#and he’s decided to hitch his wagon and follow her to the next spot

[tacosaysroar]

Friends,

I regret to inform you that Captain America has posted a “coming soon” real estate sign in his front yard, so there will be no spring/summer posts about shirtless front-yard hammock naps or lawn mowing in his little spandex Daisy Dukes. Alas, you’ll need to find alternate sources for morale boosts in 2025.

Deepest apologies.

[tamsin-moon]

Mine?

Notes: Bill Williamson x Female Reader mainly, little bit swearing and alcohol mention, small assault encounter (grabbed and one hit) and implied comments.

After a couple days of rain you had been happy to finally wake up to blue skies and clearing clouds as you started your morning. The weather warm you had decided to put on a skirt and blouse for the day, not having any plans of riding so it would be comfortable, and would find yourself a cup of coffee as you figured out what there was to do for the day. Wandering a bit as you sipped on the hot liquid you would see a few of the boys were gone, including Bill which made your heart sink a bit. You always tried to make a point to greet him in the morning, try to show your interest in him as you were quite interested, but your thoughts were cut  short as you heard your name.

Turning around to find it was Uncle calling out to you, you would give him a smile as greeting as you wondered what he wanted. “Y/n, you busy today? If not how’d you like to accompany an old man to town to pick up a few things?” Being the question he would finally ask and after a few moments thought you would be nodding, “Sure Uncle, been a bit since I got to town.” You would easily agree and knew if it was anything heavy lifting the shop owner or so would put it in the wagon for you so you weren’t too worried about that. The older man just brightening would nod and assured you to meet him at the wagon once you were ready.

Finishing up your coffee soon enough you would then head back to your tent, grabbing your satchel and letting the girls know where you were off to so no one worried, you would then grab a can of peaches to eat on the trip and headed to the wagon. Thanking Uncle as he helped you up the wagon would soon be moving and the trip would be fairly uneventful, only passing one or two people along the way as you chatted. Unfortunately the man would decide to bring up one topic that just had your cheeks turning pink, “So you make a move on Bill yet or what?” Uncle would ask, simple and to the point, but as he saw your look he would chuckle, “I take that as a no.”

You would try to compose yourself quickly enough, but let out a sigh as you finished the last peach in the can and just rolled the container in your palms a bit, “Is it really that obvious?” You finally respond only to earn yourself another chuckle from him and an answer of, “To everyone except Bill. So why don’t you?” The question was another simple one, but one you were not sure if you really had a good answer to. Luckily before you had to the town would be upon you and Uncle was having to dodge around a couple sheep that seemed to come out of nowhere and seemed to make him forget the subject for the moment.

Following the road around you would soon park near the stables and were hopping down to follow the man where you needed to go. As you thought an order would be picked up from the general store and while it was loaded you were able to pop in and get a couple things you needed before you were joining him again. Of course you shouldn’t have been surprised when next he wanted to head to the saloon for a drink, but you had plenty of time so what was the harm in it. As you approached you would feel yourself brightening as you spotted a familiar horse hitched outside, but also did not miss the knowing smile Uncle threw you as well.

Stopping by the horse a minute you would fish a carrot from your satchel, always keeping a few with you, and giving it to the large beast, “Hey there Brown Jack, you doing alright boy?” Of course giving the horse a few good pats before following Uncle inside and looking around.  The place was a bit busy, but not overly so and you would feel your heart thump as you spot Bill at the bar. Of course Uncle would head towards him right away, but as brave as you were in camp when there were plenty of others around it being just the three of you now had your nerves getting the better of you. Excusing yourself to go and find the washroom you made the excuse your hands were dusty from Brown Jack and you hurried off.

Uncle would let out a sigh at your excuse, but let you go for now as he thought on how he might help this pining situation between the two of you. Usual smile on his face he would call out to Bill as he stepped up to the bar and did not miss the small look of annoyance on the man’s face before he was turning to order a drink. Bill, taking a swig of his own drink to not snap at the older man would manage to be friendly as he spoke, “What are you doing here?” A simple question, but his tone was flat as he had just stopped for one quick drink before he was going to start heading back.

He’d just finished up some small errand for Dutch and had stopped in town to take a look at the store. If anyone asked he wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but he knew this was around the time everything got restocked and that your favorite candy flavor never stayed in stock long. All he wanted was to grab a bag for you and maybe finally get up the nerve to talk to you about how he was feeling when he got back, but now here he was stuck. Of course he listened as Uncle answered about just coming to pick up the usual things, but was perking up as the man mentioned your name, “Y/N was kind enough to keep an old man company on the trip and should be back here any minute.” He say as he took another pull of his beer, amused look on his face as he could see Bill take a glance for you.

You were here? Oh great, sure he was happy at the thought, but he was nowhere near mentally prepared to talk to you when he had no real escape options if things got awkward! His thoughts, though, would be cut short as he suddenly heard his name over the slight commotion of the place. The slightly panicked, “Bill!?” reaching his ears and he knew your voice well enough by now that he could tell you were in trouble. On his feet quick he would be stepping in your direction, pushing past a couple folks till he found you and the sight just had his anger spiking.

As you had come out of the washroom and were making your way back you had passed a table with a couple obviously drunk men. Keeping your eyes straight you had meant to just pass them when one noticed you and grabbed your arm tight. He was lanky, but strong and had you pulled back as he slurred, “Well just where are you going sweetheart? I still got some money, stick around” You would shudder at how he said it and knew what he thought, that you were one of the saloon girls. Taking a deep breath you would try to pull your arm away as you told him, “I don’t work like that,” but his grip would only tighten and with a wince you knew it would bruise.

Unfortunately the angle he had grabbed you and trying to turn away your legs were wrapped up in your skirt so giving him a kneeing was out of the question and you could see your answer had irritated him. His other hand coming up you would gasp as he backhanded your cheek, “Oh stuck up are ya?” he sneered and that would be when you just reacted on instinct, yelling loud enough you were certain he would hear, “Bill!?”while trying to twist away again and stumbling when the man’s grip was suddenly slack. Looking over as you caught your balance you would see Bill had the fool by the collar and an inch or two off the ground, but what he said would make your heart thump, “Get your damn hands off my girl!”

At the commotion the whole place would go quiet, everyone watching to see what Bill would do, but luckily he had enough sense to remember the last brawl and would just give the drunk a solid punch to knock him cold before dropping him to the floor. His attention on you then he could feel his blood still pulsing at the sight of the bruise forming on your arm and the red mark on your cheek, but his touch was gentle as his hand found your back, “Come on, let’s get you out of here” he say quietly as if trying not to startle you before nudging you towards where Uncle was waiting at the door.

