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delta-pavonis · 1 year ago

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July Kinkfest Days 7, 8, 9, and 10

The Sandman (human A/B/O AU) || Dreamling (Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling) || Rated E || 3294 words

Warnings (in addition to the prompts above): Mafia Boss Alpha Hob, Gun Moll Omega Dream, they have always been humans, impact play, sex toys, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, shibari (mentioned), they are very very in love

Author's Notes: Four days, NINE PROMPTS. Buckle up, folks, this goes right into the smut and it doesn't stop. Little glimpses of background for these two thrown in there.

"Christ, just look at you. So wet and open for me… I wasn't gone but an afternoon, love. What have you been up to without me?" Hob trails his fingers through the sloppy mess that is his lover's ass, his fluttering hole crying in its need to be filled. "Oh, darling." Hob sighs and circles his thumb around the rim while palming one ass cheek. Then he drops his fingers between quivering thighs only to find folds that are impossibly more slick. "All this? For me?"

Dream moans something filthy, claws at the bed sheets and gets his knees under himself enough to sweet fucking Christ present his holes to Hob. "Please. I need…"

Hob pets his lover's lower back, soothing across the rear fetlocks of the enormous white horse coat of arms tattooed from the nape of his neck to the very first indent of the crease of his ass. Per chevron inverted sable and azure, a rampant horse argent the heraldry terminology floats across his mind as he shucks his clothes off. The entire device is shiny with sweat that gleams in the low light of their bedroom.

"I got you. I am going to take care of you, don't worry." He gets the last of what he is wearing off and then heads to the drawers and grabs some supplies, which is when he realizes what is missing. “Oh, my Dream. Little pet. You used the teal one? Were you really that desperate for me?” When he turns back to the bed he can see it, wedged halfway beneath a pillow near Dream’s stretched out, grasping hands: the blue-green dildo that they had made from a mold of Hob’s erect cock, for Dream to have while he was away on business and couldn't risk bringing an omega, even his own omega, along. It has no knot though. That is for Hob and Hob alone.

“Get up for a mo, pet. I need your help.” He instructs, dropping the items in his hands onto the foot of the bed. Hob stands there, knees pressed to the side of the tall mattress, as his gorgeous Dream complies. He strokes his cock lazily, admiring how Dream has to work so hard just to concentrate on this during the ramp up into his heat. Hob honestly did not mean to leave his sweet Dream in his time of need – he truly thought that he had at least another twenty-four hours before it got this bad. If managing cleaning up after the Corinthian hadn't taken up so much of his damned time he would have been here for when Dream… Fuck, Hob would put a contract out on the little shit again if he could. As it was he made a mental note to up the reward.

Finally, Dream is on his knees before him, facing him, waiting. His slim omega’s cock bounces a little with each panting breath, the ring hanging from his frenum piercing glinting in the moonlight streaming through their penthouse windows. Dream has put in work to gather himself together enough to be present for Hob right now – his instincts are no doubt pushing him towards incoherence. Even the ruby hanging from his one earring trembles. Hob cups his face in both hands and gives in to the temptation to kiss his love, who whimpers in pleased surprise. He maps Dream’s mouth slowly, until the need for air becomes more than a buzzing annoyance. “What was that for?” Dream’s voice is so low and sultry Hob feels it as much as hears it.

“I am endeavoring to make it up to you that I was gone when this started.” He strokes flushed cheekbones with his thumbs and watches as inky black eyelashes flutter like raven’s wings. “You know I wouldn’t leave you during a time like this on purpose, not without it being an intentional scene, right?” They have plenty of kinks, but that kind of denial is not generally one of them – abandonment isn’t the kind of pain Hob likes his omega to be in.

Dream’s blue eyes catch the moonlight like gemstones as they widen in surprise. “Of course, my love. I didn’t think any different.”

“Good.” Hob runs his hands through Dream’s wild black hair and the lithe man leans into it, purring all the while. “That’s good. Well, since we are in this situation a little suddenly, lets make sure I can assist you properly.” He reaches down into the small pile on the bed and pulls out the two-inch wide strip of silicone and hands it to Dream. “Nice and tight now, darling. Need to be able to fuck you through at least four orgasms to bank this heat for you, you know that.”

His perfect pet hums in pleasure as he takes the silicone, wraps it around the base of Hob’s cock, and pulls it tight. “Tighter?”

Hob's breath comes out in a shudder. “One more notch. Need it to keep my knot down until you are ready for it and you’ve already gotten me quite worked up tonight.” The pain of the wide cock ring preventing his knot from swelling will be its own sweet searing ecstasy as the evening progresses.

The smirk that Dream levels at him is pure sin, even with lust giving a haziness to his eyes, as he pulls the cock ring tighter and secures the band. “Oh, have I?” Dream’s fingers find their way into Hob’s chest hair, combing through it while he turns those ridiculous bedroom eyes back up to Hob. He can see the subtle dusting of shadow on Dream’s lids from here, combining with the black liner to make him look like some Hollywood starlet all in black-and-white.

“Oh, have I?” Hob mocks, voice high-pitched and lilting. He grabs Dream’s waist and heaves, throwing him back onto the bed. “You know damn well what you’re doing.” He crawls up on top of his giggling lover. “I know I keep a clever omega.”

And he knows that his lover is a greedy, vain creature, so it is not shocking that he preens and arches prettily with the praise. “Well this clever omega is tragically empty and would like his alpha to get to fucking him until he can’t remember his name.”

“So demanding.” Hob grins and nuzzles under Dream’s jaw so he can mouth and nip along that gorgeous swan neck. “You are lucky I like your smart mouth.” He rocks his hips down to press their erections together, stopping any response Dream might have had as his long legs part immediately. Dream’s whine as he grabs at Hob’s shoulders is delicious – Hob can taste it on those plush peony lips as he repositions himself and sinks into the welcoming heat of his omega’s cunt.

The first round doesn’t last long for Dream, he is too worked up and Hob knows his body too well. He snaps his hips in hard, fast thrusts and twists his hand on Dream's cock just so and then he is letting out a sweet little shriek as he comes all over his own chest.

“That take the edge off, darling?” Hob reaches backwards for the towel and does a quick clean-up while Dream just nods in reply. “Alright, be a good pet for me now and turn over, get that ass back up in the air.” Dream complies so easily it takes Hob’s breath away and he curls around his lover to kiss between his shoulder blades. When he speaks his lips caress the ears of the white horse on his lover’s back. “Be as loud as pleases you, my Dream. Peel the paint off the walls with your screams. I know you can. I want to hear you.”

Hob feels more than hears the chuckle given that Dream’s face is buried in the sheets. He reaches up for the discarded teal dildo and brings it back with him to kneel behind the curve of that lovely little ass. Dream is still absurdly open and wet, so Hob just lines the head of the shaft of silicone up and shoves it into Dream’s ass to the flared base in one go.

Dream’s entire body goes taut as he wails, “Yes!” And then Hob puts the tip of his actual cock back at the entrance to Dream’s cunt and the omega sobs. “Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease…”

“Well, since you ask so nicely.” Hob thrusts into the wet heat where he just was and it is like a different world. At this angle he reaches deeper, hits a spot in Dream's body that makes his moans hitch every time he drives in. And all along the way he can feel the dildo deep in Dream's ass, a solid mass that presses along the top of his dick, providing a different kind of stroking than the muscles clenching around him.

He takes it slow, rolling his hips and talking filth into the safety of their bedroom. "Look at how easy you take two cocks. My god, you were fucking made for it, weren't you? Have you always been this greedy? Or is it just for me?" An incoherent string of consonants is Dream's only answer and it sends a shock of arousal down Hob's spine. His cock twitches, trying to leak fluid, but it can't.

"I know pet, I know. You are still burning up, inside and out. How about another for me?" Hob gathers some of the copious amounts of slick streaming down Dream's thighs and then puts his hand back on Dream's prick. He strokes in time with his thrusting, being careful around the frenum ring, while he uses the thumb of his other hand to push the dildo in a little on each instroke. Each of Hob’s pulls back drags the dildo out a little with it, so he presses it in again as he rolls into Dream's cunt.

Hob revels in it, lets the steady rhythm build his own pleasure until his prick is throbbing with it not too long later. His knot tries to swell and presses against the wide ring of silicone and it causes a bright flash of pain to rocket up his spine. Hob groans with it, thrusts deeper, so Dream starts rocking with him, trying to keep the same angle.

Dream's next orgasm is longer and louder than the last and he makes a mess of the sheets. But Hob doesn't stop, just keeps thrusting through it all, torturing both Dream and himself into overstimulation. The omega wobbles beneath him and then collapses onto the bed, his body lax with pleasure as Hob keeps fucking him through the post-orgasm sensitivity, strong and steady until Dream’s voice is climbing in volume and pitch again. When Hob slips his thumb into Dream's ass alongside the dildo his sweet omega comes again, rutting into the mattress, voice cracking on a sob like glass under a hammer.

Hob hoists Dream's hips up to get a couple of pillows under him – he needs the angle even if his lover can’t hold it himself. As the dildo comes out it makes a lovely wet squelching noise, almost as arousing as his Dream's groan of "Noooo."

"Shhh, pet. Just need to tighten you up again. You fucked yourself so damned loose before I got home…" Hob grabs for the last three items on the bed. "Your cunt is never going to be able to hold the egg if you can't clench tight." He drops the dildo and grabs the leather paddle, a strip of thick leather about as big as Hob's hand with a wooden handle. Hob scoots back on the bed, giving him enough space to generate the velocity he needs in a single swing. "Ready, love?"

"Hnnnnnngh yes." Even Dream's voice is coming out lust-hazy now. Perfect.

Hob doesn't ease into it, just goes immediately for his usual impact strength, right on the curve of Dream's left asscheek. The leather's snappy slapping sound reverberates in the room along with Dream's ecstatic gasp. He hits the other side, watching as Dream's whole body tenses, jerks forward, then relaxes; Dream lets out a blissful sigh.

With one hand Hob pulls on the right cheek, just enough that he can see the wet hole fluttering. He watches, enraptured, as everything clenches with the next impact. And the next. And the next. Heaven above, even in this his omega is beautiful.

Hob concentrates on hitting only one side first and then pauses to check his work. Dream is panting and trembling and moaning, his cunt leaking all over the pillows beneath him. When Hob sticks a finger into said cunt to see how the muscles have tensed he does so roughly, with all the gentleness one might use when stuffing a cornish hen with herbs and aromatics. Dream hisses, but then tries to push back, still desperate to be filled. "Pleasemorepleasemoreplease!"

The begging makes Hob's cock want to leak in sympathy, but it can only twitch in its bonds. It is starting to be more constantly painful the more aroused Hob gets, the longer he is denied release, and the adrenaline fuels him onward.

"Not until you tighten up for me, darling." Hob scolds. "Still too easy to get two fingers in you now, see?" He drives said fingers into Dream's ass with only passing resistance and Dream moans, the sound coming from deep in his chest, resonant and worshipful.

Hob pulls his fingers out and switches sides, holding the reddened asscheek back now, making Dream gasp and writhe. Then he is smacking the other side of Dream’s ass with equal force. After the first two, Dream is arching backwards towards Hob. "Harder, please! Give me all of you!"

Oh. So that's how this is going to go. Hob adjusts his grip on the paddle's handle, takes a deep breath, and strikes Dream with all of his strength.

The sound of leather hitting skin is almost deafening and his omega's sweet moans have turned into pleasured sobbing. On the next one Hob is watching as both Dream's cunt and ass clench so tightly fluid dribbles out from them. Gorgeous, just gorgeous.

One more hit at maximum strength, just so Hob can see that deep body reaction again, and then Hob is praising Dream, "That's it dove. Almost done. So good for me." He knees Dream's thighs apart, pries his cheeks open as much as he can with one hand, and then uses just a flick of his wrist to smack the leather onto the little strip of flesh between Dream's vaginal opening and his asshole. He screams and Hob does it again, just a touch harder. The scream this time snaps at the end, a tree branch struck by lightning. "One more, baby."

On the third hit Dream shrieks "Please fuck me! PleeeaaAAAAA-eh-eh-eeees!"

Ah, there it is. That’s the sound Hob fell in love with. He heard it across the room at a private party, that euphoric howl of an appeal to be filled, and had been drawn to it like a vulture to a carcass. The attendees at the party all knew who Hob was and they parted silently as he stalked forward. He found the ethereal source of that sound strung up in a complicated shibari scene, his ass being teased with a soft flogger. Miles and miles of milk white skin, not a scar nor a tattoo nor a piercing in sight, just dried blood smeared over his back from recent cuts and distilled omega perfection begging Hob for his attention.

He walked around to the omega’s head, crouched down in front of him to meet his eyes on the same level. The omega’s blue eyes were fogged shower glass, unseeing even while pointed at him. Hob snapped three times directly in front of the other man’s nose and, with a gasp, the pretty thing focused on him with bright, clear intention. “Wha-?”

His voice was so much lower than Hob expected that it made him shiver. “Hello, gorgeous. Heard you begging to be fucked… any chance I can take you up on that offer?”

Hob couldn’t resist then and he can't resist now, his alpha desire for this omega bullying forward, and it takes a minute to remember his plan. He throws the paddle aside and flips Dream over, hefting one leg onto his hip.

Dream is gasping, cock still hard and bobbing, dripping its mess all over. The impact play worked well, because it actually takes a little effort to pop the egg into Dream's cunt, but once Hob does and slips the little remote into his palm, it only takes turning the vibrator on to low and Hob's teeth gently tugging on the ring in Dream's frenum piercing to have him screaming into another orgasm. Hob gets around to catch this one in his mouth, sucking on the tip of his omega's elegant prick until Dream is sobbing again.

When Hob moves above Dream, the omega growls, eyes almost completely black in their dilation, still burning with the increasing heat, and attempts to climb onto Hob, arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist.

Hob’s movements have become a little frantic now, he burns to be inside his Dream. So he coats his cock in the copious amounts of lubrication his omega’s body is providing, grabs bony hips, and fucks hard into the tight heat of his lover’s ass; he gets immediately drunk on Dream’s screams of encouragement.

Oh fuck, yeah, this is what Hob needs. He has pulled four orgasms out of his wildfire of an omega and now it is his turn. His cock is throbbing in its confines, impossibly hard, and he fucks with all his might into Dream and turns up the vibrations higher and higher and higher. He can feel the vibrator clear as day now, like there aren't walls of flesh between his cock and where it is nestled inside Dream. Even better, he’s found an angle where each thrust in rams the egg up into the underside of all that nerve-dense tissue behind Dream’s dick and his sweet whore omega is screaming himself hoarse with it.

On the next pull out Hob unclasps his cock ring and lets it fall beneath them, pulling his dick all the way out and getting Dream’s legs over his shoulders so he can bend his pretty little thing to his will. “Gonna knot your ass, darling.” He rumbles a warning and before Dream can respond Hob is fucking down into his omega, folding him in half so that he can nip at those pink lips, cracked and dry from all his howling.

It only takes three thrusts and Hob’s knot is swelling along with his pleasure, both reaching a crescendo. On the fourth he is almost too wide at the base to get in and out. And then with the fifth drive in he is locked in place, his climax descending upon him violently as he roars into Dream’s jaw.

Once he can hear more than the blood rushing in his ears, Hob realizes that his sweet Dream is begging again, voice rough and ragged, “Touch me, please please, let me come, please Hob.”

“Christ on the cross, again, my love?” Hob pants, chuckling. But when Dream keeps pleading with him, he acquiesces, wraps his hand around his omega’s prick and brings him to one last orgasm without drawing it out or any fanfare.

