quickly, and Dutch eventually stopped sending Bill and John as their heavy steps and grumbling often exposed their locations without the young woman putting in much effort, if any, to find them. Sean was too noisy, and was unable to cease his annoying chatter which knocked him out of the rotation after the first attempt. She did not miss him, and silently thanked Dutch for that decision.

Occasionally, Effie was trailed by Dutch’s own workhorse, Arthur Morgan, but only when he was in the vicinity of the camp. Which… was very few and far between. Again, she did not mind it. The two barely spoke as it was, and Arthur did not seem to care for her just as much as she for him. Very little.

The only form of freedom and privacy she had was when she walked down the hillside to reach the river where the gang bathed, or refilled their fresh water reservoirs, to wash her own aching body free of the grime and muck she acquired throughout the week from this new life of hardship…and freedom. At least, she thought.

“We should probably head back. It’s not safe to stay out this late.” Her ordained companion Charles Smith, large and broad, sat atop a large stone boulder, overlooking the lazy moving river with an expression of apathy that Effie now knew was his default resting face.

In one hand, his knife cut free fragments and slivers of curled wood and the other held a small block he pulled from the pile of kindling prior to their journey to the river. It was early in the evening when Effie decided to clean herself, and unfortunately for the both of them, that meant an escort.

Luckily, Charles no longer bothered to hide or pretend that he just happened to be in the area. This tiny gesture of respect allowed for some semblance of friendship to grow between the two which made things easier for the both of them.

“ You can head back. I’m not finished yet.” Effie announced with a layer of agitation to coat her words. She laid on her back amongst the smooth river rocks with her body half submerged in the crystal clear water. She had her eyes closed, and relished the feeling of the crisp spring current which gently glided over her and pulled gently on the ends of the nightgown she wore. The young woman imagined the grime of her body, and soul, as the water washed it away to be carried downstream until she could no longer feel the suffocating blackness, hot and sticky, that lingered on her aching limbs.

“You know I can’t do that.” Charles responded flatly. No matter what she said or did, the dark skinned man never once gave into her poking and prodding, unlike the ways in which Bill or John did. It truly didn’t take much for Effie to talk her way out of being followed, or for extra minutes of alone time which she would use to lose her already frustrated keepers. Probably why Dutch asked Charles to follow her from now on. “Dutch’s orders.”

“I know .” Effie groaned, long and hard in exasperation. The curls of her hair unraveled under the water, and the contents of her mind too unraveled to the image of the dark haired and charismatic leader. She let out a guttural and animalistic sound from deep within her chest as her heart beat irregularly within its protective casing of freshly healed ribs. The very thought of Dutch Van der Linde did that to her, even though she did not fully understand why. “I wished he’d just…trust me already.”

“I understand,” Charles let out his own sigh, and stowed his well worn hunting knife safely within the leather hilt of his gun belt. In a surprisingly graceful motion, the large man descended the Boulder and leaned his weight against the smooth surface, watching the young woman’s brows as they furrowed and her lips tighten until they became a thin line across her no longer bruised face. Although to her dismay, her nose was slightly crooked and seemed to want to stay that way forever more. “but you haven’t really made much of an effort to change that.”

“Not much of an effort?!”

Effie shot up from her place amongst the stones with an expression of frustration across her face, and with one hand, she forcefully skipped her palm across the River surface in a futile attempt to splash her unwanted keeper. Charles only smirked, for the water shaped like bullets could not reach him where he stood with his arms crossed tightly against his chest.

“What do you mean ‘not much of an effort’ ? I’ve cooked, I’ve cleaned! For fucks sake, Smith! My hands are practically skinned to the bone from scrubbing the man’s trousers free of stains! Most of which I’m not even sure where they came from!” Effie pouted. The young woman rose from the river, and squeezed the water from her soaked hair and gown as tightly, and forcefully, as she wished she could apply to Van der Linde’s throat at that very instance.

Once satisfied, Effie huffed and exited the stream where she threw her arms out towards the sky, or god, in frustration.“I’ve bitten my tongue around Grimshaw, I’ve kept his stallion free of dust and debris, I’ve shined his boots—-What must I do, Charles ?! I’ve done everything I can think of!”

Charles only shrugged.

Effie’s eyes pleaded and searched the young man’s stoic features for any hint to the answer of her almost rhetorical question. And while she wished that her demonstration of pure frustration for the lack of trust…hell… lack of acknowledgment she received from Dutch Van der Linde was nothing more than a ruse or act for her to put on for her new and unsuspecting companions, it was not. Reluctantly, she had spent many a night tossing and turning while her thoughts struggled to comprehend why she felt the way she did.

The man’s aloof behavior towards her caused her to feel…insulted? Like she was not good enough to be within his realm of acknowledgment though he made it very difficult for her to forget that he was always watching her. Even as Dutch Van der Linde sat alone, or with his red haired companion, in his tent away from the bustling activities around his camp—he was still constantly aware of Effie’s location.

Sadly, Charles’ sad eyes could not give her the answer she desired because truthfully— he did not have one. He only knew of what he believed to be a way to help the young woman earn her independence—if not for his own selfish reasons. He grew tired of having to trail her around camp and preferred being on his own to do as he pleased. Within reason of course.

“You haven’t done everything ,” Charles responded. “Dutch…Dutch is a different breed of man compared to others. He doesn’t see chores or shined shoes as loyalty. He is a man that requires substance.”

“Substance?” Effie scoffed, rolling her eyes as far back into her skull as she could.

However, the words Charles spoke were more than Effie had ever heard him speak before and despite the firmness and clarity in which he spoke, if he ever did, at that moment Effie could not understand the meaning intended behind them. She only stared at Charles while her thoughts darted back and forth to try and connect the dots like the puzzles she once enjoyed with Buck on lazy Sunday mornings. Suddenly, her brows furrowed tightly across her forehead.

“I’m not going to fuck him if that’s what you’re implying?” Effie’s words snapped like a serpent's tongue through sharp teeth.

“No no. Not like that.” Charles threw up his hands in defense, and backtracked his own words to try and clear the aura of Miscommunication. As well as, unfortunately, the rage that now radiated from the woman. “All I’m saying is that you should just go and talk to him. It’s been more than two weeks, and you haven’t said one word to him since he pulled you from the forest. Have you even thanked him?”

Ah. Now she understood.

“Oh…I… I guess I haven’t.” Effie’s harsh voice retreated in defeat back behind their prison of ivory teeth. Charles was, unfortunately, correct In his statement and no matter how much she hated to admit it… Effie could not deny his words.

It was true.

The young woman hadn’t spoken a single word to Dutch Van der Linde, or thanked him, and now it appeared that the reason behind the outlaws lack of trust might have been because of it.

“However, I…. It’s not easy for me to just…talk to him.”

“Why?” Charles cocked his head to the side in confusion, and his own brows furrowed alongside hers. Effie pulled her bottom lip under her teeth and chewed, unable to pull the words from her brain as Charles set a warm hand against her chilled shoulder in a rare attempt to comfort her. “Dutch is just…Dutch. It’s not like he bites.”

Dutch was just Dutch…and he did bite. Not physically…but in other ways.

Dutch Van der Linde was the man who snuffed the very life out of her soul the day Sean was rescued and Buck died from a gunshot wound to his head. But, Charles did not know that Effie was very much aware of what became of Ike Skelding, nor did he know that she knew he had also taken part in Effie’s lover's death. A fact that she would hardly forget despite her growing friendship with the man. Eventually, he too would feel her wrath. But until then, no one was to know. She made sure to keep it that way until she knew who pulled the trigger.

“It’s a bit more complicated….” Effie admitted half heartedly, though every inch of her being screamed it did not want to.

“Mmm.. I don’t think it is. I think you think it’s more complicated than it is. Look, Just get to know him. You’ll find he’s a lot nicer than he appears.” Charles smiled slightly, and used his hand to gently guide the young woman back to the trail that led to their home of canvas cots and tents. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was home.

Effie allowed her eyes to fall to her bare and muddy feet, and she sighed.

“I’ll try…”

The first step in her, well Charles’, plan to infiltrate the Van der Linde family was to finally converse with the dark haired bastard about god knows what…

However, to find Dutch Van der Linde alone was not exactly…easy.

The man never left camp due to the obscene bounty on his head, and so, he spent most of his vast amount of free time discussing their next heist with Hosea, philosophizing about ethics with young Lenny, performing long speeches to raise moral, or…unfortunately…canoodling, with little to no regard for the other camp residents, in the delicate arms of the Irish debutant, Molly O’Shea. The latter of which did not appreciate it when Effie, or any of the girls young enough to catch a wandering eye from her lover, came too close to Dutch for her comfort.

The fiery red head never physically threatened Florence, but her burning glares from her throne of canvas created an almost impenetrable shield around the tent she shared with Dutch. Though Molly need not worry, Effie had no qualms with avoiding her territory all together most days. Only catching a passing glance at the enigmatic, yet all knowing, being that was Dutch Van der Linde when she just so happened to carry buckets of dingy water to and from the various stations around the small campsite. However, It was In those brief and scarce moments in which they locked eyes that they shared an unspoken…something. Something that made Effie’s hair stand on the back of her neck and her mouth feel as though she was chewing cotton.

It was off putting to say the least, and added to Effie’s already unwillingness to interact with the man further. Still, Florence attributed her bazaar reaction down to animalistic instinct…like a horse sensing an impending thunderstorm. The man was indeed dangerous, however, so was Effie. He just did not know it yet.

However, later that evening when Pearson called out to his family for a supper of hodgepodge stew, Effie decided that Molly would just have to shove it wherever she saw fit. Her freedom and right to privacy rode on it, god be damned!

Grace Dryden, her mother, always said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach and Effie was about to put that wretched woman’s words to the test by loading two bowls full to the brim of the mystery meat stew.

One for her, and one for Dutch—- A peace offering, so to speak.

After she was satisfied with how much food Dutch would be pleased to receive, Effie allowed her gaze to survey her surroundings, All the while giving a weak smile to those who she just so happened to lock eyes with along the way. But, none of which belonged to the feral redhead. By pure luck, or perhaps divine intervention, Molly was away on a trip to Valentine with Hosea in hopes to pick up a tin of rouge for her lips.

“I guess this is it…” Effie mumbled to herself from under her breath before she took in the chilled evening air deep within her anxious core. After slowly emptying her lungs, she made her way across camp to greet Dutch.

The man in question sat on the small wooden stool outside his tent where he often enjoyed spending most of his evenings reading before supper. Bent over, with his arms resting heavily on his thighs, and fully engrossed in a thick novel he held tightly in his grasp. This particular night was no different, and he did not appear to hear Pearsons call for fresh food a moment earlier.

This was indeed her chance to finally have a moment alone with her target.

Unfortunately, each step closer to where Dutch was caused the anxiety of Florence’s heart to pound faster, and her mouth was once again as dry as the Mojave desert. Luckily for her, Dutch did not seem to notice the way her steps faltered or her breaths grew shallow. He only continued to peruse the mysterious contents within his book with an intense expression across his features.

Effie knew without having to see the label of the cigar he held tight between his lips that the brand was imported from Guarma. It just so happened to be the same brand Buck used to enjoy…and for a moment…the smell made her feel like he was present. However, she knew better than to allow herself to get caught up in useless feelings. There was no time to mourn, and she needed to keep her head focused and clear on her prey at hand.

So, As she approached his unfamiliar territory, with the melodic sounds of Carmen in the background, both hands full with the peace offering of sustenance—- Effie made an effort to cock her head to get a better look at the title that was slightly obscured by the man’s large hands. Hands that had seen many years worth of hard work …and death.

The binding of the large, green novel was worn which indicated more than a few years worth of reads. Effie hoped that the book was something she was familiar with, at least if it was, they could have something to break the ice with. Unfortunately, the title was not one she had read before.

“ The American Inferno.. ?” Effie repeated. She mouthed the title softly to herself, not noticing that the outlaw's dark eyes had already left their place amongst the page he had been reading to instead read her own face of the peculiar expression she wore. At that moment, her brows were tightly furrowed and her lips a thin line. She must have looked angry. Just like Charles, Effie was not blessed with a face that looked approachable.

“...By Evelyn Miller.” Dutch responded cooly, but not entirely coldly, as he gently closed the book without marking the page. As an avid reader herself, the unspeakable sin of closing one’s book on an unmarked page caused Effie anxiety, and regardless of who held that book, this was no different. Dutch set the novel to his side, and straightened his posture to greet the young woman.

Understandably, the outlaw seemed a bit confused as to why the young woman had decided to approach him now after such a long time living amongst his people…his family.

“What can I do for you, Miss Beasley?”

Beasley .

Effie had almost forgotten that the name she chose as hers was Bucks. Most everyone in the camp either called her Florence, save for Hosea who had taken a liking to her preferred nickname of Effie, but Dutch had yet to call on her and it appeared that now he had chosen to keep things rather professional. At an Arm's length, just as he had instructed the others. It was refreshing to see he did not see himself above his own rules.

“Aren't you worried you’ll forget what page you're on?” Effie exclaimed, fully preoccupied with her own anxiety to consider how she would introduce herself. The introduction she had rehearsed was long gone from the forefront of her mind, but Dutch only raised a brow as a slight chuckle escaped from his lips. He took a drag of his cigar, and intertwined his fingers.

“Don’t trouble yourself,” Dutch began, releasing the flavorful aroma from his mouth like a Smouldering fire. Effie inhaled, and savored it. “I’ve read this book so many times—- I’ve practically memorized every page. Trust me, I know exactly where I left off. Even blind I would know.”

“I see,” Effie exhaled the breath she did not realize she had been holding, and relaxed her shoulders. Dutch allowed a smirk to pull at the corner of his mouth and snuffed the life of the cigar on the ashtray he kept near.

The man smiled at her. Effie’s mind went blank.

After a few moments of drawn out silence passed between them, the outlaw cleared his throat which brought attention to the painfully awkward fact that Florence stood unmoving, like a Grecian statue, without so much as a word.

Effie felt like a goddamned idiot. Fuck. She had forgotten what she was doing.

“... I Had thought…”

“Speak up, my dear. Unfortunately, despite my young age of 45, my hearing isn’t the best thanks to the gun I have strapped to my hip.”Dutch chuckled, his voice smooth like molasses. He adjusted his posture to expose the shiny pistol he kept loaded at all times against his hip. But, Despite her best efforts, Effie’s voice began to weaken under the vast amount of pressure his intense gaze happened to place upon her at that very moment. Whether or not it was his intention.

Effie slightly shook her head free from his hypnotic stare, and cleared her throat while a trembling hand extended one of the bowls towards her new leader. She too allowed a slight smile to tug at the corner of her lips and Dutch, now fully perplexed by the woman’s odd behavior, observed the bowl with a blank expression before his eyes returned their gaze to her face.

“I…I’m sorry. I’ve never been good at this sort of thing. And I…I figured it was about time that I thanked you..for everything.” Effie swallowed the lump in her throat and waited. After a pause she asked, "Do you… mind if I join you?”

The man hesitated, and the amount of time that passed in deafening silence between them felt painfully slow as he contemplated her words. His brows were raised in surprise, or amusement, she could not tell. Still, he did not attempt to move, and kept his fingers intertwined as he looked her up and down..searching for the motive behind her sudden interest in thanking him.

Dutch did not need to say anything for the both of them to know exactly how important these next course of actions between them were to be. That very moment they shared was the one that would solidify if Florence Barlowe, er Beasley, would officially become a member of the Van der Linde family… or find herself exiled.

Finally, Dutch cleared the thick air of anticipation with a hearty, and deep, chuckle as an extended hand graciously received the peace offering. Effie released the breath she had held in wait, and smiled as he freed her tight grip on the bowl of stew. The whole situation felt more like a negotiation between two powerful countries at war with one another, and for now, a temporary peace treaty was on the table.

“Sure. If that’s what you’d like. I would not mind the company.” Dutch was a gentleman indeed, and quickly offered his own seat to the young woman while simultaneously removing a few novels and papers from a matching stool next to his. Effie opened her mouth to protest, but he waved his hand to silence her and sat down before she could say anything. “Please, sit, Miss Beasley I—.”

“—Effie.” Florence responded quickly, resting fully into the residual warmth left from the man’s body. With her stew set gently within her lap, she began to paw at its contents. Even though she loved her deceased lover's surname, often dreaming of the day it would become her own, she could not hold back the claws of grief that begged to rip the thin threads that held her shattered heart intact apart each time the name left Dutch’s lips. It was still too soon. Dutch hesitated, unsure…but ultimately his smile returned without so much of a question to the sudden change of tone in his guest's voice. Effie reiterated, “Please, call me Effie.”

“A’ course.” Dutch agreed with a subtle nod of acknowledgment as he pulled his seat closer and across from the young woman. He understood when and where to pry, and this was not one of them. Once the two were comfortable in their almost comically small seats, they began to enjoy their dinner together.

The first few bites were in silence as neither one knew exactly how to start a conversation, but after a few more moments of awkwardness, Dutch made the first move and spoke again utilizing the only thing he knew about her: her name.

“Florence. I haven’t met many with that name in my travels.” The man repeated her name softly to himself as if it belonged to an ancient or foreign language that had yet to be discovered by man. Never had she heard her name sound so…poetic.

Honestly, It made her uncomfortable.

“Such a pretty name. Why go by Effie?” Dutch cocked his head to the side, waiting for her response.

“Pretty? Hardly…But, I thank you, “ Effie let out a chuckle, and shook her head in disagreement…or disbelief. She could not tell. “I’ve never really cared for it. I’ve always thought it to be too long, and I hated how much room it would take on my lesson papers. I always ended up writing it down the side…which my governess hated with passion. She’d smack my hands with a ruler until I finally memorized how much room I needed for my name, but by then I started going by Effie to save myself from unnecessary pain. It’s hard to misspell or take up too much room with Effie.”

“Really now?” Dutch raised a brow in amusement. “I’d be happy to have a name after the Italian epicenter of renaissance art and architecture.”

“I would too, but my father named me after a race horse he owned back before the war. At least, I think.” Effie took a few bites of her meal, and savored the flavor to try and cleanse her palate of the awful taste her fathers memory left in her mouth. Her brows furrowed, but Dutch only smiled. Even Pearson’s bland stew tasted better than her fathers name on her palate. Elijah Dryden.

“I take it you two didn’t get along?” Dutch asked, setting his empty tin on the grass below. Suddenly, Effie felt embarrassed that she was such a slow eater and couldn’t recall when he had managed to finish before her.

“We did not.” Effie sighed, quickening her pace to not keep the man waiting. However, Dutch lifted a hand to indicate that he did not mind it. After all, this was more that he had ever interacted with the woman of the woods, and he was interested in knowing more about her. “He and I had conflicting opinions on topics I viewed as non negotiable in my life.”

“Like what?” Dutch rested his arms on his thighs, and leaned slightly closer. His gaze never once broke hers, and that familiar shiver ran up her spine. Was she sharing too much? Effie shrugged her shoulders, and sighed once again to calm her nerves.

“The type of men you fancy ?” The man’s tone was playful, almost condescending, but she ignored it. Dutch Van der Linde was teasing her, but Effie would not give in to playful banter as easily as he hoped.

“Ha, unfortunately, no.” Effie scraped the residue of stew that held tight against her tin bowl, and finished her meal with one last bite. However, Dutch made no indication for their conversation to end. “While I won’t lie that we did disagree on men, our many many many heated arguments mostly revolved around politics.”

“ Politics ?” Dutch scoffed in disbelief, though the word seemed to peak the outlaws' interest even more. The brows of Effie’s forehead furrowed almost unconsciously.

During her time amongst the gang, Effie had not indicated to anyone in the camp that she was a learned woman thanks to her fathers vast amount of money and status as a Confederate Lt. Colonel. Even after the war, her family managed to secure and maintain their wealth through real estate, tobacco, and coal mine investments throughout Appalachia where the southern values her father maintained were still alive and well despite the government stating otherwise. Though the latter was only acquired through her marriage to Clifford Barlowe ten years prior.

Honestly, there really wasn’t any particular reason for her to divulge her complicated past of a fallen debutante turned addict then bounty hunting mogul now outlaw. Besides her desire to keep that part safely hidden away so as to not threaten her life or plan of cold revenge against Dutch Van der Linde—- Politics did not play into how well she could scrub a stain out of a blouse, or how many sticks she could gather in one trip.

As well, she hated thinking about her family in general, and spent many long years trying to forget they even existed. One by one they had died out. Unfortunately the family’s downfall started with her younger sister Francis, then her father, then her mother… until all that was left was her older Brother, Cecil Dryden, who was living somewhere between Saint Dennis and Rhodes where he maintained the family fortune and lived in luxury. Last they spoke, he was going to marry a woman from a wealthy plantation family in Rhodes, but she didn’t bother to show up to his wedding. Granted, she was too drunk to remember the date at that time.

Still, by the way Dutch’s dark features seemed to brighten up at the very word ‘ Politics’ , Effie couldn’t help but feel that the man had to have been giddy over yet another poor soul he could hold hostage in his many… many philosophical debates. By now, Dutch must have tired poor Lenny out with the same conversations over and over. Especially since the former was currently locked in a gilded cage of his own making, unable to scratch the gnawing itch to spread his wings. However, Dutch must have realized he had insulted the woman, and quickly ate his words.

“Please, I meant no offense. Only…I did not take you to be… interested in frivolous topics such as the politics of man. With you being a performer and all.”

“No offense taken.” Effie lied, though her smile faltered slightly. However, she composed herself and kept her cool. Unfortunately, there was a lot of offense taken for she knew what Dutch really meant to say was,

‘with you being a woman and all’.

However, there was no point in petty arguments over whether or not someone looked interested in politics based on their gender. As well, Effie had this very conversation with her father…and Cliff…too many times for her to count. She was tired of having to fight it.

“What did you two disagree on, if I may be so bold to ask?” Dutch asked in earnest.

“Mostly about how the country is run.” Effie set her tin bowl on the grass next to the one left by Dutch, and stretched her back to relieve the ache she had acquired from her hunched position. For a split second, she thought she saw Dutch’s eyes wander to her chest, but she could not be certain.

Ugh, men.

“I see.” Dutch cleared his throat and smiled. He too mimicked her posture, and sat up straighter. “Absolutely terrible, isn’t it?”

“Dreadful, really.” Effie agreed, and could say it wholeheartedly. If there was one thing that she could agree with Dutch Van der Linde, it was that the country was going to shit.

Suddenly, Dutch reached for the book he had been reading prior to their conversation of names and now politics, flipping the pages quickly until he was satisfied. He held the book out for Effie to read and take hold of his precious item.

“I think you’d like this.”

Effie hesitated slightly, watching and observing the man’s face for any ill will or ulterior motives; she found none. A gesture from one lover of politics to another, and Effie graciously took it. Dutch lit his cigar once again, and watched with anticipation as Effie’s own eyes scanned the page he had chosen. She read the passage aloud.

“ ‘Men are fixated on greed, on desire, and on the acquisition not of experiences or pleasures but the ability to acquire. People are fixated on wealth. Man is reduced to the desire for desire. Wanting is all that matters. Not loving, not being, not having, but wanting. We are killers for desire. Even sport would be preferable. This is the grand sickness, the eternal sickness of this land - it is, man unleashed. Man unleashed and turned into, he knows not what? ’” She found the author's words rather confusing, but regardless she understood the message intended. Dutch noticed the look she struggled to hide, and took a drag of his cigar.