Honestly you were speechless, sure he had still clocked the guy, but overall he had handled the situation well and calling you his girl? Did he mean that? Your thoughts were whirling that you barely even realized as he lifted you onto the wagon before stepping back, “Get her home so Miss Grimshaw can tend those bruises, “ he would tell Uncle before he was turning to go and get Brown Jack and following you back at a bit of a distance, it finally dawning on him just what he had said and taking your silence as a bad sign.

That had all been two days ago now and convinced he had ruined things he had been doing everything he could to avoid you. He worried that if you got a chance to talk to him you would tell him off for what he called you and he just couldn’t bring himself to hear it so he would do chores and go hunting to keep from it. You, on the other hand, were indeed upset that you could not catch the man alone and that he was avoiding you now that you were certain you were on the same page! Of course when you got back and finally found your voice after Susan had checked you over would go and tell the girls everything.

From there came the ‘I told you so’s’ as they had been telling you for weeks Bill was sweet on you and you hadn’t believed them, but also the encouragement to just corner the man! You did agree, but your unsuccessful attempts were not helping your confidence…at least until the third evening when your luck would seem to finally turn. It would seem that someone had a successful tip and a decent amount of money had come in that Dutch felt a celebration was in order. Just a few boxes of drinks and the like, but it meant no chores and everyone was at camp.

Pulling a shawl around your shoulders as evening fell and things began to get underway you would begin your search. It should be easy tonight, right? Just catch him by the arm or so and talk, everyone was fairly distracted so you would have privacy, but it seemed every time you caught a glimpse of him he was gone by the time you reached the spot! Frustrated you would grab yourself a bottle from one of the boxes, taking a swig as you found one of the trees on the outskirts to lean against and take a breath. Maybe you were just fooling yourself. If he was avoiding you like this maybe it was just best to leave him alone. It hurt to think about and you would rub a tear from your cheek, but it was how it seemed.

For Bill, though, he had realized that afternoon just how much of a coward he was being. If his slip up had changed things he just needed to face it, it couldn’t ruin everything could it? Not after these past few years, no he was sure it wouldn’t and he was starting to miss you to keep up with avoiding you. So grabbing a drink to steel his nerves he would stop running and look for you, Tilly pointing him in the right direction after a bit. He would miss her happy look and how she hurried off to tell the other girls as his eyes fell on you and he felt his heart sink. He knew what you looked like when you were upset and the thought it might be because of him just had him wanting to run again.

He didn’t, though, no he needed to fix this no matter what it changed and he would put the bottle aside. Trying not to startle you as he approached he would reach to touch your shoulder, “Y/N?” he say, not missing you jump as you had been lost in thought, but as you turned to look at him he felt his throat clench. He could see the few tears and he hated them, not even thinking as his hand came to your cheek to brush them away with a coarse thumb, “I’m sorry if what I said was out of line, I didn’t mean to upset you this much.” The words came out quietly, but you could tell he meant them and you were shaking your head quickly.

Your hand reaching to grab his free one you would give it a squeeze, “It wasn’t out of line” you would say first thing, feeling the blush rising to your cheeks as you try to think of the best words to continue. Deciding to finally just say what was on your mind, “I am upset because you have been avoiding me, I thought I did something wrong. I miss you, Bill and I want to be your girl!” It would all come out in a rush, but by the way the pink came to his own cheeks you knew he caught every word. Heart near thumping in your ears you were still afraid he had changed his mind until those strong arms were wrapping around you and pulling you close to his broad chest.

The bottle falling from your grip your arms would wrap around him in return, relief just seeming to settle into you both as you press close and you would be smiling as you looked into his eyes. He would be looking right back into your own as he felt his nerves still simmering, but the confidence was rising higher and he would lean in. Lips brushing against your own in a light kiss he only would deepen it as your did, pulling back after a few moments and resting his forehead to your own. “So I can call you mine then?” he ask and you could not help the light giggle from your lips as you just gently kissed him again.

“As long as I can call you mine” being your response when you pull back again. You were both happy, completely, but you would feel eyes on you and it had you looking up. Realizing you were in the view of the main campfire it just had your blush returning tenfold, but feeling Bill’s arm shift around your waist you smiled as you made your way to them. Might as well get the teasing out of the way now right?

[verai-marcel]

Payback (RDR2 Fanfic, Morgan Twins x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur and Thorne go out on an errand without telling you. When you find out what it is, you aren't happy that they kept it from you. So you plan a little payback. 

Author’s Notes: I wrote a little drabble a while back and several people wanted more. So here we go. Also there is a bit of Mary Linton bad mouthing in here, but I personally don't dislike her; I just find her to be a weak-willed character. Also this is the 3rd story in the Morgan Twins AU; read the other parts on my  Master list!

Tags: rough sex, teasing, neck grabbing, creampie, dirty talk, minor degredation

AO3 Link is here, sweetness.

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“Hosea, have you seen Arthur and Thorne?”

The older man put down his book and looked up at you, raising an eyebrow. “They didn’t tell you?”

You shook your head.

He picked his book back up. “They’re on an errand. They’ll be back before dark.”

You cocked your hip, arms akimbo. “What kind of errand?”

Hosea let out a small sigh. “I don’t know. Ask them when they come back.”

He knew. You knew that he knew. He knew that you knew that he knew. But he wasn’t saying anything else, diving back into his book without another word.

You huffed and went back to your chores, waiting for an opportune time. When Susan was busy supervising the girls who were washing clothes at the river, you snuck over to the horse area, grabbed one of the wagon horses, and left for the nearby town to see if you could catch sight of the twins.

***

It wasn’t hard to spot them, even from a few houses away. You hitched your horse at the general store and snuck around to find them standing on the porch of some farmhouse, bickering in low tones. You crept along as quietly as you could, hiding behind the next door building and craning your neck around the corner to hear while keeping the rest of your body hidden.

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I didn’t want you to do anything stupid.”

“I wouldn’t leave.”

“Mary has a way of wrapping you around her finger.”

“She doesn’t—”

The sound of a door creaking open interrupted Arthur’s reply. You could barely make out the woman beyond the large bodies of the two men blocking your view.

“Arthur!” she said happily.

“Mary,” Arthur said politely.

“And… Thorne,” she said with a hint of distaste. You immediately wanted to slap her.

“Why do you need help?” Thorne barked, his tone hard and impatient.

You could hear her taking a few steps around the porch. “It’s Jaimie. He’s been brainwashed by cultists! Please, bring him back, he won’t listen to me.”

“What, and your father won’t come get his own son?” Thorne snarked.

“He… He won’t,” she replied, sounding hurt.

“Mary…” Arthur said, the sympathetic tone in his voice grating on your insecurities.

“Surprise, surprise,” Thorne bit out. “Arthur, we don’t need to help, he’s a grown man, he can make his own decisions.”

Arthur was quiet.

“Arthur,” Thorne said more urgently.