It takes a little maneuvering, but Hob gets them lying curled on their sides, the omega’s cock finally soft and Hob buried into his lover for the next short while. Dream pulls Hob’s arm around his waist and interlaces their fingers. “Welcome home, love.” Dream coos.

Hob laughs into his lover’s hair and can only agree.

#Dreamling #A/B/O AU #Mafia Boss Alpha Hob #Gun Moll Omega Dream #julykinkfest2023 #NSFT #SO FUCKING NSFT #I probably shouldn't be putting 3k of fic directly on Tumblr but oh well #Pavonis writes

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amielot · 3 months ago

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Touch starved round 2

Dream: Who kicked that? Not me.

Bonus:

#horse girl au #dreamling #the art tag #centaur!dream #hob gadling #dream of the endless #centaurs #dream playing 5 D chess #to try and figure out if its safe to have 1 single pet #dream yur so dumb #they're both idiots yur honor #when yur so touch starved you need to rub your head against a wood post

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seiya-starsniper · 7 months ago

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The Gift - Dreamling - Horse Girl AU

Rating: Teen & Up | Status: Complete | Chapters 1/1 | Words: 1.4K

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Centaurs, Dreamling Horse Girl AU, Talking, Bonding

Summary:

“You’re pouting again,” Unity tells him, startling Dream enough that he nearly swings the knife in his hand right in her direction. Unity laughs, as if she merely spooked a child and not a creature nearly twice her size and wielding a dangerous weapon. --- Set within Amielot's Horse Girl AU series, and follows the events of the "Uno Reverse" comic panel

For my beloved @amielot's Horse Girl AU series, which continues to inspire me and so many others in this fandom! Check out Amielot's illustration of this fic here!

#dreamling #dreamling week #dreamling week 2024 #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #horse girl au #hgau #the sandman fanfic #seiya writes #seiya writes dreamling

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embroiderling · 10 hours ago

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Make Me Embroider!

Thank you for the taggy @dreeeam-diary !!

Send me an emoji that corresponds to each WIP and I will do (and share) some progress.

💀 All the Hobs!

🐴horse girl au (circus posters)

🐑horse girl au (the cute lamb)

🐍baby basilisk

🐄cow!Hob/cat!Dream

🐟mereperson!Dream

💚orc!Hob

The first two are on fabric. I gotta transfer the others, so let's consider that as embroidery, too.

Tagging... uhhh @dragonnan @amielot @twainxavier if you want to play for drawing/writing/embroidery ♥

#ask game

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the-kr8tor · 4 months ago

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You're almost caught up yay!!

Oh definitely! R stocked it inside Bucky's saddlebag so they plenty!

Oof that sounds terrifying!!! 😱

Cue credits!

Sameee! It's so cozy! We had an airbnb with a wrap around porch and i was having a great time just rotating around it lol ooohh!! Very cool! Your oc is a vibe based on their house

Yikes 😬

Literally soul mates!!!

YEEESS THE SCAR KISS!!!! I love it! Thank you for letting me use it 🫶

Somebody call yuri!

Hobie is such a mood lol literally anyone with a broken heart and a whiskey bottle

Lmaoooo she didn't need to her actions spoke louder than the hat rule

BAHHAHAHAHHAHA IMAGINE THAT'S HOW IT ENDS 😂 Poor r tho

Yeess fifty thousand hundred billion plus a million more of good times

My doggo will forever live in this fic 🥹 I miss her sm

Yeah! R is so lucky

Yoooo very cool! It's not my dog's real name but it's such a cute name tho! Reminds me of that one character from totally spies! Momo lore

LMAOO you could! Like covering your ears and going la la la

Riri pulled a to all the boys i loved before lol she did them a favour tbh even tho it might've went very badly friendship wise with hobs

Gahhhh i need to watch princess bride!!

HAHHAHAHA i pulled the rug under you! No billie and ramona tho 😔 instead you get horse babies!

Mm-hmm a proof that anything can grow if you cherish it enough (definitely not some symbolism at how hobie and R's relationship blossomed even after being ripped apart 🤭)

Karl mention!

Oof that would've sucked!

You are always right with your theories!!!!! You need a medal at this point 🏅

I think so too! He's the only hobie from my aus that would probably want marriage

THEY'RE MARRIED!!! Clover is the flower girl! While riri is the maid of honour and miguel is the officiant 😆

BAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHA r is a husband magnet

To Live Simply

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 13.1 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing) (Hobie is mentioned taller than her), CW suggestive, CW food mentions, TW abuse mention, CW drinking, CW violence mention. Wild west AU, Cowboy AU.

A/N: I wrote my late dog in this to remember her by, please be nice to the dog ❤️

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

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CHAPTER 8 >>> CHAPTER 9

The journey to Hobie's farm was excruciating, yet quiet and peaceful. If not for both yours and Hobie's still healing injuries it would've been a more pleasant ride. Surprisingly enough, there wasn't anyone who wanted to ambush you, and no one to point a gun at; no one to hurt you and Hobie.

The entire time you were afraid, afraid that something would happen the least you expected it. You were waiting for disaster to hit, you've never been at peace on the road, so you were high strung, hands gripping tightly around the reins while you kept your gun fully loaded and ready on your back. Luckily, nothing noteworthy happened during that one whole month of traveling west and away from the south.

Hobie clung to you like sap on wood, and you did too. You both never spoke of what happened that day, it was horrible, even now hallucinations still linger in the back of your head. Sometimes you see her staring at you on the side of the road, sometimes you smell burnt coffee out of nowhere. Hobie understood what they put you through while he lay asleep dreaming of you. He did everything he could to help you return to reality with every grasp of your hand, and with every kiss on your temple— effectively shaking you awake. You take care of him too, changing his bandages in camp, wincing with him whilst you clean his wounds.

It was just you and him, and you've got everything to lose if they ever find you.

You both were careful on the road, always traveling at night under the stars. Lighting small fires that are enough to keep you warm. You've even started to hide your face under a bandana. If it was absolutely needed to go into town, you and Hobie never stayed too long to make an impression. To everyone else, he was Larry Smith and you were his wife. To him, you were his wife in everything but on paper. To you, he was everything. You suppose it was all the same.

The horses are well kept despite the long rides, they slept well, ate even better than you and Hobie. You've noticed Cherry has become friendlier towards Bucky, and Bucky seemed to like the added attention.

Your back aches from the long ride, dawn has just begun to break. The breeze hums in your ears as you and Hobie finally make it to his farm. A piece of land in a valley and in between monstrous mountains that rise up into the clouds; and what seems to be thousands of miles of nothingness. There's nothing but land everywhere you look, the town you passed through hours ago is nothing but a dot in the far distance.

You're situated in the middle of nowhere.

“It's not much, but it's home.” Hobie stands before you, shoulders relaxed, eyes glancing towards you as if he's waiting for approval.

The farmhouse isn't as grand as your old home, it doesn't have the gilded awnings or marble pillars that seem to rise up towards the heavens. The house is made out of wood, two stories high with a simple porch that wraps around the entire structure. Its white paint is chipping, doors weathered by the elements and time. Empty flower pots sit nearby, just waiting to be used once again. Further away, a barn sits near a small pond. The structure’s red paint faded into a murky brown with dead vines covering its side. A windmill stands next to it, the blades squeak in the wind, wood creaking whenever a harsh breeze blows.

The picket fences around the property lay broken with its old chalky paint cracking and melting away. The land surrounding it doesn't look any better, it's barren and dry save for the tall brown grass growing everywhere. There are also stumps left behind by cut trees, a couple have survived long enough to grow as tall as the barn and they both sit behind the farmhouse a few paces away. It lacks any greenery you'd expect for a farm. With its dry soil underneath your feet, you're sure that there's nothing that could grow here. But you can try, plant and sow over and over again until a single leaf will sprout, until a plant bears fruit.

There's nothing else all around the place, nothing but stretches and miles upon miles of empty land. You like it that way. It's just you and him, him and you. You'd never have it any other way.

For the first time in a very long time, you feel like you can finally breathe. Fate has finally granted you reprieve.

“It's perfect.” You smile, stepping forward, reaching for his hand and then squeezing it once. “It's home.”

Hobie's lips slowly curl up into a smile, intertwining your fingers around his own. “What are we waitin' for?” With a sudden arm around the back of your knees, he gracefully carries you in his arms, earning a surprised yelp and laughter from you. You grasp at his vest, giggling against his chest. “Let's get inside.”

Even in his arms, you still feel the gnawing in the back of your mind. The danger that lurks behind the mountains, a danger that you both are ignoring for now in place of bliss. It's as if a heavy blanket is laid upon your chest, crushing you under its weight, breaking your rib cage in half, squishing your heart until a mush of blood and muscle is the only thing left in its wake.

Then, there's the nature of the man from the place you once called your home. You think he'd kill you the moment he sees you in the arms of Hobie, laughing against his chest, holding on to him as if he's your husband. Should I tell Hobie? You thought to yourself, it will ruin him. It will ruin you in his mind. Your heart thuds against your chest akin to a train engine just from thinking about it. You think it'll never go away, that it will continue to eat at you like you're a carcass left for the vultures in a dry humid desert. But for now, you stay laughing against his skin, kissing every inch of his face as he brings you inside. Until you're ready, you promise yourself that you'll tell him, even if it ruins you.

Hobie, unbeknownst to the inner turmoil you're having; kisses you back gently, dry lips against your sweaty forehead, he doesn't mind as he peppers your face. It's a battle, where you two are the winners.

You kick about in his arms, the stubble on his chin tickles you, and of course he notices it. He decides to hear you laugh, really laugh— so he nudges your head away, rubbing his stubble up and down your neck. Your giggles immediately fill the home, leaning away, hands patting his chest rapidly. If not for his hold on you, you would've fell seconds ago.

“Enough!” You shriek, but your own laughter betrays you. With every nudge, you forget about your thoughts, only focusing on the man before you.

Hobie wheezes, moving an inch away from your neck. “You sure? I don't think ‘m done yet.” He fixes his grasp on you, hand placed just above your ribs, fingers flexing, threatening to tickle you there.

You scoff, a sound similar to a giggle. “We've been on the road for a long time, Hobie, and we haven't had a proper bath in weeks!” He opens his mouth to speak. “A dip in the river doesn't count.”

With furrowed brows, he leans closer, lips curled mischievously. “You tellin’ me that I smell?”

You chuckle, hand patting his cheek lovingly. “No, I'm saying that I smell.”

“Really?” Hobie starts to lean closer but you stop him with your hand on his forehead. He smiles, trying to wiggle his head. “I was just about to check!”

There's the same glint in your eyes. You hum, cradling his jaw, pushing him gently upwards. The scar on his neck is in full display to you, Hobie tries to shake his head in protest, his sudden insecurity for the raised scar makes him think that you were second guessing your choices. But with your simple movement of pulling yourself up, enough to be eye level to the scar, and with your lips resting upon it makes him think otherwise.

He turns into honey under your touch, and you're the one licking his sweetness off of your finger tips.

You feel his staggered breath under your lips, Hobie almost drops you the second you kiss his scar. He feels your love through it all, fingers digging into your side but not enough to leave a mark. Closing his eyes, he lets you peck as your thumb runs along his Adam's apple that bops up and down with every nervous swallow. He even leans upwards to give you more space.

“I missed you.” Hobie says in a breathy whisper while you continue to attack his skin, hand pressed on your back, helping lift you up. “I should've told you that when I first—” You hold onto his nape to kiss higher, nipping gently, earning a shaky exhale from him. “—fuckin’ hell, you'll be the death of me. Five minutes in and you're already tryin’ to—”

“Knock knock?”

“Oh fuck—!” You suddenly drop down to the floor, butt aching as you stare at the visitor standing in the doorway.

“Shit—” Hobie fumbles, none of the coolness he exhibited during your journey. He tries to help you up, but then immediately decides to get his gun out that he also flounders over. His gun falls, bullets falling out, metal clanking on the dusty wooden floors. “Ah, fuck!” Kneeling down, he tries to pick up all the scattered bullets.

“Caught you in a bad time, huh?”

You glance between Hobie and the woman in the doorway. Hobie sighs, eyes staring daggers at the stranger. Her curly hair is styled in braids, leather chaps and jacket matching, hands casually placed inside her jean pockets. The sun behind her drapes her in gold, the same colour as the hat sitting atop her head. Her genuine smile is one of those contagious smiles that turns your frown into a friendly grin, you smile wider when you meet with her eyes that are laced with amusement. She gives you a wink, and then returns her attention towards Hobie who has given up on picking up his ammo.

“No, no, take your time, Hobie.”

He sighs, head falling down in shame. “What are you doin' ‘ere, Riri?”

“I was on my routine check. Imagine my surprise when I saw Bucky frolicking outside with a new horse.” Riri enters, hand reaching towards you. “The name's Riri, a friend of Hobie's.”

You smile up at her, taking her hand as she gracefully lifts you back up on your feet. “Y/N, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” She shakes your hand, leaning slightly to whisper in a louder tone. “You're even prettier than what this loser told me.”

Hobie sighs, “Riri, c’mon—”

“Why don't you get up, cowboy?” Riri lets your hand go, she then crosses her arms over her chest whilst you watch them interact.

Hobie stays kneeling, turned away from you and Riri, hand conveniently on his lap. “Don't you dare tell her shit, Riri.” He says, green eyes narrowed into slits.

You tamp down a laugh, glancing down at Hobie who just shakes his head with a ghost of a smile. You're tempted to tease him too, but Riri catching you two in the act was enough embarrassment for him.

“You told stories about me?” If your cheeks could run any warmer, you can boil water on it.

“He's a chatterbox when he's drunk.”

“He is?” You turn towards the said man, beaming at him.

“Don't you have anythin' better to do—?” Hobie gets ignored as Riri continues to chat with you. He resigns, huffing in place.

“Mm-hmm, he says the craziest shit. You think he's all that out there but the second he drinks his third glass, he's out in my saloon yammering about something. Sometimes that something has to do with you.” She pauses, nudging your shoulder. “Don't worry, he only tells me the good stuff. I practically already know you.” Your eyes widen. “Not in a weird way, in a…”

“Good job, Ri, you made it awkward.” Hobie eggs her on.

Riri rolls her eyes. “She knows what I'm talking about, right?” She turns to you, smiling softly like she's already trying to apologize.

“That so? Don't worry, I understand what you meant.” You flick your eyes towards Hobie, who's still unable to stand up. “Since you already know me—”

“Ah, yes!” She claps her hands in understanding. “You may go to my saloon and dig more details about what Hobie's been doing these past five years.” Riri meets Hobie's eyes. “You never know, you might even come across our old gang.”

You copy her, teasing Hobie even more. “The more the merrier then.”

“Great,” Hobie huffs, finally standing up. “You've created a monster, Riri.”

“Don't call her a monster!” Riri acts offended for you.

“Yeah! Don't call me a monster!”

Hobie could only sigh in defeat. He mumbles under his breath, fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose. “If I wasn't so tired.”

“Oh that reminds me.” You say excitedly, you've finally found a friend after everything that has happened. “Do you want to stay for tea?”

“We don't have anythin', love.” Hobie gestures towards the near empty kitchen cabinets that were left open.

Riri smirks at the name he used for you. Hobie warns her with a look. “That would be great, but I gotta go back out there. I heard there's a huge deer roaming around and I want to be the one to get it before anyone else does.”

“That's too bad.” You're genuinely disappointed.

“Yeah, that's too bad.” Hobie copies sarcastically, less disappointed.

Riri chuckles, “don't worry, Y/N, my saloon's always open for you.” She clasps your shoulder. “Welcome to Scarlett Meadows, Y/N.”

“Thank you, Riri. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, love,” Riri mocks him. Hobie audibly groans, she smacks his chest. “Welcome back, loser.” With a flourish, Riri exits the house and then jumps back on her horse to ride away. Hobie closes and locks the front door behind her.