Such a lovely smell…

“Do you not agree that man’s downfall is a result of greed, Miss Bea— Effie?” Dutch questioned. He had not expected her to disagree with something he felt was common knowledge and very difficult to disagree with.

“No no! It’s not that I do not agree as I very much do,” Effie continued to peruse the pages that were well worn and well lived by the meticulous fingers of Dutch Van der Linde. “…just not fully with Mr. Miller's interpretation.”

“How so?” Dutch crossed an arm across his chest, the puffing of his cigar grew more and more rapid between each drag as he waited eagerly for Effie’s explanation.

“Well,” She began, lightly closing the book and holding it tightly against her chest. An unconscious habit she had with any and all books she read. Dutch eyed her, but not with suspicion. Something else she could not place. She continued,

“While I do agree with Mr. Miller that the greed of mankind has, time and time again without fail, tarnished the reputation of humans regardless of where we have traveled. Often, like he stated, ruining our lands with factories, polluting our water with oil, and the overall disregard towards what it truly means to be appreciative of the earth we live on,”

Effie was so caught up in her thoughts that she had not noticed the voluptuous figure of Miss Molly O’Shea as she hastily approached her invaded territory of Dutch’s tent with Hosea in tow. Honestly, Had Effie even noticed, she would not have been able to say just how long the young woman stood silently with a scowl, and with a smoldering cigarette, in hand. However, To the surprise of both Molly and Hosea, Dutch did not notice the redhead as well. That was unlike him.

“…I don't think greed is going to be the thing that ultimately causes our inevitable demise.” Effie stated. Dutch adjusted in his seat like a child awaiting the most important part of the picture shows that played in Valentine. But regardless of his anticipation, he listened. Along with Hosea who had pulled a chair alongside his long term companion to be a part of the interesting conversation between Dutch and the woman of the woods.

“If not greed, then what?” He asked, not realizing his cigar had reached the point past life. Effie shrugged her shoulders ,and in one gentle motion, returned the novel back to its keeper.

“Ignorance.”

“ Ignorance? ” Dutch repeated, his hand rubbed his brow as if he had never considered the topic of ignorance before. “I’m very interested to hear how so? I’d personally agree with Mr. Miller that greed highly outweighs ignorance in most things. After all, in order to have power one would need money. Money, unfortunately , seems to follow those who possess a sort of—cunningness. I don’t see those in power are necessarily —“

“—but you’d say they were ignorant, right?”

Dutch stopped and the words that he had planned to release were no more. Effies eyes held the man within an unbreakable bond, and the world felt as if it was just the two of them. She continued, and Dutch listened intently.

“Ignorance is not bliss as one would think, Mr. Van der Linde. Ignorance in itself is not always a bad thing—It only means that whoever is perceived to be ignorant has not had the opportunity to learn and grow from past mistakes that they can then use to do better for their community and themselves. However, it is those that choose to remain ignorant in the face of learning, knowing full and well what is best for others, who will be our downfall.”

Dutch’s mouth hung open slightly, as if he was going to say something. However, no words exited and Effie took the opportunity to elaborate. Molly stood behind her with her hands placed on top of her hips and an aggrieved expression of both jealousy and confusion.

“What I mean is—for example, one could say that racism comes from ignorance, correct? The lack of knowledge for another being's culture causes fear amongst those who fall ignorant to the unknown, but when faced with the opportunity to learn about the people we have deemed to be less than, those that choose to remain ignorant by avoidance do nothing but perpetuate fear and hatred towards others. Had they learned, racism would not exist.

The same could be said about starvation which comes from an ignorance towards the ways in which we must utilize our resources to produce enough food for ourselves to survive, but to also help those who can not help themselves due to illness, disability, or poverty. However, those who choose to turn away and continue to be ignorant to the suffering of others only to hoard their food like dragons atop a mound of gold only lead to the deaths of innocent people.

And to bring the conversation back what Mr Miller said—the lack of understanding, or ignorance, that cutting down trees, polluting our water, and killing one another out of greed will only hurt us in the end— I'd say the reason for our suffering isn’t because of greed itself. Instead, we can thank those who choose to remain ignorant to the damage they cause at the expense of others all for the sake of greed. They ignore the signs and cries from those who know better, and in turn are the ones who cause mankind to suffer. And ultimately parish in a land of rot and ruin.

You see, Dutch? Mr. Miller is not wrong to say greed fuels the heart, but the root cause of that greed is ignorance.”

Dutchs eyes flicked over the young woman’s features as she eagerly awaited for his own response to her version of mankind’s downfall. However, Dutch was silent and his expression blank…and suddenly, Effie feared she had just ruined her chances for the leader’s approval due to her own passionate ranting.

“I-I’m sorry. I just get so wrapped up in these sorts of conversations. I don’t mean to offend.” Effie laughed nervously, her hand tightly gripped the fabric of her skirt.

“No, my dear, don’t be sorry. To see you so passionate is…refreshing. And, For once in my life, I have been left truthfully speechless.” Dutch’s voice was something good and tender, and for a moment Effie had practically forgotten that she would ultimately kill the man who, at that moment, reached to rest his palm over her own. The texture was rough, but pleasantly warm, against hers. Effie felt that strange tingle on the back of her neck, but this time, she was not afraid. She was…something else.

Suddenly, Hosea lit a cigarette and the slight cough that escaped his lungs brought the duo back into their unfortunate reality of lawlessness and suffering. Dutch adjusted in his chair, and removed his hand from Effie. She cleared her throat and rose from her station, embarrassed at the color that began to rush to her cheeks. As she turned the opposite direction, she was met with an upset Miss O’Shea.

“I-I’m sorry.” Effie mumbled as she walked past the Irish beauty who made sure to clip the young woman’s shoulder on her way out.

Hosea laughed slightly, and rested his hand and weight against Dutch’s broad shoulder. The outlaw only shrugged with exasperation, knowing full and well that his night was to be filled with melodic highs and lows of harsh words from an aggrieved miss Molly. Still, the smile that grew wide across his chiseled face would not be so easily erased.

“Hosea,” Dutch began, rising from his stool to pat his trousers free of any debris. Hosea eagerly listened as he watched the strange woman retreat to her cot near the grazing horses.

“Yes, Dutch?” Hosea responded, pulling a drag of flavorful ash into his lungs.

“Find Ms. Beasley a tent. A proper one

#rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 Dutch x original character #rdr2 dutch

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crossdressingdeath · 2 years

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Abigail's death (like, the real one) was such a moment for the show and Will, really; still, I love a good Murder Family fic. Like, Will was on the way to being a parent, even back then, with Hannibal and while we never get to see none of that, I deadass can imagine Hannibal protesting but just full on giving Will all he wants, like marriage, a house, more kids and triple the dogs 💀💀 Would Will even want that? (He probably just want peace and his bunch of dogs, who am I kidding) I just know domestic Hannigram is the funniest sh*t ever and I appreciate how authors have fun with that.

Honestly I found Abigail's (real) death a bit too abrupt, because it's "She's alive! Hannibal spared her so he and Will could have a family with a kid and- oh. Nope, she's dead again" within... what, five minutes? And then season three was like "She's alive! Her and Will are going after Hannibal together and maybe they'll be a family or maybe they'll kill him together and- oh. Nope, she was a hallucination the whole time". This is character death blue-balling, Fuller, either she's dead or she's not. (Anyone have thoughts about how Abigail would have appeared in season four?)

That said, I love domestic murder husbands. Honestly the healthier their post-fall/AU dynamic is the better it gets. My personal favourite is "That Nice Gay Couple Down The Street except one day you wake up to the news that the police showed up and they've gone on the run because turns out they're infamous cannibalistic serial killers, better hope they never invited you to dinner or if they did you politely turned them down", because that's just so fucking funny to me. Including Abigail in the family dynamic is also very good! Also, and slightly off-topic, another favourite fic trope is Will making Hannibal go vigilante as a compromise between "let's not kill anyone" and "let's kill people for being even slightly rude including murdering a teenager because she yelled at her mother for blocking her from seeing her friend who has just been orphaned and whose father just nearly murdered her" (I know that killing Marissa was partially just to fuck with Abigail's head but still), just because it's something that I can definitely see Will doing in a hypothetical season four; I don't like fics where Will is super down with murdering anyone Hannibal wants to murder or fics where Will makes Hannibal stop altogether because neither of those match the existing dynamic of Will being drawn to Hannibal's darkness and the murder seduction and everything but also being genuinely just a better person than Hannibal. He likes the killing, he's drawn to it, he's not going to demand Hannibal stop entirely, but he's also not happy with the whole "this person said something slightly rude to me three years ago so I'm going to kill them slowly and painfully" thing (and he does only kill or try to kill killers himself in canon). Also imagining Jack and Alana and Chilton and Team Science responding to the realization that yes, the Chesapeake Ripper has actually gone full vigilante (because his murder husband told him to!) brings me great joy.

#hannibal #murder husbands #hannigram #abigail hobbs #asks #anon

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k-s-morgan · 3 years

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When Will asks Alana ‘save Hannibal from me or for you?’ after she tells him to stay away from Hannibal doesn’t that show that Will knew or at least suspected that Hannibal was in love and wanted to be with him?

and Alana knew that too so that’s why she’s warning him off Hannibal? I interpreted Will’s “save him for you” as “I won’t date him so you can carry on dating him even though you know it’s me he loves”.

I know she was also talking about the destructive aspect of their relationship but that dialogue was smthing out of a rom-com, where the girl who knows the boy she’s dating is in love with another girl and she goes to tell her off 😂

Will is just as possessive towards Hannibal as Hannibal is towards him and that line shows that (IMO)

IMO by the end of S2 Will was already in love with Hannibal and he must have known Hannibal loved him too at least subconsciously?

Oh, Will definitely knew by the end of S2 that Hannibal lvoes him! I think his subconscious was trying to tell him this throughout all season, but it became especially loud by the middle of it.

At first, when he's still in prison, Will seems increasingly confused by Hannibal. He knows Hannibal betrayed and set him up, and yet he also feels like Hannibal is being genuine when he talks about their friendship. He sees how Hannibal tries to protect him during the trial; he listens to how Hannibal urges him to use the available defense and mentions how he doesn't want Will to be in prison. As a result, Will's mind gives him a dream where one version of Hannibal is letting him out of his cell while the other one is trying to lock him back in.

After Hannibal does free him, Will has a dream where Hannibal calls him a beloved repeatedly, talking about love and his definition of it. So, Will might be confused here still, but the knowledge that Hannibal loves him and wants him to Become is there.

During the conversation about "imago", "loved one," and "an ideal", Will also understands it's about him, and when he sees Abigail and realizes that Hannibal really wanted a family with him, this knowledge becomes very solid. We can see its echoes throughout the first few episodes of S3.

As for his own feelings... With Will, it's difficult to say. I'm not sure he bothered to define any of it up until the very end of S3 - he seems to dislike labels in general. He knew he wants to be with Hannibal, he knew he hates the idea of being replaced, he knew he wnats to be Hannibal's priority, but whether he called it being in love... Probably not. I agree with Hugh Dancy in that Will applied these words only after asking Bedelia if Hannibal is in love with him.

Now, as for that scene with Alana: in E7, I think they are talking about only the physical danger Will poses, with Will figuring out that Alana and Hannibal's relationship has taken on another level.

Alana: Are you going to try to hurt Hannibal again? Is he safe?

Since Alana's major problem was Will sending Matthew, I believe she's talking solely about the physical threat. After what happened, it's unlikely that she thinks Will and Hannibal might ever reunite.

Will: From me? Or for you?

Will is answering in a similar way: he acknowledges the physical threat he might pose and questions whether Alana is worried about Hannibal in general or if her concern is more personal.

But in E11? Oh yes, I fully agree with your take here. Alana has seen how Will and Hannibal act already, she noticed the glances, the tension, and the intimacy. Partly, it's about darkness, but it's also clearly about possessiveness.

Alana: I don't think Hannibal is good for you and I think your relationship is destructive.

Will: Hannibal's good enough for you!

This is definitely rom-com territory, just like that dinner they shared. I remember describing it before:

"Alana is disturbed after her meeting with Freddie and she tells Will and Hannibal about how strange they come across together . She adds that Freddie “sees what no one else sees”. Will doesn’t like to hear it because it hits too close to home. He almost throws a quick glance at Hannibal, as if for guidance, and then avoids looking at Alana as he asks, “And what is that?” After her reply (that according to Freddie, Will and Hannibal might be the killer everyone’s looking for), Will stares at Hannibal in grim, somewhat panicked wariness. He does feel guilty, and I’d say, it’s not just about his darkness. He’s guilty of the growing closeness and intimacy between them.

Will and Hannibal’s eyes meet, hold, and Will looks at Alana again. Eventually, he tries to push the negative attention to Freddie by comparing her to a psychopath. His initial tension is gone, he is looking at Alana in subtle amusement. She holds his gaze for quite long, and I assume she caught the challenge in his behavior because she outright says that “Freddie isn’t the only one without boundaries” as she continues staring at Will. This is likely a more romantic-colored tension — Alana is no longer concerned about the killers, and the way she targets Will in particular in front of Hannibal feels territorial to me. In fact, she stares at Will for so long that Hannibal finally reacts, and only then does she turn away. However, she then questions the nature of Will and Hannibal’s relationship by focusing on Will again. Note how she doesn’t look at Hannibal during this — no, she feels threatened by Will in particular. When she does glance at Hannibal, it’s at the word “enemy”, as if she’s reminding him that Will tried to kill him and thus cannot be trusted.

Will also stares at Hannibal now, the wary look is back. He’s waiting to hear what Hannibal says, and Hannibal defends their relationship by saying that “crossing boundaries is different from violating them.” He directly emphasizes that his and Will’s relationship, whatever it is, is mutual. Will turns to see Alana’s reaction. Alana is clearly displeased. Another long look at Will, and she refuses to give up by saying, “It’s just difficult to know where you are with each other,” her eyes going between Hannibal and Will, stopping at Will.

Will finally regains his voice properly, so he answers, “We know where we are with each other, Shouldn’t that be enough?” His smile at Alana is fake as hell and jerky. Hannibal is the one amused now, looking between them, first listening to Will’s reply very attentively and then turning to Alana, as if asking, “Well? What do you say now?” Alana says nothing and just goes on looking at them both.

This scene is really framed like a lover and a wife fighting over their man, with Hannibal in the middle of it."

#hannibal #hannigram #will graham #alana bloom #jealousy

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darling-i-read-it · 3 years

Text

Dolce

3x06

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, dead bodies, blood, drugs

Author’s Note: I don’t want to leave Florence :( but i do be missing the dogs

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar

Official Episode Summary: Jack seriously doubts Will's loyalties as the two renew their alliance. Mason Verger plots Hannibal Lecter's capture, while Lecter plans for his final stand.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll @ericacactus @vlightning95 @sweetgoodangel

(not my gif)

all gifs @/rocktheholygrail

Hannibal sat in the bathtub. His head leaned against the side of it. Bedelia sat beside him. She wrung a sponge over his broken, beaten and cut body. Hannibal's eyes landed on hers and his pain saw you, wishing that you were there. He had been waiting for you and Will to arrive, wishing that it was going to happen. He wanted it to be you cleaning his wounds.

He needed it to be you cleaning his wounds.

His wish to have you come with him in the first place that was so strained he didn’t even realize the severity of it until just that moment. In pain, bleeding, sensing the end of something.

Jack Crawford looked at the dead body of Pazzi. It was being carted off by the police, the duck tape still pressed onto his face. Jack was tired. He had gotten a few scratches from his fight with Hannibal but none as severe as Hannibal’s.

Will walked up to Jack. Jack saw him out of the corner of his eye and situated himself toward his former colleague.

“He’s wounded and worried.” You emerged from the crowd behind Will and gave Jack a simple look. Both of you were scratched up. Dried blood covered Will’s forehead and there was a scratch on your cheek. You both clearly had been through something but Jack had not time to ask.

“Hannibal doesn’t worry. Knowing he’s in danger won’t rattle him any more than killing does,” Will said. The three of you looked into the Atrocious Torture Exhbiit, the place where Hannnibal and Jack had fought it out.

“If Rinaldo Pazzi decided to do his duty as an officer of the law, he could have detained Dr. Fell and determined very quickly that he was Hannibal Lecter. Would have taken thirty minutes to get a warrant,” Jack said solemnly.

“All those resources were denied to Pazzi. Once he decided to sell Hannibal, he became a bounty hunter,” Will stated. You scoffed.

“Serves him right. Mason Verger is trying to capture Hannibal himself for purposes of personal revenge. I've often wanted to use my own resources to drop him in his pig's den,” you muttered.

“Have you told la polizia they’re looking for Hannibal Lecter?” Will asked Jack.

“They’re motivated to find Dr. Fell inside the law. Knowing who he is..and what he’s worth, will just coax them out of bounds.”

“It would be a free-for-all,” Will pointed out.

“And Hannibal would slip away.” Jack paused. Both you and Will were facing opposite directions, looking at different artifacts. “Would you slip away with him?”

You and Will shared a look.

“Part of me will always want to,” Wil said.

“You have to cut that part out,” Jack argued.

“You aren’t FBI anymore Jack. You can’t tell either of us what to do,” you sneered. You believed that. Jack had no bearings over your feelings for Hannibal. You were annoyed he thought he had any.

“So you’ll go with him to jail?” Jack asked. You faced him completely.

“If I had come with him to Florence he wouldn’t be going to jail.”

“And that’s what you want?” Jack challenged. You stepped forward to him.

“I hate to see you win Jack.”

“You had him. He was beaten. Why didn’t you kill him?” Will asked, stepping in. Jack, eyes still on you, considered it.

“Maybe I need you to.”

Hannibal looked out the window. He was wearing a cozy sweater, cuddling into it for the last glimpse of hope he may get before a cage. He sketched into his book. Memories of Florence.

“I want to be able to draw these streets from memory. I want to be able to draw the Palazzo Vecchio and the Duomo,” Hannibal said whimsically. Bedelia approached him and took the book from his hand.

“You won’t be coming back here for a very long time,” she whispered.

“Memories of Florence will be all I have. Florence is where I became a man. I see my end in my beginning.”

“All of our endings can be found in our beginnings. History repeats itself and we can’t escape it,” Bedelia stated, turning into the home. Hannibal glanced at the small suitcase. Hsi coat was draped over it.

“You packed lightly,” he stated.

“I packed for you.” She paused a moment and off his questioning look, moved forward. “This is where I leave you. Or more accurately, where you leave me.”

Hannibal nodded slowly. His eyes scanned from the suitcase to her eyes. In essence he was aware he was giving up his Florence hope of you and him. He was aware that he was saying goodbye to Bedelia and also your alternate self.

In hopes to see you again, perhaps for real this time.

Bedelia put a needle carefully on her table. She saw the face of Chiyoh in the back of her mirror and turned around simply, confused at her presence.

“You must be looking for Hannibal Lecter. One of his patients?” she questioned.

“No, not a patient. Where is he?” Chiyoh asked. Her gun was in her hand delicately. It looked like it weighed a feather.

“Gone. Seeing how you let yourself in, I hope it’s not too forward to ask, who the hell are you?”

“Family,” Chiyoh landed on.

“Ah. You’ve come a long way from home,” Bedelia pointed out.

“Who are you?”

“I’m his psychiatrist.” Chiyoh glanced at the ampoule and needle. Bedelia shrugged.

“Medicinal purposes.” Chiyoh studied her further, her eyes narrowed.

“You’re like his bird. I’m his bird, too. I met another one, on the train ride here. He puts us in cages to see what we’ll do.”

“Fly away or dash ourselves dead against the bars,” Bedelia suggested.

“You haven’t flown away.”

Hannibal Lecter looked between the Primavera and his sketchbook. He was drawing it for the thousandth time but this time, in place of the garlanded nymph was your face. In place of pale zephyrus was Will.

Over Hannibal’s shoulder, Will walked into the room. Slowly, the suit that he was wearing suddenly seeming so stuffy. Will’s eyes landed on Hannibal for the first time since Hannibal gutted him. Both men battered and bruised.

He moved forward and gently laid a hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Hannibal looked up at Will and smiled, pleased to see him. Will sat down beside Hannibal and for a moment they both absorbed the moment.

“Good to see you,” Will said.

“If I saw you everyday forever, Will, I would remember this time,” Hannibal said as he stared at the man that he loved. They stared at each other for a moment and Will’s smile seemed the brightest thing Hannibal had seen in so long.

“Strange to see you in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven’t been in years,” Will stated.

“To market, to market, to buy a fat pig. Home again, home again, jiggity-jig,” Hannibal said lightly.

“I looked up at the night sky there. Orion above the horizon and, near it, Jupiter. I wondered if you could see it, too. She wondered if our stars were the same.”

She.

You. “I believe some of our stars will always be the same. You entered the foyer of my mind and stumbled down the hall of my beginnings.”

“I wanted to understand you before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear what I was seeing,” Will explained.

“Where does difference between the past and the future come from?” Hannibal questioned.

“Mine? Before you and after you.” He paused. “Yours? It’s all starting to blur. Mischa. Abigail. Chiyoh.”

“How is Chiyoh?”

Between both boys shoulders, you emerged. You were wearing a gorgeous dress that you usually wouldn’t have pulled out. You bought it here in Florence. It reminded you of Hannibal. Plus your other clothes were bloodied. You looked just as battered and bruised as they did.

You all pulled it off with a regal amount of elegance.

“She pushed us off a train,” you said. Hannibal turned around to see you. The first time you had laid eyes on each other since you had kissed. It was interesting for Hannibal now. He had to double check that Will had heard you too.

“Atta girl.”

“Ah, it hurt,” you said. You walked around the bench and sat between them. They allowed you enough room. You looked at Hannibal and smiled. He smiled back at you.

“We have begun to blur,” Will said after a moment more of absorbing.

“Isn’t that how you found me?” Hannibal questioned.

“Even as the possibility of free will dissipates, my experience of it remains the same. I continue to feel and act as though I have it.”

You looked over at Will and then back at Hannibal. You placed your hands on your lap.

“Why did you let Bedelia live?” you asked. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I figured she had been long dead, gone through and out of your digestive system at this point. There should not have been an ounce of her left so imagine my surprise when I see her completely alive. Confused and lying, but alive.” Hannibal looked into your eyes and you understood.

“I think you know why.”

You held your gaze and then had to leave it in fear of getting emotional.

“Every crime of yours feels like one I am guilty of. Not just Abigail’s murder, but every murder streching backward and forward in time,” Will said after a moment.

“Then what’s left to do? Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you, they’re the same. No longer seeing you in people who aren’t you Y/N. You are part of his equation just as much as Will and I.”

You smiled solemnly.

“We’re conjoined. Curious if any of us can survive separation,” you mused.

“Now’s the hardest test: not letting rage and frustration, nor forgiveness, keep you from thinking.” Hannibal stood up and gestured for you to take his hand. “Shall we?” You took it and stood. Will’s hand was already interlaced between yours, something you did subconsciously when you sat down.

You all stood.

“After you,” Will muttered.

Together the three of you left the gallery. Worse for wear but something blossomed in your hearts, something that only the other two could bring out. You had walked only a few steps before Will was shot to the ground.