“I’ll help,” Arthur finally said. He mumbled something else afterwards, but you didn’t catch it.

Thorne was silent, but after a few moments, he nodded. “Fine,” he grunted.

You didn’t wait to see any more. Leaving quietly, you concocted a plan. Stopping by both the doctor’s for some herbs and the general store for some beer, you mounted up and went back to camp.

***

You had heard from Tilly previously about the woman named Mary Gillis, the woman who had Arthur’s heart for a time, but did not accept Thorne and tried to drive a wedge between them, tried to take Arthur away from his own family. Tilly’s dislike of the woman was very clear, but having just seen proof of Mary’s disapproval of Thorne, you were more than willing to believe Tilly’s observations to be fact rather than personal opinion.

Arthur had kept this from you. You felt betrayed. You knew he wouldn’t go back to her, that was crystal clear. But the fact that he didn’t tell you where he was going, that he didn’t trust you enough, was a blow to your ego. Your feelings hurt, you decided with a clarity that belied the swirl of emotions in your heart to teach him a lesson. 

But for your plan to work, you had to trick them both as a pair. You felt a little bad about having to trick Thorne as well, but to be fair, he didn’t tell you where they were going either. That made him just as guilty. Almost.

***

"That was a waste of time."

"Jaime needed to get out of there."

"Then maybe his father shoulda went and got him. Not us. Not you."

"Thorne…"

"I know you said it was for his sake, not Mary's. But dammit, when she left, you looked like a kicked puppy."

"I just…" 

"Just what, Arthur?" 

"Just regrettin' all that time with her, that's all."

"Good. Remember who has our hearts now."

Arthur nodded solemnly. "Speakin' of…"

They had returned to camp to find that their love had not come to greet them. Heading over to their tent, they found a letter in the middle of the cot. Arthur looked at Thorne, who shrugged. Grabbing it and opening it carefully, Arthur read it out loud. 

"My lovely men, meet me at the hotel in town. I'm treating you to a nice dinner and a warm bed, to reward you for working so hard lately."

Thorne grinned. "Race ya."

***

At the hotel, you smiled as you saw the two of them hitching their horses. You called to them from the window and waved, acting like a happy wife. 

Grinning together, they quickly made their way upstairs to your hotel room, where you had some meals and beers all ready for them. 

They didn't know that you had laced it all with some sleeping herbs. 

As the three of you dug into your food, you asked them where they had gone all day. 

"An old friend asked me to get a relative out of that cult, you know, the Chelonians."

"Did it pay well?" you asked, knowing full well that Mary wouldn't have given them anything. 

Arthur shook his head. "Just did it as a favor. 

"We found some poor idiots to rob on the way back, so it wasn't a total loss," Thorne added. 

You laughed. "Tell me more about these Chelonians."

***

After regaling you about how they talked about turtles for half an hour just to get the cult to lower their guard long enough to get the young man named Jaime out of there, you noticed that their heads were starting to nod off. 

"More beer, boys?" you asked, pulling out two more bottles from the bag you had brought with you. 

"Sure," Arthur slurred. 

Turning away from them, you pulled out the sprig of the sleeping herb that you had been steeping in the beer and brought the bottles to them. 

They drank and told you more stories. With each passing minute, their speech stumbled, their movements slowed, their eyes blinked more in an attempt to stay awake. 

Then they closed their eyes and fell asleep in their chairs.

You grinned. It was time to work. 

***

“Wh.. what happened?”

“That li’l minx...”

Thorne and Arthur were both surprised and a little confused to the scene they had awoken to. The last thing they remembered was you giving them another drink.

You had tied them to their chairs and waited for them to come around. And now... now the fun was going to begin.

“Hello boys,” you purred as you walked around them, your hips swinging as you brushed your hand along each of their shoulders.

“Darlin’...” Arthur said as he tried to reach out for you, before he realized with a frown and a confused grunt that he was securely tied to his chair.

“Let us go,” Thorne snarled softly, already pulling at his ropes.

“Hmmm.... no. I think I’ll just take care of myself tonight, and you two just be good and watch.” You simpered at them as you dragged hands along your body, making exaggerated sounds of pleasure. “Oooh, I’m starting to get wet.”

You laughed as you watched them struggle. “This is what happens when you don’t tell me you’re going somewhere. This is what happens when I wake up alone with just a note saying ‘we’ll return at sundown.’” You reached up and fondled your breasts with one hand as you continued to walk around them. “I can take care of myself too, you know.”

With both of them looking at you in rapt attention, you started to slowly remove your clothing. As your shirt and chemise started to slide off your shoulders and to the floor, the men’s eyes followed your every movement, their pants growing tighter as they strained in their ropes. In a moment of complete uninhibited madness, you bent over and flipped your skirt up, waving your derriere in front of them as you slid your drawers off.

“You’re askin’ fer it,” Thorne growled.

Saying nothing, you just turned around and smiled at him before removing your skirt, letting it drop to the floor. Dressed in only your stockings and boots, you kicked off your boots before walking up to Thorne, putting one foot up on his knee, showing off your legs. He stared, breathing heavily as you slowly rolled the stocking down. Removing it and tossing it into your pile of clothes, you stepped down and turned away, giving him a perfect view of your ass while you put your foot up on Arthur’s knee and did the same thing. 

“You were bad today, weren’t you?” you cooed at him as you threw your other stocking into the pile with a bit of anger. “You didn’t tell me where you went.”

Arthur’s eyes pleaded with you. “Didn’t think you needed to know, darlin’,” he rasped.

Lightly pressing your foot against his balls, he groaned. 

“You didn’t think,” you retorted, moving away from him. “Neither of you did.”

Moving to the bed, you sat down at the edge facing them and spread your legs. “Now you get to watch while I take care of myself, and you two can just suffer.”

Sliding your fingers along your slit, you watched them as they watched you, and part of you started to truly enjoy yourself. You leaned your head back and moaned, letting your hips rise a bit, writhing on the bed as you started to get into it, feeling that delightful build-up of pleasure.

Then you heard wood snapping and you brought your head up. Watching in both fascination and anticipation, you felt your heart pound as Thorne broke his chair apart with sheer strength, quickly loosening the ropes around them. He turned his hungry gaze upon you, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He stalked towards you as he pulled open the fly of his jeans, quickly freeing his cock, stroking it with one hand as he reached for you with the other.

“Sweetheart...” he growled.

His hand wrapped around your neck as he pushed you down. Using his knee to spread your legs apart, he pressed his cock inside of you, not waiting another second. He sank in quickly, your wet channel inviting him inside, despite your annoyance.

“Bastard,” you gritted out.

“I told you, you were askin’ fer it,” he rumbled as he started thrusting hard, giving you no chance to escape. His hand around your throat tightened slightly as he grabbed your ankle with his other hand to hold it high. As you mewled helplessly, you watched Thorne turn to Arthur with a wicked grin.