“I like her already.”

Hobie wraps his arm around your middle, pulling you close for an embrace. “‘m glad, she's a good friend.”

You nuzzle his shoulder, to which he takes your cheek, already leaning down to meet you halfway. “The mood's ruined, Hobs.”

“Goddamnit.” He says, yet he still chuckles against your lips. Letting you go, you stay locked with his eyes while walking backwards towards the stairs. “Where are you goin'?” There's a growing smile on yours and Hobie's lips.

“You coming, cowboy?” You ask, and you see him flustered once again. Biting his lip, tapping his foot, and hands on his hips. As you head upstairs, you hear his heavy footsteps follow you; until you feel his arms wrap around you impatiently, carrying you the rest of the way while your laughter rings around the house.

—

Hobie, under the gaze of the sun, with his sweaty work shirt sticking to his skin as he hammers the windowsill in place; fixing the once shoddy workmanship left by the previous owner. You ogle him unabashedly. The ring that was previously hidden under the fabric of his bandana now sits upon his ring finger, you cried when you first saw it there for the first time in five years. He held you then, just like how he cradled you back when he gave the identical one to you.

He clings on the tresses that are filled with dried vines and creaking from his added weight. He hangs precariously, as if he's an expert climber at heart; you can't help but stare at him as he works on your shared home. You suppose you could use the old shakey tresses as your excuse on why you're watching him instead of tilling the land like you're supposed to. Telling him that you're only keeping watch of him just in case he falls so you could catch him. Which is impossible by itself, you'd break all your bones if you tried. But you suppose it'll be alright if it's for him. As if he feels your eyes on him, he looks over his shoulder, a smile slowly curling on his lips as he spots your form still kneeling on the same spot he left you in twenty minutes ago.

The soil balled up into your hands sits there forgotten. A bag of cherry tomatoes sits next to you, wind almost taking them in its breeze as one passes by. You don't look away when he calls you out after you were caught. Instead, you stare harder, unabashedly winking at him. To which earns a hearty laugh from Hobie who almost falls from his bout of laughter.

You stagger, hands raised towards him as if you can catch him from where you are. “Careful!”

Hobie continues to laugh, calming your worries. “‘m alright, you should watch your tomatoes—” a strong wind picks up, with summer almost completely gone as the colder breeze carries your bag of seeds away from you. “And there it goes!” His guffaw fades from behind as you scramble for the seeds.

“Fuck!” You yell, hand placed on your sun hat so it doesn't get blown away. Despite you running at full speed towards what could be next season's meal, you smile widely, you're at peace here.

Hobie follows after you, running and catching up to you in a mad dash. “Hurry slowpoke!” He passes you, laughing as he goes.

“Slowpoke?! C’mere you little—!” Hobie suddenly stops and then turns around to catch you mid sprint. Your body slams into him, earning a grunt from Hobie, but his smile stays as he holds you in his arms.

“Gotcha!” He embraces you in place, face nudging your shoulder fondly.

“You're all sweaty!” You shriek out happily, hand placed upon his waist, fists clumped in his shirt. The seeds belong to the wind now, you suppose.

“You're no better! You're covered in dirt, lovie!” Hobie playfully wipes his cheeks on your airy shirt, leaving streaks of sweat on the soft linen. You laugh louder, trying to scramble away. And he feels like he has finally found his home in your arms.

You wipe your soil marred hands on his shoulders, leaving your hand prints on his once pristine shirt. You suddenly stop giggling, Hobie thinks he did something wrong until he follows your line of sight. There, a few ways away from the two of you, stands a black dog eating from your bag of seeds.

“Is that a coyote?” You ask, still holding on to him.

“Don't think so.” He whispers back.

“She shouldn't eat that, it might get her sick.” You untangle yourself from Hobie, and then you slowly make your way towards said dog. Hobie stops you halfway, hand gently on your shoulder.

“It might bite you.” He roams his eyes over to her black coat and long tail, her ears are floppy on the side of her head as she continues to munch on the crunchy seeds. There's no collar or any indication that she has an owner, she looks fine and somewhat healthy. Before he could take you away just in case the dog decides that you're a better meal, you're running back towards the house in a mad dash. “Where are you goin'?”

“I'm getting some jerky!”

“What? Why?!” He yells back as you get further and further away.

“Just stay there and watch her!” Your dusty boots are already stomping away inside as Hobie does what you told.

Hobie crouches down, elbows sitting atop his knees, watching the dog chow down. The black labrador pauses from eating from the presence watching her, head peeking out from the bag. Her dark eyes blink at Hobie, he waits for her, hand reaching out in a friendly manner and trying not to scare her away with any sudden movements. The dog sniffs, tail slowly wagging as she walks forward.

You watch from behind, eyes growing wider as you see Hobie let the dog sniff at his hand. When she finally lets him pet her head, Hobie looks back at you with a soft smile.

“Look at you, you're an animal whisperer.”

“Nah, I bet she was just hungry and knows how to swindle.”

Chuckling, you saunter towards them slowly, kneeling beside Hobie, you place the dried meat beside her. “There you go, it's better than some seeds.”

Hobie observes how you gently smile at the friendly dog as she tentatively sits in front of the meat. You let the dog approach you, waiting patiently as she eats until there's none left. She sniffs your knee, nudging you with her snout. He laughs as you surrender the rest of the beef jerky.

It's a peaceful silence of him and you just sitting there on the dry grassy ground while the strange dog eats his entire supply of jerky. He suppose he can always run to the general store for more.

The sun is high up, yet it's a comfortable heat on his skin. He preferred summers here, the searing heat always kept him awake and alert. But with you now here, he prefers how the cooling wind nips at his skin, how the leaves are now turning into sunsets that you always adore. And how much you wake up clinging to his side every morning. He prefers this, living with you, finally experiencing life again as if he picked up a book from where he left off years ago; it took some time and a lot of hurt to get here, but he would've done it all over again if it ended just like this. Maybe he'd do better, maybe he would make better decisions— for now, instead of lamenting about all the things that have happened, he'd rather stay in the present where you're currently in.

“I think we should keep her.” You say after a few moments. Hobie just now noticed how the dog now lays on your lap, probably sleeping off her meal. Your hand rubs softly on her back, eyes shining under the sun. “My aunt never let me have pets, she said that a proper lady shouldn't smell of wet dog.”

“Look at you now, covered in dirt, sweat and dog slobber.”

“She'd fucking die.” You laugh, it's the first time you've ever laughed after mentioning her. You finally feel like the shackles of her memory are starting to loosen up against your ankles.

Your happy laughter is slowly replaced with a sob, Hobie, with tears in his own eyes, holds you against him. Arms enveloping you, hands cradling your head as if the simple movement would take it all away. He wishes it did, but he knows that it will take time, and he'll wait, and be there for you no matter how long it takes. Even if it doesn't fully go away.

Under the sunshine of autumn, dry blades of grass underneath you, breeze whispering and carrying your sobs into the wind; Hobie holds you like nothing else matters, like it's just you and him, him and you against the bloody, forsaken world.

—

Clover the dog has taken upon you, you named her after the first piece of clover that sprouted along the property after you and Hobie toiled away for weeks just trying to keep it all alive. You've both fallen into a routine, you two wake up later than you both intended, snuggling under the thick covers. Always rushing through the routine to have more time to tend the house. You share chores, you cook in the morning while he cooks dinner. He fixes the house, while you try to revive the farmland. At night, you check all his previous injuries for any signs of it opening up; and he does it to you too, as gentle and careful like you were. All in all, you're proud of what you two have accomplished.

It's your very own borrowed heaven.

The house is now fully painted a soft blue; the same shade you both saw when you crossed the ocean to this new land. The door that was once a murky, muddy brown is now in a snowy white that matches the windows and picket fences. The fences aren't complete yet, the rest are still laying next to the barn where Cherry and Bucky hunker down every night after an energetic ride around their pen that used to be covered in piles of old wood and metal scraps. It took an entire week to clean it up even with the combined powers of you, Hobie, and Riri, who decided to pay you two a visit from time to time. She said that she was only making sure that the ‘loser’ hasn't hurt you in any way. To which Hobie promptly rolled his eyes and threw a plank of wood at her feet, to his words ‘make yourself useful instead of being a pain in my own home.’ You joked that he's starting to sound like one of those old men who would chase people out of their property if someone would step a foot onto his grass. And of course he had to call you grandma for the rest of the day in front of Riri because of it.

You sigh in content, smiling eyes roaming along the greener grass from the porch where you sit; and following along bucky and cherry who are running freely around their paddock. Clover huffs in your lap, and you chuckle, wondering what she's dreaming about. The wind picks up, rustling the leaves in the trees, and carrying it in its breeze. The swing under you shifts from the strong wind, hinges creaking along as you push with your socked feet. Hobie built you this swing right on the porch when he found you looking at the stars with your back aching from the lack of a seat. To add to it, he made it so that it'll fit you and him together with Clover sleeping on your lap.

You cover yourself more with Hobie's jacket, shivering slightly, nose and fingers cold. There's a sudden warmth on your cheek, you don't flinch or gasp from the surprise, knowing that it's Hobie with a warm cup of tea.

“Hi,” you smile up, Hobie returns the grin. He looks softer, edges rounded up. He's fresh from a bath, skin smelling of lavender and citrus. He prefers to wear softer and fleecy clothes now, leaving all the leather behind unless he's going for a ride towards town. Now he likes wearing knitted jackets that keeps him warm and comfortable without the stiffness of leather. He prefers jeans now too, and shirts with no collars that clings to his scar uncomfortably. A testament to how the first two buttons on his work shirt are unbuttoned, showing off his chest. “You look handsome.”

“When do I not?” He holds your cup in one hand and a glass of amber in the other. The golden ring in his ring finger shines in the afterglow.

You tilt your head playfully, taking his glass instead of the mug, eyes never leaving his own. He raises a brow when you take a sip from the glass, feeling the burn from the alcohol line your throat. “You're right, never. You always look good.” Your words are only for him and him only as you whisper it.

“Damn right.” He accepts defeat, letting you drink his whiskey while he drinks from your mug of tea. Clinking his glass against your own, you let out a snort, scooching to allow him space as he sits.

The warm liquid seeps into his calloused hands, eyes flicking over to you and between the land that he once thought was barren. Your plants still haven't borne fruit, but the greenery has sprouted like a miracle on dead soil. You almost gave up on the first month when nothing was working in your favour when the ground was still dry and grey. But you didn't, you kept at it everyday, tilling the soil, planting and replanting, watering everything until a single sprout appeared overnight. You jumped for joy when you saw, he still smiles remembering you running towards him with Clover in tow, and slamming yourself against him just to snog him until he was breathless.

He couldn't have made this into a house without you. This wouldn't be a home without you either.

You poke his cheek, feeling how much softer it is than before. “Whatever you're thinking about, stop it.”

“You want me to stop thinkin’ ‘bout you?”

You groan with a smile, head plopping down on his shoulder. “You never fail to rile me up.”

“Pot meet kettle, love.” He looks at you lovingly, like how a man would stare into the eyes of his wife.

Smiling, you place the mouth of your glass on his lips, letting him sip from the amber while he does the same with his tea placed on your own lips. You both drink, arms crossed over the other, lending each other's hand over the other.

You gulp down the warmth, letting it seep through your bones and muscles, letting it relax into you like a hug from a beloved.

Meanwhile, Hobie never let his eyes off you. Deep green eyes, the same colour as the sea of clovers in front of the home, has found its place on your lips, watching you drink from his cup while he drinks from your own.

A comfortable silence settles over the three of you. Clover snores on your lap, happy and content after finding her home. Hobie's hand kneads at your nape, letting his cool hands settle over your warm skin. With your head placed on his shoulder, you bask in your personal paradise. The birds chirp just a few ways away from you, finding their nests settled on the windmill that you two haven't fixed just yet. The sunset paints the entire farm in shades of orange and pink, hues of autumn blanketing the peaceful place you and Hobie built.

This is home, not the marbled walls of the manor you used to reside. Not the fine silks you used to sleep on, *this is home; with it's rough edges, broken pipes that groan in the night, with its walls made from wood and brick that feels cold on your skin— it's home, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You feel him shift closer to you, lips pressing softly against your temple. His hand tracing above your scar. “Shoulder feelin’ alright?”

Humming, you close your eyes as he peppers kisses from your temple down to your wind whipped cheek. “It's feeling much better now, thanks to you.” He takes your glass and places it down on the floor right next to his own mug.

“I didn't do much.” Hobie chuckles, returning to your side not a moment longer, his knuckles brushes along your collarbone. “‘sides, you did all the healin’”

You sigh, eyes meeting up with his own. He can see love in your simple gaze. “Yeah, only because you've cleaned it every night before bed.” Hobie chuckles when you poke his stomach, in return, he nudges his nose against your own, earning a soft hum of approval from you. “How's your head? And everything else?” You narrow your eyes playfully, “can you still count to a hundred?”

His loud guffaw makes you laugh. Shaking his head, he pulls you closer. “It's good,” he says against your lips, breath fanning across your soft skin. “I've got a good nurse.”

“Your nurse didn't go to school for it.” You joke again. Hobie pecks your lips once, twice, until you're pulling him in by his shirt. You feel his smile throughout it all. He kisses you gently, yet he holds you like he's about to lose you.

The much needed kiss is interrupted by Clover sneezing on your lap, snot covering your flowy skirt. You pull away with a laugh, eyes still closed as his fingers still grips your chin, already feeling him pull you in once again.

“Hobie.” You call while he continues to snog you, kissing along the shape of your lips, etching how your lips feel, and how you sigh against him; how you kiss back wholeheartedly.

He hums, murmuring your name while the sound of his kisses echo around the porch and atop the songs of birds flying overhead.

You giggle as his searing hands find its way under your shirt and onto your stomach. He pauses, eyes blinking slowly at you. You clamp down, shining lips shut closed as he raises a brow.

“What? You ticklish now?” Hobie asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You shake your head with a smile. “Nope.”

There's a grin slowly forming on his equally shiny lips. “I think I need to reacquaint myself, I don't remember you being ticklish—” he pokes your side. “—right ‘ere.”

You gasp in feigned offense, “I'm not!”

“You sure ‘bout that?” Wiggling his fingers, you laugh, reaching for his hands before he could attack.

“Okay! Only on that part.” You confess with a breathy laugh. He nods, tucking that information inside his head to be used one day.

Hobie returns to his drink, opting to sip at what was supposed to be your tea. The tea is now tepid, but he still drinks it anyway. You push the swing with your feet, softly, the swing sways back and forth while Clover lays asleep with your hand petting her head.

“We should take Riri up on her offer.” You say into the growing dark of the farm, watching the sun go further down and the light fade away. “It's been three months since she first invited us over.”

“She can wait,” Hobie has latched himself on you, arm snaked around your middle as he finishes his tea.

“Want to hog me all to yourself then?”

“That obvious?” He glances at your beaming face before his eyes stare at Bucky and Cherry trotting inside the barn on their own. Sometimes he thinks those two are actually humans trapped inside a horse's body. He has never seen smarter horses than them.

“Are you worried? About me getting back out there?” You play with the button of his work shirt, letting his scent waft over you when a breeze carries it towards you.

“What if…” Hobie sighs, eyes staring at you with worry. It's a grip taking hold around his body. “What if someone finds us again?” He remembers all the times you two were found by both the law and your aunt’s hired guns even when he took extra precautions. There's still that looming threat especially with how suspiciously peaceful your journey to the farm was. He has every right to be worried, you are too. “As much as good you are with a gun, I don't want to see you shootin’ it at someone again. ‘m… not tryin’ to control you, I just—”

You hold his cheek, thumb brushing along his jaw tenderly, feeling all the tiny scars left on his skin. “No, I understand. You're not like them, Hobie. No one will ever control me ever again.” At your words, he leans towards your touch, hand lifting up to meet with yours. “I won't let them.” Nodding, he kisses your palm, you notice how his hand shakes above your own. You don't mention it. “It's been five months since the train, they might have given up.”