Hannibal held Will close to him, trying to get him into the chair. You stood beside him, helping him take his jacket off. Will winced and fell forward, his chin on your shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered. Will’s shirt was soaked with blood. It was dripping down his arm from where the bullet wound entered.

“The bullet is still inside you. This will hurt.” Hannibal took the jacket all the way off and Will watched as Hannibal cut off his shirt. The three of you hadn’t been this close since you were last covered in Will’s blood.

“Chiyoh’s always been very protective of me,” Hannibal said as he looked into the wound.

“Tell her to back the hell off,” you sneered.

“Did she kill her tenant or did you?”

“She did,” Will choked out.

“Excellent.” Hannibal took Will’s knife you didn’t know he had with him, back into his limp hand. “You dropped your forgiveness, Will.” You stared at the blade, bloodied. You caught Will’s eyes. He hadn’t told you he had brought a weapon. “You forgive how God forgives. Would you have done it quickly, or would you have stopped to gloat?”

“Will?” you whispered.

“Does God gloat?” Will asked.

“Often,” Hannibal answered.

Hannibal moved a sharp needle into Will before you even noticed he had it. Will dropped the blade into Hannibal’s waiting hand. Will passed out.

Your mouth hung open as your gaze held the knife. You still had your hand putting pressure into Will’s wound but it loosened.

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, looking up at Hannibal.

“I know,” Hannibal responded. “You wouldn’t have done it anyway. I’m going to dress his wound and get the bullet out. Would you mind waiting in the kitchen? Dinner is almost ready.”

You were so stunned that you stood up. You felt the pull of needing to be by Will but wondered what he would have done to Hannibal. Would you have gone with it?

Chiyoh was right.

You were not the kind of girl who followed a man's lead.

You grabbed Hannibal’s shoulder and pulled him up.

“Why are you staying?”

“Why didn’t you come with me?”

You stared at each other.

“I love Will.”

“The Bloody Valentines.” You scoffed and took the knife from Hannibal’s hands. You threw it off to the side.

“Will is drugged.”

“Are you going to drug me Hannibal?” You stared at each other and he kissed you feverishly, the way he had wanted to since you kissed him last. You wrapped your arms around his neck and held onto him for dear life. You hadn’t touched him in so long.

You pulled away after a moment.

“I wanted to go,” you whispered. “I regretted now going.” You pulled away and stepped back. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Please fix Will.”

Will’s eyes fluttered open. Hannibal walked into the dining room with a large bowl in his hands. Will had a dish set out in front of him.

“I do not indulge much in regret, but I am sorry to be leaving Italy. There were things in the Palazzo Capponi I would have liked to read,” Hannibal admitted. In from the kitchen came you, holding a different dish. You placed it on the table.

A last dodge attempt at normalcy.

“I would have liked to play the clavier and perhaps compose. I might have cooked for the Widow Pazzi, when she overcame her grief. I would have liked to show you both Florence.”

You sat down beside Will and spoon fed him some soup. He looked over at you, confused, doped up.

“The soup isn’t very good,” he slurred.

“It’s a parsley-and-thyme infusion, and more for my sake than yours. Have another sip, let it circulate,” Hannibal explained. Will took another spoon from you. Will and you finally noticed the final place setting at the end of the table.

“Are we expecting company?”

Hannibal grabbed your arm tightly and stood you up.

“It will be Jack,” he told you.

You glanced at Will, out of his mind and slowly losing sight. Hannibal was giving you the invitation you had wanted since Jack stepped into Will’s classroom to talk about Garret Jacob Hobbs.

Jack opened the door to Pazzi’s home. He had his gun held up high as he looked around every corner before he stepped forward. Eventually, Will at the end of the table came into view.

He walked forward and up to Will who blinked, focused on Jack and took a deep breath.

“Hannibal’s under the table, Jack,” Will muttered. Before Jack could react you had grabbed him from behind and a blade slashed Jack’s achilles heel.

Jack dropped hard.

Hannibal turned to you and his gaze softened.

“You will not join me in prison,” he whispered. Your eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed your arm and shoved a needle into your side. You let out a small, betrayed sigh and passed out.

Jack came to and found himself seated opposite Will.

“I’ve taken the liberty of giving you something to help you relax. Won’t be able to do much more than chew, but that’s all you’ll need to do. I didn’t have an opportunity to ask you during our last encounter, but did you enjoy the exhibition? A different kind of evil minds museum,” Hannibal said to Jack.

“Not so different,” Jack retored. He noticed you were gone from the room.

“The promoters are failed taxidermists who formerly got along by eating offal from the trophies they mounted things that bring people together.”

“We were supposed to sit down together back in Baltimore...the three of us. And Y/N.”

“You were to be the guest of honor,” Hannibal said, ignoring the mention of your name. Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine and took a leisurely sip.

“Where…” Will started but he didn’t finish.

“Jack was the first to suggest getting inside your head,” Hannibal said. “Now be both have the opportunity to chew quite literally what we’ve only chewed figuratively.”

Hannibal held a bone saw in his hands. Jack suddenly realized what was going on. For a moment, all Jack could think about was what you would say if you were in the room.

“Stop! Stop! Stop!”

Blood trickled down Will’s head despite his protests.

3x07

#hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #will graham x reader #will graham imagines #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal imagines

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the-awkward-outlaw · 3 years

Text

Arthur as a protective Dad

Alrighty friends, I know I haven’t really touched my writing requests in sometime. I have been having to deal with some pretty complicated family issues and other things in my life, and I just haven’t had much time or energy to write. But it really is all your support that keeps me going!

This request is from a user on AO3: arthur dealing with micah after he sees him being a creep and harassing his teenage daughter. I know that sounds dumb but i just love protective and angry arthur (that kind of angry from him feeds my soul)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Everyone knows that Arthur is the ultimate definition of protective. He’ll put himself between a bullet and any of the girls in camp. With you, he’d do even more. However, none of that comes close to what he’ll do for his daughter. Whatever she asks of him, he’ll do his best to find a way to make it happen.

When it comes to keeping her safe, no one dares to mess with Arthur’s daughter. Not in camp, not in the town camp is closest to. A man had once tried just flirting with her in town once. She’d politely asked him to stop but he hadn’t taken the hint. Arthur had walked in and seen not long after. The man ended up with a broken nose and shattered cheekbone. No one harrasses Arthur’s daughter.

Which is potentially what drove Micah to try.

Micah is well known for ruffling everyone’s feathers. Even Dutch’s on occasion, but only when Micah is feeling rather confident. But Arthur is his favorite person to upset. Micah has tried to get to him by antagonizing him, but Arthur usually would just tell him to stuff it and move on.

Micah has tried bothering you to irritate Arthur, but you were too good at handling yourself. Arthur would usually watch just in case he needed to step in, but he personally found it incredibly sexy how you’d whip around to Micah and verbally attack him. It didn’t take long for Micah to realize that to make you mad would end up in getting his ass whipped. The honest truth is that Micah is scared of what you’re capable of if he really pissed you off.

So that left one last resource to bother Arthur. His teenage daughter. You and Arthur have been together for longer than she’s been alive. If it had been modern day, you’d be described as high school sweethearts. You’d gotten pregnant when you were 19. While it was difficult for both you and Arthur to be parents at such a young age, you couldn’t ask for a better father.

Arthur says that your daughter is a miniature version of you, except she has his eyes, but you see so much of him in her to believe that. She’s strong, she’s had to be with this life. You and Arthur had debated at first of breaking out of the gang when she was little as the life really wasn’t good for a child, but the problem was that both you and Arthur were too loyal to leave. However she toughed it out and turned out to be a relatively average girl. You couldn’t be more proud.

It’s been especially tough for her these past few months, but it has been for everyone. Blackwater changed everything. You have to give Abigail credit, if your daughter was as young as Jack is, you would’ve tried convincing Arthur to leave. Then again maybe not. After all, you have just as big of a bounty on your head as he does. But it doesn’t change the fact that right now, things are tougher than ever. Especially now that Sean’s dead.

You’ve lived in a lot of unlikable places, mostly out west. Shady Belle is probably one of the worst you’ve been in. It’s hot and muggy all the time. You prefer the dry heat of the desert. At least your clothes dry out there. Not only that, but out in the west, you don’t have to be afraid of the water for the most part. Here, monsters dwell beneath the surface.

Micah has been getting more and more cocky these last few weeks. You haven’t liked it as it seems like he’s getting more under Dutch’s skin, but you’re sure Dutch will wise up. After all, he has Hosea to help him and Hosea surely doesn’t like Micah.

Arthur has been getting slightly suspicious of Micah lately too, but he’s been so busy running around to really do much. Your poor husband. You’ve done everything you can to help him, but there’s no denying that most of the camp rests on his shoulders.

It’s a few days after Jack has been returned. You’ve insisted to Arthur that he stay in camp for a while as he’s been running around like crazy since Jack went missing. It’s clear he’s exhausted. It’s a good thing too because Micah has been keeping his eye on your daughter, and not in a good way.

Micah really is growing too confident out here. He’s never dared bothering your daughter before because you and Arthur are the people he’s frightened of getting truly angry. However, it’s almost like he’s trying to absolve that.

The first few days, Micah has tried to tease her but subtly so that you wouldn’t stab him. He knows that unlike Arthur, you won’t care about keeping the peace within the gang if someone really makes you mad. You’re easier to control when Arthur is around as he seems to be the only person who can calm you down.

Now that Arthur is here and taking a break, Micah has been much more confident. There was one day when your daughter had been reading in the gazebo. Micah had gone over to her and tried to flirt with her. It was clear she was creeped out, but being a teenager she didn’t really know how to push him away. Arthur had seen her face though and he’d marched over.

“You leave my daughter alone, you creepy bastard,” he’d growled inches from Micah’s face.

“Relax, big man, I’m just having a friendly word with her.”

“I catch you near her again, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Micah wasn’t foolish enough to stick around then, though it did make him chuckle (mostly he did it to try and continue bothering Arthur). However, he’s been continuing to do things like this. You certainly haven’t liked the way he looks at your daughter. Of course he tries to do it when he thinks you can’t see, but certainly when Arthur can.

You’re standing next to Pearson, listening to Hosea talk about the potentials of Saint Dennis. Arthur’s over next to the fire, talking with John. Just as you’re about to go over to him and talk about things, you see your daughter running into camp, tears streaking down her cheeks. She’s sobbing. Arthur stands up and walks briskly over to her.

“Sweetheart, what-” he starts.

“Micah, papa! He… he tried to touch me!” she sobs into his shirt.

His face immediately goes red, so does your vision. “That son of a bitch!” you holler. You’re about to stomp over to the edge of camp where that bastard is. Arthur holds out a hand and stops you, his other arm wrapped tightly around his daughter.

“Let me handle this, darlin’. I ain’t given’ that bastard any more reason to hurt my family.” Normally you’d ignore him and go marching off, but something in his eyes tells you to listen. It’s that look you’ve seen only once or twice, but it’s the look that even made you nervous in the past. It’s the look he reserves for only those who he truly plans to kill.

He holds onto his daughter for a few more seconds, trying to calm her down. Then he gently pries her off of him and guides him over to you. “Stay with your mama, okay? I’m going to take care of things, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head and then pats your shoulder. You nod and fold your arms around your girl. That look comes back to Arthur and then he turns away, marching over to where Micah is.

“Come on, honey,” you say to your daughter. You guide her over to the barrel of water near Pearson’s wagon to get her a drink to calm her down. If you weren’t so confident in Arthur’s ability to protect his family, you’d be pulling out your revolver and shooting that asshole right now, but you know you don’t need to.

Arthur’s marching over to where Micah was last seen. As he passes his horse, he spots his repeater. It won’t be needed, not for this. He’d prefer to do it with his bare hands. Micah has been a growing problem that he’s tolerated, but he will not accept that man putting his hands on his little girl.

He reaches the spot his daughter was, but of course no one is there. After looking around, he spots Micah standing near the river on the outskirts of camp. Good, it will make cleaning up his corpse easier.

As Arthur stomps over to him, Micah turns around and gives him a cocky grin. “Morgan, what are y-” He’s interrupted by Arthur’s fist slamming into his face, breaking his nose. As Micah buckles down, clutching his bleeding nose, Arthur grabs his shoulders and thrusts his knee into his gut.

“You put your filthy hands on my daughter!” Arthur roars as he continues to beat Micah to a pulp. Micah tries to fight him off, but he’d been caught off guard by Arthur’s ferocity.

“I didn’t do nothing to your daughter!” he howls as Arthur kicks him. “She’s lying!”

“Bullshit! You been harassing her for days!”

Arthur kicks and punches him a few more times before he straightens up and pulls out his revolver, standing over Micah. The man below him puts up his hands, trying to make Arthur see reason.

“You ain’t gonna kill me, Morgan. You can’t. Dutch would… would never allow it.” He spits blood from his mouth.

“Oh Dutch ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, you creepy bastard. No one touches my daughter and gets away with it.”

Micah tries to chuckle. “Dutch ain’t gonna like you shooting someone in camp.”

Arthur smirks at him and puts his revolver back. “Oh I wasn’t plannin’ on shootin’ ya, Micah. Just wanted to see you squirm. Nah, you ain’t worth wastin’ a bullet on. But don’t mean I ain’t gonna kill ya.”

Arthur kicks Micah again to keep him on the ground, then he kneels onto his chest and wraps his hands around Micah’s throat. Arthur rarely likes watching people die, he hates seeing their blood on his hands. But Micah is different. Micah personally wronged him and his family. He will not tolerate anyone touching the most precious thing in his life.

After a few moments, Micah finally lies still and Arthur releases his grip on him. Arthur stares into his glassy eyes. “That’s for my daughter, you son of a bitch.” He then drags the body into the river, not wanting it to be seen anymore.

As he walks back into camp, massaging his tired fingers, your daughter breaks out of your grasp and runs over to him, burying herself into his chest as his arms wrap around her.

“Papa,” she sniffles into his shirt.

“You’re okay, pumpkin. That bastard ain’t gonna bother you anymore.” He knows, as he holds onto his daughter, that he will have to go and explain things to Dutch. He’ll do that later though. All he wants to do is take care of his child. You can’t help but smile. Arthur doesn’t usually cuddle with you in camp, mostly in thanks to the teasing from other people saying he’s a big softy, but he’s never pulled back from cuddling with his girl. He’s proud to show people how much he loves her. You walk over and wrap your arms around her as well, pinning her between you and Arthur. One of his hands slides over your side, showing you how much he cares about his family.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur as a dad #red dead fanfic #awkward asks

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hudson-epperly · 3 years

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An unwelcome invitation of memory and regret.

Half the bottle of bourbon was gone before two in the afternoon on Christmas day. Hudson was sitting by the window in the Airbnb that he and his sister had acquired for their short visit home. Neither of them wanted to be in New York for the holiday. In fact, they were planning a sibling excursion to Brazil, but after the persistence of his step mother, here they were.

“You might wanna slow down.” Hudson heard the noise of his sister’s concerned voice coming from behind him and he pulled his eyes away from the window to look at her. She was already dressed for dinner. Hudson didn’t respond, instead he stood up, staggered a bit, and grabbed the bottle. “You drive,” he slurred as he headed for the front door.

Three hours later, Hudson and Georgia were sitting amongst their parents for an awkward Christmas dinner. It didn’t take long for Hudson to realize that his step mother had orchestrated this gathering without the knowledge of his father. Raymond’s displeasure of his son’s arrival was not hidden from them and this only encouraged Hudson to continue drinking heavily.

Throughout dinner, which Hudson refused to eat, his father repeatedly made snide remarks towards him, and for the most part, he ignored them. His father criticized his capabilities as a surgeon—but this was nothing new. Hudson was used to his father comparing his skill to his own. He almost made it, too. Georgia and Hudson agreed that they’d stay an hour and then they’d leave. It had been forty-five minutes, and then he went too far. Raymond said something about Abigail and Hudson felt like his heart had been crushed by the vices of a giant’s hand.

Abigail Pierce. It was a name that Hudson refused to let himself think of and yet a name that he was cursed to remember for the rest of his life. The man squeezed the tumbler in his hand tightly before downing the rest of the bourbon. He glared at his father, feeling his sister kick him as hard as she could from underneath the table, but he didn’t even flinch.

“What did you say?” Hudson said hoarsely, lowering his glass.

“You heard me,” Raymond barked, taking pleasure in his own alcohol now; neither man was fit to have an honest discussion today. “Didn’t I tell you to leave this city and never come back? Why are you here? Haven’t you put us through enough. You killed that poor girl, had her family telling their story to the media, all for what? A good time?”

“I didn’t kill her,” Hudson said weakly, but the statement was for himself and not his father. The memory of the woman bled into his bourbon induced mind. He was practically shaking now.

“You’re not welcome here, boy,” Raymond said sharply.

Hudson scoffed and shoved his chair back. “Don’t worry, I won’t be back again.”

He ran out of the dining room, stumbling over the rug in the foyer as he grabbed the keys from the bowl on the towel. Georgia was already shouting as she ran after him, “Give me the keys, Hudson,” she said firmly reaching for them but he yanked them backward, running out of the house. Georgia tried to get them again as he headed for the driver’s side. “You’re not driving, asshole. You’re drunk!”

Hudson cackled, “I’m good, sis. Just a little tipsy. The Airbnb is only a few miles away. Get in the passenger seat or stay here, but I’m driving.”

Georgia didn’t test him again, instead, she silently walked around the car and got into the passenger seat just as he climbed behind the wheel. “Put your seatbelt on,” she demanded, and he listened, buckling it into place and then rolled his eyes, “Happy?”

The drive seemed endless, even though it had only been a couple of minutes since they left the estate of their parents. Neither of them had spoken but suddenly he was laughing and Georgia asked what was so funny. “Nothing,” he said, his tone sadden. “He’s right, you know? I did kill her. I’m the reason she’s dead.”

Hudson’s hands gripped tighter on the steering wheel and he pressed harder on the gas pedal. His heart was still aching and his mind was racing with a million thoughts; he couldn’t numb away his memories with the bourbon, no matter how much he drank. He looked through the rearview mirror and then back at the road, but the road was suddenly curving and he was going too fast. He slammed on the brake pedal, the tires squealing, smoke fanning between the friction of the road and rubber. The last thing he remembered before colliding with the tree was Georgia’s scream.

How much time had passed since the accident, Hudson was uncertain of. He heard the systematic beating of a monitor, his nostrils were irritated, so he reached for them, feeling the tug of the IV in his arm, the needle greatly uncomfortable. He opened his eyes now, looking around to see that he was in a hospital bed. His entire body was aching with soreness, stiffened too. He pulled the oxygen from his nose. “Fuck,” he grumbled, using the hand railings of the bed to pull himself up enough to inspect the room,; he moaned out in agony from pain in his back but refused to lay back down. He was alone. He shoved the nurse intercom button and waited for someone to answer. “Where’s my sister? Where’s Georgia?” he shouted frantically, afraid that he had lost his sister due to his recklessness and pride.

#[Hudson x 3]

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hasquetzorkukudoneanythingwrong · 3 years

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Foggy Fate

Recently Rex and Quetz had dealt with two annoying situations, both of which had left Quetz in a situation that Rex hated to see her in. First was a meeting with another universe's master, who decided to immediately start fighting and had managed to beat out Quetz with his servants by a bit of luck. Second was in Madrid where a trap specifically meant for Quetz had weakened her and had her captured by the enemy.

The two managed to come out fine in both situations, Rex even gaining new symbiotic powers in Madrid, but he still hated how it happened at all. He got paranoid, and wanted to prevent any similar scenario from happening again. One measure was that he requested many of the caster servants create a special charm to prevent Quetz from getting harmed by any magical traps like in Madrid.

But suddenly, the control room had detected a singularity. Nothing major, but needed to be addressed soon.

Rex: another one? We've been seeing a lot of these lately.

Da Vinci: might be a bit of a side effect of the lostbelts. Singularities happen all the time anyways but these have been different.

Sion: this one's in London, same time period as the London singularity of The Grand Order.

Rex: interesting...

Da Vinci: it's not nearly as big an issue, but we'd still like you to take a look.

Rex: I will, but I'm not taking any risks.

Under normal circumstances, these small singularities would be handled by Rex and Quetz, but after the last two incidents he felt he needed to take further measures. For one he brought in Jalter as backup.

Sion: bringing in some backup?

Rex: yeah... I won't be having Quetz harmed again...

Quetz: I understand your feelings mi amor... but still a bit embarrassing...

Rex: I realize that, but... that's reality unfortunately. Besides we know Jalter's dependable backup.

Jalter, blushing a bit: ...thanks master...

Sion: anyways, we need you all in the coffins soon.

After the 3 entered their respective coffins it was time to rayshifting.

3...2...1!

The three found themselves in the foggy streets of London. It looked like a ghost town, not a soul in sight. Not too unique for singularities but still unnerving.

Da Vinci: ...huh, that's odd. About the same time you got there, we've detected another life signature and a servant.

Quetz: ...could it be another universe's master of chaldea?

Sion: that's a very strong possibility. If they're anything like the last one... then be on your guard.

Rex: don't need to tell me twice

Jalter: do you know where they could be?

Da Vinci: yes... a few blocks away

Rex: ...great...

Meanwhile, with the other universe's master: Maya.

Maya: so you've detected more servants?

Maya was sent in to deal with the same problem, she brought along her surrogate daughter Abigail Williams.

Da Vinci: yes... though one seems a bit odd. Two are pretty standard, rider and avenger classes. But there's another that's... fluctuating? It's not far from a berserker but...

Maya: could be a pseudo-servant or something?

Sion: maybe...?

Abby: are they source of the singularity?

Da Vinci: not likely...

Sion: heads up, they're getting close

Rex: hey you!

Maya: here we go...

The two groups could see each other, Rex decided to call Maya out. When Maya saw the group she already got a decent read on the servants. She knew Jalter already but this one was... different? Closer to the one from Orleans. Quetzalcoatl was... dangerous, not malevolent but a risk. Rex was... confusing. She could tell he was a decent guy but something seemed off.

Maya: hey there!

Rex: hey...

Maya: lemme guess... are you another universe's master?

Rex: yeah... same for you?

Maya: yup! You got some interesting servants there...

Rex: thanks... what's your name?

Maya: Maya. Maya Hinagami.

Rex: Maya... lemme ask you something, you know a Faye?

Maya: yeah actually... you know her too?

Rex: we've met up a couple times.

Maya: nice! Wait! She might've told me about you too. Lemme guess your name... Rox?

Rex: Rox?! It's Rex!

Maya: oh! Sorry about that! Must've misheard her.

Jalter: hey... I'd hate to cut the discussion short... but the fog's getting thicker.

Quetz: she's right.

Da Vinci(s): you better get moving *bzzt* servant *bzzt* danger- *bzzt*

Eventually the comms cut off, the fog now much thicker and the masters were getting nervous.

Maya: Rex! You still there?

Rex: yeah!

The groups huddled close to stay safe.

Abby: Maya... what could it be?

Maya: not sure...

Quetz: don't worry girls, we'll come out of this fine.

Jalter: yeah, always turns out good eventually.

Then the group heard an unnerving scrapping sound. Like metal being dragged across the pavement.

Rex: what the hell?

Maya: must be the source of the singularity.

Abby: what could it be

But before anyone could answer suddenly the enemy strikes from behind

Jalter, blocking with her sword: fuck!

Then suddenly they disappear.

Rex: what the?

Maya: some kind of warping ability?