“Feelin' guilty, Arthur?” he taunted.

Arthur merely growled.

“You just sit there then.” Thorne turned back to you, letting go of your throat to grip your jaw, shaking your head slightly. “Looks like our little slut needs a good fuck.”

You moaned. You’d come to love Thorne’s dirty talk, the way he was so vulgar when he was balls deep inside of you. You loved the way his eyes lit up as he slammed into you, as if taking you was his greatest joy.

“Hear that? Hear how much she loves getting fucked?” Thorne sneered as he pounded you into the bed, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Make sure he hears how much you love being my cock slut.”

You let out a strangled cry of pleasure as Thorne rutted into you faster, harder, the slapping of flesh filling the room.

The sound of a chair cracking and falling apart drew both of your attention.

Arthur stomped over, angry and horny. He promptly shoved Thorne out of the way before he bent over, grabbed you by the neck and kissed you passionately, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth as he took every last breath you had.

Thorne could only laugh. “Took ya long enough. Been wanting to stuff her beautiful mouth with my cock anyway.”

Arthur pulled away, grabbed you by the hips, and flipped you over, lifting you up so you could get your knees onto the bed. You could hear him unbuttoning his fly as Thorne climbed onto the bed, spreading his legs and stroking his cock.

“Come here, sweetness,” he coaxed. “Suck me off.”

You leaned down and took his hard shaft into your mouth, the salty bitterness of the beginning of his spend filling your mouth. Bobbing your head up and down, you wrapped one hand around his thick girth, using your other hand to massage his balls just the way he liked it. You were rewarded with a low groan and his hands tangling in your hair, pulling gently as his hips twitched slightly upwards.

“So good, goddamn,” he growled as he leaned his head back and let out a shuddering sigh of pleasure.

Arthur’s hands gripped your hips once more as he guided himself inside of you. You moaned around Thorne’s cock in your mouth as Arthur pushed in until his hips were flush with your ass. Leaning forward, she kissed your shoulder, giving you a teasing nip and a lick before standing upright again. His hips drew back and then snapped forward, making you squeal in surprised before he started to fuck you in earnest; his raging lust would not be denied this night.

“Darlin’, yer the only one fer us,” Arthur said between thrusts, grabbing your upper arms and pulling you towards him, making you arch your back. This position made your breasts thrust forward and bounce as he took you like a wolf in heat, his hips unable to stop, his breath ragged with exertion.

You saw Thorne smile, his eyes taking in the sight of you above him, your tits bouncing so beautifully, your moans music to his ears. He stroked his cock as he watched you getting rammed from behind, his eyes burning with lust.

“That’s it, moan for us, our little slut,” Thorne said with a low voice. “You love how our cocks fill you up, hm? Can’t get enough of us, can ya?”

“Oh lord, can’t get enough,” you keened, your body fully in rhythm with Arthur’s thrusts.

“Tell him how much you need him,” Thorne ordered.

You turned your head to look at Arthur. His face was contorted with passion, sweat dripping off his brow as he moaned quietly. Catching your eyes, he grinned as he reached down and rubbed your core.

“I need you Arthur,” you pleaded. “Need you to spend in me, please!”

“Oh darlin’, oh fuck,” he gasped as he suddenly came, your words triggering his release like nothing else. He held you tight to his chest as he thrust as hard as ever, his cock spilling deep inside of you as he continued to rub your clit, making you quake in his arms. The feeling of his spend filling you, so much that it was spilling out, made your pleasure hit its limit. You let out a cry as you released, your body shaking from the euphoria flashing through your body. 

Murmuring your name over and over into your ear as he came down from his high, Arthur shuddered and let his cock slowly slide from you, his spend dripping down your thigh as he took a step back and let out a shaky breath.

“My turn,” Thorne said, catching you as you fell into his lap, and he lifted you up and dropped you onto his fully erect manhood.

“Oh lord!” you cried out. 

Wasting no time, Thorne started to piston up into you, bouncing you on his cock with the strength of his hips. You watched Arthur lay on the bed and watch as you were made into Thorne’s plaything, his hands on your hips manipulating your speed and your angle as he wished. 

“Such a good sex doll,” he purred as he sped up. “Goin’ to fill you up, sweetness, you ready?”

“Always,” you breathed. 

“Good girl,” he moaned. “Now take it, take my spend.” His hips thrust up once, twice, then one last time as he held your hips flush to his, his cock pulsing inside of you as he released. He leaned his head back, panting as he filled you up, letting out a sigh and a grunt as he finished.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he said shakily. “You really are the best woman in the world.”

You grinned. “Don’t forget that, especially when you think you can do something without telling me. Without trusting me.”

Arthur reached for you, pulling you off Thorne and draping you over his body. His arms went around you and held you close. “I’m sorry darlin’. We… I should’ve told you. Should’ve trusted you.”

Thorne rolled over to his side and languidly stroked your back. “And I shoulda told him not to be a dumbass.”

You giggled at Arthur’s look of annoyance. Then you raised yourself up, resting your forearms on Arthur’s chest. Staring him straight in his beautiful eyes, you said with no room for argument, “Tell me who the woman was you met today.”

Arthur sighed. “A long time ago, I was courtin’ a lady, Mary. I asked her to marry me, I was so taken with her.”

Thorne interrupted. “But she didn’t like me none, and she didn’t like gettin’ her hands dirty. So I tricked her, invited her out to dinner instead of Arthur, and called her out on her bullshit.”

“I was so mad, but when I saw the two o’ them, glarin’ at each other at the restaurant, I thought, did I really know Mary, or was she just showin’ me one side of her? So I took her aside, and we got to talkin’, and she finally said what I knew in my heart, just didn’t want to admit.”

“She wanted to take Arthur away, separate him from his family. From me.”

“So I let her go.”

Arthur’s look of pain made you feel a bit bad about tricking them. Emotions were difficult to deal with; you understood that, even as you burned with your own.

Thorne snorted. “She didn’t want you anyway, Arthur. She wanted the idea of you.”

“Don’t mean you hafta be rude.”

“For what she put you through? I’ll be as rude as I like.”

Arthur sighed. “Fine. She’s history, anyway.” He smiled gently at you, cupping your cheek with his warm hand. “We have someone who accepts both of us, and that’s worth more than gold”

Thorne scooted closer and pulled you off of Arthur’s chest, sandwiching you between the two of them. “The finest lady that ever was,” he said reverently as he kissed your shoulder.

You smiled as you snuggled against their big bodies, feeling safe, warm, and loved.

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End Notes: Just imagining this got me all hot and bothered! I hope you enjoyed this story too, thanks for reading!