“Let's hope so.” He softly says, green eyes gazing at you. Eyes that haven't seen peace in years, until now.

“Yeah, hope.” It's a fickle thing, but it's enough to light a fire in you. If they come, you'll fight with everything you've got. You've got everything to lose now, and you're willing to wield a gun once more to protect it all. If not, then it'll be a gift that you won't throw away, you'd live here peacefully, live the life you've always longed for. You're afraid that it would be the former.

—

You saddle up the horses in the barn, Buckeye watches your every move as you strap the saddle over to Cherry. There’s worry in his inky eyes, a look that you're all too familiar with. Clover runs around the barn, sniffing everything she comes across.

“You alright there, Buck? What's got you all worried, huh?” You don't expect him to answer, but he neighs in response, a sharp one that has you raising a brow. You've never heard him make that irritated sound. “What's gotten into you?” As you slide your hands down on Cherry's stomach to finish the saddle, Bucky, neighs loudly, hooves thumping against the ground. He looks like he's about to rush into you and throw you over. “Bucky, calm down!” You put your hands up, staying away from both horses.

“Buckeye!” Hobie's booming voice ricochets around the barn as he enters, putting a stop to Bucky's tantrum. Even Clover stops running for a second before returning to her adventure. “What's gotten into you, boy?” He pets his snout, effectively calming him down.

“I was putting on Cherry's saddle and he suddenly got mad.”

“He looks alright.” Nodding, Hobie roams his eyes all over his horse, checking each of his horse shoes in case there's something embedded in his feet. “Nothin’s wrong with him. What about Cherry? He's been overprotective of her lately.”

“Ah shit, do you think I put it on too tight?” Hobie keeps his hold on Bucky's reins, just in case. You check all the belts and buckles on the saddle, finding the fit just right. Until you get to her stomach. “Wait—” hands roaming around, you feel a bump. “What is that?” Cherry looks at you, if horses could raise their brow, she would've done it already. “Are you—?!” You gasp, eyes meeting with Hobie. Glaring at the horse next to him, you embrace Cherry. “Bucky, what did you do to Cherry!”

He already knows what you found. “I think it was a combined effort, love.” Scratching the back of Bucky's ear, Hobie chuckles at your reaction. “You did not waste time, huh, boy?”

“She's smaller than him!” You look at Bucky as if he can explain himself, to which the horse just huffs at you. Hobie keeps patting Buckeye on his back, while Cherry isn't even listening in on the conversation anymore. She prefers the pile of hay next to her, eating without a care.

“And? You are too compared to me.” Hobie unabashedly answers for Bucky. You gasp then laugh, a laugh that changes to a playful offended chortle. You grab a bucket from the ground, ready to throw it at him.

“You should run, Hobie!” Before you could finish yelling, Hobie's already sprinting back inside the house. You run after him, bucket in hand, ready to throw carrots at him.

Hobie waits for carrots to be pelted at him, only to turn around to see you gawking at the planted vegetable patch before you. He stops by the steps on the porch, hands on his hips as you let go of the bucket with a thud.

“What's wrong?”

“They've grown.” You whisper in disbelief, Hobie almost didn't catch your words. Chuckling, you look at Hobie with tears in your eyes. “We’ve got tomatoes!” Pouncing on him, he catches you, arms holding you in place while you celebrate against his neck.

He roams his eyes downwards towards the tomatoes until he spots a handful of it just under a bunch of leaves. “Holy shit!” Hand behind your head, he jumps up and down, matching your excitement. “You did it, love!”

You lean away, and then immediately peppers his face with a dozen kisses, leaving him almost dizzy. Before he could kiss back, you're already back on the ground, plucking the ripest looking one. It's as big as your hand, red and plump; ripe for the taking. All the countless times you've read botany books have finally borne fruit.

Wiping the dirt off of the tomato on your shirt, you hand it to him. “Wanna do the honors?”

“This is all you, lovie.” He gently places it back in your palm, hand lingering on yours; identical rings shining brightly.

You nod as thanks, heart beating rapidly. With a tentative bite, you let the juice coat your mouth, overflowing until it's dripping from your chin. It's perfect, and Hobie thinks you look perfect even with juice sliding down your chin and arm.

“Do you want a room? Because I can go.” Hobie jokes, you laugh heartily.

“Here,” you say, mouth full. “Try it.”

Hobie takes it, biting down just as the same as you, with juices flowing down his arm and onto his shirt. “Fuck!”

You nod rapidly, pride filling your chest. “Right?!”

��Y/N,” he calls, mouth still taking bites of the produce. Gesturing towards the neighboring plants, he watches as your expression morphs into pure elation when you spot your potatoes growing out of the soil, like bald heads peeking out from underneath.

There's dozens of them all lined up and ready to be harvested. You almost guffaw, satisfied and successful at growing something on the once thought barren land.

“We're gonna need a basket.” Perhaps your trip to Riri's saloon will have to wait.

—

The trip to town took longer since Cherry was out of commission, and you only had Bucky to take with you on the ride. By the time you and Hobie make it to Riri's saloon, lunch was in full swing. The place is smaller compared to the other establishments you've been in, and yet, it doesn't lack the energy. Customers line the bar, eating and drinking their fill. Jaunty music fills your ears just as when the saloon doors close behind you, Hobie's hand is placed on the small of your back, fingertips pressing softly, leading you towards the far end of the saloon where the bar is placed.

You roam your eyes around, the band plays on a stage in your right, cello, fiddles and trumpets play alongside the piano. Customers dance around with their partners, smiling faces whizz past you, giving you a polite greeting as you go. There are numerous tables littered around with the people sitting there and chatting energetically, their conversations rising above the music.

A hearty laugh above reaches your ears, when you look up, you see a spiral staircase that leads to the second floor with a balcony. A few patrons look down at you with their drinks in their hands, some are watching the poker game with amusement in their eyes. Drinking glasses clink around while you continue to make your way towards Riri who happens to be tending the bar.

The walls are in a creamy white with rows upon walls of paintings full of portraits and landscapes. There's a giant moose antler above the bar, looming over everyone. The place smells of booze and whiskey. Oddly enough, the scent of melted chocolate lingers above the fog of rum and moonshine. A crystal chandelier hangs high up on the ceiling, the centerpiece of the saloon. Sunlight from the windows filters through the brightly coloured glass, drenching the walls and floor with a kaleidoscope of light.

“Hey, Hobie!” Someone yells from above, Hobie gives them a curt nod. A handful of people recognize him, some greet him kindly like an old friend would. Some gaze at him with trepidation in their eyes.

A stranger with an eyepatch clasps his shoulder before staggering outside. Hobie chuckles and rolls his eyes at the older man.

“Someone's popular.” You whisper.

“A side effect of my reputation.” He smiles gently, fingers tapping on the small of your back. Leading you towards the corner of the bar, the far end where the back door sits behind it; he settles the two of you there, further away from strangers that could make you uncomfortable.

“Finally!” Riri exclaims, “the prodigal son returns!” Everyone at the bar hoots and whistles at Hobie. He ignores each of them, earning some booing and hissing from the crowd. You chuckle from seeing Hobie hide his smile under the brim of his hat. Riri slides in front of you, beer bottle in hand and then plops it in Hobie's waiting hand. “And with the prettiest girl this side of town has ever seen. What have you two been up to in your little slice of heaven, huh? Haven't seen you in months.”

“Busy with the farm.” Hobie says against the lip of his bottle, hand never leaving your back.

“Farm? Your dirt farm? You sure it's not you getting busy with our girl here, eh, Hobs?” Riri gives you a knowing look, you're flustered enough as it is. Hobie just shakes his head, eyes roaming everywhere but your eyes or Riri's.

You clear your throat. “We actually managed to grow something out there. We've got tomatoes, potatoes and even some carrots and strawberries blooming.” Your genuine smile turns Riri's playful one to a proud grin. “We'd bring you some of our harvest but we only rode on Bucky. We didn't want to stress him out further.”

“Why's that?” Riri cleans a glass with a cloth, “Is Cherry sick? We've got a veterinarian here for that.”

“No, she's pregnant.”

“Goddamn, Bucky did not waste any time.”

Hobie nods, “that's what I said.”

“Let's hope his rider doesn't do the same, eh?” She sends you both a wink.

“Fuckin' hell, Riri.” Hobie squeezes the bridge of his nose whilst you're left blubbering from her words. “Is there lunch left for us?” He says with a sigh.

“If you're nice about it, yeah.” Riri looks over at you. “Except for you, pretty, there's always a meal here for you.” You smile, head tilting towards Hobie's shoulder from bashfulness.

“Roast beef still on the menu?” Hobie asks, bottle half empty, stomach growling.

“Say please.” Riri says pointedly.

Hobie huffs, flicking his eyes towards you briefly before surrendering. “...please.”

Riri smirks, “it's always on the menu.” Hobie rolls his eyes at that.

He pokes your back, knuckles tracing around where he poked you. “How ‘bout you? Riri's chef can cook anythin’ you want.”

“Don't steal my words, Hobie.” Riri raises a brow. “Karl can make you anything you want.”

You laugh nervously at the eyes staring and waiting for you. “Uh, I'll have what he's having. And…” Hobie encourages you with a smile and a squeeze on your back. “Soup, any kind of soup you've got available.”

Riri pats the back of your hand with a soft smile. “We've got pumpkin, is that alright?”

“It's perfect.” You turn towards Hobie who's beaming at you, hiding his face with the brim of his hat from the rest of the customers.

—

You watch and listen with a smile in your seat, hand clasped around a glass of orange juice. The band ramps up their set, the music has gotten jauntier and happier right after you finished eating. More people have left the bar to either dance or play poker upstairs. Hobie still sits behind you, fingers curled around your belt loop lovingly. You feel him tapping rhythmically to the sound of the snare drum.

Looking over your shoulder, he nods at you with a soft smile. “They're good, aren't they?” You ask, chin atop your shoulder.

“Yeah, but I think you can beat them.”

You roll your eyes with a chuckle, fully twisting around on the bar stool to wipe a drop of sauce at the tip of his chin, fingers lingering there for a moment. “It's not a competition, Hobs.”

Before Hobie could give a reply, Riri slides over with a slice of chocolate cake. “You know how to play?”

You eye the dessert. “The piano, but I haven't practiced in a while.”

“She's bein’ humble. She's bloody brilliant on the keys.” Hobie takes the plate from Riri with a quick thank you, and then he places it in front of you casually.

You almost protested, thinking that Hobie yanked another customer's order. But Riri proves your thoughts wrong when she, herself, hands you a small fork for your dessert. You mumble a soft thank you, too shy, too grateful to say it louder lest you burst into tears. The cake has chocolate swirls with a large, plump strawberry on top of it. You don't waste time digging in.

“Isn't there an old broken piano at your place?” Riri continues the conversation, eyes flicking to your happy face with a soft smile.

“Yeah, been thinkin’ ‘bout fixin’ the damn thing but I have no idea how.” You almost actually cried on your cake when Hobie said those words.

“I think old man Roberto can fix it.” You savour the cake, listening in on the conversation.

“Your pianist?”

“Yeah, he's a doctor too, did you know that? Pretty great if you ask me—” Riri pauses, you follow her confused look. You see Hobie's stony expression, green eyes aflame like greek fire engulfing an entire fleet of ships. You and Riri have the same idea by following his gaze. She clears her throat at the sight, while you only see a broad shouldered man on the stairs, watching the band play.

“You okay?” You feel worried all of a sudden, what if this was another Culver situation? “Do you know him?”

“An old…acquaintance. Don't worry, he just owes me money.” Patting your back, he doesn't want to lie to you. What would that even bring?

“Oh, alright.” You slide the plate over to him. “I saved you some cake.”

Hobie chuckles, “nah, it's all yours, love.”

“Thank you,” you take the plate back. “I was just being nice.” Hobie shakes his head with a chuckle, you miss how he's having a silent conversation with Riri while you chow down.

“What did you even put in this, Riri? It's so fucking good!” With your fork, you scrape the plate to gather the rest of the chocolate icing. You have no shame at this point, it's the best cake you've ever had.

Riri takes a while to reply, so you lift your head up to see what's going on. You're met with her genuine smile. “Don't thank me, thank my grandma, it's a family recipe.”

“Well, thank you, Riri's grandma.”

Hobie stares at something behind you, Riri interrupts you before you could look over your shoulder. “Do you want to meet the band?”

“Holy shit! Really?” You grin from ear to ear, turning to see Hobie give you a nod and a small smile. “Do I have something in my teeth?” You grin widely, Hobie shakes his head, amused by you.

“Yeah, they're really nice. Come on, let's get you acquainted.” Riri jumps over the bar effortlessly, taking you by the hand and leading you towards the dance floor.

“I'll be back, Hobie!” You excitedly say over your shoulder as Riri twirls you around in the middle of the crowd. Hobie chuckles in his seat, drinking a cup of tea. He hears Riri ask you to dance, to which you happily agree.

Hobie keeps an eye on you, and he trusts Riri to keep you safe until he's done dealing with him. Hobie watches as Miguel saunters off towards him, spurs clinking as he sits down on your seat.

“Looks like Riri took your girl.” He says while ordering a beer from the other bartender.

“Why didn't you tell me that it was her, Miguel?”

Miguel catches the drink in his open palm as the bottle slides from the other end to his hand. “Simple, I didn't know who she was.” He cracks it open by banging the cap against the edge of the bar. The metal clanks on the floor as it falls.

“Bullshit, O’Hara.” Hobie says through clenched teeth.

“She has a sweet tooth doesn't she?” He refers to your almost clean plate.

“Miguel.” Hobie utters more pointedly, taking the beer from his hand before he even takes a sip. “Why didn't you tell me it was her?”

Miguel sighs, “I didn't know it was her. But I had a hunch. People at camp talk y’know. And you're a blabber mouth when you're drunk. A deadly combination.” He eyes his beer bottle, Hobie waits for more answers. “The guy who gave me the job just gave me her description. The same description I gave you, Hobie. Not my fault you didn't recognize her.”

“Who gave it to you?”

Miguel flexes his hand, asking for his drink back. Hobie clenches his jaw before sliding the bottle back to him reluctantly. “You should thank me. I got you two together again.”

“Just tell me, Miguel, or I'll ask for that bounty you owe me.”

“You technically didn't complete the job, so…” Hobie stares at him with the same look that Miguel has only seen him sport when he has his target in his crosshairs. “It was a middleman. He said his boss was an oil baron of some kind.” He’s about to take a sip, but doesn't. Grimacing when he brings the bottle back down to only see Hobie having the same fiery look. It brings a shiver down his spine. “Can you stop?”

“Who?”

“Don't know, didn't ask.”

“She could've died, Miguel.” That thought has him trembling in place. Hobie balls his fists, hiding how the mere thought of it shakes him to his core.

“She would've died either way, Hobie. But she had you, if I gave the job to any other person, she would've. Trust me, I did not know it was her, or that you even knew her. It's not like I made her come here.”

Hobie inhales sharply. “It wasn't you who sent the letter?”

“What fucking letter?”

“I sense some tension in the air. You know, conducting business in my establishment isn't allowed. Except if you involve me.” Riri jumps to Miguel's side, taking the beer from his hand, chugging it as sweat drips from her brow. With a sigh, Miguel orders another beer.

“Where's Y/N?” Hobie answers his own question when he sees you playing the piano with the rest of the band. His lips curl up into a smile, fists unclenching at the music you're playing. You're having the time of your life.