Quetz: this will be annoying.

The fog was thick with mana, messing with the comms and preventing Maya from getting a read on the enemy.

Suddenly another strike!

Quetz, countering with her Macana: don't think so!

Gone again

Rex: is it the fog that let's them do that?

Maya: no idea. But it's irritating regardless.

Rex: I got an idea... on my signal all of you duck.

Maya: what do you have in mind?

Rex: you'll see.

After a bit of waiting, Rex gave the signal.

Rex: now!

The rest ducked and Rex unleashed dozens of spikes from his body! He feels some impaling the enemy servant.

Rex: gotcha!

Maya: wtf was that?!

Rex: long story!

The fog clears a bit but not much and the enemy servant is seen stabbed in several places in their body. Finally getting a good look at them the group can see what their opponent looks like. They're covered almost entirely by a cloak, with a large white mask covering their face, tho it seemed to have been damaged by the spikes.

Maya: are they still alive?

Abby: they aren't fading...

Suddenly the enemy servant warps again, leaving some blood dripping on the spikes they were impaled on.

Rex: fucking hell!

Quetz: that didn't kill them?!

Jalter: I've had enough of this bitch!

Jalter in a fit of anger unleashes a large circle of flames around the group.

Maya: Jalter! What the hell!?

Jalter: they can't warp into fire that easily!

Maya: but it may kill us!

Then suddenly the enemy warps rights above the group, axe in hand ready to strike!

Rex: there you are! Maya, Gander!

Suddenly the two shoot out consecutive gander shot right at the enemy, causing them to lose focus and let go of the weapon.

Immediately in response Quetzalcoatl leaps and grabs the enemy forcing them into an aerial suplex and launching them into the flames!

???: RAAAAHHH!!!

Jalter: now I'll hande this!

Le Grondement de la Haine

She unleashes her noble phantasm killing the enemy servant.

The fog clears away, and to clear the flames Quetz uses her authority to bring about enough rain to put it out.

After everything is said and done the two masters have to talk to their respective Da Vincis and Sions.

Sion: don't know if you figured it out or not from everything but it seems the enemy was an alternative summons of Jack the Ripper.

Abby: did Jack... grow up?

Da Vinci: no... not likely. Jake the Ripper's a very unique servant when it comes to how they can be summoned.

Maya: that's what happens when you're never even seen.

Rex: so is the singularity gonna clear up soon?

Sion: actually, it looks like you two being there is causing a new but much weaker singularity. Not far off from the incidents with Faye and so on.

Rex: ah, just us being here will keep it stable until we leave.

Da Vinci: yep! So if you guys want to talk like with others then by all means!

Maya: is that cool with you?

Rex: suuure, don't see why not.

The two groups sat at a table near a Cafe that was still abandoned. Discussing their adventures and making comparisons. When Maya learned Rex had not 1 but 6 different versions of Quetzalcoatl she was shocked!

Maya: how does it keep happening?!

Rex: your guess is as good as mine.

Maya: ...how the...

Maya, remembering what Rex did: wait! Another thing! How the hell did you just shoot out spikes from your body!

Rex: oh yeah! That

Rex explained the events of the Madrid singularity and how he gained symbiotic pseudo-servant powers to save Quetzalcoatl.

Maya: that explains a lot.

Rex: yeah... they were supposed to leave with the singularity but nope! So until we understand things better I'm stuck like this. Not that I'm complaining or anything.

Maya: well I probably wouldn't complain either.

The two continued on, until an interesting topic came up. Maya didn't bring it up until the servants went off on their own for a bit.

Maya: so... Faye tells me you and Quetz are actually married.

Rex: yup! Tied the knot a while ago now.

Maya: but... are you sure that's the best idea?

Rex: why not? I love her! I've loved her for so much of this journey, and she loves me! After I resummoned her in Russia and we together again I decided then and there I should propose.

Maya: I understand that but... she's a servant. She's not going to be here when this is all over.

Rex: ...yes she will be.

Maya: ...what do you mean?

Rex: she'll still be with me, after the lostbelts and so on, we'll still be together.

Maya: but after everything's said and done the servants won't be needed and just like after Goetia will be unsummoned.

Rex: well they can't unsummon her.

Maya: yes they can? Why wouldn't they be able to?

Rex: because back in Russia I didn't use the Chaldea system to summon her, I used a traditional summoning circle.

Maya: !!! You did what!?!?

Maya: how the hell!? How is your body able to handle the strain of not only a servant but a divine spirit a that!?

Rex: well... according to my records my magical circuits are scarily good? They said it's astounding I had such good ones when my family had little prior connection to magecraft.

Maya: so... you were just blessed with amazing circuits?!

Rex: no! My predecessor... actually did some small experiments on members of the family as the generations went on... until I came about with the right circuits.

Maya: ah, so you're the result of generations of experimentation to create an heir with the right circuits and can thus summon a divine spirit without Chaldeas, no problem.

Rex: well... yeah....

Maya realized just how odd of a master candidate Rex was. When it came to the world of magecraft such experiments weren't unheard of, but rarely did they produce such results. How fortunate for him to end up in chaldea. And he needn't worry about losing his wife thanks to that.

Rex: but hey... I'm sure you can still be with Helena after you finish up with the lostbelts.

Maya: ...how can you be so sure?

Rex: I dunno... call it optimism or call it foolishness, but I think you two can still find happiness together in some way after all this. You two had to say goodbye once and then got to meet again, whose to say it won't happen again?

Maya found his optimistic view on things... amusing. Maybe he was right... in some form or another, they may be able to stay together after all is said and done.

The two groups went their separate ways eventually. Seeming to have made new friends of another universe's masters again. Time will tell if they were to meet again.

A/N: so there's the Rex/Maya crossover. Thanks to @hasabbydoneanythingwrong for volunteering Maya as tribute. Hopefully you all like it and hopefully I got Maya right.

Tags

@hasishtardoneanythingwrong @haspaulbunyandoneanythingwrong @hasnightingaledoneanythingwrong @haskamadoneanythingwrong @hasbbdoneanythingwrong @grievouslyxorvia

#fate grand order #quetzalcoatl #wife #rexcoatl #mastersona #rex #maya #jeanne d'arc alter #abigail williams

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typicalher · 4 years

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An Analysis of Will's Moral Conflict

One of the key struggles for Will throughout the show concerns his reluctance to fully embrace his darkness. I completely acknowledge that this is a struggle that he deals with throughout, but the reasons for this struggle are more complicated than him simply having too strong of a good moral compass. When you actually look carefully at Will’s pattern of behavior, what you see is that Will’s moral struggle is really more about what he thinks he should feel or possibly even what he thinks he should want to feel. It is often argued that Will struggles with his internal conflict because he also wants justice or to stop Hannibal (and himself) from killing or hurting people. If Will is fighting his darker urges because he wants to protect people then that would be valid, but this is usually not the case when you actually look at his actions and the fallout. Will’s struggles don’t actually protect anyone (in fact his indecisiveness usually leads to tragic consequences) and when others do get hurt, he doesn’t actually react with genuine guilt or even make true changes to his behavior for the better.

In the beginning of the series, we do know that Will has a desire to be normal and because he isn’t he largely hides from social interaction. At first he is also not interested in socializing or even talking with Hannibal, but once Hannibal gets him to confess to enjoying killing Hobbs and then offers him acceptance at this confession, we see Will become much more comfortable having serious and personal conversations with him. Will enjoys the acceptance that Hannibal is offering him despite admitting to enjoying taking a life. Will is still very reluctant to admit this to anyone else; however, so he does recognize that it isn’t a normal feeling for him to have despite Hannibal’s lack of judgement (and even encouragement). He tells Abigail that killing her father was the “ugliest feeling in the world,” which we know is a lie and near the end of S1 he later confesses the truth about how he felt to her.

S2 is where we really get to see Will’s struggle begin though because it is during S2 that he is much more “awake” so to speak and he actually starts actively embracing more of his darker urges and recognizing them for what they are. He is angry at Hannibal because of Abigail’s death and the betrayal of lying about his illness and framing him, as well as the death of Beverly, which eventually leads to Will sending Matthew Brown to kill him. Will does not appear to feel any regret for this attempt at murder by proxy, or the fact that he was sending someone else off to potentially be sacrificed for this cause, and when Hannibal frees him from prison shortly afterwards, he also begins to understand some of Hannibal’s motivations for his S1 actions. However, he still starts off on a plan to get revenge and presumably attempt to bring Hannibal to justice. This brings us to the question of why is Will really doing all of this. Jack certainly seems to think it is for justice, but we eventually see that Will is lying throughout the “investigation.” Will was, for instance, supposed to manipulate Hannibal into trying to kill Mason but arrest him in the act. At least that is what Will tells Jack. However, Will also doesn’t tell Jack anything about his personal connection to the Mason Verger plot and what happened to Margot. He also manipulates Mason against Hannibal, but in the end he frees Hannibal allowing him to kill his way out of Muskrat Farm. He also just ends up watching Hannibal snap Mason’s neck and doesn’t tell Jack anything about what actually happened, which is why they have to resort to the planned entrapment dinner. Based on his actions and not just on what Jack believes are his intentions, there isn’t really any indication that Will’s motivations are anything but personal. He is upset by Hannibal’s actions in S1, but he is mostly still upset about what happened to Abigail. He brings her death up to Freddie twice and questions Hannibal directly about it. Even before the rest of the FBI closes in and Will is forced to make a choice, he burns Hannibal’s psychiatric notes about him. The file even contains the real clock that Will drew when he was ill. Will burns it willingly when he could have attempted to keep it. Hannibal doesn’t seem concerned at all that Will has it in his hands. Why does he destroy valuable evidence if he wants justice? In the end, Will disregards even Abigail’s death when he calls Hannibal to warn him. Even if Will wasn’t planning to run with Hannibal when he got to the house (though we know he at least wanted to based on his later confession to Jack) he wanted Hannibal to leave. He wanted him to go free. This wasn’t about justice. It was about what had personally happened between the two of them and he was apparently okay with Hannibal leaving and going to potentially kill other people somewhere else. Later when Will is in the hospital and Chilton tells him this is his best possible world, Will imagines if he had killed Jack with Hannibal that night, which shows us that Will’s regrets over Mizumono aren’t that he failed to stop Hannibal and bring him to justice but that he didn’t commit to Hannibal sooner and that they didn’t get to go through with killing Jack together.

When we get to S3, Will’s conflict eventually shifts away from being about what Hannibal has done to hurt him and more about Will’s so called morality. This is where Will starts to get a bit more difficult to follow in terms of motivation because Will is pretty hypocritical about all of it. At the beginning of the season, Will is mourning the loss of the family that he, Hannibal, and Abigail could have been together. He is worried that Hannibal may just be playing with him, but he also wants to go to Hannibal. This is explicitly stated more than once when he talks to “Abigail” who is really just a representation of his own thoughts. At the end of the episode, he forgives Hannibal, and I think this is where we start to get a bit of a shift in Will’s conflict. Will goes to Hannibal’s childhood home, which is where he encounters Chiyoh. Will now sees someone Hannibal has “tested” and seemingly has left behind. Will was already worried in Primavera that Hannibal was simply playing with him, but now he sees someone that Hannibal was able to walk away from and he likely becomes concerned that Hannibal sees him the same way. Afterall, Hannibal gutted him and walked away and Will only has the broken heart as a sign that Hannibal hasn’t just moved on. What if Hannibal was just mocking him? Will’s insecurities are somewhat understandable here. What is telling though is how Will treats what he should logically see as another of Hannibal’s “victims.” He treats Chiyoh in a very Hannibal-like manner. He tests her to see if she will kill and she does in self-defense. While he does take the prisoner away from the castle initially, when Chiyoh screams, we get a shot of Will off in the woods. His reaction is stone cold and there is no surprise at all on his face, so he must have expected the prisoner to come back after her. Chiyoh also makes sure to call him out on his real intentions. Later when they are riding the train together, he still shows no remorse for what he did to her, and instead rather coldly questions her about taking a life. He asks her if she sees herself killing the prisoner over and over and she replies no that she sees him and his response is just to grin at her as if he enjoys the thought of what he has made her do. Later in the same episode, she states that he feels like he needs to kill Hannibal or he will become him and Will says yes. It is here that the story somewhat shifts from Will possibly wanting to go be with Hannibal again to feeling like now he needs to kill Hannibal in order to “save himself” from Becoming like him. What changed? I think Chiyoh and thinking Hannibal just saw her as disposable is part of it, but I think the fact that he was able to really forgive Hannibal for what happened between them before and Abigail is also apart of it. If Will can forgive Hannibal for killing their daughter and gutting him and still wants to go to him, what does that say about Will himself and the type of person he is? This isn’t the way normal people love. I think this realization, combined with the fear that Hannibal doesn’t really care about him, causes Will to get a bit spooked and regress in his own self-acceptance a bit. Seeing Bedelia and realizing she took his place also helped solidify this belief on his part.

However, lets look a little more closely at Will’s apparent motivation and the belief he needs to kill Hannibal for this reason. Is it to bring him to justice? Is it to stop Hannibal from killing others? No, it is all about Will and his attempts to possibly control his own thoughts, feelings, and actions. Keep in mind that at this point, Hannibal has left Will alone for eight months. He did leave the broken heart, but Will had to travel across the ocean to see that. Will is going after Hannibal; Hannibal is not going to Will. The idea that Will must kill Hannibal to stop his own dark desires is pretty illogical on Will’s part, and Chiyoh tries to point out to him that there are flaws in his thinking because she follows up by telling him there are means of influence other than violence, but this is also where Will really starts twisting himself up in knots to lie to himself. (For the record, I do think there is more to Will’s motivations than just wanting to kill Hannibal just like there was much more to Hannibal’s attempt at the head sawing. For one, I think they are both afraid of being the vulnerable one in the relationship because at this point in their relationship, there is a lot of violence, physical and emotional, between them. I also doubt Will would have gone through with it. He pulled a tiny knife in the middle of a public street and Will has never before or after this, been able to actually go through with killing Hannibal or letting anyone else do it, but I digress.) It should also be noted that Will didn’t go to Italy in the first place to attempt to bring Hannibal to justice. He goes to Italy to deal with his feelings for Hannibal just like he “resumed therapy” to deal with his feelings for Hannibal. We can see proof of this in his interaction with Pazzi who wants his help as an officer of the law to find Hannibal, and Will not only isn’t interested in really helping him, he starts to deliberately act creepy around him including taunting him by asking him if he knows whose side he is really on. When Will meets up with Jack later, even though he goes with him to the apartment where they find Bedelia, Will also slips out by himself and doesn’t tell Jack he knows where to find Hannibal, so again he sees finding Hannibal as something personal and not a matter of law enforcement.

Then we arrive at the Digestivo break up. Will is clearly exhausted during this episode. He does bite Cordell’s cheek and look to Hannibal for approval and help talk Alana into freeing them, but you can tell he is tired. This is when he tells Hannibal to leave and he doesn’t want to know where he is. Let’s break this action down. There are two valid interpretations to this: Will deliberately manipulated Hannibal into surrendering (which he later claims) or Will thought Hannibal would really leave and was surprised that Hannibal turned himself in. If Will did deliberately manipulate Hannibal into turning himself in, we can say from his later actions that he was essentially keeping Hannibal on the hook until Will was ready to return to him. Will is giving himself a break from the drama that is their relationship and giving himself some space (even though Will was the one to seek out Hannibal again and not the other way around). If Will didn’t manipulate him on purpose then Will once again is apparently fine with Hannibal leaving and killing other people. The implication then is that it would apparently be okay as long as Hannibal wasn’t killing people he knew and Will wasn’t tempted to give in to his own dark urges by being around Hannibal. Hannibal killing only seems to be an issue for Will when he is personally connected to it, and even then only to a point. The only one of Hannibal’s victims he really seems to care about is Abigail (who he forgave Hannibal for) and Beverly for a short period of time before he seemingly forgot about her entirely (and this is arguably Will being angry at Hannibal taking something else away from him. Will tends to get upset when he believes this is what Hannibal is doing. We see it with Abigail, Margot’s baby, and later when he accuses Hannibal of this concerning Molly and Walter during his conversation with Bedelia.) We can also see the way Will treats one of Hannibal’s surviving victims, Alana. Alana is manipulated by Hannibal, and unlike Will himself, is considered disposable. Alana actually does try to stop Hannibal by pulling the trigger and attempting to shoot him, but she fails. She is a victim of Hannibal’s manipulations and suffers a serious injury and almost dies because of Hannibal. And how does Will treat her? He doesn’t even want her around him. He would rather pine for Hannibal and Abigail in Hannibal’s kitchen than even talk to her. They could have come together to bond over their trauma, but instead he rejects her entirely and tells her to leave him alone. He doesn’t even have a logical reason to be so put off by her in their scene in the kitchen.

We then arrive at the Red Dragon arc where Will’s “moral conflict” reaches its most hypocritical levels. First, we have how he treats Bedelia. Will is blatantly jealous, but even setting aside his hatred of her as a potential rival, his attitude towards her is outrageously hypocritical. He was upset no one would believe him about Hannibal in the first half of S2, but he never even gives her story the benefit of the doubt for a second (even openly mocking her with his “I don’t believe you.”) He also tells her she would deserve to be eaten by Hannibal and later threatens her again in TWOTL. This is the man who tried to shoot someone in cold blood, mutilated a corpse, set someone up to kill and mutilated another corpse, and tried to help Hannibal escape at least once. Will has done more criminal acts and gotten away with them than Bedelia is even capable of doing in the first place. Remember when Will was going to be arrested for killing and mutilating Randall Tier? Apparently Will just got away with that completely once the FBI was distracted by Hannibal being the real Ripper. Bedelia has nothing on Will.

We also have Will’s family, which is often used as an example of Will trying to be a good man and resist his darkness, but let’s look at how this is presented. Parallels are actually drawn between Will choosing his family and how Dolarhyde chooses his victims. Hannibal points out that Dolarhyde is like Will and “needs a family to escape what is inside of him.” When Hannibal tells him he picked a readymade family “to serve his needs” because he knows better than to breed, Will is called out for basically having a beard family (in more than one way). It is worth noting that Will does not even try to argue with Hannibal about this, which is basically accepting the truth of the statement. Will doesn’t have a problem with calling Hannibal out when he feels he deserves it. What we are shown of Will’s relationship with Molly is also quite shallow. We have no reason to believe he has been honest about himself with her. She believes he is motivated by wanting to save lives, but as we have seen he is fine putting people in danger and doesn’t seem to care about Hannibal killing people he doesn’t care about. She also jokes about his criminal mind and he shuts the conversation down. There has been discussion about whether or not Will was purposely putting Molly and Walter in danger. I don’t think he did this consciously, but I do believe he was very selfish to use them for a “normal” life while he is essentially keeping Hannibal waiting in prison. It is also very odd that Will is supposed to be so good at reading killers, but he “doesn’t” pick up on the obvious hints Hannibal gives him about Dolarhyde coming after Molly and Walter next. By involving them, and not being honest with them, he at least was pulling them into a world they weren’t prepared for. We also never see them again after they are attacked. Will mainly seems upset that Hannibal tried to take something away from him again since that has been an issue for Will throughout their relationship and even in the scene where he confronts Hannibal about it he doesn’t even stay angry for the entire scene. (Also, the accusation that Hannibal gave Will three years to build a family just so he could take them away is pretty bizarre logic as well. Hannibal didn’t know what Will was going to do while he was in prison.) If Will actually wanted to be with them though, it is odd that this was enough to destroy the relationship. As if he wanted to live in an illusion and once the illusion is shattered he has no need for it. Some argue that Will’s motivations are to protect Molly and Walter in the finale, but if that is the case why do we never see them again? Molly is only brought up in the finale as a way for Will to try and hurt Hannibal. If Will truly cared beyond the destruction of his attempt at a normal life, then why do we not get more of a real moment between Will and Molly after the hospital scene? Instead, Will is back to focusing on the personal conflict of he and Hannibal’s relationship and the new confirmation that Hannibal is in love with him and what he feels in return and what he is going to do about it. In fact, Will was the one who decided to involve Hannibal in the case before it was even necessary. If Will believes Hannibal is so dangerous for himself and the world at large, why doesn’t he leave Hannibal to rot alone in his cell until it is absolutely necessary to interact with him? Bedelia calls him out for just missing Hannibal and wanting to see him, but you also have to wonder if Will wants to give Hannibal the chance to act in some way and get involved. Hannibal didn’t even need to know Will had a family at all for the purposes of this case, so Will agreeing with Bedelia that Hannibal was going to let Will have something knowing he could take it away is odd. The whole situation is another example of Will coming to Hannibal instead of Hannibal coming to Will. Will had to want Hannibal involved.

We then come to Chilton and Will’s role in what happens to him. Will does appear upset at seeing what happened to Chilton in the FBI office, but when we cut to him with Bedelia, the one he can be more honest with, we see a very different side of him, and when she asks if he wants to talk about it he responds with “the divine punishment of a sinner mirrors the sin being punished” and “Damned if I’ll feel.” When she asks if he has to wonder if he put Chilton at risk he says no and with a cocky eyebrow raise, he responds to her asking if she expected this to happen to Chilton by saying “I can’t say I’m surprised.” We aren’t seeing any real remorse here and after imagining himself lighting the match that burned Chilton, he easily lies to Jack in the next scene and blames it all on Hannibal, which is a deliberate attempt on his part to deflect the blame he was just taking responsibility for with Bedelia.

Will’s actions in The Wrath of the Lamb are ambiguous to a point, and there are multiple interpretations of what his intentions were. What we can say for certain is that Will lies to Jack and acts like he didn’t know Dolarhyde was alive until after the rest of them learn that news as well. He never reveals that he has already put a plot into motion involving Dolarhyde. So what is Will’s motivation? There are different options. None of them actually make Will look good or heroic at all. One interpretation is that Will has decided that too many lines have been crossed by himself and he needs to put an end to it, so he is going to have Dolarhyde kill Hannibal. If this is Will’s motivation, then it means that Will is essentially blaming giving in to his own darkness on Hannibal simply existing. Hannibal is in a cell and while he did find a way to be something of a danger thanks to Dolarhyde, that avenue is now cut off to him. It doesn’t make logical sense for Will to decide to use another serial killer to kill Hannibal because Will has given into his darkness enough to now be willing to do things like set up Chilton and not feel bad about it. If this is Will’s genuine plan, it also means he is willing to lie to Jack and the others and put many people in danger for his own personal issues. The officers escorting them are killed, and it can be easily assumed that Will helped Dolarhyde know where they would be (how else did he find out?) so that it would just be Will and Hannibal against Dolarhyde alone, which was not Jack’s plan at all. Even if Will didn’t intend for the police officers to die, he was deliberately endangering others with his plan and they die because of his manipulations. Will also shows no remorse over this (he even steals a gun off of a corpse) even though it is a much worse act than killing a family annihilator with Hannibal. If Will’s moral conflict doesn’t include caring about the lives of innocent officers, what exactly is he trying to stop himself from Becoming and how will Hannibal being dead help? The most “heroic” take on Will’s plan is that he wanted to put an end to Dolarhyde and Hannibal (and possibly himself) to end all the evil and maybe stop himself from becoming a killer. However, Will’s plan involves lying to Jack, manipulating people, and getting innocent bystanders killed. This isn’t logical and if this was Will’s conscious plan he is a hypocrite who is more concerned with saving a perception of himself that he believes should exist than actually being a hero. If Will really wanted to put an end to things, he could also have helped Jack find Dolarhyde and then turn himself in for his own crimes or had himself committed to protect others from himself. Will instead picks the most reckless and dangerous plan he could. Even his attempt at ending both he and Hannibal isn’t a full commitment to the act. There was still a gun available. He could have put a bullet in Hannibal’s brain when he was vulnerable and then ended himself. Instead, Will pushes them off a cliff that Hannibal already told him had an eroding bluff. He is leaving it up to chance, likely because he doesn’t really want to die, but he believes dying is what he should want to do. Keep in mind, this last push isn’t motivated by the fact that his plotting led to the death of several innocent people. He is motivated to do this because of how Good and Right it feels killing with Hannibal.