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [7] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Head injury. NOTE: Earlier chapter this week because it’s a bit of a filler. I followed a mission fairly closely, but I hope I added enough original bits to it to keep it interesting. lol This story’s got the strongest pull right now but hopefully I can get some requests out over the weekend.  TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid@ireallyhonestlydontcare​ @elanisha @darlingsdevil@cirillamylove@bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones

“You ever learn how to fish?”

You glanced up toward the sound of his voice, raising your eyebrows slightly as you finished off the coffee in your hands. It was somewhat scorched, the taste of that not really lost on her but it was enough to give you some more energy. You tilted your head slightly in thought before shaking your head, glancing up toward Arthur. 

“I don’t think so, no.” 

“Well, Abigail’s wantin’ me to go do somethin’ with Jack and I figure I could teach the two of you. If you’re wantin’ to come along…” he trailed off as you pressed your lips into a thin line slightly, “Unless you got somewhere else to be?” 

“Well, I was going to visit my aunt and uncle, but I suppose I could give them a couple hours before showing up there.” 

There was something to Arthur’s expression at the mention, something that had his expression tightening for a moment like he was going to comment on that, but instead he seemed to push it aside for the moment. It caused your own brow to furrow just slightly, but you rose to your full height as you shook out the coffee cup in your hand. 

“Sure, well, we should get goin’ soon before Jack decides he’d rather stay at camp,” he replied, turning to head toward where the child in question was sitting, making drawings in the dirt with a stick. “You still ain’t found a horse of your own?” 

“No, but I’ve been borrowing one from the wagon here at camp,” you replied, “He should be fine for now.” 

“If I’d known, I wouldn’t have sold the horse from the Adler Ranch after Hosea took me huntin’,” Arthur returned, earning a small shrug from you as you wandered off toward the Shire horse you had been using to get around. Really, it was a valid point. You still needed a horse. 

The idea of going out to do something with Arthur and Jack without the notion of gang activity involved? Well, it pulled at something in your chest, much as you weren’t too sure why it did so or what it exactly pulled at. You certainly hadn’t forgotten what you experienced at Sean’s party a couple nights ago, sitting on that information. Much as it haunted at the edges of your mind. You had wondered a couple times if it was just some...wandering thought on what it would be like to kiss him, but it felt too real. The movements that played out in your head were too sure and certain. 

Really, it had made you kind of glad that you weren’t able to catch his attention right away, as Lenny stumbling back into camp after escaping some sort of scuffle with Micah had given you some time to sort things out in your head a bit. He and Arthur had left for a night, and both had returned at different times over the next day or so, both varying degrees of severely hungover. So, you were glad this appeared to just be some fishing trip in light of that, too. 

You approached the two of them after you got your horse saddled up, leading him to where Arthur was hauling Jack up into his saddle. Jack glanced toward you when you had pulled yourself up into your own saddle. 

“She’s coming with us?” There was a touch of hopefulness to his voice that had you holding back a soft chuckle. You had to remind yourself that these people knew you more than you knew them, at this point. 

“Yeah, figure it’ll be good for both of you,” Arthur replied, placing a hand on his head a moment before he secured his horse’s reins from the hitching post. 

“Oh, okay,” Jack replied, glancing back toward you, “What happened to your head?”

“Oh, I...just hurt myself a little,” you replied, offering him a small smile, “It’s nothing to worry about. I would just worry about what fun your uncle here’s got planned.” 

Jack just offered you a small laugh and nod as Arthur turned his horse and started to trot out of camp, leaving you to follow out behind him. It was a bit of a leisurely trot, though quick enough to prove that there was a destination in mind as Arthur explained to Jack that he was taking him down to the river that ran by camp. You were half listening to the conversation, looking at the wilderness around you. 

Really, you were still fairly happy to be on your feet and out of camp for the most part. Much as you didn’t fully remember enjoying the wilderness as much as you felt currently, you knew there was an energy in you that kept creeping up the longer you remained around camp. Resting had been different, you barely had the energy to do much of anything some days with the pounding headaches at the sunlight and the aches in your body from healing bruises. However, that had been steadily fading as the days went along. Though you still had some sensitivity to light, especially after waking up. 

Wasn’t anything you knew that you could do, anyway. 

The three of you arrived at a river bank not too far from camp before you dismount your horse, watching as Arthur helped Jack down from his own before walking toward the water’s edge. You were...acutely aware that you didn’t have a fishing rod. Still, you found yourself enjoying being able to hang back and observe for a few moments as Arthur started to instruct Jack on how to fish. Really, you couldn’t recall a time where you had to learn to catch your own food, hunting or otherwise. Your father and uncle always used to get things from town, cuts of meat. 

Then again, there was a chunk of years missing from your memory where you weren’t living with them. 

Though, you didn’t get to linger on that too much before Arthur was turning to glance back toward you with a curious glance, causing you to hold back an awkward laugh. 

“You didn’t bring your rod?”

“I don’t have a rod,” you returned around a light chuckle, causing him to raise his head in understanding somewhat before he returned his attention back toward his own before he started reeling in the line quickly. 

“Well, c’mon,” he said once he had reset his line, gesturing you come toward him. 

Curiously, you walked forward until you stood beside him, Arthur handing the fishing rod to you as he moved in order to have you standing where he was. Jack glanced toward you a moment as he did so, but otherwise seemed focused on his own fishing for the moment. 

“Now, like I showed Jack, just move this back,” Arthur said just a little over your shoulder, pushing the rod down a bit over your shoulder to prompt you to wind it back, “and swing it quickly forward.” 

You followed the instruction, swinging the rod forward and sent the line flying out toward the water, feeling Arthur press a hand against the back of your shoulder a moment once it landed. 

“Good, now we wait.” 

Honestly, you weren’t completely sure what you were doing, watching as the line bobbed lightly on the water. It seemed...well, anticlimactic, causing you to relax some from the tension in your shoulders. You stood there for a minute, reeling the line in somewhat as you waited for a tug. However, in that time, it appeared Jack’s patience with the activity had run out as he asked Arthur about doing something else. He quickly reeled in his line at his approval before wandering off toward some flowers on the bank. 

“Well, that was quick,” you commented under your breath, somewhat amused. 

“Eh, I don’t blame him,” Arthur said dismissively, moving to stand beside you as you continued to drag the line across the water slowly, “You’re takin’ to this like a duck to water, though.” 

“It’s not exactly complicated…” 

“Sure.” 

Your focus returned to the water after that upon feeling something move the pole before there was a sharp tug, causing you to jump slightly. 

“You got somethin’, hook ‘em!” 

“I…” You pulled the rod up, feeling the weight pull there sharply before the splashing started out at the end of your line. 

“Let him tire out first,” Arthur instructed, placing a hand near your wrist where you were reeling in the line, causing you to stop as the fish continued to thrash. 