“Relax, Romeo, she's fine.” Riri claps to the rhythm. Hobie hears your hearty laugh from where he's sitting. The saloon's band seems to be having fun too.

In Hobie's mind, everything clicks in place. “It was you who sent my letter.” Hobie jabs his finger on Riri's shoulder blade.

She snorts, “of course it was me. I couldn't handle your sulking any longer. Seriously, I was losing customers because of your weekly letter writing and crying session.”

Miguel laughs, he sees Hobie's glare and tamps down to a snicker. Riri leans in the bar to yank a bottle of whiskey from underneath the shelves.

“Why?”

“You weren't happy being a lone ranger.”

Hobie feels like lightning struck him. “Fuckin' hell, Riri, you could've said somethin'. Warned me ‘bout it.”

“And? You'd somehow find it in your heart to immediately forgive her and pick her up from the docks?” Riri pours the whiskey inside three glasses, handing it to each of the men. “You’re like a brother to me, Hobie. We came up in this fuckwad’s gang—” she points at Miguel who's caught in the middle. He just pinches the bridge of his nose. “—at the same time. Do you think I'd let you wallow and die alone in that dirt farm of yours?”

Hobie doesn't answer. He knows that the journey was needed. But if Riri actually warned him about it beforehand, would you be here right now? Or would you be dead somewhere along your journey to him because he couldn't find it in his heart to come to you?

“See? Not everything's my fault. Just a freak coincidence.” Miguel pipes up, now eating a slice of cake just as you have.

Riri ignores him. “I know you had a slight apprehension towards her because of what happened.”

“She could've died, Riri. When I found her, she was trying to steal food.”

Riri breathes shakily, eyes glossing over. “And I'm sorry for that, truly. I never thought that would happen, or that her people would put a bounty on her. I only knew her from you, Hobie. I'm sorry. And I'll apologize to her, I promise.”

“She's really good on that piano.” Miguel comments before returning to his cake. Hobie and Riri continue to ignore him.

Hobie sucks in his teeth. “‘Slight apprehension’ didn't cut it back then.” He whispers.

Riri looks at him with a frown, eyes downturned. She knows his story, and she knows his side of it. “You know when I was a kid I used to hate the edges on bread. I always asked my mom to cut it off for me which added more workload for her, but she still did it.” She smiles fondly. “And now as an adult I love the edges, it's the best part of the bread for me.”

“What are you sayin'?”

“I'm saying that people change. And I'm not just referring to her.” Hobie understands her double entendre.

Hobie scoffs, stealing a quick glance at you. “It's bread, Riri.”

“I can see that she may have thought you were a burden back then but I highly doubt she has the same thoughts now.” Riri takes a sip from her glass. “How would you even know that you were a burden to her when the exact words didn't come out of her own mouth?”

“She told me it wasn't her, I know that now. It was all Hicks, the same fucker that did this to me.” Miguel straightens in his seat, Riri flicks her eyes at his scar knowingly. “They're still lookin’ for her, I know it.”

“If they ever find you both, we have your back.” Riri clasps Hobie's shoulder. He holds her hand briefly before letting go with a thankful nod. “It's the least I can do.” Miguel agrees with a grunt and a pat on his gun.

“It's more than enough, Ri.”

You wave towards Hobie from the small stage, jumping down to walk past the crowd and to him. Hobie's heart feels a little bit lighter from the conversation, like a bullet taken out from his skin.

Miguel stands up, and then pats Hobie and Riri in the shoulder before putting his hat back on. His hazel eyes meet with yours for a second, you give him a polite smile as you navigate your way out of the jam-packed audience.

Miguel fixes his hat, eyes zeroing in on the ring around Hobie's finger. “Nice ring. You two tied the knot without inviting me and the rest of the gang?” You pause by the menu, acting like something caught your eye while you listen in. The saloon is noisy enough for his words to be muffled, but you understood it perfectly.

“Not really,” Hobie glances towards you for a second before flicking his eyes over at his ring that he keeps twisting and turning around his finger.

“Well you've got everything else covered. And I've seen the way you look at her. If that's not marriage, I don't know what is.” Miguel clasps Hobie's shoulder in a parting goodbye, his face is unreadable from where you are. Miguel leans in closer this time, hazel eyes staring into Hobie's soul. His expression turns serious, lips pursed into a thin line, whispering words that you couldn't hear from where you stood. “You gonna tell her all the things you've done to survive this place?”

Hobie stands up to greet you halfway. “Worse, she has seen it.” Miguel leaves, and Hobie holds your hand with a proud smile, but you can tell something happened while you were gone. He sees it, so he leads you back to the bar where Riri waits to tell you everything.

“Did he pay you back?”

“Nah, he didn't have the money on him.”

“What an asshole.” He laughs, not bothering to hide his affection for you in front of the whole saloon any longer.

—

You lean back, smiling at the lavender sunset before you. Hobie's hands are occupied with the reins, but he still finds the time to nuzzle his chin on your shoulder. A small act that has you grinning as you cup his cheek for a moment.

Riri's confession was a surprise to you, but after the shock ended, you couldn't help but let out a loud guffaw in the saloon. You stood out like a sore thumb whilst Hobie rubs your back from how much you were laughing. You even thanked Riri for what she did on Hobie's behalf, to which she sighed in relief from your reaction. If she didn't send that letter, you'd still be in that wretched place, you'd still be half dead, surviving but not living. The journey to Hobie was tough and marred with pain and bloodshed, and yet, you'd take that journey all over again if you knew that he'd be holding you like this once again; that he still loves you despite everything that has happened to him and to you. With a parting hug, and a promise that you'll visit again, you and Hobie set off back on the road towards home.

The route home is filled with an abundance of scenery. Fields of flowers and tall grass line the sides of the bumpy dirt road. Daisies, poppies and baby's breath are in full bloom, its colours bringing even more brightness to the land. Cows and horses graze all over, they look up at the sound of Bucky's hooves thudding against the soil.

Hobie gathers up the reins in one hand, arm holding on to your waist before bending down from his saddle. Buckeye still gallops away as you immediately try to get a hold of Hobie before he falls.

“What are you doing?!” You ask, voice shaky, eyes up front while he has his palm open, gathering flowers on the side of the road.

“Just hold onto me!” Numerous flowers gather in his hand, its petals are filled with dew, sweet smelling and colourful against his leather gloves. Some of the stems are broken from the motion of the galloping horse. But you don't mind as he sends you a wink while he's on the side like he's doing the most mundane thing.

Laughing, you help pull him up. He hands you the bundle of flowers from behind, lips brushing along the shell of your ear. “That'll be five bucks.”

You giggle, thumb brushing along one of its red petals. “That's expensive for a roadside bouquet.” Hiding your face behind the flowers, you take a whiff of the sweetness whilst you gaze behind you through your fluttering lashes. “I think you're swindeling me, cowboy.”

“Fine,” he dramatically sighs, earning a soft laugh from you. His viridescent eyes remind you of the clovers back home. “I'll give you a discount.”

“A kiss then?”

“I was goin' to say ‘three bucks’ but that works too.” His eyes are on the road, but he briefly gazes into yours with tenderness.

“I'll pay my dues then.” You crane your neck back as far as you can. With a hand running up behind his head, you push him gently to meet with your own for a quick peck. “There, all paid.”

Hobie grins, trying hard not to indulge more lest he crashes Bucky into a tree. “Nah, that was half.”

“Half?” You feign a scoff. “Fine, I'll give it to you in installments.” Your neck is starting to ache from the position, but you can't help but keep still when he even looks this good in this awkward angle.

Bucky slows down, you hear the rush of a body of water before you see it. Hobie clicks his tongue, Buck completely stops from the command. “I'll take it.”

“You're not gonna ask when I'll ‘pay’ you?”

Hobie places his hand around your throat, not clenching, nor digging in; no, he does it to gently straighten your neck to save you from a crick in your nape. You follow willingly, never have you felt this soft kind of grasp around your neck— it's been the opposite before this, before him.

The pads of Hobie's fingers rub along your nape, soothing the growing ache. “Surprise me.”

Your smile grows when you quickly look forward, you see a small dock in a shining lake that's surrounded by oak trees and cattails growing on the side. The water shimmers under the afterglow like diamonds laid upon silk.

Hobie raises his brows with a smile, you're sure he's patting himself on the back. He smoothly gets off his horse with a flourish. With his feet back on the ground, he holds your waist, waiting for you to push yourself off so he could help you down. As if you ever need it, but you sometimes like to be spoiled this way, especially if It's Hobie spoiling you with his affections.

You hold the bouquet against your chest while he looks up at you lovingly, not telling you to hurry up or attempt to yank you off. “They told me that you're so mashed. What does that even mean?”

“Who's they?”

“The band, they said and I quote, ‘that Hobie is properly mashed for you! We've never seen him look at someone like that unless—’” You pause, hands on his wrist, pushing yourself off as he guides you down on the ground carefully. You floated for a moment, you then tuck the flowers in Bucky's saddle bag for safe keeping.

“Unless what?”

You bite your lip to tamp down a laugh. “‘Unless you're one of Riri’s homemade chocolate cakes.’” Poking his chest, you playfully jab him while he has his hands up in mock surrender. “I knew you wanted that cake!”

“It was yours! And I've had it a thousand times before, love.” He grabs your wrists, stopping your poking to pull your hand over his neck so you'd hold him closer. Toe to toe, you close the gap even more by scooching closer.

You poke him with your chin on his clavicle. “And here I thought you were being nice.”

“I was,” Hobie utters against your lips, “don't worry, I ordered one for myself while you were playing on stage.”

You gasp in feigned offense. “You dare?!”

Nodding, Hobie pulls you closer by your wrist. “I dare.” He mocks teasingly.

“Guess I have to jump in the lake to let the waters wash away this betrayal.” Moving away, you walk backwards towards the dock while keeping an eye at him.

Hobie watches you go. The second he steps forward, you sprint away, giggling. Milkweeds and poppies brush along your legs as you run while stripping off your boots and jacket, you then throw it all behind you. The fabric hits Hobie's face, he hears a splash as he yanks it off, laughing with you. Stripping off his coat, belt and boots, he jumps in right after with a louder and bigger splash.

The water is colder than you expected when it hit your skin. But you suppose it's worth staying for a little while even if it means getting a cold. You wipe your face from the splash that hit you, shivering slightly and incredibly happy without a care for the rest of the world.

“Hobie?” You twist around, swimming in a circle to look for him.

Hobie doesn't resurface after his jump, your grin slowly turns into panic when you see bubbles rise up from where he jumped.

“Hobie!” You feel bile rise in your throat, panic and worry settling in your stomach. “Hob—!” You're suddenly lifted up, thighs perched on his shoulder with his head in between. “You ass—!” You see him give you a smirk before tossing you behind with a splash.

He once again lifts you up, by your waist this time. He's met with a glare from you, and he has the audacity to laugh at your face. You splash, wiggling and thrashing in his hold. “‘m sorry! I saw the opportunity!”

“Not funny! I thought you drowned!” Continuing to splash at his face, Hobie embraces you against his chest until you've tired yourself out. You manage to give him one last splash to his face before you gave up, and then you slouch against him.

“Good thing I taught you how to swim, huh?” He softly says, floating around the lake.

“Yeah,” you hide behind the crook of his neck, nose nudging his skin while you try to forget how your aunt reacted when you came home drenched and dripping on her carpets.

“You okay?” Hobie rubs in between your shoulders. “‘m sorry, I thought it was funny.”

You sniff from the cold, leaning away to meet with his eyes. “It was, just don't take too long to resurface.” Smiling, you wipe water droplets off his pierced eyebrow. “Remember the day you convinced me to let you teach me how to swim?”

“Yeah, I told you that you wouldn't be able to swim if the ship you're on capsizes.”

“It scared the shit out of me.”

“‘m sorry that scared you.”

“Stop apologizing,” you cup his jaw, feeling his stubble, “besides, we ended up here years later. It's a good ending.”

“Yeah, a good ending.” He fixes your blouse, laying the collar flat so the edge doesn't poke your eye out. Noticing your far off stare behind him, he imagines the worst. But when he turns, he sees a huge deer with large antlers drinking from the side of the lake. “Holy shit.” Hobie moves, but you stop him so he doesn't startle the deer.

It continues to drink calmly. A bush from the side shakes, Hobie almost went for his gun but he's proven wrong when a white tailed doe appears.

“She's gorgeous,” you whisper, hugging him from behind while you watch the doe drink next to the deer. “Do you think they know each other?”

“Maybe.” He doesn't believe his eyes, “maybe they're mates.”

You kiss his cold cheek. “You think so?”

With your hands intertwined with his own underwater, he pulls you closer until there's no space left in between. He once dreamed to be this close to you, now that he's skin to flesh with you, he will never let go. He'd rather be buried alive again rather than be apart with you.

The deer nudges the doe's head before they gallop away from the lake. Hobie sniffs, finger brushing along your ring. “Yeah, they are.”

—

The sun has fully set now, dark blue engulfing you with the night howling its cold breeze against your wet skin. The large oak tree behind you shields you from the harsh wind. It reminds you of the one back home where he carved both of your initials on the trunk. Hobie embraces you from behind, sharing his warmth while you two wait for the clothes on your back to dry before riding home. Bucky sleeps next to you, huffing in his sleep. The bonfire roars, warming you in its orange glow, flames dancing in your vision.

Hobie hasn't taken his fingers off your ring that he rolls around your finger since you sat down. His eyes stare at the fire, shoulders relaxed, yet his jaw is clenched. You think his body is acting on instinct, and is still getting used to the calm.

“You're quiet, I'm worried.” You say, head leaning on his chest, back slouched to look at him.

Hobie raises a brow, eyes glancing down at you before returning back to the fire. “‘m thinkin’.”

“That's a first,” you joke, squeezing his hand. He chuckles, pecking the top of your head once before sighing in your hair. “Okay, now I'm worried. What's wrong?”

“I was thinkin' that we're practically married.” Something flashes behind your eyes that he missed. “We've got the rings, the house, the love and everythin' else.” He can't let Miguel get to him, but he can't get his words out of his mind either. If that's not marriage, I don't know what is.

You give him a soft shaky smile, eyes glossy against the light of the bonfire. Cradling his face, he leans against your palm, placing a heavy kiss on your cool skin. A sob threatens to escape you, clawing at your chest to be let go. You don't let it.

“We kind of are, huh?” He asks, eyes closed while holding your hand against his lips.

“I–it's close.” You manage to choke out. “I suppose we are, Hobs.” Tears collect in your lashes, blurring him in your vision like water colours bleeding in together. “Are you afraid of it?” Of us? You fear waking up one day and finding his side of the bed empty except for a note addressed to you. It's irrational, you know it is.

“No,” he sniffs, “it's the opposite. My fear isn't anywhere near that.”

You blink to clear the tears, letting it fall without a sound. “What are you most afraid of, cowboy?”

Hobie opens his eyes and you're met with a sea of green, shining and glittering just like the lake near you. “You, you're what I'm most afraid of.” You turn to fully face him, body placed in between his legs that comfortably cage you in. You don't let him go even when he burrows his chin on the top of his chest. For a moment, he doesn't say a word, until he sniffs and returns to meet with your eyes. “Losin’ you, seein’ your blood stainin’ my hands.” He holds both of your hands in his own. “That's what I'm afraid of, not my own death, yours. Because I can't live another five years without you. Especially a life lived without you isn't a life well lived.”

You feel his love and all the ache he carried in those five years like never before. He doesn't want to lose the life he built with you here; he doesn't want to lose all the mornings with you, he doesn't want to sleep without you by his side. He doesn't want to lose you.