For the record, I believe that Will really wanted to free Hannibal and kill with him. I do think it is very possible that Will told himself his motivations were what I outlined above, but because those motivations are so illogical, I believe this was just his excuse to create a situation where he and Hannibal had to fight and kill Dolarhyde alone together because what he really wanted was that experience (after all, he tells Bedelia his plan and threatens her with Hannibal coming after her, which doesn’t make sense if he really plans for them to all be dead). However, if the above were his motivations, and Will truly wanted to let Dolarhyde kill Hannibal for him right up until the moment he couldn’t actually let it happen, then Will is someone who is willing to blame someone else for his own actions, unnecessarily endanger bystanders to “save” himself, and then attempt to use someone else for murder by proxy (again). None of that is heroic and none of that demonstrates that Will is driven by a genuine attempt to be moral. It is a surface level morality that doesn’t add up to much at all.

Even the narrative tends to tell Will that his fight to preserve his “morality” is dangerous to others. The more Will fights, the more indecisiveness he shows, the more he gets other people hurt. His insistence that he just kept lying to Hannibal (as he tells himself in Primavera) helped lead to the tragedy of Mizumono. While Hannibal is responsible for his own actions, Will is also responsible for the part he plays and his inability to pick a side until it was too late (and even then in a way ambiguous enough that Hannibal did not seem to get the message.) When Will is unsure of himself and gives into his impulses without being sure of what he wants, we end up with situations like Chilton and the unnecessary deaths in TWOTL. Will’s moral conflict never actually leads to anything good in the show, and a lot of the negative consequences are caused by Will’s inability to seemingly be honest even with himself. Will’s moral conflict is something he does struggle with, but ultimately it does not lead to him actually changing for the better or showing genuine remorse for his actions. His conflict only leads to him being more reckless and endangering even more people. It is a false conflict that is based on Will believing he should be a certain way because of society’s expectations (and it is in this that the closeted subtext makes the most sense) rather than real guilt or a desire to be good for its own sake. I do hope and believe that surviving the Fall was what Will needed to finally let go of these issues so that he can finally be happy with himself and Hannibal.

#hannibal #spoilers #will graham #meta #hannigran #hannibal lecter

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theheartsmistakes · 3 years

Text

The Last Night Part XXXI

It was worse than anything James could have imagined.

His shoulder was torn to shreds and reeked of blood from a Behemoth demon that snuck upon him while he was trying to behead a Raum demon, and there seemed to be no end to the snapping of teeth; leathery wings; the screeching, and screaming. The sun bled into a vibrant sunrise, the sky matching the gore in the streets.

Not only were they facing demons, but an army of undead soldiers flooded the streets. An army that Belial called forth with Lucie's power.

And for being dead for centuries, they were surprisingly difficult to kill.

James sprinted, his breath sharp as a knife in his chest.

He’d run out of throwing knives, wasting no time to retrieve them after they’d found their mark in a demon’s skull or vital organ, dropping to the ground after they’d returned to the realm of which they came. It seemed when one died, two returned in their stead. No, there was no wasting time. He drew a pair of curved blades, glowing with angelic power, from his belt and sliced through the belly of a demon that swooped for him, knocking it off-kilter, and brought the twin to the blade down in another arch over the neck of the beast.

Another was on him before the first could disappear. Ichor sprayed his face as he buried his blade to the hilt into the jaw of a demon, its blackened teeth scrapped against his hand as he drew the blade back out. Its lifeless eyes widened and then closed as it slumped to the ground.

Still, he ran, working his way towards the bridge where Cordelia ran to save Lucie. Creating a path for her and buying her time to figure out a way to separate her from Belial.

Another demon launched from a rooftop, curved claws reaching for him—

James swiped his sword, splitting the demon’s molding green skin from gut to neck. It crashed into the stones behind him, legs outstretched beneath it, twitching slightly. He climbed atop of it, gaining the clearance he needed to see Cordelia embracing Lucie on the bridge.

She’d made it. A little longer— that was all she needed. Just a little longer. He could give her that— he would give her that. It wouldn’t be long now.

The demon flinched beneath him. He stuck the point of his blade into the base of its neck, not taking his eyes off of Cordelia and Lucie, as he slid the blade all the way in. The beast spasmed beneath him until he jerked the sword backward and severed the head from the spine. He landed deftly on his feet as the demon disappeared out from underneath him.

Behind him, his friends fought as a team. Christopher and Anna paired up against a humanoid demon with the body of a man, except for the obsidian skin and the talons that grew from each finger and the leathery wings that sprung from its back. They had it cornered, one distracting it while the other attacked.

Thomas stood back to back with Alastair, fighting three lion sized demons.

Across the bridge, he knew his parents were fighting their way towards the bridge or attempting to keep Charles from executing Lucie before they had the chance to save her.

But Matthew, he could see Matthew. His parabatai rune blazed in his skin, the only indication that he was alive and not in peril, but it made him nervous not to be able to see him.

A demon surged at him from around a corner, taloned fingers gouging lines into the cobblestones, jaws open aiming for his throat. With its talons, it managed to cut through James’s forearm slashing through armor and skin. A groan tore from James as the pain seared through his arm, he released his blade on instinct and listened in horror as it clattered to the ground.

James managed to hurl himself backward from under the demon as it seemed to lick its mouth in anticipation of its kill. It leaked saliva on the ichor soaked streets as it advanced upon him. Seeming to savor every step.

Its last steps.

With his other blade pinned beneath him, James reached for a seraph blade at his thigh.

The demon sank onto its haunches, reading for the kill.

The ground shook behind him as James tightened his grip on the hilt, whispered its name, and aimed the blade upward—

Before he could strike, a sword plunged through the demon’s great gray head.

A vibrant glowing blade, that seemed to sing as it met the demonic blood. The demon evaporated with an audible hiss and disappeared as if on a breeze. A blond head appeared above James, streaked with black that also dripped down his face.

With a bloodied hand, Matthew offered it to James.

“Thought you could use some help.” His parabatai grinned.

“I had it under control,” said James, shaking the burn from the slashes on his arm.

Matthew’s eyebrows bounced. “Oh, my mistake. It looked like you were about to be the poor chaps breakfast.”

“Your mistake indeed,” said James and patted Matthew on the shoulder. “Where the hell are they all coming from?”

“The answer seems to lie within the question,” said Matthew with a wink. “Whatever Belial has done it seems that they’re able to regenerate at a faster rate. If we keep going on like this then we don’t stand a chance.”

“Always the optimist,” said James and threw the words over his shoulder. “Cover me!”

He barely heard Matthew’s reply of, “always,” before he ripped into an undead, with a quick scissor swipe of his blades that sent the beast’s head rolling. Gore splattered his gear, his face, but he made no hesitation as he ran towards the bridge.

Matthew kept to his word, ripping apart demon and undead with precision and vengeance that might have stunned James if his focus was not otherwise detained.

Another undead dragged its crooked ankle towards James, just as he flipped the blade in his right hand and split the creature’s skull in half. He whirled on another, but before he could dismember it, a flash of brilliant light and deafening thunder clapped overhead. The earth shuddered underneath his feet. He spun around and looked towards the bridge as a building on the other side of the Thames split in half.

His eyes found Lucie standing with her hands squeezing her head. Cordelia lay on the ground not far away, struggling to stand. He called her name— screamed it— begging her to get away.

An arm wrapped around his neck and he felt the sharp needle points of teeth dig into his trapezius muscle. He raised his elbow against a flash of searing pain and drove the end of his blade into the centre of the undead’s brain.

His shoulder spilled blood, but he hardly noticed as he started to run towards the bridge, to where Cordelia now stood running towards Lucie.

He yelled her name again as Lucie turned to face Cordelia at the same moment they impacted.

Cordelia’s name lodged in his throat once more as he watched them twist over the bridge railing and hurtle towards the black water beneath.

Lucie awoke in a field that reminded her very much of the one behind her family's estate in Alicante. The soft, lush green grass of spring tickled her bare arms as a docile wind blew through the hills carrying with it the smell of rain, crystal clear lake water, and earth. Lucie’s hand moved against the solid earth beneath her and looked up at the entire world above her, full of distant, burning lights.

Where the normal blue of the sky had gone, she wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t matter. None of it mattered now, she felt. For she was free.

The terrible, clawing darkness that had consumed her as soon as Belial dragged her into the centre of the star exploded the moment her body had given up underneath the water, Cordelia holding her against the savage need to take a breath. She’d saved them— in ending Lucie, she saved them all.

“Not quite, little huntress,” said a familiar, female voice.

Lucie peeled far enough away from the ground to look at the beautiful, angular, human face of the ghost that had visited her in the Shadowrealm. The dark hair spilled down from her head, no longer white and ghost-like, but full and glistening.

Some intrinsic part of her recognized this woman. An ancient song in her blood sang out to the woman before her.

Lucie’s eyes narrowed, “You— I know you.”

The ghost’s smile was soft. “Do you remember now?”

“You're Abigail,” said Lucie as a shudder went through her entire body. “You’re Abigail Shadowhunter. Part of the first three. You’re— this is— Oh, James is never going to believe—“ A realization dawned on her at the thought of her elder brother. “Am I dead then? Is it really over?”

“Not dead,” said Abigail as she crossed her arms across her chest. She was dressed oddly mundane for what she always imagined Abigail Shadowhunter to be dressed as. In Lucie’s mind, she would have looked more like a Viking princess rather than the old leather trousers, thick deerskin jacket, and white cotton blouse. She was beautiful: ancient angelic power radiated from her like the confidence in her kind expression. “Not dead yet. You’re somewhere we like to call, the in-between. Your brother has been here before, briefly. So has your mother and your uncle James, but they wouldn’t remember it, and neither will you.”

“But it’s you. This is really you?”

Abigail chuckled and peered at the churning darkness above them. “Yes. There isn’t much time, Lucie Herondale. Your mortal body is dead, but this does not have to be your end. You can choose to return to your family, your friends.”

Lucie’s expression deadened. “I can’t go back. He’ll find me. He’ll use me again. He’ll kill everyone that I love. Not to mention what the clave will do to me now that they’ve learned what I can do, what I am. No, it’s much better that I stay here and go with you.”

Abigail crossed her arms. “Better? Better for whom?”

“For everyone!” Lucie blinked rapidly. “Better for my family, better for my friends—“

“You truly believe the loss of their daughter is better for your parents,” said Abigail. “You believe the loss of a sister, a friend, a companion is better for their lives going forward. Lucie, the loss of you will shatter their entire world. They will carry that loss in their souls for the rest of their lives. Your memory will stop at a single moment for them and never change. Do you wish to leave them to the wonder what you might have looked like in your twenties, thirties, and beyond? The things you could have accomplished?”

Lucie bowed her head afraid that she might break clean apart. “No. No, I don’t want those things. I’m scared.”

“It’s all right to be frightened, Lucie,” said Abigail. “Everyone is afraid of something. Your parents are living their worst fear right now. Can you feel it? Their tether to you— like a string around your heart.”

Lucie placed a hand on her chest and felt the cold ache there like a massive hole. She nodded wordlessly and began crying.

“They’re begging every diety they know of to return the life to your body.” Abigail knelt in front of Lucie. “If only they knew it was your choice.” She gave her a knowing smile. “And what of the boy? The Blackthorn boy?”

Lucie wiped at her face. “What of him?”

Abigail’s smile turned gentle. “He was trapped in this space for many years without the ability to move beyond. We’ve all heard him speak about you— about getting back to you. Are you going to abandon the possibility of that future by staying here when he’s only just gotten his life back?”

Lucie’s breath shuddered from her chest. She’d thought it was a dream, some ploy created by Belial to get her to follow him, but it was true. Jesse was alive. Jesse was waiting for her.

She inhaled, staring at the grass that was not real. None of it was real. She’d contemplated staying in a place with things that looked and felt real but were not. Like living in the pages of a book, an image of real things. She’d give up life for this?

Lucie sniffed. “What do I need to do? How do I stop him once I’ve returned? How do I stop any of it?”

Abigail rose again. “Leave that to us.” Lucie’s gaze shifted from Abigail’s regal face to those behind her where a crowd began to form behind her, a legion of hundreds of faces, some Lucie recognized and many she did not. The man on Abigail’s right smiled at her, a kind mischievous smile that did not correlate with the serious renderings of him standing atop a pile of demons in a blaze of glory hanging up in the Institute. Jonathon Shadowhunter had his arms crossed much like his older sister, though he was much taller and more solidly built, and he looked—well, humored. An ancient blade sheathed his back.

To his right stood another man. Lucie recognized him as David, the parabatai to the warrior standing beside him. His gaze could old the power of thunder in it.

Behind the three, Shadowhunters of generations past marched up the hill to gather. A face stood out amongst the front line.

“Barbara!” Lucie yelled.

Her friend beamed, whole and vengeful.

Amongst the other fallen warriors, she could recognize her grandfather Edmond with eyes that mirrored her father’s, and though she’d never met her, from photographs her father had shared, she recognized her Aunt Ella who looked a bit like herself.

“So you see, Lucie Herondale,” said Abigail. “You will not be going alone.”

Lucie’s lips trembled. “How— how is this possible?”

“You make it possible,” said Abigail. “You and only you can control the dead. A gift that if bestowed upon some other hand might be catastrophic, but your heart is light and your motives pure and selfless. Therefore, with your command, we will listen.”

Lucie’s gaze snapped back. “You mean I’m to command them? You?”

“That is what I mean,” nodded Abigail. “And you must do it quickly. Time is running out. If you do not return soon then this is where you will remain.”

Lucie didn’t give herself a chance to reconsider, to rethink what would be waiting for her on the other side. She looked beyond Abigail’s shoulder at her fallen family and committed every one of their faces to memory. Perhaps she wouldn’t remember this moment when she awoke, but she’d honor them now.

“Okay,” said Lucie and returned to her feet. “I’m ready. Tell me what to do.”

Cordelia knelt over Lucie after having dragged her limp body to the shore through water that felt more like sand.

The fight blazed on around her. Demons swarmed the sky and the earth amongst the army of undead that Belial called to his aid; both of which were being kept back by warriors that were beginning to tire. It seemed it would never end. Never, never end.

But none of that mattered now. None of it.

Cordelia pressed her fingers to Lucie’s throat, knowing what she wouldn’t find.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed at her friend’s lifeless face. “I’m so so sorry.”

With shaking hands, she pressed into Lucie’s chest: one, two, three. She swallowed a deep breath of air and blew into Lucie’s mouth.

Again, she pressed against Lucie’s chest cavity and could feel the liquid slosh around in her belly, her lungs.

One. Two. Three.

“Please,” she begged and gave Lucie another burst of air. “You can’t die. You can’t die. You. Cannot. Die.”

One. Two. Three.

Air.

A demon screeched above her as if careened through the sky, several arrows bursting from its chest as it drifted towards the Thames and landed into the water with an eruptive wave.

One. Two. Three.

Lucie’s lips were turning a startling shade of blue. Her skin was so cold as Cordelia pressed her fingers to her throat again.

Nothing. Not even a flutter.

“Come on!” Cordelia pleaded. One. Two. Three. Air. “Please! Please, this has to work. It has to." Her voice went to a whisper. "It has to.”

Tears streamed down Cordelia’s face and dripped onto Lucie’s as she gave her another breath. And began pumping her torso again, refusing to accept that her friend was gone. That her soul had left this world to a place that Cordelia could not pull her back from.

“You’re not finished,” said Cordelia, with a chest breaking sob. “You’re not finished yet. Do you hear me? We’re going to grow old together, you and I. We’re going to have that ceremony and we’re going become parabatai and then neither one of us will feel alone again. I promise, Lucie, but you have to breathe.”

A crack of lightning shimmered the sky above her. She felt the electricity through her bones, but she did not stop.

She was cold. Cold and wet and stiff.

A burning sensation in her chest climbed up her throat until she burst forward, expelling the waste from her lungs. It tasted like mud on her tongue. She felt as if she’d swallowed the whole Thames.

But she was breathing. Her heart was pounding in her chest— and she was breathing.

Arms, shaking cold arms were wrapped around her. A hand slammed into her back as she tried to breathe through the water and bile still trapped in her lungs.

She dimly registered that she was lying on the bank of the river. Cordelia crying into her ear and held her up to get the water out.

“Was that your idea of a rescue?” said Lucie, her voice sounded like she’d swallowed gravel.

Cordelia laughed and pulled away enough to look Lucie in the face. Blood covered Cordelia’s own, her blood or something else’s, Lucie could not tell. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Lucie coughed. “Barely. I may never get the taste out of my mouth.”

“It takes some time,” said Cordelia, fresh tears rolling down her cheeks, even as she laughed, “but it does go away. Believe me.”

She smiled at Cordelia and her friend smiled back. “Did you mean what you said? Will you really be my parabatai?”

Cordelia drew Lucie into another hug. Her clothes were wet and reeked of ichor and muddy river water, but Lucie didn’t mind. She hugged her dear friend back as if she were the tether keeping her stationed in this world.

“A promise is a promise.”

“Oh, but you already make such a wonderful team,” said a voice behind them. Lucie’s eyes shot open as she slowly peeled herself away from Cordelia to look at the archdemon standing on the muddy banks. “Why ruin it with semantics?”

Cordelia started to stand but Lucie gripped her arm.

His physical form flickered as if he were there, but not fully. Lucie suspected that was exactly the case. He’d started the transition from his own realm to this one, but it was not complete yet; therefore he could not fully take form, not without his host.

Lucie stood, her foot slipping on the muddy bank, but she held her ground.

“It’s over, Belial.” Lucie was about to say, but someone had already said it for her.

She turned and relief and pride and hope, filled her chest at Abigail standing on the banks. She’d returned to her ghostly form, but the centuries of rage still burned behind her eyes.

“Abigail,” said Belial as his lips curled over his teeth. “So wonderful to see you again. It’s been too long.”

Demons and undead started to fall around them, taken down by the army of shimmering white figures that burst through their bodies with angelic light and sent them back to where they’d come from in bursts of mist.

An army— her army, flooded the streets and fought beside the living Shadowhunters, filling them with a renewed sense of hope.

“It has been too long,” said Abigail. In a flicker of light, the ghost moved forward and grabbed Belial by the throat. His form solidified for just a moment, long enough for Abigail to yell, “Now!” And for Lucie to pick up Cortana from the ground beside Cordelia and drive it into Belial’s chest, up through his sternum, and out his back.

His eyes and mouth widened as centuries of pain and torture flashed within them and Lucie saw all of it. Everything he’d done as the light began to burst from the cracks rippling through his skin, the blade at the centre of it.

Only a kin can kill an archdemon, Abigail had told her as she descended back to earth. Only a kin can have enough power. It must be you, Lucie.

The blade burned in her palm until she released it and fell backward onto the marsh and watched in horror as Belial screamed into an unknown void and then burst apart in a wave that took every demon and undead with him.

In the blast, Lucie was thrown back, her head hit the ground in a deafening crack. With no runes to help her, she succumbed to the blinding pain and fell once more into darkness.

Lucie was faintly aware of being hoisted into the air and the ground leaving her. Warmth pressed against her cheek where she laid it on something soft.

Whispering, hushed words were spoken into her ear and she was being rocked.

“Lucie, my Lucie,” said a voice. “You’re safe, my darling. I’ve got you. Papa’s got you.”

With what strength she had left, she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck and let him carry her home.

A/N: I don’t have any more words in me. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Let me know what you thought! Final chapter comes out in one week: Mon, 2/22

#the last night fanfiction #The Last Night #chain of gold fanfic #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #james x cordelia #Cordelia Carstairs #lucie herondale #belial

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splat-dragon · 3 years

Link

Everybody knows the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost Everybody knows the fight was fixed

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking Everybody knows that the captain lied

Prompts:

Image: Foggy Forest Leonard Cohen - Everybody Knows

@red-dead-rodeo

Everybody knows that the dice are loaded

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed

Ain’t nothin’ fair, he’ll tell you that.

Those that hold power - they like to say they were lucky. That anyone else could be them if only the dice had rolled that little bit more, they’d tried a little harder, if, if, if. Which was total bullshit, of course. Luck didn’t work that way - luck could be bribed, could be bought, could be won.

The dice were weighted. The ones who won, who were rich, who came out alive, they loaded the dice, did something to turn things in their favor. Bribed, prepared, did something - there was no such as luck, he knew that now.

Everybody knows the war is over

Everybody knows the good guys lost

Everybody knows the fight was fixed

Their fight is over, he won’t tell you that.

And they've lost. The dice have landed at his feet, a pair of ones peering back at him, and damned them all. They’ve fought - and they’ll keep fighting - but they’ve won some battles and lost so many others, and they keep losing, and the war was lost, he knows it, he won't tell you that but he can see what's in front of his eyes, they call him blind but he can see as well as any other man.

The fight was fixed. He had an army twenty strong - and an army he is afraid to lose. Family, he calls them, and sometimes they are even more than that. The army - a true army, and all those others he fought, they didn’t care, had countless at their disposal, warm bodies that were replaced before they cooled on the dirt. When one of his falls - and they do, eventually, inevitably - they are buried, and mourned, and their loss felt dearly, and he has no one to replace them with.

Though they have something to fight for - freedom, family, fortune - they only have so much. So much ammo, so much supplies, so many people.

The war is over, but they’ll keep fighting.

They have no other choice.

The poor stay poor, the rich get rich

That’s how it goes

Everybody knows

Things ain’t fair, he’ll tell you that.

They’d been Robin Hoods, once upon a time. When they could afford to be. When it had been safe to be. Before he’d realized the futility of it all. Of stealing from the rich to give to the poor - the money only poured from the poors’ hands, gone quick as it was given, spent on cheap boots that would go bare before the year was out, on so much food that would mold as they had nowhere to store it. And the rich would curse, and cry, and call for their necks, but it would change nothing, they’d have their money back and more in a weeks’ time.

And they were the poor now, the needy, the hungry and thirsty and desperate.

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking

Everybody knows that the captain lied

He’s slipping, he won’t tell you that.

Folk are bailing, running, scattering like rats from a sinking ship, leaving him behind. People he’d once called family, trusted them to be behind him always. But blood is up to his ankles and water is nearing his nose and though he manages to keep above water he never can catch up to them.

He tries to be who he used to be - had he used this word? or that one? But the speeches he can find don’t read like him, he can hardly remember writing them like through a thick fog, and the speeches he give don’t hold their attention anymore and he knows he’s lying, pretty words that wilt before they leave his mouth, that crumble to dust in his family’s ears, and they know it but he has to say something or the rest will trickle through his fingers as so many grains of sand, every morning he wakes up and someone else is gone and he can’t lose them too.