You watched as it did so before calming some, letting you start to reel it in. Arthur removed his hold on your wrist as you did so, standing near by as the fish got pulled closer before trashing again. You kept trying to follow the pointers given to you over your shoulder, but eventually the fish was pulled out of the water. You removed it from the hook, Arthur looking it over a moment. 

“Bluegill, though a little small. Should probably toss him back…” 

Well, he was the teacher here. You tossed the fish back into the water, watching it swim off for a moment before you turned slightly to hold the fishing rod back out toward him. 

“You can catch more than one fish,” he commented around a soft chuckle, making you shrug. 

“It’s your rod and it’s your trip,” you said as he took it from you, “I’m fine with that, anyway.” 

“Well, I know what not to take you and Jack to do…” 

You offered him an almost apologetic smile as you turned to glance back toward where Jack was sitting, doing something with the flowers he had found, your eyes moving up toward where the horses were. You tilted your head. 

“What happened to your old horse? Boadicea?” 

“You remember Boadicea?” 

“Well...kinda, I don’t really remember what she looked like but I know she was your horse…” 

“She got hurt in that Blackwater mess, didn’t make it,” Arthur replied, sounding somewhat sad about it. He must have cared for that horse, you figured. “She was a great horse. Though, I’m surprised you remember her.” 

“I...well, something came up at Sean’s party and I’m remembering a little bit about it.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, I saw you and Mary-Beth that night. Very sweet, by the way. I didn’t know you liked dancing.” 

“Eh, not really…” Arthur replied gruffly, shifting the fishing rod in his hands before shrugging his shoulders. “I’m not the best at it, all left feet.” 

Well, for what I remember about that memory, I don’t think anybody was too concerned about that. 

“Well, I…” you trailed off, letting out another somewhat nervous chuckle. Why were you? Remembering him in some sort of romantic context was a good thing, considering. Yet, it was still somewhat awkward. “It started a memory of us doing so, though I don’t know. Did we ever dance?” 

You could leave the kiss out of it. 

“Yeah, but rarely,” he replied, “Though that’s good to know, I suppose.” 

“Yeah, I guess I’m still trying to piece things together. Might have to consider it luck that it was about you and not some random horse or object.” 

“Sure, though I…” he trailed off, dropping his gaze a moment as he pressed his mouth into a thin line, glancing out toward the water, “I got some things I need to talk to you ‘bout. Though...I don’t know how you’re gonna feel ‘bout any of ‘em.” 

“What’s happening?”

Arthur paused, glancing toward Jack for a moment before turning toward you again. “Later, ain’t no use weighin’ this down with all that right now.” 

“You sure like keeping me in suspense…” you muttered, but could understand his reasoning with Jack being there, you supposed. Though, if the kid couldn’t hear about it, you weren’t sure exactly how relaxed you should feel about that. Arthur returned to his fishing for a bit as you wandered toward Jack, causing him to glance up toward you as you offered him a small smile. It appeared he was linking some flowers together on a string or vine. 

“It’s for Mama,” he said, turning his attention back to his little project. 

“I’m sure she’ll love it.” 

***

The early morning sun shifted into something closer to the afternoon as Arthur continued to fish and Jack continued to work on whatever he was making for his mother. You had made some small conversation with Arthur as you settled near the bank for a bit, just enjoying the time out and getting to know him more. It was hard to find a relatively peaceful moment, the camp seemed calm but there was an underlying tension that you were in tune with occasionally. Still, you figured you should leave soon if you wanted to have time to see your family for a bit. 

Though, it appeared you weren’t the only one starting to notice time stretching on, Arthur stepping away from the river after he put another fish into his satchel. You rose from where you were sitting, watching a moment as Arthur approached Jack when he offered to show him the necklace he made.

However, your eyes were on two horses that rode toward where you all were from the trail, causing you to walk over toward Arthur and Jack a moment as the riders dismounted. They were dressed sharply, walking forward almost leisurely. You took in a breath to try to call attention to them, but the taller one beat you to it. 

“What a fine young man!” he called out, causing Arthur to rise from where he had been crouched beside Jack, “And in such complex circumstances...Arthur, isn’t it? Arthur Morgan?”

“Who are you?” he asked, guarded.

“Yes, Arthur Morgan…” he continued, walking all the closer as his companion moved forward as well, shotgun in his hands. It set you on edge, keeping you rooted to the spot. “Van der Linde’s most trusted associate. You’ve read the files, typical case...orphaned street kid seduced by the maniac’s silver tongue and matures into a degenerate murderer…” 

Really, you couldn’t help the slight furrowing of your brow at his words. You knew they were a group of outlaws, but most of the people you talked too seemed to idolize Dutch. Even you could feel some sense of pull in yourself that kept you from just giving them all away. Dutch, a maniac with a silver tongue. Arthur, a degenerate murderer. It had your eyes narrowing somewhat, though you didn’t get much time to ponder on that too much when the man talking to Arthur turned his attention toward you. 

“All of you, out on a little outing…” 

“You still haven’t said who you are,” you stated, much as a part of you felt it would be better to keep your mouth shut. Though, what was said didn’t seem to affect him any. 

“Agent Milton. Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency, seconded to the United States Government,” he replied, glancing back toward Arthur, “Nice to finally meet. We know a lot about you.”

“Do you?” he asked. 

“You’re a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. There’s five thousand dollars on your head alone.”

“Five thousand dollars? For me? Can I turn myself in?”

“We want Van der Linde.”

“Ol’ Dutch? I haven’t seen him for months…”

“That so? Because I heard a guy fitting his description robbed a train belonging to a Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass.”

You could almost feel the tension rising as they continued the back and forth. They were detectives, and they knew about the train. Momentarily, you were very aware of how unarmed you currently were. You kept your gun in it’s holster by your bedroll, mostly putting it on when you felt you needed it. Going fishing? It hadn’t even crossed your mind. Slowly, you started to shift, coming to stand a little closer to Arthur and Jack, who was hiding behind Arthur as he stood completely in front of him. 

Arthur let out a soft huff, sounding almost uncertain himself. “Ain’t that a little...old fashioned, nowadays?”

“Apparently not…” Milton returned, shifting another step closer, “Listen. This is my offer, Mr. Morgan. Bring in Van der Linde, and you have my word you won’t swing.”

“Oh, I ain’t gonna swing anyway, Agent, um…”

“Milton.”

“Ya see…” Arthur continued, “I haven’t done anything wrong aside from not playin' the games to your rules.”

“Spare me the philosophy lesson, I already heard it,” the agent replied, “From Mac Callander.” 

“Mac Callander?” 

You knew Mac was one of the missing people, or the last of them considering Sean was back. Though the name seemed to pull some reaction from Arthur, your eyes on this Agent Milton as he seemed to continue with some cockiness, tilting his head. 