You never even thought for a moment that you deserve this kind of tenderness after all the hatred that was thrown at you like a hail of firestorm. And yet, here he is, he loves you, the kind of love that reverberates through your very bones and settles into your soul. You still don't think you deserve it, but who are you to deny such love, especially from him? You did not beg for this kind of love, nor prayed for it. It's not the kind of love that the fates or the universe have thrust upon you in a shower of meteors. It was gradual, it came in a trickle and then a wave. And when you two were finally on the same page— you love him with every single bone in your body— you love him intentionally and wholeheartedly.

Kneeling to level with him, hands holding his cheeks, you hope that your simple touch is enough to let him feel all the love and affection you have for the man before you.

With your forehead against his own, you softly utter the same three words you've been telling him every morning and and every night before bed. “I love you.” He nods, whispering the same words atop your lips like a mantra; a song that replays in his head over and over again. You kiss the corner of his lips before leaning away. “I–if that ever happens, I'll live for you. I'll bring back my blood inside me if I have to.” You wipe away his stray tear, “Just promise me you'll do the same.” You know that you won't be able to do anything if it does happen to you, nor he, if it happens to him. They're empty promises meant to fill the holes in your chests for comfort to hold onto— to help ease your minds throughout the night whilst he lays his head upon your chest at night.

The weight of the looming threat feels like a reality. As if someone laid a pillow to his sleeping face. Hobie takes you in his arms, embracing you; hand placed on the back of your head as if he's already trying to shield you from what he fears most.

The mere thought of you loving him so much that you'd defy death itself, and despite the blood underneath his nails has him tethering upon the precipice of paradise. Maybe that's all there is then, to be loved despite the blood staining his hands, and despite his gnashing teeth that could take your flesh if he so desires; that he'll never desire to do to you— It's enough for him to be with you, and for you to be with him until you're both old and frail, until you're both six feet under; behind the same house he made into a home for you.

He has everything to lose, and he'll raise hell itself if need be just to bring you back. *When they come for you, there won't be enough bullets in the world for him.

With determination in his eyes that fans the flames in his chest, he utters an impossible promise on your skin.

“I promise.”

You hug Hobie, hand splayed on his back while the other kneads at his nape. Opening your eyes, you see the same deer and doe on the other side of the lake, standing side by side peacefully with their reflections on the lake. The sounds of the night echo above the glimmering depths of the water. It all brings you hope despite the conversation, they won't find you, that's your hope. You get to stay here forever with him, that's your only wish in this world.

Amidst the swaying grass, and in his arms, you feel infinite. You finally feel like you exist with the gentle wind and the raging rivers. No more do you feel like you burn everyday, where there's ash in your mouth, embers hidden underneath your hands; living in a house built to be kindling in your all consuming flames of loneliness. Earthbound once more, alive again.

#reblog reply #thank you for reblogging ❤️❤️#opin thoughts #bestie's thoughts #🫶🫶🫶

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arialerendeair · 1 year ago

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NaNoWriMo 2023 Recap

NaNo has officially ended, and with 260,235 words under my belt for the month (NaNo graphs under the cut), a new 'written in one day' record of 36,473 words, time to make a list of the stuff that was written and checked off!

Here is the list of things (including links for those of you who might have missed some of the updates)!

DONE - Colour Forecasting (with @blueberrymffn!)

PROGRESS - Old Town Road (AKA The "Hob is a Horse Girl" Fic) (Based on @amielot’s art!!)

DONE - Rewrite the Stars - the Figure Skating AU

PROGRESS - Becoming Hope of the Endless

DONE - Well-Matched

DONE - Broken Glass, the very belated birthday present for @pellaaearien

Random Fishbowl Rescue Fic #57

Art of Seduction Series Next Fic

Art of Seduction Series Next Next Fic

DONE - Big Bang Fic for The Centennial Husbands Big Bang

PROGRESS - The Golden Trio Fic

DONE - Sequel for Braided Longing (Marriage Braids)

DONE - Sequel for Dreams Make Living Worthwhile (Solstice Chapter)

DONE - Sequel for The Sonnet-Off (What was in the necklace Case?)

DONE - Sequel for Dream of Dragons (Dream figuring out what Hob’s hoard is)

DONE - Sequel for A Dream Model (Hob showing up marked up LOTS for modeling)

Sequel for The War for The Dreaming (BABY DREAMLING)

Sequel for The Age Difference Fic Opera Sequel (Dreamstuff fucking in public)

DONE - Sequel for A Family Stands Tall (Night & Time kidnap Hob)

NEW AND DONE - Dethroned - BAMF Hob fun

NEW AND DONE - A Blundered Beginning - Sequel to right where you left me by @seiya-starsniper

NEW AND DONE - What's a Bit of Death Between Friends? - More BAMF Hob fun

NEW AND DONE - Call of the Wild - Wolfy Hob fic inspired by @gabessquishytum

That's a wild amount of words, lol - so enjoy the fic updates everyone!

NaNo Stats below!

Total Words Written in November 2023 (1k less than my all-time record of 261k that I got last year)!

The line graph of how my month went!! (November 30th broke the graph a bit, but the rest of the month was consistent!)

Last but not least, my new single-day written record, which smashed my old one by more than 5k!

Whew!

What a wild month, y'all.

#Aria Posts #NaNoWriMo #NaNoWriMo Recap #dreamling #Fanfic #SO MANY WORDS #I sat down and wrote my entire Big Bang across 60 total hours #That fic wrote itself holy shit #This list got SO MUCH smaller #Impressively so

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infinitelytheheartexpands · 4 years ago

Text

Responses from the Opera Screencaps Captioning Quiz

Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking my quiz! I had SO MUCH fun reading your captions-- there were several times I literally started crying from laughing so hard at the amazingness of your work! With that in mind, the captions (which I will continue to add onto as more people take it):

(also, thank you to @dichterfuerstin for translating the German captions I got)

originally taken from: the Wiener Staatsoper’s 2020 production of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail, featuring Regula Mühlemann (center) as Blonde, Michael Laurenz (right) as Pedrillo, and an unnamed extra (left) as the Grim Reaper

Responses:

(Backstage warm-up) “ok so someone dropped the pulse”

me and my friends watching the fire burn after doing arson

Introducing the polycule to the parents

*boom* ... did...you guys hear that too?

Ma Signor !

Knight in whinging armour gone wrong, look at how he holds the egg. Polyamory with weird knight and death.

the father, son and the holy ghost are very gay

the gays meeting for brunch, 2021, colorized

chicken lady forces death and a very flamboyantly homosexual anthropomorphized pink bird to be parents of her egg (they dont want to be)

That’s just me and my friends on our night out (before covid rip)-- closest

A Good Friday night

good omens (2019)

["the pocket guide to boy/girl/mischief" meme] who's the boy and who's the mischief though????

Papageno and Papagena take their first-born egg trick-or-treating

Angry Birds - The Musical. A pig stole an egg and the bird unites with death to take revenge.

I love my bird wife

Someone got murdered during the funky chicken dance

throuple murders child and steals sibling of said child

When you and your friends have widely different tastes in literature

angel leading twink to his rightful place (hell)

draco malfoy from a very potter musical and a death eater are very much in the wrong show

What have I gotten myself into

Mlm/wlw solidarity but I’m not telling who is who

A woman stands with a pink dipshit with an egg and a reaper.

A bird-couple makes a pact with Death, sacrificing their first-born bird-child in order to bring good luck upon their unborn bird-baby

There are three types of people on Halloween:

Uh oh, I don’t think the mother hen is very happy about this...

oh god, they’ve invented seussical. It’s too early!

gay brunch

Three little maids from school are we

guys maybe if we dress gay enough we can distract everyone from the dead flapper bee in the back

those three killed a duck for her egg and are facing the conswquences.

Duck has egg with human, shocked and upset due to biological impossibility

When you bout to make a banging omelet so you invite your fellow queers

"No mortal man could pass that egg, but heaven shall repair your rectum."

originally taken from: the Salzburg Festival’s 2007 production of Hector Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, featuring Maija Kovalevska (left) as Teresa Balducci, Laurent Naouri (center, in chimney) as Fieramosca, and Burkhard Fritz (right) as Benvenuto Cellini

Responses:

“In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.” - a midsummer night’s dream, act v scene 1

"ah yes a prime specimen. see here, right in this box is our one of a kind hob goblin that can be all yours for the low low price of your soul"

what, YOU don't have a special eavesdropping chimney window?

Hänsel und Gretel plotting against the witch

man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a chimney, catches his girlfriend cheating-- closest

when you end up third wheeling the straight couple

lady cheats on her leather jacket wearing scummy boyfriend and when he unexpectedly comes home she hides the lover in the chimney

A straight girl and her gay best friend gossip about stuff idk

Idk Shakespeare?

experimental couples therapy feat. the chimney mf from mary poppins

Area Couple Inadvertently Traps Santa-in-Training in Chimney as they Attempt Rooftop Flirting

Landlords laugh over student renter's misfortune

I never asked for this

Ay yo lil mama lemme whisper in your ear

voyeurist listens to sandy and Danny from grease

Psssst! Did you hear about Susan? You won’t believe it!

lady and the tramp meets beauty and the beast?

human trafficking

And for just $30 you too could have your own tiny brick cage!

Psst I’m wearing assless chaps under this dress

A couple tortures a man in a box.

It's all fun and games being stuck in a chimney until your greasy uncle steals your crush from right above you-- okay ngl this could actually be a great Don Pasquale concept

Taking eavesdropping to the next level

Will you two stop being lovey dovey and let me out? SUMMER LOVIN, HAPPENED SO FAST—

overhearing how people talk about you when they think they're alone puts you in the shithouse

Does he know we can see him?

dear god, i am so fucking hungry, yall please just do whatever heterosexuals do so i can go eat a popsicle

the human version of the trash man from sesame street is realizing that those two are going to fuck on his trash can

Tmw you capture an angry short dude and start trashtalking him where he can hear

Omg what if we kissed but we actually kissed the lil goblin man under us

"Remember, don't feed him after midnight"

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Leonardo Estevez (right, on fake horse) as Le Comte d’Oberthal

Responses:

“When I said we needed to drain the swamp I didn’t think there were people actually living there”

horse? what horse? no sir i dont know what horse youre referring to.

definitely don't have a napoleon complex going on

King stole La Scala‘s Lohengrin set

king breaks all his horses, has to use statue dragged by servants as transportation because he’s too kingly too walk

Emperor Söder and his subjects on a carnival procession

man on horse makes a big deal out of being on a horse

That’s not Zeffirelli because the horse is not alive

Who the fuck put a horse on the stage

isn't this that picture of napoleon on the horse

Area Count Thinks Citizens will be Intimidated by his Extremely Fake-looking Horse Statue-- closest

Everyone wants their turn on the giant plaster horse. Police are there to make sure everyone waits their turn.

Night out with the lads

Local royalty horrified at the state of his own damn kingdom

gay army fights different gay aesthetics-- hi author how does it feel to be the funniest fucking person on this quiz

Well at least I LOOK badass

ceasar if he hadn't gotten stabbed (colourised)

some soldiers jumped out of my kindergarten fairytale collection book to burn the don carlos flemish deputies at the stake

It’s just a model

Is that how you feel pulling up in your Honda Civic, Madge?

Someone rides a horse statue in public.

Just a normal party with the bros.

what is this, some kind of crossover episode?

Terribly sorry for all the fuss, it’s just, that is, my horse is afraid of neck ruffles. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s—whoaaa there—he said he was a french courtier in a past life and he’s allergic to English fashion

Horse seller, listen to me! I am riding into battle. I need your strongest horse. - We have horses at home. - The horses at home:

All hail Incitatus the king

we are not ripping off shakespeare’s henry viii. what the fuck. this is about lenny xi you uncultured swine, go drown in a pit of your own farts

oh god is that hamilton

Guy Removed From Art Museum For Sitting On Statue, more at eleven

Gay <3

Officer: This horse... is a virgin! Crowd: *cheers*

originally taken from: the Parma Verdi Festival’s 2017 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Stiffelio, featuring Maria Katzarava (left) as Lina and Luciano Ganci (right) as Stiffelio

Responses:

That One kid in class

its a mEntAL BreAkDowN *final countdown but kazoo*

*record scratch* yeah, that's me. you're probably wondering how I got here-- closest

Dad keeps monologuing, teenager is done

left: all of my concerned friends, right: my emo ass having a very public mental breakdown

the demons in the corner of my room when im just trying to sleep

lady gets mansplained to (do i need to say more, we've all been there)

It’s probably an area baritone telling off an area soprano-- sorry; it’s a tenor. soprano is right though.

That was a fake horse in the last photo right?

child comes out as gay to father at a particularly bad time

dissociation solves everything

I can't believe it's not butter

Honey we talked about this

My sleep paralysis demon is Crowley from supernatural

child has nightmare of boring job

When you start dating a singer but he won’t stop practicing at night

just an average day in a hetero marriage

what do i do my wife's having period cramps again

Stop having an existential crisis. It’s time to sing!

“No son of mine will kin Gomez Addams under MY roof”

Crowley stares into space while a teen has post nut clarity.

When he wont stop reciting jordan peterson monologues!!

Do you realize how effed you are?

Ugh, not this lecture again! Dad’s Practicing For His Experimental Indie Band Again

asking your parents for help with your own personal situation and them just ranting off about what they went through instead of helping in any way

Will he shut up already!

no one tell him he’s yelling in the wrong direction, no one tell him plnsbdjddhdj

this kid is tired of his dad listening to rush limbaugh (a man who claimed to be pro life but died anyway)

Me internally vs externally

Daddy issues

originally taken from: the Grand Théâtre de Genève’s 2020 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, featuring several chorus members

Responses:

It’s the deadly eye Of Poogley-pie. Look away, look away, As you walk by, ‘Cause whoever looks right at it Surely will die. It’s a good thing you didn’t … You did? … Good-bye. - shel Silverstein

why the fuckith? my good sir, i beg of you to put your pants back on

I hate this itchy hat

Titanic Extras hear that they have to do extra hours

people waiting to board the titanic watch someone fall off the plank

pov: you’re a time traveler

guy in the flatcap is embarrassed by patriotism and pathos

No idea. For some reason Le Marseillaise comes to mind

Is this from Harry Potter?

disneyland main street usa workers on strike

local tries to hide behind Newsies cap to avoid unpleasant but inevitable conversations. meanwhile, some very fashionable ladies look on.

"Thank fuck, 2020 was just a dream after all"

“We gather here today because this bitch got exactly what she deserved” “heaven!” “Stfu Stephanie she’s going to hell and we all know it”-- not quite but this basically happens later on in the opera (and act) so yeah (except the person in question very much Did Not Deserve It)

dc movie filter on bridgerton

america?

looks like my history teacher paused the prohibition documentary again

Who still wears page boy hats bro?

Coming out to a room of people who Already Knew That

Bitches are relieved at some party.

Several drunk people exiting getting off the subway attempting to seem sober and rational but realizing they have somehow lost all of their possessions

How tf do I act natural in this situation-- closest

“do you think any of them noticed that I don’t know the pledge of allegiance”

It's too fucking hot outside for this outfit

when hyyh yoonkook ending just hits different

pedestrians watch in horror as the triangle shirtwaist factory burns and the workers throw themselves out of the windows from a dozen stories up

Starting the pledge of allegiance be like

He's having a heart attack oh no oh god oh fuck

originally taken from: if I remember correctly, the Semperoper Dresden’s 2018 semi-staging of Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus, with Jonas Kaufmann as Gabriel von Eisenstein

Responses:

“William Shakespeare wrote: "To thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man" I believe this wise statement best applies to a woman A blonde woman Over the past three years she taught me And showed us all That being true to yourself never goes out of style Ladies and gentlemen Our valedictorian: Elle Woods!” - legally blonde the musical

eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs

woooooorrrrd

Finally Jonas has graduated! It’s about time, considering he’s an international star.

what my professors think they look like

Prof. Dr. Dr. When someone tells him there are more than two genders

'and since you've now graduated high school, you'll be entering college etc. blablabla' .........meanwhile, there's a whole row of graduates daring each other to chug the cheap vodka one of them has brought in gallons (yes that happened at my graduation, lol)

Jonas darling baby <3-- can’t argue with that

I just realized I have no idea what the actual fuck happens in an opera

ok this one is just what jonas kaufmann always wears you can't fool me.