Everybody got this broken feeling

Like their father or their dog just died

Things have changed, he’ll tell you that.

They used to be family, tighter than blood can bind. Just a look and they’d be riding out together, gun to gun, side by side, not a question needed. But now a single word can spark an argument, even a glance and they’ll be at each other’s throats, Charles and Arthur having to break up more fights than he can ever remember them having to do so before. And where before a drink shared between brothers or sisters could mend the bond as well as any needle and thread, resentment festers and grows with every argument, with every word, with every breath they continue to draw.

He read in a book once, a place described as ‘a graveyard full of ghosts who don’t yet know they’re dead.’ and on some days, his lucid days, his honest days, he looks at their faces: the sad ones, the hangdog ones, the black eyes, the sleepless ones, the bloodshot ones and tearstained ones, and thinks that Beaver Hollow could well be that graveyard.

Everybody talking to their pockets

Everybody wants a box of chocolates

And a long-stem rose

Everybody knows

They’re struggling, he won’t tell you that.

Someone burned the ledger, smashed the tithing box, and though Micah and Joe and Cleet had dug through everything, had turned the camp upside down, Dutch had even checked their stash just in case it had gotten added to it somehow, the money that had been inside was gone.

Dutch doesn’t know who, but he’s sure it’s one of the people who left - taking the money Micah and Arthur and everyone else worked so hard to contribute, the supplies as well, to fund their new life, to start out on a high note, to begin with weighted dice and a cushion, to not have to begin again and to leech off other’s hard work.

When Micah shows up with his guns newly engraved only a few days later, Dutch has already forgotten.

Everybody knows that you love me baby

Everybody knows that you really do

Everybody knows that you've been faithful

Oh, give or take a night or two

Everybody knows you've been discreet

But there were so many people you just had to meet

Without your clothes

Everybody knows

There’s a rat in the gang, he’ll tell you that.

He’s not sure who - it could be anyone, he thinks, though some days he has his suspicions of some people more than others; some days he’s positive he knows who it is and others he hasn’t the faintest clue, more often than not he’s positive he knows it’s not Micah and then some days, his honest days, he thinks “Maybe…?” but those days are becoming fewer and far between, and maybe it’s one of the girls but they haven’t left the gang in ages and Javier is always on guard so maybe it’s one of the girls and Javier is in on it, or maybe it’s Javier himself? Or maybe it’s Arthur, some days he’s certain, the man has always been faithful, loyal, sometimes too much so, willing to throw himself down on a spike-pit if it would help the gang, but people change - Dutch would know, after all, Hosea had changed towards the end, he’d lost faith and become a coward (and on his honest days he’s horrified at those thoughts) - and the man is so rarely in camp, “Around” he always says when Dutch asks, gets frustrated when he’s pressed, has taken up with Smith and is fighting the wrong war.

Everybody knows

That's how it goes

Everybody knows

That's how it goes

Everybody knows

And everybody knows that it's now or never

Everybody knows that it's me or you

And everybody knows that you live forever

When you've done a line or two

John was dying, he won’t tell you that.

He was sprawled on the tracks, silhouetted with blood, and he was so far gone when he found him that he’d been gasping ‘Pa,’ not ‘Dutch,’ and he hadn’t had the heart to put him down or watch him die so he’d turned The Count and ridden back - it had hurt, to leave him to rot, but his family needed the money more and they could always go back to bury him later.

If they left the money it’d be long gone, while an outlaw’s corpse would be untouched.

Sometimes you have to be a leader, not a father.

Everybody knows the deal is rotten

Old Black Joe's still pickin' cotton

For your ribbons and bows

And everybody knows

Jack’s an orphan, he won’t tell you that.

Abigail… well, he hates to leave her behind, but he ain’t gonna risk the safety of the gang for a woman. One, he thinks, might be a rat - because how was it she survived being captured by the Pinkertons in Saint Denis when Hosea had been killed? She’d not been discreet in her distaste, in her distrust, in her want to leave with their boy.

And they’d be retrieving a body, besides. The Pinkertons didn’t show their captives any kindnesses - even women. Knowing Abigail, they’d have done away with her quickly, and it might have even been a mercy.

And he wasn't going to risk his family to retrieve a corpse.

And everybody knows that the Plague is coming

Everybody knows that it's moving fast

Everybody knows that the naked man and woman

Are just a shining artifact of the past

Everybody knows the scene is dead

But there's gonna be a meter on your bed

That will disclose

What everybody knows

His boys are traitors, he’ll tell you that.

Arthur’s talked to the Pinkertons - he says he did so while saving Abigail, but can he really trust his word anymore? And John’s alive, swearing Dutch left him behind but he’d been dying, he hadn’t had a choice, can’t he see that? And they’re pointing their guns at their family, breaking the number one rule of the gang, and he wants to tell them to put their damn guns down, to leave, he doesn’t want to kill his boys but they have a rule about traitors, they have laws for a reason, and as much as he hates it his boys aren’t exceptions to them.

And everybody knows that you're in trouble

Everybody knows what you've been through

From the bloody cross on top of Calvary

To the beach of Malibu

Everybody knows it's coming apart

Take one last look at this Sacred Heart

Before it blows

Everybody knows

His baby boy is dying, he doesn’t want to tell you that.

But there’s no denying it. His fingers crunch beneath his boot, and he’s been around death his whole life, knows that look in his eyes, the fading, the dulling, the greying that’s already starting but won’t become obvious for another hour or more. The yellow tinge that’s already starting under his paper-pale skin, and his breathing, his breathing is worse than ever, that gurgling rasp as his body forces him to breathe against his will.

“Oh, Dutch…”

and his voice is unrecognizable, the rasp of a breath over failing vocal cords, and his baby boy is dying, and he remembers when he was only twelve with ruddy cheeks and scuffed knees, scared and suspicious and too small, sure that there was a catch when they put food in his hands and a blanket around his shoulders. His hair is the same - as dirty as it had been then, and god his face is as skinny as it had been back then, starving and curling around the bowl as though they’d pull it away from him, his eyes sunken in his face as he’d had to resort to stealing sips from horse troughs before being chased away and he can’t look at Arthur without seeing that little boy, and what has he done?

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rae-arts777 · 3 years

Text

Hey hey! I give you fluff TC Christmas Day!! Enjoy ✨ it was suppose to be short, but I got too into it.