“He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him…” he continued, “So, really, it was more of a mercy killing. Slow, but merciful.”

That really seemed to hit Arthur, your eyes shifting to him as he seemed to tense up, tossing his fishing rod onto the ground as he looked the other man in the eyes. You tried to move closer, but Agent Ross seemed to catch the movement, pulling your attention to him as he raised his weapon toward you. Not so much a threat, but a warning. Still, you shifted back on a foot, stopping in your movement to remain where you were. 

“You enjoy bein’ a rich man’s toy, do ya?” Arthur snapped, his voice dropping in a tone that wasn’t all that familiar to you. There had been hints of it through frustration, but you hadn’t been around him to see him angry like this. 

“I enjoy society, flaws and all,” Milton returned, almost echoing the anger in Arthur’s voice as he stepped closer, “You people venerate savagery, and you will die savagely. All of you.”

“Oh, we’re all gonna die, agent…” Arthur said, watching as the other man stepped back somewhat. Not out of fear, but ending the conversation.    “Some of us sooner than others. Good day, Mr. Morgan.”

“Goodbye,” Arthur returned flatly.   “Enjoy your fishin’, kid,” Agent Ross said for the first time through the conversation, looking at Jack as he turned to return to his horse, “while you still can.”

You watched as they mounted their horses, Arthur not moving from his spot standing in front of Jack until they had taken off back down the road. Jack moved out from behind Arthur, pointing a hand toward them. 

“Who were they?”

“No one to worry about, no one at all,” Arthur replied, gathering up his things from on the ground, “C’mon, let’s pick up your things and get home.”

Now, there was an idea. You let out a small sigh, finally moving to head toward your horse. Arthur placed a hand against your shoulder, causing you to glance toward him. 

“You okay?”

“A little anxious and very confused, but sure,” you replied around a breath, nodding your head. 

“I’m gonna need to talk with Dutch,” Arthur replied, tucking Jack’s fishing rod onto his horse, “Just...we still need to talk, too. So, can you just stay in camp? I’ll come find you.” 

“Yeah, sure,” you said with a nod. Considering what just happened, perhaps riding off on your own anywhere seemed like a bad idea. 

“Thank you,” Arthur returned, getting onto his horse before lifting Jack into his saddle. 

You wandered back over toward your horse, getting up into the saddle before following out after him and Jack. Couldn’t have a peaceful moment, it seemed. Nothing was really doing anything to keep the twisting from your gut.

[norafike]

Despite all this, I still love you 13

Finally got around to updating this for y’all! Hope you’re all enjoying it and I walk like to apologise for the long wait. It’s more up-to-date on my AO3 but I will continue our Tumblr updates.

*******

“Dutch.” Nora greeted the infamous outlaw humbly, walking with him into the old house at Shady-Belle. Inside they met with Arthur and John, who looked no better since she had last seen him. “We were hopin' you could assist us in Saint Denis.” The leader explained and she raised a brow to push him to explain what he meant.

“How?”

“Angelo Bronte, you heard of him?” She nodded. “What about him?”

“The Braithwaite's gave young Jack to him. So we're going to get the boy back.”

“Angelo Bronte, huh.” Nora shook her head in disbelief, pulling the sleeves of her shirt down over her hands. “Guess I should've expected as much.”

“Will you help us?” John Marston sounded sad than the usual manner, she grew used to his snappy way of talking but he had lost his son. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

In front of Dutch at the table was a map of Saint-Denis that she recognised well, it was outdated as the majority of the slums which were a later addition to the city hadn't been marked yet, but surely she noticed the mansion district and the very spot where Bronte lived. She pointed at the shape on the map, tapping it gently. “That's where our man lives.” She explained before running her finger along what was meant to supposed to be the roads. “Nearest bridge into Saint Denis, to us, is down here and we just need to follow the one road to get to his mansion.”

Dutch watched intently as she planned out the route and found himself impressed with her knowledge on the city, wanting to hear more she knew he had asked about any other important locations in Saint Denis for *future projects. “Don't know what interests you boys, we got a graveyard here and the trolley station down there.” She pointed at the spot and then dragged her finger up towards one final box marked on the map. “This, I believe, is the Lemoyne National Bank.”

“Bank?” His eyes lit up at the word and he leaned closer to the map, taking in the area closely to remember the layout of the streets to get there. “You heard correctly, Mr. Van Der Linde.”

“I say we wait until night for Jack, to arouse less suspicion.”

Arthur and John agreed but Dutch had a lack of interest in what she had to say, muttering a few words but really his eyes only remained on the paper. She spared a moment to glance towards Arthur who could only give a small shrug before leaving the house with John in tow. Nora prepared to speak with him but was cut off when a frantic Molly stepped in, looking more frantic than the usual and desperate for Dutch's attention. “Dutch, can I talk with you for a moment?” He frowned, pinching the bridge of his knows and squeezing his eyes tight. “I'm busy right now, Miss O'Shea.”

“You don't look busy.” Her eyes travelled to focus Nora who stood awkwardly in the room, excusing herself to leave but being stopped when Molly had grabbed hold of her wrist. “It's always gotta be about you, Molly O'Shea. You've had all this time to talk to me and you choose now.”

“I've not had any time because you're always so busy.”

“Whatever, Miss.” He pushed past the females, making an effort to push Nora behind him so he was standing before Molly. He towered over the female in comparison and shrouded her in his shadow to intimidate but she kept her ground and balled her hands into a tight fist. “I have work to do, something you don't know how to do yourself.” And with that final word the man walked away to leave them alone inside.

Nora couldn't believe just how cruel Dutch could be and it confirmed her earlier suspicions over the male, a source to not be trusted. “Forget about him, Molly.”

“It's easier said than done, Nora and I doubt you know what any of it feels like.”

“I don't, but I know people don't need to face that sort of shit. He's a bully it seems.” Molly squeezed her eyes shut to keep some tears from falling and raised her hand to dismiss the female, using fingers to wipe away a few stray tears. “Look you need someone to talk too, I'll be there an' you can write anytime.”

“Thank you.”

“I should get goin', see ya Molly.”

She left the house and frowned at the thick air, it somehow being a lot more thinner indoors. Relocating her may have been a poor decision solely based on how much warmer the territory was and Nora had to fan herself with her hand to cool down every-so-often otherwise she felt she was going to fate. She wondered how Bill or Arthur, even Lenny on occasion were able to walk around with their coats on.

“Howdy cowpoke.” She had found Kieran near the horses, his natural habitat and decided to stand near him while he ran the horse brush against Branwen. He smiled upon recognising her voice and turned slightly to face her, never faltering on his chore. “Mornin'!” He cheered.

“Seem a lot happier than usual. What happened?”

“Nothin' exciting.. guess started to slowly feel I belong. A lot of 'em started bein' nice.”