"as valedictorian i will share with you the importance of loving the floor"

"Yes, mother, my art degree will make me money!"

Graduation speakers are out, singers are in

Senior year takes a new meaninbg

mansplainer professor explains the concept of feminism to women

Your Prof when you finally turn in that missing assignment be like

younger boris johnson (derogatory)

jonas kaufmann retires from opera and takes up motivational speaking

What a fine graduation evening we’re having today

-70 points for slytherin you all have no swag

A man with a college hat sings.

An obviously greying actor trying to play a university student in a low-budget porn parody

How it feels to graduate high school after being held back for years

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brûlée, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor-

I may not have been "cool" in high school, but in ten years you will all be working for me!

I finally got my GED!

that one guy in ur intro to cultural anthropology class who mansplains to the professor somehow fucking graduated

he;s just graduating and taking his speech too serously idk

Graduation speeches with that one dude who got held back 3 times

Smrt

originally taken from: the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 staging of Gioachino Rossini’s Le Comte Ory with Joyce DiDonato (left) as Isolier, Diana Damrau (center) as Countess Adèle, and Juan Diego Florez (right) as Le Comte Ory (disguised as a hermit)

Responses:

There is something very [disturbing grunts] About polyamorous couples - polyamorous, Chris Fleming

jinkies

femme fatale (including to herself)

I’ll have a threesome soon !

Hot guy walks by, everyone swoons.

thirdwheeling friend does not realize the other two are having sex

When your girlfriend had „just two beers“ again

jesus is exasperated about having to drag the two ladies towards doing what he needs them to do instead of purple dramatically declaring suicidal intent over the smallest trivial matters and red being equally dramatic about declaring that it's not the way! stay alive! i love you!!

The throuple is thriving

Get off the milf

orgy

my last three braincells because im a horny slut

countess receives too much love and is confused on how to react

Rasputin's lesser known romp with a much older czarina of russia

Woman's soul leaves body

Jesus and co. are worried after another woman gets pregnant without having sex

bisexual looks at photos of celebrity couples

When you go to the party to socialize with new people but your weirdo friend group starts getting clingy

Jesus cumming

one of those weird church christmas pageants but everybody's drunk

What have I done

Hozier??????????

Jesus assfucks some purple lady being hugged.

This time, the chick IS the magnet

An affair/threesome gone awry (2019 colorized)

What do you mean they canceled GLOW?

“I TOLD you it was cashmere!”

Are you wearing the - - The Gucci dress? Yes I am.

It's not what it looks like!

jesus is fucking that one cheerleader who grew up to be a suburban mom with one (1) super cool dress she stole from her kid who is desperately hugging her middle begging for it back because the spring fling is coming up and jason might actually make eye contact with her for more than three seconds.

jesus and mary magdaline and some other bitch

I’m at a bar and these drunk girls are flirting with me, do I lOOK GAY?!

Shrek 5, jesus's return

c. 2025 First attempt of an Officer and his Wife with a Handmaiden (colourized)

just about all of these are close lol

originally taken from: the Bolshoi Theater’s 1993 staging of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orléans, featuring Nina Rautio (left) as Joan of Arc and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (right) as Thibaut d’Arc

Responses:

Don’t look, I’m still pooping

yall, the audacity of this man. he fuckin talked to me

*i can't even tell you how wrong you are* *it would be insulting to ME*-- closest

Cospeto!

„No I’m not talking to you, you keep cracking bad jokes!“ - „But I got another!“

when you’re mad at him but he says he’ll buy you food if you cheer up

When I’m wallowing in self-pity but my friends won’t comfort me

right: wanna fuck ;) left: yeah, fuck OFF lmao

Her face is screaming “don’t tell me what to do”

Yeah I got nothing

gay man tries to hit on a lesbian bc he thinks she's a twink. she's not amused but she's watching this happen anyway

me tired of MET's bullshit and them organising a Netrebko, known blackface apologist, a recital during Black History Month. (sorry im still fucking salty lol)

"stop smiling at me like that I'm trying to pout over here"

"I got fleas, you got fleas... wanna fuck?"

I have the best idea!

Haha nooooo don’t hit me with that bat you’re so sexxyy

lesbian is bothered by dilf

Me trying to flirt

if call me by your name was hetero and set in america

how many more dad jokes can i take before i explode

So. You’ve gotten yourself in a little pickle again.

What if we fought in the Russian revolution together ✨???????... unless??

Two people flirt in a poor place of town/

"If you ask me what I've got under this dirty, shapeless tunic one more time I swear to god I will kick your rotting teeth in"

You look like ur gonna kill me but ok

Really? You again?

Okay, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, do you think it’s safe to—oh god, he’s still there.

Have you seen Godot?

she is tired of everyone’s shit. she has done so many derivatives it physically pains her to see a variable. dont test her. ur icarus rn.

idk pick better pictures-- I HAVE DIED THE SHEER AUDACITY AND HUBRIS I LOVE THIS

200% done with your crap

Homeless man has fucking legs of steel n is gonna show off his Russian dance moves

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2019 staging of Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleue, featuring Sophie Koch (right) as Ariane and I don’t remember who the person on the left is rip me

Responses:

The knight who wore this into battle sure was swaggy

dear god its hiddeous

Capitalism

Knight in shining armour gone even more wrong.

ghost contemplates the safety of spiky motorcycle helmet

„Stop! He feels bullied!“

'this is my newest take for jesus's crucifixion crown ...... what do you mean they already put him up'

That’s probably a really expensive magic helmet idk. IDK-- closest

Omg I love the adventure zone!

minesweeper (windows xp)

"Okay whatever you do don't touch the shiny spiky ball" "It's so shiny I wanna touch it"

Taking down the trash way too late

IT'S NOT A PHASE MOM

Darth Vader got stuck in the freezer.... again. Leia isn’t happy

Star Wars 2030

“And here is the very latest in motorcycle helmet trends” “Look, I only came to the mall for a pair of socks “

futuristic kkk

long-suffering jewelry store attendant really wants to retire

Put it down put it down put it down

“Hmm no you should see a doctor about that”

A weird ass crown is presented

The creation of sars-cov-2: an experimental Eurotrance nightclub art piece gone horribly wrong

How it feels to want something that u cant have

AND WE WILL CALL IT—SPIKE MAN actually do you think that’s too obvious?? Because of the—yeah, because of the spikes?? See, that’s what I’m worried about. I want it to be SCARY

I know it's risky but... lube me up

use the force luke.

that is a weird fleshlight

When you get an ugly gift and need to find a way to get rid of it, so your family member/friend offers to smash it

Touch the orb

originally taken from: the Opera Vlaanderen’s 2019 staging of Fromental Halévy’s La Juive, with Nicole Chevalier (left, with bottle) as Princess Eudoxie, Enea Scala (center, under table) as Prince Léopold, and Roy Cornelius Smith (right) as Éléazar

Responses:

When no one comes to your birthday party :(

fantastic, day 487 of mischief and they have yet to find my masterful hiding spot

i really wonder who he thinks he's playing footsie with

Marriage crisis. Reason sits under the table-- closest but not in the way you think (after all, the man under the table IS a tenor).

the last supper afterparty after jesus left

When you order the last supper on wish

espionage at the Politischer Rosenmontag

Probably the wrong opera but is that Leporello under the table

Now THIS is a Good Friday night

this was every birthday party i went to between the ages of 5 and 11

that awkward moment when you drop your fork under the table but when you re-emerge everyone else has left except one drunk lady and the guy trying to deal with her

After the last supper

Tfw you arrive to the dinner party too early and have to hide until a more fashionable hour

When the cishets aren’t home

waiter hides from customers

Nobody: My dog every time I’m eating:

what's left of the homies Jesus had dinner with

university chem lab experiment gone terribly wrong

I’ve been under the table FOR 30 MINUTES

Set your friends up by tossing them off under the table, they’ll think it’s each other n fall in luv

Someone hids under a table

"You're about to see an surreptitious-under-the-table-dick-sucking master at work"

5 yr old me trying to eat the desert under the table without my parents finding out be like:

They never invite me to their parties!

Just another girl’s night in

Oops! Didn’t notice you the table.

dionysus - bts (2019, colorized)

just a normal episode of eric andre (eric is the one under the table)

Just a normal day with the boys

Thievery

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Kate Aldrich (left, surrounded by women in white) as Fidès and John Osborn (center, looking like a Jesus doppelganger) as Jean de Leyde

Responses:

Hold up, is that Eggman above Jesus?

holy disco

Looks like Tannhäuser. Our lord and saviour Richard Wagner. Now I need to be saved from that.

catholicism

me defending pineapple on pizza (THANK YOU)

jesus but hes about to be abducted by the alien ufo above him

Emmmmmmm Heaven? Idk

Lord of the rings?

ewww christianity gross

"behold, I am Important"

"Seriously?? It's not ACTUALLY pyjama day? Fuck you guys!"

Jesus at the Disco

Jesus Finds The Molerat People Who Live Under Bethlehem

disco is heaven

Want to join my new religion?

the kkk

church christmas pageant where everyone's sober but it's based on the director's fever dream

Am I the only one who sees the giant demon? Just me? Okay...

“Oh god I think I’m starting my period”

A party is held with a priest in the middle

"Let's get this secret Vatican sex party rolling!"

The new avengers endgame set is looking great!!

You know, guys, I try not to be a bother but...I can’t help but feel like I missed a dress code memo for this wedding??? It’s cocktail, right??”

Jesus visits Hogwarts

I must really stink if no one will even come close to me

the extra ass funeral i DESERVE

star wars life day

A cult at it’s best-- closest

Shrek 5, Jesus is still there I guess

originally taken from: the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden’s 2013 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Les vêpres siciliennes, featuring Bryan Hymel (left, standing) as Henri, Lianna Haroutounian (center, kneeling in the black gown) as Duchess Hélène, and Erwin Schrott (kneeling to her right) as Jean Procida

Responses:

When the director’s like “great rehearsal guys, just a few notes before I let you go” but it’s already 9:13 and your mom’s waiting in the parking lot

loyalist of subjects

bow before your queen

They forgot to take down the stage boxes after the Vienna opera ball but the show must go on.

somebody forgot to book chairs for this funeral

Me sharing God’s (Hayley koyoko) word on the discord server

mass execution bc the oboe solo sucked ass-- closest

That’s too many black suits I can’t see shit

I can’t even tell what’s going on here

8th grade school assembly about how it's uncool to shit on the walls at school

let's all get fancy so we can go to the opera and sit on the stage (idk this one's hard lol)

"Yes i am a time traveller, now don't freak out"

Tfw you forget to pay your lighting bills

White guys make decisions that will benefit them and screw someone that’s not a white guy over-- OUCH but that is too real (although not really in context here)

dead man gives speech at his own funeral

brotus and the boys ??? last meeting before the stabbing

high society social function ends in mass murder-- right opera, wrong scene

Someone walks into the talent show stage with a dog

Black-dressed bitches worship a man.

Worst school assembly of all time

POV:You're the window in the classroom and someone said "its snowing"

When the conductor shows up fashionably late to the orchestra concert

That's what you get for choosing the cheapest ticket option, get back in the mud where you belong

theyre just trying to jump into a grave at a funeral leabe them alone this is normal

oh my god he really whipped his dick out in front of everyone, this is just like in 1776 guys, except some women are actually in the room this time,

A funeral, stop wearing so much black

I want to slap their bald heads like rice

originally taken from: the Teatro Real Madrid’s 2018 staging of Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, featuring Roberto Tagliavini (right) as Raimondo

Responses:

Crowd “haha!! Looks like someone missed the all-black memo!! Now it’s laugh-in-your-face time! / Guy on the floor (whispering to guy against wall): go, save yourself! I’ll hold them off...”

if i leave now i wont be a witness and can tell the police i had no idea

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Guy in the back pretends to help but is to far away to even know what’s going on.

priest walks in on beginning of an orgy, contemplated joining but is too scared-

when someone brings up capitalism but you’re just trying to play minecraft

lol lets trample this guy while the judge isnt looking

Again. Too many black costumes

Loved this Dostoevsky novel

i would know if opera directors were more creative with clothing choices ngl

me on parties lol

"imma just sneak out of here while everyone else is distracted"

"Where did he get this flooring!? Amazing!"

Everyone act normal!

The tell tale heart but they got REALLY drunk

man tposes to ward off vampires after being caught undercover

boys ???? night

the priest really shouldn't have visited the insane asylum-- closest

He’s FINE everyone’s been hit by a car before

Something happens in a room.

Perks of being a wallflower

There's always that one person in the fight whos trying not to get involved when they really wanna

Oh good, they’re all posing for a Rembrandt painting, I can just sneeeeaaak out the back here...

The gamer livestreaming Resident Evil + everyone watching the stream ? waiting for him to open the door just knowing it will trigger a chase scene

Quick!

the guy t posing in the back is regretting his every decision.-- also accurate

the us senate jumps ted cruz, some other wack ass gop senator is trying to sneak away

...I spoke too soon, however this is a James Bond mission

Queers help fellow queer do math but it's a struggle

#opera #opera tag #results #screencaps #captions #caption #caption this #caption contest #this seems to have gone over well and I am Pleased

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evilsnowswan · 8 years ago

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BREAK | Based on [X] and [X] | [Playlist]

Summary: [Rumbelle Surfers!AU]

In the township of Torquay, Victoria, Australia, gateway to the Great Ocean Road - or rather on the beautiful shore of Bells Beach, a renowned surf spot – Belle French is a surfer girl who no longer surfs. Until, one evening, she does and the events following that decision leave her with more questions than answers and a reluctant new acquaintance, who might or might not be willing to help her unravel the knots.

Rating: G - for now || Chapter: 3/? || Chapters: [Chapter 1][Chapter 2]>>[Chapter 3] || AO3 Link: [Read on AO3]

A/N: Wow, it’s been forever and a half. I just can’t write about beaches and surfers when the ground is covered in snow and I’m freezing half to death. Well, spring is back and so is this story.

Chapter 3

Friday night. High tide. Swamped with customers, the Crazy Sea Horse buzzed and hummed with conversation and laughter.

Waves of new people, impatient and ravenous, kept rolling in from the street in sets of 3, 5, 10 at a time - tourists and locals alike - expecting to be seated and fed immediately, even when it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes and a working brain that the place was overcrowded already and threatening to burst at the seams at any moment.

Everyone, their grandmother, and the dog had apparently decided that tonight was the night to be out and about. It was good for business, of course, to be expected even - on a warm spring night like this. But the crowds - how they swarmed the streets, the beach, the pubs, like hungry, flashy bees, wasps, hornets - they made her angry and her head sting.

Plating up her next order, Belle zigzagged ketchup and hollandaise on poached eggs and fries with more vigor than would have been strictly necessary, then placed the hot plate under the heating lamp and dinged the bell.

The sound cut through her like a cold steel knife.

Her head hot and humming low, she didn’t wait for the plate to vanish, but went back to chopping up onions and herbs straight away, her eyes fixed on the next batch of eggs on the stove. There was no time for a loo break - or a nervous breakdown.