But it’s Christmas

Summary: It’s Makoto’s first Christmas with TC, he figures they’re not doing anything together since “they’re not friends or family” so he proceeds to spend his Christmas like he always has, alone.

~~~~~

Currently they were in New York, and it was Christmas Day.

Makoto woke up early, being greeted to Laurent’s snoring. He quietly slipped out of their shared hotel bed and went to freshen up.

Once he finished, he quietly made his way to the small kitchen area of their suite.

The girls were asleep still in the second bedroom, all of them, expect Makoto, had stayed up late celebrating the success of another con.

Makoto got some leftovers out of the fridge, not wanting to make lots of noise, he ate the food cold.

10:30 am, everyone but Makoto still asleep.

By this point he figured they wouldn’t be up until mid afternoon. So, he got dressed into something warm and grabbed a room key.

“I should leave a note” he thought, however he didn’t “guess they won’t really care..” he mumbled to himself and made his way onto the snowy streets of New York.

There were lots of people on the streets, considering it was Christmas Day.

He found a little coffee shop that was still open. Ordering himself a house coffee, he sat inside enjoying the warmth. Staring outside, watching the snow fall on the city, he felt a sting of jealously, watching families and groups of friends pass by, all smiling, but also fighting over little things.

“You forgot the batteries!”

“Who’s house are we having dinner at?”

“We are NOT spending the holidays with your relatives again!”

“Do we have enough wine for tonight?”

Those were the little things they were probably saying, at least that’s what Makoto thinks.

He finished his coffee and left the little cafe. It was only 12 pm, so he walked endless around the city.

He passed by the shops, though they were all closed, he would see things and think

“Cynthia would love that”

“I think Abby would like this”

“Heh, this be a great gag gift for Laurent”

“We’re not friends” that phrase rang in his head still.

Makoto’s wander the city endless for a good few hours. He checked the time, shocked to see it was 5 pm already.

“Guess it’s time to head back” he sighed

On his way back, he proceed to pick up some Chinese takeout, the family combo, and swung by the liquor shop.

Beer, wine, whiskey, and why not, some white claws.

As he continued to walk back, a nagging voice kept ringing in his head.

“You’re not friends, you’re not family. You’re wasting your time. They’ll laugh at you. Why are you getting attached? You know they’ll dump your ass in a quick sec if you keep on the way you do. They’ll probably just take advantage of you more”

Though the voice did bother him, and probably was telling the truth, Makoto was determined to not let it get to him.

He thinks about the conversation he had with Abby back in Singapore, fuck it, even if she didn’t, he considered her a friend.

Finally, he made it back to the hotel. It was about 7 pm by now. He used his key to and walked into an empty suite.

No one was there, the bedroom doors were wide open, no one reside in the beds. All the lights were off, he checked the bowl on the counter top, all the room keys were gone.

Of course, they must have all went they’re separate ways already.

Makoto sighed and put all the stuff he bought ontop of the table. He stared blankly at the wall, he wanted to cry, he felt so stupid. Just as all the negative thoughts started to fill his head, the sound of a door click brought him back to reality.

Abby walked in and locked eyes with him, it didn’t take long for her fist to greet his chest.

“Idiot.” She growled

“Ow! What?!”

“We thought you got kidnapped or something.” She pulled out her phone and texted Laurent and Cynthia

“We??” Makoto asked

“Yes “We”, we knew you never leave without telling us, so when you didn’t come back when it started to get dark...we...went out looking for you” Abby explained.

“Oh, I did-“

She punched his chest again “fucking virgin, making us worried, making us walk around in the cold looking for you.”

“HEY! IM NOT A VIGIRN!” Makoto jumped to defended himself “no food for you!”

“If you dare try to keep that food away from me, after I spent hours looking for you, I’ll make sure you go missing forever this time”

“I don’t give food to people who bully me”

Laurent and Cythina walked in to find Abby and Makoto on the floor. Abby had him in a headlock, Makoto was trashing and screaming

“Take it back virgin!”

“Fuck you! Never!!”

“Fine! At least if I kill you I get to eat your portion”

“I’ll haunt your crazy bitch ass if you!”

Cythina burst out in laughter watching the two tussle, Laurent shook his head and let out a chuckle.

“Alright that’s enough you two, let’s be happy we found out little Edamame”

Abby growled and let him go, Makoto stuck his tongue out at her and stood up

“I was never missing in the first place, I just went for a walk”

“You should have left a note! You had us all worried Edamame!” Cynthia pouted

“Sorry, I..I didn’t really think it mattered” He mumbled out

“Of course it matters my soybean” Laurent placed a hand on his shoulder.

Makoto blushed a bit, seeing Laurent’s worried face “Laurent..I-“

“Without you, there was no one to make us fresh coffee to cure our hangovers!” Laurent smiled

Now Laurent was on the floor laughing as Makoto kicked at him

“FUCK YOU YOU BLONDE BASTARD!!”

Abby joined in on kicking him, “showing” Makoto how to kick properly.

Cythina shook her head, after what seemed like forever, she calmed them all down.

“Come on! It looks like Edamame bought enough food and drinks for everyone! Let’s eat!” Cynthia smiled, getting some plates and forks out.

They all sat around on the couch, eating and drinking.

Makoto has changed back into his pjs, the rest of them joined him.

Abby and Makoto were sharing a blanket, and bickering like siblings, that the other was hogging it.

It had taken Cythina less then an hour to get drunk off the wine Makoto had gotten for her.

Laurent was surprisingly quiet, sipping at his beer. He had tried the whiskey Makoto had bought, but it was very much trash.

He watched as Makoto and Abby decided to shotgun race with some white claws. Cythina of course cheering them on.

Laurent smiled, seeing how happy they all were, even Abby had started smiling and laughing a bit.

Laurent slowly got up and went to the bedroom, he returned with three wrapped things. He handed the gifts out, giving Makoto’s his last.

“Is this some sort of trick? Like if I opened this, you’re going to use it to hold over my head?” Makoto glared at him.

“Of course not!!”

“I don’t trust you”

“But it’s Christmas Edamame” Laurent pouted

Makoto glared at him and turned his attention back to the gift. A small flare of joy sparked in his body. He opened his gift.

Laurent was now laying on the couch laughing as Makoto beat him with a pillow

“YOU PREV!!”

Laurent laughed more “I thought you might enjoy wearing it tonight!”

“IN YOUR DREAMS!!!”

Abby and Cythina watch as Makoto continued to beat him.

“So when do you think Makoto is going to realized Laurent is totally pinning for him?” Abby asked

“I give it maybe 2 years” Cythina chuckled

“I say 5”

Cythina laughed and patted Abby’s head. “Merry Christmas Abigail”

“Merry Christmas, also don’t pat me”

“But it’s Christmas!” Cythina laughed

#great pretender #makoto edamura #grepre #the great pretender #edamura makoto #laurent thierry #abigail jones #abby jones #cynthia moore #team confidence #fanfic #fanfictiom #great pretender anime #great pretender fic #Laurent pinning for Makoto #eduarent #Makoto and Abby being siblings

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ssaseaprince · 3 years

Note

Hannigram with Will saying prompt 15👀

Tysm for the request ! Sorry it took so long to get out, this fic kinda got away from me. I’m not very good at dialogue, but I tried. I hope you like it <3

Will got lost some times. You could see the exact moment it happened, his body would freeze, tendons and bones and joints all locked up, eyes unfocused. Sometimes it was just seconds, usually it was a few minutes, but the worst time had been a couple hours. Hannibal was used to it now, being so attuned to Will. He learned to wait a minute or two, see if Will would come back on his own, and if he didn’t Hannibal would sit them both down and lay Will’s head on his lap. Stroking his curls he’d recite poetry, Lithuanian stories from his childhood, mantras of stability. When Will did come back, it was either slowly or all at once. It was either a sudden jerk of awareness or a slowly, drowsy awakening, like he’d just woken from a dream. He never talked about where he went in these times.

It could’ve been from the fall. Will had hit his head, ending up with quite a severe concussion that they hadn’t realized he had until far later than they should’ve. They’d been occupied with their more visible injuries, gunshots, stab wounds, and broken bones threatened them with blood loss and sepsis. His dizziness and slurred words were written off as a result of his more obvious wounds and his concussion was left unnoticed until the blurred vision and balance problems couldn’t be written off as blood loss anymore. Hannibal doesn’t feel guilty for much, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for missing it. It had doubled Will’s recovery time and still left him with some more permanent effects. Forgetting what he was saying and having his words drop off in the middle of sentences, struggling to memorize new things, forgetting where they were and the date, and slurring his words at random became common occurrences. Will would always be the smartest person Hannibal had ever known, there was never a doubt about it, but it was heartbreaking to watch Will’s frustration, his self doubt. They did what they could to help minimize the effects, and Hannibal learned how to reassure Will in a way that didn’t make him uncomfortable. But reassurance could only go so far, and Will still had bad days.

It could be a result of the trauma he’s endured, because no matter how otherworldly Will seems, he’s still human. Having been a psychiatrist had its benefits when Will’s PTSD presented and Hannibal needed to know how to react. Hannibal had mastered the art of moving around without making near any noise, but now the house was filled with his loud footsteps. Will still flinched at times, but Hannibal making his arrival known when he approached him prevented spiraling flashbacks for the most part. For a long time just the sight of Hannibal holding a needle was enough to pull Will into his memories of the past, he’d passed out from hyperventilating the first time Hannibal had tried to give him some painkillers through one after the fall. Their fourth week on the run, Hannibal had learned to avoid flashing light after a lighting storm had sent Will reeling, huddled against the wall and yelling at Hannibal to get the fuck away from him. He memorized Will’s triggers and together they learned how to best avoid them. Of course there are times where the nightmares and flashbacks still come, but they work through them together. They’d gotten a dog, and during times when Hannibal can’t be the one to comfort him, Will can cuddle her into his arms and press his face into her fur to ground himself.

And maybe it’s neither of those things, maybe it’s just Will. One of the things Hannibal loves most about Will is his unpredictability, and that nobody can ever fully understand his mind. It’s such a beautifully intricate, complex thing that Hannibal could gorge himself on it’s knowledge and thoughts and never get tired.

But Hannibal doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t know where Will goes when he gets lost. For the most part, their relationship has grown into one devoid of secrets, but whenever Hannibal asks Will where he goes when he leaves at those times, Will won’t answer. He tells Hannibal about all of the flashbacks and nightmares, sometimes even without prompting, but he won’t tell him this.

It’s immensely frustrating. Hannibal has always wanted to know everything about Will that he could, and with them as conjoined as they are now, the fact that Will won’t explain it to him is extremely upsetting. He understands why Will could have hesitations fully trusting him, but the ocean had washed away their walls and exposed them completely to each other.

Hannibal is an extremely jealous person, and he has no problem admitting that. With Will refusing to talk to him about it, he’s left to assume that he goes to someone else when he leaves. After the fall he had promised Will he would not go after Molly and Walter, and he would keep his promise, but the idea that they could be taking up any space in Will’s mind is maddening. Will had taken off his wedding ring a week after the fall, thrown it into the ocean and said goodbye. He’d been transparent with Hannibal, explaining that he did love Molly when he was with her, and he would always hold fondness in his heart for her, but that he couldn’t love anybody but Hannibal now. He’d explained it by comparing him to Oxygen, he takes up all the space in the air and in his lungs that there isn’t room for anything else. They made love for the first time after that, the memory perfectly filed away in Hannibal’s memory palace. But Will’s gaze still lingered when they passed happy families in restaurants or in the store, his eyes full of bittersweet longing. Hannibal knew he thought of Molly and Walter, and Abigail too. Will was insistent that they didn’t need to add anyone to their family, he didn’t want to or feel the need to be a father and their lifestyle wouldn’t be sustainable with a family. And Hannibal agreed, so he left it as it was. He knew Will missed Abigail too, they both did and they both had cared for her, her death had been one of the harder things to reconcile over. Will had admitted to hallucinating her after her death, when he went to Italy, and as much as Hannibal had cared for her and as much as he still mourned her death, he couldn’t help the deep rooted jealousy he felt over the fact that she had occupied a part of Will’s thoughts for so long. He wondered if Will saw Abigail when he went wherever he did in his mind.

And so his resentment grew, as did his jealousy. But Abigail was dead and Molly and Walter were across the world and promised safety, and he couldn’t be mad at Will. So the feelings built with nowhere to go.

He and Will hunted together, just not often as they didn’t want to draw suspicion. So he tried to use their hunting as an outlet, but it never seemed like enough.

Life went on, and their domesticity continued. Every time Will would freeze and his eyes would glaze over and you just knew his mind had called him, Hannibal continued the ritual of laying Will’s head on his lap and softly speaking calming words to him, but each time added to his anger, and his jealousy flared. Will’s mind was going somewhere he wasn’t permitted to follow and it ate at him. He knew Will saw his frustration, but he had a lot of practice at hiding his emotions behind walls and he used it. Eventually though, it all spilled over.

Before they had even fully recovered from their fall in the ocean they had come to a compromise. If Will was to stay with him and kill with him, they would only hunt together, and the sins they killed people for would be far more grievous then just rudeness. Because of their criminal status, they wouldn’t be able to display their victims as they’d like to unless they were prepared to move right after. Hannibal had quickly agreed to it, and the decision had been worth it. They got their domesticity, and when they hunted, he got to watch Will stalk and then help him slaughter their prey. Beautiful avenging angel. Of course, when they encountered individuals whose rudeness was staggering he took great pleasure in imagining stringing up their corpses, making beautifully refined dishes out of them. But they both liked where they had finally settled down, and he knew Will didn’t want to move again, so he never gave any thought to going against their agreement.

Until now. The day had started innocently enough, in fact it was a pretty good day. Will had gotten lost for a few minutes in the morning, but he came back fairly easily and quickly and there weren’t any other issues the rest of the day. It was evening, and Hannibal was off to the market to get some last minute ingredients he would need for meals tomorrow, when a woman looking at her phone and ignoring her surroundings pushed into him, spilling her coffee all over his shirt. They both stopped walking, and flustered, she looked up at him. It hit him like a train.

When Will and Molly had gotten married, their wedding announcement had been alongside a collection of others in the local newspaper. Will hadn’t wanted it, but Molly liked the tradition and had a lot of friends and acquaintances, so they had gone with it. Chilton had gotten a hold of a copy, and had used it to taunt Hannibal during his incarceration. Next to the small printed words announcing their marriage, was a picture, black and white and grainy but obvious as to who it was. Will was wearing a tuxedo, not the best quality or the most tailored, but it was decent enough and looked well on him. He was flashing a shy smile to the camera, and while he looked a little uncomfortable, he seemed happy, except that the camera quality was just barely good enough to catch the glimpse of longing in his eyes. Molly, next to him, was radiant. She wore a beautiful white wedding dress and had a beaming smile that lit up her whole face, she was clutching Will’s arm and her happiness was palpable. They made a very visually pleasing couple, Hannibal had mused. Chilton had given him the clipping, and he had folded it in half so Molly wasn’t visible, then spent hours drawing Will with the picture as a reference.

It was one of the few times he had seen Molly, the only other time had been after the fall, when they were reading interviews done to make sure everybody believed them to be dead. Freddie Lounds had gotten an interview with her, and next to the column had been a picture of Molly, stiffly sitting and blankly looking at the camera. Will had to take a break after reading it, sitting on the deck of their boat and watching the sea. That had been the day he threw away the wedding ring.

Hannibal was acquainted enough with Molly’s appearance to remember it, and the woman who had just run into him was quite the spitting image of her. It wasn’t actually her of course, there were enough differences to tell, but they looked a lot alike. And something in Hannibal snapped, a quite impulsive plan blooming in his mind.

The flustered young women profusely apologized, offering to pay for the shirt. Hannibal smiled, assuring her it was no problem, charming her and asking if she would like to go get another coffee with him at his home. Of course she agreed, how could she not when this handsome, charming and kind man had offered? Naïve thing, Hannibal thought. And with that, he lured her away.

It was extremely easy to kill her, quite a shame she didn’t put up much of a fight. Quick suffocation, the killing wasn’t the important part of his vision. The important part was the presentation.

He transformed her into Semele, the beautiful princess of Thebes that Zeus fell in love with. Hera found out about the affair and disguised herself to befriend Semele and made her doubt Zeus’ affection. So, Semele decided to ask Zeus to grant her a wish, and he took an oath on the river Styx that he would give her anything. Semele wished to see Zeus in all of his glory, and Zeus was forced to comply, even though Mortals could not survive looking upon him without bursting into flames. Semele died that way, witnessing Zeus’ true form.

It was fitting. Molly had never seen Will in all of his glory, Hannibal is the only one who could ever truly know Will because he was his. They are each other’s, and no one else had the privilege of witnessing Will’s becoming, nobody else could fully understand and appreciate the beauty of it.

He risked leaving the body to buy charcoal and a few white dress shirts. He kept his surgical instruments in the car for when they hunt, keeping them under the guise of a medical kit, so there would be no issue removing her organs. He cut up the white shirt in even, clean pieces and draped them over her like robes. She was laid in the charcoal, ruining the white of the shirts, one arm draped across her eyes and the other arm reaching out. Hannibal only took her heart, and while it was a shame to take nothing else, it was important for the symbolism.

It was beautiful, and would hopefully serve as a reminder to Will that he is his, nobody else could ever fully appreciate him as Hannibal can. Wherever Will goes when he gets lost, it will not be to others.

He ended up calling and leaving an untraceable anonymous tip to the police, telling them where to look for the body. It was risky, but his jealousy was making him rash and he wanted Will to hear about it by tomorrow.

Will was asleep by the time he got home, and he packaged away the heart before he changed and showered quietly and quickly, slipping on some pajamas after and getting into bed. Will didn’t wake, just sighed softly in his sleep as Hannibal wrapped his arms around him and buried his face in his curls.

The next morning Hannibal had woken to an empty and cold bed. Will only got up before Hannibal is he was having a bad night with nightmares, so there was always some concern for him when he wasn’t there when Hannibal woke.

He could hear small bits of noise coming from the living room, so after stretching and getting up, he went to go find the source of the noise.

Will was sitting in the middle of the living room floor surrounded by suitcases, their little puppy Penelope sitting next to him as he pulled her favourite toys and belongings into a bag. Hannibal stopped in at the doorway, and having heard his steps, Will looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot and hair in a disarray, deep bags underneath his eyes. Will glared at him for a moment before going back to his task, his hands shaking as he picked up things to stuff into the bags and suitcases.

“Will,” Hannibal ventured softly, “What are you doing.”

Will flinched at the sound of his voice, and looked back up, squinting his eyes. His voice was rough and raspy, and he sounded like he’d been crying. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m packing.”

“Why are you packing? There’s no need for us to leave as of now.”

Will let out a hollow laugh, humourless. “Well, Dr. Lecter,” the title came out scathing, “Since you decided to put murder before my trust, all in the name of jealousy, officials are already poking around.”

Hannibal froze. The news must’ve broken a lot sooner than he had intended, he had planned to have some time to prepare Will for it but it seems that wouldn’t be the case now. He had faith in his ability to talk his way out of things, but Will had always been entirely unpredictable. Now, in the light of a new day, his impulse killing the night before began to seem like a mistake. A grievous mistake at that, he hadn’t considered all of the outcomes, something he usually did well.

He took a step forward, slowly, like one would approach a wild animal. Will wasn’t acting physically defensive, didn’t seem like he’d be on the attack, but he could never be too careful. The tremors in Will’s hands gradually became more violent and his breathing became more laboured with each step Hannibal took closer.

Will hadn’t had a seizure in awhile, they happened more in the beginning of his recovery and were most likely due to his head injury. Extreme bouts of stress and anxiety still caused them sometimes, but they were rare.

Hannibal saw the exact moment his eyes glazed over, and he lunged, catching Will’s head before he hit the floor. Cradling Will’s head, Hannibal looked at his watch, counting the seconds. It lasted about a minute and a half before Will’s body relaxed, his breathing coming out in harsh, raspy puffs. They sat for quite a few minutes before Will felt well enough to sit. He pushed Hannibal away and rubbed a hand over his face, refusing eye contact.

“Why’d you do it? I know how jealous you get, Hell, I get I feel that way too. But you swore before we moved here that we’d only hunt together, and that we wouldn’t draw attention to ourselves.” He let out a ragged sigh before looking up, bloodshot blue eyes connecting with Hannibal’s. “And Semele? Really Hannibal?” His voice wavered slightly as he continued. “We’re conjoined, I know you’re the only one who could ever see me fully, because I’m the only one who could ever truly see you. This is a reiteration of what we’ve both known for a while.”

There was a beat of silence. Hannibal opened his mouth to respond but Will cut him off. Continuing, “And using someone who looks just like Molly? I know how possessive and jealous you are Hannibal, but I thought we were past this kind of pettiness. I left Molly behind, left everyone behind, when I fell into the ocean with you.”

Of course, Hannibal knew everything Will was saying was true, but he was rendered speechless for a moment. He swallowed, taking a second to catch his voice before responding. “Will, it wasn’t meant to hurt you.”

That dry, hollow laugh made another appearance between Will’s lips. “It wasn’t meant to hurt me? What the Hell, Hannibal. How could you think this wouldn’t hurt me?”

A brief flash of anger, burning hot, rushed through Hannibal as he remembered his reasoning. “You leave, Will, and refuse to let me follow. The moments of absence where you fall into your mind and won’t let me know where you go. I am only left to assume that you find others there, I thought we were beyond secrets.”

Will scoffed, “That’s what this is about? The only person permanently residing in my mind is you! You want to know where I go? I’m thrown back into past realizations and thoughts. I am stuck with the realization that this is real and that you, us, is real. I’m brought back to memories of when I used to yearn for this. Because I’ve been so fucking happy here, Hannibal, with you. That when it hits me full force I sometimes just don’t know how to cope with it, and I get stuck in the memories of when I was alone, and I thought I’d be alone forever. And it takes my brain awhile to realize that I’m not dreaming. I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t want it to make anything feel less real.”

Hannibal was quiet after Will’s tirade, processing everything that he said. Will didn’t leave because he wanted to be somewhere else or with someone else, he just was overwhelmed with how much he wanted to be here. Reaching out, he clasped Will’s hands between his own and brought them to his lips, painting them with tears in apology.

“My beautiful, beautiful Will. I could never entirely predict you, you never fail to surprise me. How much I love you. You prove your loyalty and love everyday, I have no right to doubt it, and I am sorry. I acted impulsively and rashly without fully considering the effects, it was a mistake, and I hope you’ll extend me your forgiveness again.”

Will sighed, leaning in to lay his forehead against Hannibal’s. “We’ve been doing so well at communicating better, we need to keep doing that, and I’m sorry for not telling you when you’ve asked. We need to not put walls back up, all it does is cause unnecessary pain.”

Hannibal nodded, softly pressing his lips against Will’s.

“We still have to leave,” Will said when they pulled apart. “This is already bringing too much attention and it hasn’t even been a day. When we leave, you have to keep to the things we agreed to, we both know how fragile trust can be and I need to be able to trust that you’ll keep to what we compromise on.”

“It is regretful, and I apologize for forcing us to leave, I know you love it here.” Hannibal replied mournfully. “This won’t be a repeat occurrence Will, I promise you, I value your trust greatly and understand the importance of the rules we have both set.”

That brought a brief, small smile from Will. “Alright. And I get to choose where we move next.”

“Of course, Will. Anything you want. I love you.”

“I love you too, Hannibal. And I forgive you, but don’t do it again.” And with that, Will leaned into kissing Hannibal again. Hannibal felt a sharp sting on his bottom lip, and when Will pulled away his mouth was stained red with blood. Beautiful, dangerous thing, Hannibal thought as he licked his lips.

#nbc hannibal #hannibal #hannibal lecter #will graham #dark Will Graham #hannibal fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfiction requests #Anon #anon ask #hannigram #hannigram fanfiction

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marybethsjournal · 3 years

Text

The Past was Hell

Summary: The story of Abigail joining the gang and subsequently bonding with John. This is a divergence of canon fic where she left an ab*sive family, most characters are in canon besides Jenny, who in this fic has been with the gang since she was very young and Grimshaw, who has 4 sons and is in a relationship with Dutch. Also took some liberties with Arthur and Eliza’s relationship. Enjoy :)

Warnings: mentions of abuse, rape, and incest (obviously not in a condoning way). Vague talk about being a prostitute under the age of 18, but none of that actually takes place in the confines of the story. Just like in canon, Abigail in underage at the start of her relationship with John. Lastly, in this fic, Abigail is religious so religion is vaguely mentioned several times throughout the story, so skip if that isn’t your jam. Overall a very heavy story so keep that in mind before reading.

Word Count: 6488

Here’s the fic on ao3 for your reading pleasure if you prefer consuming content on there. https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766132

Abigail opened her bedroom door quietly and staggered to the kitchen. She saw her brother, but not her mother or father. Good.

“Where is father?” she whispered. He could be in the house and who knows the wrath he would force upon her if he found out she was out of her room and worse, talking about him.

“Passed out in the parlor. I don’t know what mama gave him but he’s sure to be mad about it when he wakes up” Rick, her brother, told her.

“I’m going to make biscuits then. Haven’t eaten in three days. I hope he won’t wake up before I finish ‘em.” Abigail turned her back from him and started towards the drawer with the bowls in it, but Rick grabbed her arm and turned her around quickly.

“Abigail,” the gravely serious tone of his voice frightened her, “You need to get out.”

“Why?” she asked, laughing lightly. “I haven’t offended you, have I?”

“I’m being serious. It’s gotten worse and worse with father and you. He takes you multiple times a day now, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Besides, he beats you so badly you can hardly walk anymore. You can’t keep saying you’re waiting until your wounds heal. He’ll kill you before then. Now’s your chance. Leave.”

Abigail knew Rick was right. She wouldn’t have another chance like this. She wondered if him and her mother had conspired together and she had purposefully put something in their father’s dinner. It would have been the most considerate thing she had done for Abigail for a while.

“Come with me then.” Abigail grabbed Rick’s hands.

Rick shook his head.

“No I have to stay here and look after mama. I’m not a target like you are. Here, I’ll prepare a basket of food for you. You go get some stuff packed and then leave immediately.”

Suddenly the two teenagers heard the sound of a head hitting a wall and a gruff “Fuck!” come from the parlor. Abigail froze in terror. Their father was awake.

“Go. Now!” Rick practically shooed Abigail out the door and proceeded to throw her shoes out the door behind her. Great, these had heels on them. Between that and the great pain in her side from where her father had beat her earlier, she was not going to get far. She was determined to try, though. If her father caught her attempting to escape, there’d be Hell to pay. Besides, the thought of never being taken advantage of again was a big enough motivator of its own. So Abigail ran as fast as she could, the splintering feeling in her side disregarded, praying every step of the way. She was going to need it.

It was dusk of the second day that Abigail had left her home that she had decided she needed food. She had walked into a little town and she swore that she was getting so hungry that she could smell the food that was inside the townsfolk’s houses. Abigail pulled a bobby pin out of her hair without thinking and walked towards one of the houses swiftly before stopping in her tracks. What was she doing? Was she really about to rob somebody’s home? Was she going to walk in and invade someone's privacy like that? Abigail’s father, when he wasn’t spending time being an abusive bastard sent straight from the fiery pits of Hell itself, was a very successful businessman and she never ever had to even think about robbing a house before. But I’m hungry, she thought, before putting the bobby pin into the lock and working to get the damn door to open.

Abigail realized she had enormously miscalculated her criminal abilities when she opened the door and was greeted by a man holding a shotgun to her face. Of course these people were still awake! It couldn’t have been past 7pm, not that Abigail had been completely sure of the time since she had left her home. She would have scolded herself for being so utterly foolish if she wasn’t focused on the immediate danger the man and his shotgun posed.

“Who the Hell are you?” The man yelled. Abigail flinched. She was more than used to being yelled at, but not by men that weren’t in her bloodline.

“I said” the man repeated “Who the Hell are you? Answer me now, girl!” he waved the gun in her face.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll just leave. I really am sorry.” is all Abigail could make out before the man was dragging her in the house.

“Oh no you don’t. You don’t just break into my house and then get to leave Scott free.”

A woman who Abigail presumed must have been his wife walked into the room cautiously. It was clear she had been hiding and was listening to the heated exchange.

“Honey, she’s just a kid. Look at ‘er.” the woman reasoned with the man.

The man did not lower his gun.

“Oh fantastic, a delinquent is trying to rob me, that’s SOOO much better!”

The woman rolled her eyes.

“Gerald, honey, show some compassion. Let me just talk to her.”

“Compassion,” Gerald emphasized, “runs in your family and look where it got ‘em. Your Gran Gran died from armed robbers just two weeks ago.”

“Why were you coming in here?” The lady addressed Abigail directly.

“Because,” Abigail sniffled, “I’m hungry and I don’t have any money. I don’t know where to get any food. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I swear”.

The woman noticed Abigail kept holding on to her side and upon further inspection, her face looked pretty bruised up, although the bruises seemed to be fading slightly.

“Are you hurt?”

Abigail nodded.

“Who hurt you, sweetheart?”

“My father.” Abigail was crying by this point and continued to issue apologizes for entering the home uninvited.

The lady looked at Gerald as if to say “I told you so” and started guiding Abigail up the stairs.

“Come. We have an extra bedroom. You look exhausted. I have some soup left from dinner, I’ll bring it up. I’m so sorry all this happened angel. We can talk about this in the morning. For now, rest. No one can hurt you here.”

It had been several hours since then. The lady’s name had turned out to be Betty and she was true to her word and brought Abigail a bowl of potato soup and then another after she had finished the first bowl. Betty was one of the kindest souls Abigail had ever met, she felt safe with her. Gerald wasn’t all so bad either. He just had his guard up, rightfully so. Before Abigail had gone to bed, they had told her that she could stay with them as long as she liked. However, after about 3 hours of sleep, Abigail awoke and realized that if she stayed here, she’d have to tell them exactly what her father had done and worse, she’d have to say who he was. Despite all the horrible things he had put her through, she still had a sense of loyalty to him. She could never do that to him. His whole career, Hell, his whole life would be over. Besides, she couldn’t just leech off these people. Abigail decided around 4am that she had to leave. She tiptoed down the stairs and went through the kitchen, stuffing as many rolls as she could in her dress before sneaking out the back door. She didn’t know where she was heading, only that she couldn’t stay where she was.

It was pitch black outside and although Abigail’s eyes adjusted rather quickly, it was still hard to make out exactly where she was going. Before she had completely exited the town, Abigail’s feet crunched on something. She looked down to see it was a newspaper. The Western Times, it read in big letters. Abigail picked up the dirty newspaper and thought that maybe this could be her out. Her father read the local newspaper every day and she knew there were always people putting out ads in there for job listings. Maybe somebody needed a nanny or a housekeeper or someone to sew for them or- well she’d see later when the sun came up and she could see better. Yet again, Abigail found herself praying that things went her way.

As luck would have it, someone actually had put out an ad for a housekeeper! Some man named Mr. Greensboro. She hadn’t heard of him before but he apparently lived a short way away from the town she had passed earlier and if she was fortunate enough, she could get there before he hired someone else. Abigail was aware she looked ragged and dirty, something one wouldn’t like to see in a housekeeper, but perhaps the man would take pity on her. Abigail needed money and a place to live in order to survive. She really needed this job.

Things were going Abigail’s way yet again! She had met with the man and after about an hour and a half interview, he hired her. She was ecstatic. Mr. Greensboro was a kind man, although his selection process was kind of odd. He had asked her if she knew her bust size and if she was a virgin.His face contorted in an odd way when she regretfully told him that while she had never engaged in consensual sex, she had been taken against her will more times than she could count. He apologized to her for asking, saying he only asked just to know if she was married or would have an unexpected pregnancy while working for him. Seemed a bit of an odd way to ask, but she let it go. Beggars could not be choosers and she most assuredly was a beggar now.