Their dock printer had run out of paper over half an hour ago, but she couldn’t have made it to the office and back to her kitchen in time - unless she cloned herself first. Ignoring the intermittent high-pitched beeping and her full bladder, Belle pushed through the chaos and backlog of queued up orders, holding her breath and crossing her legs.

The never ending string of demands bellowed through her little window rang in her ears and made her hands tingle. Juggling her pans and pots, bowls and knives, a cloud of steam and spices filled her face and crept deep into her lungs.

Turning her head and ignoring the sharp pain in her neck, Belle stopped to cough into her arm, then straightened her back and tightened her grip on the slippery handles.

“Madness!” Will dumped the dirty dishes on the floor, yanked open the dishwasher, and pushed them inside.

Bussing was the pits. But even bussing on nights from hell didn’t stop this guy from whistling Nova’s latest hits as he went about his cheerful business.

“Behind,” he added - after a beat and as an afterthought - as though she hadn’t already felt him bustling about behind her, and wasn’t feeling his eyes linger on her now either, his easy smile prickling hot and rough on the back of her neck.

Sand and golden honey.

Belle stiffened and turned, her best plastic smile in place.

His face fell a little before he caught it mid-drop and hastily rearranged his expression. “Shit, Peaches. You okay?”

Plum, not peach.

She held his gaze.

“Busy, sweaty, greasy.” Smiling was tedious. Why did people do it? Belle wiped her hands on her apron. “The usual.”

The way he was watching her - carefully, cautiously, searching, but not asking - not out loud anyway, made her suddenly awfully aware. Aware of her body, and what it might tell him, what it might tell the world about her. And in that moment, she hated him for it.

“Need a hand? — Or five?” He stepped closer and peered over her shoulder. “That smells divine.”

She could see the question forming on his face before he asked it.

“How about we share a plate out back later?”

Belle wanted to tell him no. Tell him there was no time. Tell him she’d used her break already.

“Alright,” was what she said instead, hands brushing her hair away from her sticky forehead under her cap, her thoughts safely bubble-wrapped and tucked away for later. ‘Yes’ was so much easier than no. ‘Yes’ meant no further questions asked and no more lies told. Lies she had to keep track of.

“Or, I could make you some now-” she began, hopeful, but he cut her off with a grin and a soft shake of the head.

Cold sweat trickled down her spine.

“Nah, I’ll wait for you. Got more rounds to make.” Stepping backwards, he tapped his cap and pointed at the roaring dishwasher. “People are pigs.”

“Yeah. And you’re their dish pig.”

Salty grease burned on her cracked lips as she ran her tongue over them. It only made the burn worse.

He laughed, picked up an empty crate. “In a few, chef piglet.”

The door swung shut behind him, and Belle exhaled through her nose. “Right.”

Orders kept coming, kept her on her feet all night. She had to go with the flow, think less and move quicker, but her mind was elsewhere and she wasn’t fast enough, which earned her another nasty burn across her palm.

The smell of burned flesh.

Belle barely flinched and carefully lowered the heat. A few blisters were no excuse for a ruined meal and a dissatisfied customer.

Not that it mattered, she thought, poking at a blister with the index finger of her other hand. What was another scar anyway? She put her palm under cold running water and covered it with a more-or-less clean dish towel wrap after. From the neck down, there was hardly any part of her that wasn’t scarred. One more wouldn’t make a difference.

She had once read a story where your life got tattooed onto your skin, all your small victories and big mistakes out there for everyone to see forever, and the thought hadn’t scared her then, seemed strangely romantic even - in that edgy kind of way that made her heart beat faster. She had gotten her first kiss that summer. Days were bright and endless.

The night went on, her shift ended. Will hadn’t come back to make good on his promise. Sometimes - when they were working the same shift, and he was behind the bar - he fixed her a coffee. Chocolate mocha. Without asking. And she took it wordlessly - for it would have been rude not to - paying in fake smiles and polite nods.

She didn’t have any friends, and neither did she want them, but a cup of coffee every now and then was innocent enough. It didn’t mean anything. A hot drink in a paper cup was just that.

Belle untied her apron, balled it up, and threw it on the laundry pile in the back.

In the beginning, she had always made sure all her orders were complete, dishes and laundry done, and her kitchen up to code. She would have grabbed clipboard and sharpie, and headed into the cool room, checking every pasta container, homemade sauce, and pre-made dessert, and replacing everything that wouldn’t have passed a surprise health inspection. She had been happy staying past closing time, by herself, when the Sea Horse was quiet and the lights low, following instructions from the manual, adding her own little twists to the trusted recipes and enjoying the still and calm in her head.

She hadn’t made rounds or looked at the manual in a while. So far they hadn’t had any complaints.

Belle took off her cap, pulled off the blue bandana she had been wearing underneath to keep the sweat away from her face, and freed her hair from the elastic hair tie where she’d scraped it back into a ponytail earlier - to run her fingers through it and comb out some of the grease.

“Hey, Peaches!”

Belle flinched so hard the jolt ran up her arms and caused a painful pileup between her shoulder blades.

“Sorry.” Will eyed her through the window, one eyebrow raised. “Didn’t mean to startle ya. Uh—” He blinked. Belle saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “A bunch of us are going to Nana L’s to grab a bite. Want to come? You could ride shotgun with me or hob in with Rob - if you don’t mind the detour. He’s picking up Mar first.”

Belle’s heart raced. Had it jumped out of her chest and made a run for it, it would have beaten them there. She clasped her hands together in front of her body, pressing down on the dish towel and concentrating hard on taking slow steadying breaths - in through the nose, wait seven seconds, then out of the mouth again - while making it look like she was simply taking a moment to think about it.

“Some brekkie would be great!” Her voice was thick as pancake batter, the enthusiasm in it oh so sweet, but sticky like gum and gluing her jaws shut. “Oh. No. Wait. It’s Saturday.” Belle cast her eyes down apologetically, biting her lip, and then releasing it with a soft popping sound. “Arianna needs the car on Saturdays. Next time?”

“Sure.” He looked disappointed for a second, but rallied in the next, and gave her a radiant smile.

In another life, she would have liked everything about that smile: The way it seemed to start in his eyes rather than touch them last, turning bleak brown into warming chestnut. The way it revealed his very white teeth, stark contrast to thick eyebrows and tanned skin, and made him look like summer spent someplace exotic (although he was a Brit). How his dimples deepened, and the tips of his slightly protruding ears blushed - even when his cheeks did not.

“Sorry.” Belle said, and part of her actually was.

She wasn’t that girl anymore, though, and her clenching stomach and closing throat wouldn’t have allowed any other answer but ‘no’ to get past her lips.

“No worries,” Will said. “See you Monday then?”

“Yeah.”

“If you change your mind-” He winked at her, held up a hand in farewell, and vanished from sight.

Belle heard him wish Leroy and Ashley good morning on his way out. His footfalls faded away. She was alone again, shivering in her black cotton shirt despite the stale humidity in the room. Alone with her heartbeat in her ears, and ants crawling up her legs. Alone, but for the distant sounds of chairs scraping on linoleum, the hurried swish-swashing of mops pushed back and forth across it - and clanking against table legs ever so often, and the little radio blaring out the same ten songs over and over again as people across town started their day, brushing their teeth, drinking their coffees, and taking their kids to school.

Spring was almost over, days were getting warmer and warmer. Soon schools would be out, and the beach would be packed with children, families, and tourists. Not that she intended ever going back there again. Not after last night. Not without her board.

Her mother’s board.

Belle punched her own forearm hard. How could she have lost it?! It had been such an idiotic, reckless thing to do. She knew she was lucky to be alive, but it didn’t feel that way.

Christmas was fast approaching, and the thought alone made her yearn for the dark void at the bottom of the sea.

It was warm at Christmas time. She used to wear shorts and t-shirts almost all year long.

Belle tugged on the sleeves of her shirt, pulling them over her hands, and blinked away the blurry spots until the wall tiles were separate squares again and she could count them, starting at the top left corner and making her way down to the bottom right - where tiles met counter and appliances. Various utensils and kitchen helpers forced her to guess more than once, which made her a little uneasy.

She had been slammed by her board and was one big bruise. Not a pretty sight. Not to mention the old scars and fresh cuts. They wept and itched underneath her clothing, stuck to the fabric, and drove her insane. Nobody would have guessed it, though. Belle made sure of that. Heavy duty makeup covered up all traces on her face, and her baggy pants and loose-fitting shirt did the rest.

When she woke up, it had hurt so bad that she had almost stayed home. Calling in sick wasn’t an option, however, and more trouble than it was worth, so she had dragged herself out of bed regardless, taken a handful of pills and gulped them down with two large glasses of ice cold water, then tracked down the car keys.

It didn’t matter. None of it.

She grabbed the front of her shirt and smelled it. Cold fish and chips wrappings. Musk.

She never wore board shorts and tank tops anymore.

Her clothes rail was large hoodies, long-sleeved shirts - to be worn under her work polos, and pants: two black ones - for work, and one faded jeans. She also owned a pair of sneakers, black canvas shoes, and a couple thongs - at various stages of falling apart. All her underwear was practical and cheap, black or nude colors, and stuffed into the bedside cabinet drawer.

She owned no books that could have claimed their rightful place there. The books were back — at the house. They weren’t hers anymore.

The only thing she had was that board. And now it was gone. Broken beyond repair. Dead and lost to her forever.

Belle ran a hand through her hair. She stared at the tiles.

A knock on the door broke through her thoughts, and had her jump out of her skin for the second time in what felt like both a few seconds and half a century.

Belle’s heart thumped, her belly churning as she worried about who was outside her door and what they could possibly want her for at this hour.

“Mira?” Ashley knocked again, but didn’t enter. Probably because the last time she had and caught her off guard, Belle had dropped a large jar of green peas, and they had spent the next thirty minutes on their hands and knees to collect them off the floor and sweep up the broken glass.

“Maristela wants to know if you could, um, swap shifts with me next week? Friday?”

Belle fought the urge to sneer her reply. Maybe not everyone else did, but Maristela knew she only worked nights. It had been part of their deal. Belle would cover each and every shift Maristela needed her to - as long as they weren’t during the day, and she didn’t have to leave her kitchen and interact with their guests.

Maristela never asked for reasons and Belle was grateful.

Her co-workers, on the other hand, were another matter entirely. Some more nosy than others, by now everyone on the team had more or less accepted Belle’s preference for odd hours, simply assuming inherent oddness and a bad case of crippling shyness to be behind it. It suited her just fine. Shyness was as good an explanation as any, and Belle led them to believe it was her introverted nature that had her dodge whatever was on their social calendars, and give the break room a wide berth.

The break room was where she had to go next - if she wanted her car keys. To get there she would have to open that door and deal with Ashley.

Belle sighed and rubbed at her eye, then reached for the knob.

“Hi, Ashley,” she said. “She did? I must have missed her earlier - I’m sure she would have said something. Next Friday, you say?”

Ashley nodded, and Belle let her face fall.

“I’m so sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t make Friday next week. I got this exam first thing Monday, and I really need the weekend to cram.” Belle lifted a shoulder and let it fall, looking as sorry as possible… for the inconvenience and all that. Girls like Ashley didn’t scare her, but they could make your life difficult if they felt wronged and wanted to.

Play it dumb, but be nice about it. Grovel a little, say your ‘I’m so sorry’s’ and ‘oh my god, really’s’, and placate.

Ashley pulled a face. “Oh no, Mira. I was counting on you!” She heaved a dramatic sigh.

“You could ask Will,” Belle suggested. “He’ll swap with you, I’m sure.”

“You think?”

“Totally.”

Ashley pondered her suggestion in pouty silence for a moment, but then decided she liked the idea, offering a sly, suggestive smile that made Belle’s stomach turn.

“He’d do it for you, I’m sure.”

Belle left her face blank and clueless. She wasn’t taking that bait. No way.

“He’s always around that kitchen of yours, hovering by the window and all.” Ashley’s eyes narrowed, and she lowered her voice to a girly whisper. The kind Belle hated. “I think he likes you!”

She shook her head. “He’s… nice. That’s all.”

Was that pity in Ashley’s eyes?

“If you say so, Mira.” She smiled a knowing smile - even when she didn’t know the first thing about anything. Girls like Ashley never did. They only thought they did with that unwavering, insufferable confidence. “What was it you’re studying again?”

Belle almost choked on her own spit and had to clear her throat twice - which gave her time to think.

“Cooking, right?” Ashley prompted.

The word you’re looking for is Gastronomy, Belle thought. Or catering trade, maybe. “Close,” she said. “First year Nutrition and health at VU.”

“Same difference really.” Ashley rolled her eyes, but then smiled at her. “Your chicken parm and burgers are so good, though!” She exclaimed, wide eyed. In all her time at the Sea Horse, Belle had never seen her eat more than a salad, snack on some fruit, or finish a whole bread roll by herself, exclaiming how full she felt instead, and how good everything was. Didn’t the others want to try it? Have the rest of her fries?

“Thanks!” Belle smiled back sweetly. “You should try the avocado ‘n’ beef next time. We only put it on the menu last week, but I think it’s a keeper.”

“You bet!” Ashley beamed at her. “That sounds delish.” She fake-rubbed her non-existent belly. “Too bad the kitchen is closed already.”

“The kitchen closes at ten. All orders must be placed before that time,” Belle recited in a stern voice that made Ashley giggle and raise her hands in front of her in surrender.

“I know, I know!” She laughed.

Belle tried not to flinch when she touched her arm.

“Hey. Don’t worry about the shift. I’ll make it work.”

“Yeah, I’m real sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really.” She yawned and stretched her arms above her head, flexing her fingers, and Belle suddenly remembered her own heavy tiredness. The drugs were wearing off, her body ached all over, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and not come back out for another decade or so.

She stifled a yawn behind her hand.

“We should both go and get some sleep,” Ashley said. “Coffee won’t fix whatever we got.”

She looked at her for a reaction to the punch line, but Belle missed her cue. The frustrating high-pitched ringing in her right ear was back.

Water damage, wave collateral. Just like the rest of her.

Ashley cocked her head and gave her the once-over, scrutinizing her face in a way that made the heat rush to Belle’s cheeks.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Ashley said slowly, in a low, friendly voice. She almost sounded concerned. Almost. “But you look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks!” Belle forced a laugh. “It’s been a long night, you know.”

Ashley nodded. Her pocket buzzed.

“Your ride?” Belle asked. “You know what - why don’t I get the rest of your supplies … I’m headed to the back anyway. I could close up for you, if you want?”

“Really?! That would be great! Thanks! — You’re a lifesaver!”

Ashley hugged her, and Belle wanted to scream.

Then she pulled out her phone to text back whoever was waiting for her outside.

She wanted to turn around and leave to get her stuff, but Ashley held her back by the arm.

Belle bit her cheek to keep quiet.

“Oh, Mira! I almost forgot! —” Ashley rummaged in her other pocket, and produced a crinkled piece of paper, which she handed to Belle. “Customer left this for you. I only now remembered.”

She swooped in for air kisses, doing the fake cheek thing Belle wouldn’t be caught dead trying with anyone. It happened so fast, it didn’t leave her time to panic, so she resorted to just not moving at all until it was over, her steady smile lifted like a shield.

Ashley’s phone buzzed again.

“Gotta go! Bye!”

Belle stood and stared - at nothing in particular - until the spell broke, and she felt she could move again. She smoothed out the paper ball in her fist, and brought the note up to her eyes to read it. The words were smudged, or maybe that was her tired eyes playing tricks on her.

She frowned and fixed the first word to throw focus.

The paper read:

Dear… Ms. Mirabelle French… , We would like to inform you that your latest order/repair is now ready for collection. Please contact: Marco - Driftwood Inc. -

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle au #belle french #rumplestiltskin #surfer!au #my fic #fic: break

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