Abigail had just shut the door to Mr. Greensboro’s sizable cottage when she heard some women calling to her from the side of the house.

“You there!” Abigail turned her head and saw a woman with a Nigerian accent calling to her. She was beautiful, with short black hair and soft brown eyes. “You came here for the job, didn’t you?”

Abigail glanced between the woman speaking and the two girls behind her. One had pale, freckled skin and strawberry-blonde hair and the other looked a little older than the other women and seemed more worn by life as well. She had skin weathered from the sun and wispy brown hair pulled into a braid.

“Uh yes, I came for the job. I need the money.”

“How old are you?” The speaker of the group came closer.

“Sixteen but I can work hard.”

“Not like he wants you to. He’s a bad man, does bad things to us. We have people that we have to take care of. We all have kids to feed and we’re already in too deep. Trust me, you’d be better off being a working girl on your own terms.”

After several more moments speaking with the women, Abigail was convinced. She left with her head hung down low, disheartened. Why were all the men in this world such creeps? It was heartbreaking to know that she would most likely have to make a profession from having to do the thing she was running away from: being touched by men she didn’t want to touch her. It wasn’t fair. All the girls in the town she came from were going to be housewives and socialites and she was going to be Abigail the Whore. Abigail never hated prostitutes, she just always thought herself to be above them. That’s what privilege does, she supposed, makes you so far removed from poverty that you can’t imagine that people are doing what they have to do to survive and that doesn’t make anyone better or worse than anyone else.

Abigail was contemplating all of this several days later as she hid behind a tree near a path running through the forest. She was thinking how wrong this was. She was only 16, but she was hungry, she had no choice. Her thoughts subsided instantaneously when she heard hooves gallop across the path. She was sure what she was about to do was a very shady way to pick someone up, but there weren’t any prostitute hangouts nearby that she knew of. She had no idea how to do this. It didn’t matter how she did it, she decided, as long as she got it done.

Abigail peeked out from behind the tree she was hiding and saw the person that was riding through was a man. That was great for her, she was getting fed tonight. If all went well, that is. The man was handsome enough, with greasy, rather long black hair, brown eyes, a mustache and stubble, and whatever Abigail referred to as “angry brows”. He was riding a small white Arabian.She took a deep breath and stumbled onto the road.

“Mister! Mister!” she waved him down, not that it was hard to get his attention when she was blocking the path.

“Yes?” he asked impatiently, cocking his brow.

Abigail froze. She hadn’t gotten to this part in her mind yet.

“Do you need company for the night?” It all spilled out of her mouth so quickly that she wasn’t even sure what she was saying.

The “angry brow” man laughed. “Y’all are getting a bit desperate, aren’t you? Advertising out in the forest? That or you ain’t a real lady of the night.”

Was she really that bad at this?

“I’m not one yet, you would’ve been my first, errr, client. I’m just hungry, you know?” Abigail admitted.

She could tell the angry brow man was sizing her up. She tried to look more tall and confident and he chuckled at her yet again.

“Sorry ma’am, I got me an old lady. I do have some boys, though. They’re sloppy as all Hell and have no manners, the lot of them. Tell you what, you come back to camp with me and I might have a business proposition for you.”

It took a lot of convincing for Abigail to get on the man’s horse and leave with him. What if he was a murderer or something? But in the end, she was hungry.

Angry brow man chuckled when Abigail hesitated. “Some whore you are.”

The words stung. It was silly at this point, really. She knew she would have to get used to it but that didn’t make it easier and it certainly didn’t make her feel like it was right. Despite everything that happened to her, she still felt like a child. Probably because she was; plain and simple.

“Here, you can hold my gun. That way, I try anything you don’t like, you can shoot me.”

Abigail took the shotgun gingerly. “I don’t know how to shoot a gun, never held one.”

Angry eyebrow man chuckled again. “Probably not the best thing to tell someone you’re afraid of, for future reference.” he paused as he helped her up onto the horse. “You don’t come from the streets, do you?”

“I told you that I’ve never been a working woman before.”

“Yes I know, but I meant that you aren’t poor.”

Abigail laughed. “Look at me, do I look like I have any money? If I did, I wouldn’t be out here.”

“Usually how it goes. You weren’t poor before, though.”

“Sure. this horse is rather aggressive.” the white Arabian, despite having been calm with just its owner on it, was trying to buck Abigail off. It was quite a strange thing for Abigail, she had seen a horse become upset when a person besides their owner rode them alone, but never had she seen a horse be so aggressive when it was carrying both its owner and an outsider.

“Ah well, The Count doesn’t take kindly to strangers. He won’t even let my boys ride him. It’s nothing personal, trust me.”

“Your horse has a name?”

“Of course. All of our horses at camp have names. Do you rich people not name your horses?”

“I don’t know about rich people, but no, I’ve never met a horse with a name. We just call them by their breed and color where I’m from.”

“Seems a bit barbaric.” The angry brow man told her, huffing. She couldn’t quite tell if he was offended because of the way they treated their horses or that he wasn’t assimilated with he presumed to be “rich folks” culture. It wasn’t exactly a secret, just by looking at him, that he wanted to have an austerity look about him. He wore a velvet vest with gold chains hanging from his sides and steel boots Abigail had sworn she had seen at a speciality store for almost $60. And then there was the fact that he had this White Arabian, which was about $2000 for the horse itself, not including any equipment. He sure did have equipment for the horse, too. Gold saddle and everything: the works. Yet, he spoke of the rich as if he was far removed. It was odd but she didn’t have much time to figure the man out before he started talking again.

“My name is Dutch, Dutch Van Der Linde. And yours?”

“Uhhh, Abigail Roberts. Your name sounds like royalty.” Abigail was yet again taken aback by the contrast between the way this man presented himself to who he really seemed to be.

Dutch laughed. “I wish. If I was any sort of royalty, people wouldn’t live like you. We’d all be a huge family, this nation. Everybody would earn their keep, but nobody would ever go hungry.”

“You’ve got dreams, Mister Dutch. You sound more like a cult leader, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“You know, strangely enough, you’re not the first person to tell me that. I don’t mind. America is one big cult that makes you think the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is clear cut. Well let me tell you, the answer isn’t as clear as people would like it to be. Lines get blurred among all people.”

Abigail didn’t care much for this philosophical talk. She had never been to school or learned how to read, philosophy went right over her head. And she didn’t quite appreciate being talked to about things that made her feel dumb.

“So, you said you have boys?” Abigail changed the subject, partially to be spared of looking like a fool and partially because she was both interested and worried about what she was getting into. “How many?”

“Uh I can’t give you a count straight off the top of my head. I don’t know, maybe a dozen? At least?”

Abigail was extremely taken aback. This man had 12 kids? Abigail had never heard of a man that had both 12 kids, wore ostentatious clothing, and still talked about the US like it wasn’t doing them justice. Nothing about this man made sense so far.

“You have 12 sons? And you’re just going to give me to them? I’ve never heard of a father that does things like this.”

Dutch lit a cigar, balancing it in his mouth while he kept his hands on the reins of The Count.

“Well, I’m not exactly a ‘by the book’ type man. And besides, I fear I might have led you astray. I have four sons, but my gang is a sort of a found family sort of thing.”

Abigail's mind went fuzzy in terror when she heard the word “gang”. A gang? Oh God, what had she gotten herself into?

“What do you mean, gang? Do y’all go around and kill people?” Abigail thought of jumping off the horse at that point. Either they were to kill her when she got there or she’d be party to murdering others. Abigail didn’t care how hungry or hurt she was: she was not going to go around and start killing people for sport. This life felt like Hell, but she surely was not going to sign her spot in everlasting Hell. It simply was not worth it and besides, the thought of looking someone in the eyes and killing them made her sick, even despite her religious convictions.

“Sort of, but only bad men.” Dutch retorted, sensing she was getting worried and trying to calm her.

“Didn’t you just say the line between good and bad people is not clean cut?”

Dutch laughed nervously. Abigail could already tell he didn’t like to be questioned.

“You’re a good listener, aren’t ya? I’m not used to that. But not to worry, these people really deserve it. And we don’t usually let the women do the killing. Besides, it’s not mainly about the killing. More about taking from the rich and giving to the poor. Like Robin Hood. Do you know Robin Hood?”

Abigail nodded. She wasn’t so sure about his overall sentiment, however. Nothing should give someone the right to take another’s life. That was God’s job and to an extent, the law. “And so who are the poor, hmm?” Abigail was pretty sure that she already knew the answer to that one.

“Well us, mostly.” Dutch admitted nervously.

Abigail scoffed. This man sure was a prize. He felt bad for his lady. She probably had to listen to this all day.

“Mister Dutch, I understand I’m not in a position to be making demands, but with all due respect, I’m not sure I’m gonna want to service these boys. What if they hold a knife to my throat or something?”

“They’re not like that. Look at how society has caused you to judge. You don’t even know my boys and you are already thinking bad things about them. Now-”.

Abigail didn’t fancy hearing any more of this man’s straw man spiel. She could tell that he had a silver tongue, but it wasn’t working on her. “Is it that big of a stretch when these men have murdered people?”

Dutch tutted her impatiently. “Killed, not murdered. There’s a difference. Besides, they treat ladies real nice. They don’t hurt ‘em. Especially a doll like you.”

The last sentence made Abigail uncomfortable to no end. “If they treat ladies so nice, why don’t they have women already?”

Dutch seemed to not have a response to that. The trip continued largely in silence. Abigail kept trying to decide if she wanted to jump ship or not, but ultimately decided against it.

Eventually, they made their way to a clearing behind a forest. Abigail could see at least a dozen tents and lean-tos. It was lively with music and laughter. But it was not lost on her that she could smell a stench from dozens of meters away.

“This is our place, Abigail. You will be safe here. No one will hurt you.” Abigail remembered hearing those same words from Betty and suddenly wished that she had just stayed there.

Dutch helped her off the Count and practically dragged her to a soap box to the side of the camp. It was a bit overwhelming for Abigail, she was trying to take everything in. It was rather hard, however, when several pairs of eyes were on her.

“Everybody, listen here!” Dutch yelled. It didn’t take much, however, there was already a crowd gathering to catch a glimpse at her. Abigail guessed they didn’t have outsiders in their camp often. Abigail looked through the group of what she assumed would be leering faces. To her surprise, no one looked especially mean or murderous. The face looked curious, some even looked concerned, but none looked particularly dangerous. Abigail found herself wondering if Dutch had overstated the harm that his “gang” had done. There were several women with kind expressions, some even seeming to be younger than her, and this made her feel at ease. Not that women had stopped what had happened to her in the past.

“This is Abigail. Poor thing, I found her off the side of the road on my way back here from my meeting with Colm. Update on that: it did not go too well and for the time being, I think we should post at least two people on guard duty at all times. Nothing to be concerned about, though, we will pull through no problem. But I digress. Abigail here has been a victim to the ruthlessness of American capitalists. The ‘rich man’ raised her and then tossed her aside, poor and defenseless. And they think we’re the ones needing our throats sliced-” Dutch droned on and on and Abigail tuned him out, silently thanking herself for not sharing all her life details with him, for her surely would have repeated it all to everyone to prove his point. Abigail snapped back to reality when she heard Dutch order the boys to “meet their new lady”. Again, being referred to that way made her very uncomfortable.

A gaggle of men stepped towards her before a scowling woman with graying hair stepped forward, clanked two bowls together and yelled, “Dutch Van Der Linde, what the Hell do you think you’re doing? She must be scared out of her mind and you want her to meet the boys already? You’re insane.” The group of men laughed at the sight of the woman scolding Dutch.

The woman with the scowl walked towards Abigail and her expression softened as she held out her hand to Abigail “I’m Susan. Guess I’m the mother of sorts to all these fools. Let’s go set you up an area for you to live and be comfortable. Trust is important in a space like this and you can’t trust us if you don’t feel safe with us.” Abigail took Susan’s hand and walked with her towards the north side of the camp.

“These men are idiots, don’t understand feelings. But don’t mind them, they don’t bite, and it’s okay to yell at them if they overstep their boundaries.” Abigail nodded, knowing full well that she would never be comfortable yelling at those burly men. “Here’s where the girls sleep. There’s Jenny’s tent, Tilly’s tent, Mary Beth’s tent. Bessie sleeps in her tent with Hosea and I sleep in my tent with Dutch. I’ll send Uncle into town as soon as I can to get you a proper tent, but I’m sure any of the girls wouldn’t mind sharing in the meantime.”

Abigail’s head was spinning. All these names and information was a lot to take in at once.

“Uncle? Who’s Uncle is he?” she asked

“Oh that’s just his name.” Susan answered, matter-of-fact, as if men named Uncle were a normal occurrence.”

Susan spent the next few hours introducing Abigail to the women. First she met Bessie, a sweet woman who appeared to be quite a few years older than Susan. Bessie was kinder than Abigail remembered any woman ever being towards her, offering her candy and giving her constant words of assurance. Abigail immediately felt a daughterly sort of bond to Bessie, feeling that Bessie would never let any harm come to Abigail. After speaking with Bessie, Susan brought Abigail to speak with Mary Beth, Tilly, and Jenny. Mary Beth and Tilly seemed to be around her age, maybe slightly younger, but still had a youthful joy that Abigail had lost long ago. Jenny was clearly several years older than the other two but still seemed young enough to be Susan or Bessie’s daughter. All three girls were very kind to Abigail, but Mary Beth seemed to warm to her the quickest. She quickly invited Abigail for a “sleepover” in her tent, showed her all the books she had, her new journal that she worked in daily, and pointed out all the men in the gang that she had a crush on. Susan scolded Mary Beth for “overwhelming” Abigail, but Abigail felt herself smiling and being grateful for her friendliness. Tilly was sweet but cautious, telling her some of the camp rules and showing her where they washed clothes and did other camp chores. In what seemed to be an attempt to relate to Abigail and make her feel at ease, Tilly told her the story of how she had been rescued by Hosea from a nasty gang. A part of Abigail wanted to tell Tilly her own story, but felt it was too soon and that she wasn’t ready just yet. Jenny smiled at Abigail a lot but didn’t say much besides introducing herself. All in all, the ladies seemed very nice and Abigail enjoyed their company.

At nightfall, Dutch approached Susan gingerly, as if she was a dangerous animal, and asked if Abigail could meet the boys now. Susan agreed as long as Abigail was okay with it. Abigail, still feeling terrified of the gang members of the opposite sex but not wanting to anger Dutch, nodded and went with Dutch to the camp fire where all the men were huddled together singing some song with vagina euphemisms.

Most of the boys stood up when they saw Abigail and Dutch walking towards them. Two men, however, an old man who was very clearly drunk, and a lean man with extremely greasy hair, stayed sat down. Dutch went through all the men and introduced them all. The names spun around in her mind. Reverend, Davey and Mac Callender, Bill, Pearson, Dutch’s sons Henry, Frank, Robert, and Thomas. The list of names went on and on until there seemed to be only two more people to introduce. The old man, who Abigail was told was “Uncle”, had passed out, and the other man who had been sat at the camp fire had slunk away to his tent. The last two men introduced themselves as Arthur and Hosea.

“Don’t worry about these two, Abigail. They’ve both got women.” Dutch informed her.

The man called Hosea rolled his eyes and told Dutch in a strict voice that there was more towards this gang than an orgy house and Abigail was allowed to have friendly relationships. With the way Dutch seemed to almost cower at Hosea’s words, Abigail wondered if Hosea was the true leader here. Abigail would be very happy if that was the case, Hosea both looked and sounded more kind and sensible than Dutch.

The other man spoke up, trying to dissipate the escalating tension between the two men before him. “Hello miss Abigail, I’m Arthur. Like Dutch said, I have a girl and a son, actually, his name is Isaac and he’s the best little boy anyone could ask for. I bring him to camp sometimes and you’ll see he’s the cutest buckaroo in the world.” Arthur beamed while talking about his son. Abigail knew far too well that being a father didn’t automatically make you a good person but she couldn’t help but feel safe with Arthur. He was big and muscular, but spoke with such kindness.

The four of them sat down at the campfire and talked for an hour or two. Abigail enjoyed herself more than she had in a long time, listening to Hosea recount his heists in his youth and embarrassing stories about his three “kids”, Arthur, John, and Jenny, who had been with the gang the longest. Her sides hurt from laughing when she heard the story of Arthur trying to teach John to swim.

“Speaking of John, where is he? He didn’t introduce himself to you tonight. That’s not like him, to be shy.”

Arthur scoffed, “he’s not shy, just a bastard. Thinks he’s too good to have to introduce himself like everyone else. He thinks that way because you treat him special, Dutch.” Arthur’s brows furrowed as he focused on crushing the cigarette butt beneath his shoes.

Dutch opened his mouth, presumably to argue, but Abigail was too tired to hear any more arguments.

“I’m sorry, y’all, I better go to bed. Mary Beth is waiting on me.”

Abigail walked to Mary Beth’s tent and was greeted excitedly by the girl. Mary Beth wanted to share stories and gossip all night long; Abigail politely obliged. However, the excitement seemed to be all too much for Mary Beth and she collapsed of exhaustion within the half hour. Abigail didn’t have the same luck falling asleep, not at all. She gave up on the idea entirely after a few hours and crawled out the tent silently to get some fresh air. Abigail assumed no one would be up at this hour but as she was pacing around, she saw John sharpening a knife at the second camp fire at the back of the camp. She didn’t want to disturb him, he clearly hadn’t wanted to introduce himself to her in the first place, so she started walking back to the tent. Her attempts to go unnoticed failed when she got too close to one of horse and spooked it, causing it to winnie loudly. John turned around to see the commotion and noticed Abigail.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. I’m heading back to Mary Beth’s tent, just needed to clear my head for a moment.” Abigail apologized. John stared at her blankly and she awkwardly began to step backwards towards the tent.

“Come sit.” he said flatly, as if he was reciting a line to himself.

Abigail was taken aback and unsure of what to do. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to talk to John, especially alone. But, acutely aware that she was alone with this man and knowing what men in her life did when they were angry, she walked over to the campfire and sat next to him on a log.

Abigail hadn’t seen John’s features properly until now, but seeing him in the light from the fire, he took her breath away. He was beautiful. Rough and tumble, sure, but still beautiful. He had deep brown eyes that had a softness to them, giving away that he wasn’t all so tough as maybe he wanted to be. He was clean shaven and had a slight smirk that didn’t seem to drop. He had various scars on his face and Abigail wondered exactly what trouble this man had gotten into.

“Uhhh hi.” John greeted, bringing Abigail to reality and making her realize that he knew she was staring.

“Oh, yes, hi. Sorry about that.” Abigail was thoroughly embarrassed.

“It’s fine. Used to it. I’ve always been ugly.” he told her solemnly.

“No no no, that’s not it at all. I- well, I don’t know.” Abigail cursed herself when she started to blush, knowing that she had a habit of turning tomato red.

John noticed that she was blushing, it was hard not to, and seemed to realize why she was actually staring. His smirk grew a bit and he sat up a bit more. The smirk, however, didn’t last very long when he started to speak again.

“I think it’s fucked what Dutch is doing. Making you be a whore just for you to survive and all,” he said seriously before quickly addinh, “Not that I care who you fuck. Fuck everyone for all I care.” John’s eyes darted to Abigail nervously.

Abigail laughed despite the overall sentiment of his original comment. “ I didn’t think you cared, John.”

John seemed satisfied in her answer and continued with what he had been saying. “You know, I heard you telling some of the guys what had happened to you with your dad in all and well, don’t tell anyone this, but I understand. I went through it too, being exploited before my dad died. And Dutch picked me up and ain’t never made me do what he’s making you do. And it’s just like, how are you supposed to heal when this is your life now?” John struggled to get his words out; it was clear that he was having a hard time being vulnerable.

Abigail nodded, not knowing what else to say. She knew what he was saying and she agreed. She also appreciated his words, she knew it was hard speaking about trauma with total strangers. They sat in comfortable silence for a while before John blurted out, “You know, it’s a shame. You’re so pretty, you could be an actress instead.”

Abigail giggled at the words that came out of nowhere. Was this flirting? She wasn’t quite sure, she had never been allowed to speak to men outside of her family.

“I- well thank you. That means a lot.”

John seemed frustrated with the response he was getting, so he continued.

“No, I’m serious. They should put your name up in lights in those fancy cities with the picture shows.”

“You’re real sweet, John Marston. You don’t seem to be the type that should be running with a gang.”

John scoffed. “You don’t know me like that, Miss. I’m a bad man. Maybe an evil man. Although Arthur says I’m too stupid to be evil.”

“You are no such thing!” Abigail gasped.

John’s smirk had now grown to a full grown smile. He was basking in the attention he was getting from Abigail.

The two of them spent a few moments playfully arguing over whether John was stupid in which John told her of some stories that were compelling to his argument that he was, in fact, stupid. After the laughter dissipated, John started digging in his pocket nervously. His face lit up when he found it. He pulled out a pearl necklace.

“Hey, I was wondering if maybe you’d like this. I’d usually sell it but I noticed that you’re not wearing any jewelry and I think you would look nice in jewelry so maybe you could take this and put it on your neck.” John rambled, scared to death of being laughed at for the gesture.

“Yes, I know how necklaces work, John. Maybe you are stupid.” Abigail smirked. When she saw John’s face fall, she added, “I would love the necklace. Thank you for thinking of me.” She took the necklace from John and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, causing to duck his head so Abigail couldn’t see that he was the one blushing now.

“Well then, since we’re friends now, I was wondering if you’d want to go to a saloon and get something to eat sometime. It’s better than Pearson’s cooking, at least.” John fumbled through the sentence.

“I think if we’re going to go on a date, we should do something a bit more romantic than going to a saloon. Maybe we can have a picnic on one of those hills down the way. I saw them on the ride up here.”

“Well I didn’t mean it like that. But I guess if you want to…” John shrugged and tried to seem nonchalant but couldn’t contain his smile.

The past was Hell, but Abigail was starting to think that maybe the future wouldn’t be so bad.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #John Marston #abigail roberts #marstongail #john x abigail #susan grimshaw #arthur morgan #tilly jackson #Dutch Van Der Linde #hosea matthews #mary beth gaskill

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songtoyou · 3 years

Text

Epiphany - Part Two

Paring: Luke Crain x Female Reader

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2,001

Warnings: Talks of drug use and recovery, mention death of family members.

Description: Life has never been easy for Luke Crain. After the death of Nell, Luke realizes that he needs to make some changes. He decided to stay in Massachusetts and attend rehab. He was determined to remain on his path of sobriety. When you get assigned to be Luke’s sponsor, it opens a new door of possibilities that neither you nor Luke expected.

A/N: I finally watched the Haunting of Hill House a while back. I found Luke to be very interesting. This is my take on how Luke would go on with life after Nell’s death and how his continued path to remain sober would look like.

Feedback is wonderful. It is nice knowing if people are actually liking this fic.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

“Hey,” he said to get your attention. “I promised that I’ll come to talk to you if I ever feel like I might…. Or if I just feel like I need someone to talk to.”

Sure enough, Luck kept his promise that if he ever needed to talk, he would call you. The two of you have talked almost every day since your first meeting two-weeks ago. For Luke, it was nice being able to talk with someone he could connect with. While Steve, Shirley, and Theo were more supportive of him than ever before, his siblings still could not fully relate to his ordeals.

Theo mentioned to Luke that he could be open and honest with her about his past experiences, his current feelings, and how he was coping with Nell’s death. “I appreciate it, Theo, I really do,” Luke told her over the phone. He just got back from class and was getting ready to head out to see you.

“I feel a ‘but’ coming along,” Theo lightly said.

“But…it is just hard talking about this stuff with someone who…”

“With someone who doesn’t necessarily share the same experience or feelings,” replied Theo and added, “Talking about Nell…and dad…is hard for all of us. However, I do understand that we all have our own ways of coping. I’m only glad that you aren’t…you know…”

“Me too. I told you guys, that I’m serious about remaining clean. It’s my last promise to Nell and I intend to keep it. Plus, my sponsor is…she’s awesome. Definitely been a nice help with having someone to talk to who understands.”

“Well, that is great, Luke. I’m glad you have someone who you are comfortable talking to about these things. So, your sponsor…what is she like? What’s her name?”

After telling Theo your first and last name, he went on talking about how you have been clean for the past three years, that your family lives in Wilmington, you work at a bakery part-time, and that you are a current art student at Middlesex Community College.

“Lowell campus or Bedford campus?” Theo continued to pry.

“Bedford.”

“What does she plan on doing with an art degree?” asked Theo.

“I don’t know! Probably because she likes art,” Luke replied. He was starting to get a tad annoyed at his older sister.

“Can I meet her?”

“You know what…wow…look at the time. In fact, I gotta start heading out,” Luke mentioned as he saw the time on the clock. “Talk to you later, Theo.”

Before Theo could try to pry more information about you, Luke hung up. Theo was intrigued about you but would not pry. At least for now.

You asked Luke if he had ever been to the Lexington Venue, an old theater seventeen minutes outside of Wilmington. He had not. You mentioned to him that you were planning to see the new Marvel movie, ‘Avengers’ Endgame, and if he wanted to join. Luke happily accepted your offer.

Since you had been to the Lexington Venue numerous times, Luke suggested that you drive. He heard a car pull up Shirley’s driveway and looked out the window to see that it was you. Luke grabbed his coat, checked to make sure he had his wallet, and headed out the door. Awkwardly, it was at the same time Shirley stepped out her front door.

“Oh…Luke…hey, where are you heading out to?” Shirley inquired as she strolled with her younger brother to your car.

“Uh, we’re just heading to the movies,” Luke replied. He waved and said ‘hi’ once he got closer to your car.

“We? Who’s we?” Shirley asked. When she saw you, she gave a wave herself and looked over at Luke, waiting to get introduced.

“Oh right. Sorry, my bad,” said Luke with an awkward chuckle and introduced you to Shirley and vice versa.

“It’s nice to meet you. Luke hasn’t told us much about you. From what he has mentioned is that you’re his sponsor…”

“Shirley,” Luke said in a warning tone. The last thing he wanted was his sister to embarrass you in any way.

“Yes, I graduated, you could say, from the same program Luke is currently in. and have been clean for three years,” you mentioned. You figured it would be best to help ease Shirley’s tension by being honest with how long you have been clean. “Luke, we better get going if we want to make the matinee show.”

Luke bid his sister goodbye and got in your car. “I’m sorry about Shirley. She’s…well…she’s Shirley. Very much a Type A personality.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I totally get it. My mom is the same way. She kept asking me questions about you. I told her she just needed to relax and that all we are doing is going to the movies. She sort of does that with everyone I hang out with. It’s like she is just waiting for something to happen, you know.”

“But you’ve been in recovering for a long time,” Luke pointed out. “Your mom should see that you have made a real effort in maintaining your sobriety.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Here’s the thing Luke, we are always going to be addicts. It isn’t going to go away. It is an incurable disease. It is no different than cancer. The only difference that the world doesn’t view addiction as a disease.”

Luke contemplated what you were saying. He never thought of his addiction as a disease but rather a symptom of Hill House. That house was never a home. It left a stain on his childhood that penetrated adulthood. While Luke no longer felt the presence of the “Tall Man” haunting him at every turn, he could never shake the feeling of the coldness in his limbs or the stiffness of his neck he felt that particular day at the rehab center in Los Angeles. He often wondered what his life would have turned out if his father never insisted on buying Hill House. His mother would still be alive, along with Nell and his dad. The Crain family would be whole rather than broken.

“What do you know about this so-called ‘sponsor’?” Theo asked Shirley over the phone.

“No more than you know. I actually got to meet her in person when she stopped by early to pick Luke up. Apparently, they were off to go to the movies over in Lexington. They were in a hurry, so I didn’t get to talk very much with her. She seems nice, though. Luke seems to have really bonded with her. That’s good, right? We should be happy that he has a friend he can confide in…you know…now that Nell is…. gone,” replied Shirley. It was still hard for her to say her baby sister was dead.

“Luke is coping better than any of us thought he would. It isn’t like the previous times. I see the commitment he has to stay clean. I don’t think he and his friend are doing anything they shouldn’t be doing. I don’t think Luke would lie to us,” Shirley added.

“No, I don’t think he is lying to us at all, “Theo immediately interjected. “Like you said Shirl, I think Luke is committed to his program. It is just…my protective instincts are on high alert…with all of you. I just want to know who this person Luke is hanging out with. Maybe we could get Luke to invite her over for dinner? Aren’t Kevin and the kids going to visit his mom over the weekend? We could do it this Saturday.”

“Okay. That could work with not having Kevin or the kids around. Please let me be the one to ask Luke about dinner. Theo? Theo, you’re not texting Luke, now are you?”

~Luke, bring your friend to dinner this Saturday at 7:00 p.m. – Theo~

“That movie was so long,” you said to Luke while walking out of the theater.

“Way too long and kind of boring, especially in the beginning,” Luke replied throwing out his trash.

“Definitely could have cut at least 35 minutes from the film. What time is it?” you asked exiting the building with Luke following behind.

Luke dug into his coat pocket to retrieve his phone. When he logged in, he saw a text from Theo.

“Fucking eh. You are not going to believe this?”

“What? Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine,” reassured Luke and let out a chuckle. “My sister, Theo, is asking me…well more like telling me to bring you over for dinner this Saturday. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

You stopped mid-walk to turn towards Luke. “Do you not want me to meet them?” you asked and continued when he gave you a skeptical look, “I can kind of sense that me meeting your family…well I can sense a rush of anxiety coming from you.”

Shuffling from one foot to the other, Luke contemplated how best to explain his family to you. “Let’s get in your car. I will tell you everything. You deserve to know the full truth.”

Boy, Luke laid on the truth. From the “Tall Man” to Abigail and how everyone thought she was imaginary because her parents never allowed her to leave their home, and how Theo struggles with heightened sensitivity. “It is one of those things that kind of runs in the family,” said Luke and continued, “Our mother and grandma were…they had similar abilities. Anything Theo touches, objects, or places, she can feel the emotions from people. The House killed our mother. It tricked her into believing that killing her children would wake us from this nightmare…that it would save us. Our dad got us away in time, but it was too late to save mom. She was dead by the time dad got back to the house. Then it got Nell. The way it Tricked her the same way it tricked mom. I tried burning it down, but nothing happened. The House would have gotten me, Steve, Shirley, and Theo if our dad hadn’t…he sacrificed himself to save us.”

After telling you everything, Luke let out a deep breath. He looked over at you and let out a laugh. “I don’t blame you for wanting to drop me as your mentee. I totally understand. My bag of crazy is hard to handle sometimes.”

In the past, it would have been a lot for you to handle someone like Luke. His issues far exceeded your capabilities when it came to helping someone maintain their sobriety. However, you were older and no longer ran or made yourself numb in fear of feeling peoples’ emotions. Instead of viewing your empath abilities as a curse, you saw them as a gift. As a way to help those in need. The thing about Luke was that he did not need saving. He did not want some to swoop in and save him from his problems. No. You were able to sense that the man before just wanted someone to believe in him. To know that he is telling the truth and that he was not making any of it up.

While Luke was telling you about his past, you saw everything. You saw the “Tall Man” as he haunted that little boy with glasses up until he reached adulthood, you saw him play with Abigail and drew pictures in his treehouse. You could see his mother as she poured the tea for him, Nell, and Abigail that last night at Hill House, and how as an adult he tried to set it ablaze. You saw it all. You felt it all.

“I believe you, Luke. I’m not going anywhere if you don’t want me to,” you told him earnestly.

He turned to look into your eyes to make sure you were telling the truth. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you easily said and started your car. “You better text your sister back that I would love to come over for dinner this Saturday.”

#luke crain #luke crain x reader #luke crain x you #the haunting of hill house #oliver jackson cohen #luke crain x female reader #oliver jackson-cohen

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