“You don't sound so nervous when ya talk too.” He chuckled and nodded slowly. “No, I do not.”

“I think I may be stayin' a little while and thought to keep my favourite cowboy some company.” She teased and Kieran smiled at the compliment, pulling out an apple from inside his coat pocket and handing it to her to feed the horse; as told by his pointing towards the creature. “Sure I just saw Arthur approach Pearson's chuck wagon. Probably be where you'll find your favourite cowboy.”

“Real funny.”

“Or you'll find Lem.” He paused to think. “Where would you find him?”

Nora shrugged, unsure of the answer herself. “Guess is as good as mine. When he ain't at the shack he's at my camp and when he ain't there he's at the shack.. but when he's neither, well it's hard to find him.”

“He ever say where he goes?”

“Not unless asked, but we don't ask him often.”

Kieran finished brushing the dirt from Branwen's coat before turning the brush towards Nora with a playful grin. “Your turn.” She chuckled, taking a step back from him. “You're gonna have to bathe first I'm afraid.”

“Oh, how funny.”

“I pride myself on my.. comedic nature.”

Kieran looked behind him and gave Mary-Beth a gentle wave once he realised she had been looking his way and once he did so the girl flushed a bright red before looking away, digging her nose into the pages of her book that sat open in her lap. “You're goin' with Dutch to rescue Jack, right?”

“Yes.” She answered, helping him out by picking up a bucket of dirty water not far from where they stood. He led them over to the wagons furthest from the hitching station and the pair talked quietly amongst themselves as they crossed camp; ignoring the odd looks sent their way from one person in specific. Everyone else seemed far too occupied to worry about the O'Driscoll, after all, he didn't feel like one to them anymore.

“How's the readin' going?” She asked to be polite and once before she had asked and he looked annoyed when she did so, but this time he gave her a bright smile. “It's okay.. doin' a lot better than a few months ago.”

She shared the joy with him and bounced on her toes and clapped her hands together simultaneously. “That's great, Kieran! I'd have to buy you a drink sometime to celebrate.”

“I doubt I'll drink, who knows what'll happen.”

“Nothin' bad might wake up the next day feelin' terrible but that's the worse of it.”

“We'll see I guess.”

She dumped the water out on the grass, a decent distance away from camp and returned back to the grounds. Kieran had waited by an old shack trying to light a match but failing in his attempts to do so. “Here.” She took it from his hands, her fingers brushing against his before striking it to alight. He held the cigarette out to her and waited for her to light it and once she had done she waved the flame out.

“When are you leavin'?”

“Eager to get rid of me?”

“Maybe.” He joked and Nora took to gently patting his shoulder. “Lovely, ain't ya?”

...

John and Dutch set out for Saint Denis days a few hours before they had, saying that they would keep an eye on the place before actually going in with their demands. They had no idea who they were going up against after all.

She left Shady-Belle last and made haste to the mansion district in the city, unaware of where the men could be waiting for her as they hadn't set an official meeting spot prior but it didn't take a drastic amount of searching to be able to find them, given they had sat in the community garden opposite and Dutch wasn't quiet when he talked to the men, instructing John to remain calm and for Arthur to keep a close eye on the situation...

She walked up the path to greet them and Arthur gave a gentle nod when he saw her and quickly the men rose from sitting on the steps; ready to talk with Bronte.

“Remember, we don't wanna go gun's blazin'.” Dutch warned them as they approached the gate. “Could risk harmin' Jack if we do.”

Upon finishing their walk, Nora noticed the guards all lined up along the path armed with guns and looking mean. They didn't seem pleased with the close proximity they were in and less so when Dutch had called over one particular guard to stand at the gate so they could talk.

“Run along now.” He muttered and the guard scurried off after he *negotiated with him. Dutch did momentarily tell him to return just so he could give back the taken gun and then they were told to follow on inside to speak with Bronte himself.

As soon as she stepped inside the house she was choked with the thick smell of fragrance and for a moment she could swear that they had walked into a greenhouse instead of someone's home.

The man himself sat surrounded by guards in a parlour, dressed in robes and drinking a glass of wine.

“Where is his son?” Dutch didn't jump to formalities and Angelo Bronte looked far from pleased as they cut straight to the point.

“Excuse me?”

And Dutch repeated himself, pointing at John. “Where is his son?” Bronte scowled at the forward approach and called over one of his guards to whisper something in his ear. Nora was told not to go in and start shooting but with the way things seemed to be turning out she began to worry that they would need to switch their approach.

“Who do you think you are, coming into my home with these demands and stinkin' of shit.” Nora's hand to move just above her revolver and Arthur moved in front of her to grip her wrist and not bring suspicion her way; he would let go if they needed to use it.

Bronte continued telling Dutch off while the three remained standing around in awkward silence.

“I like you-” Angelo raised a cigar and pointed his fingers in the direction of the man his smile big and yet sinister. “I do, I do like you. Please have a seat men and.. lady.”

The three on the seat took up all the space so unless she were to on one of their laps she chose to lean against an arm and balance herself there, sitting close to Arthur who looked equally as uncomfortable.

“I'll tell you what, you can have the boy back.” John's face lit up. “But I have.. a request.”

Arthur groaned and leaned forward, clasping his hands together in front of him and biting back the need to swear at the Italian. “What is it?” She asked, not shy to hide the frustration in her voice.

“There are graverobbers in the graveyard.”

“Well, that is a good place for it, the best.” Dutch quipped and Bronte laughed at his joke. “I like him, I like you.”

“Just clear them out and I'll give you back the boy.”

“Of course, I can have these three go and do that and you and I can talk a little more.” Dutch stood and motioned for the trio to leave the area but Bronte called them to stop. “Why doesn't the lady stay? I'm sure she wouldn't want to associate herself with those types of thieves.”

“Oh, I should really make sure these pair stay out of trouble.” She cut in quickly but Bronte wasn't having any of it, further insisting that she stay. Dutch placed his palm on the female's shoulder and his grip tightened ever so slightly. “I'm sure you can part with Arthur for a few minutes, Mrs Morgan.”

She raised a brow at the use of 'Mrs' but didn't want to raise any alarm regarding it. She nodded slowly and sat back down on the chair, with walking behind her. “Young couples, never can be apart.” He commented. “Never did see any use for marriage myself, but that didn't stop these two.” And now she was parading as a married woman.

“Oh, you are married?” Bronte asked Nora specifically, pouring bourbon into a glass and handing it to her. She took a sip and was about to answer his question before Dutch cut it. “To Arthur, yes.”

“Well, congratulations.”

Bronte clicked his fingers together and one of his bodyguards walked over; leaning down so the man could whisper in his ear. She tried listening to what he said but unfortunately for her he spoke in Italian possibly so they could not decipher what instructions he passed on.

“I wish for you to stay and chat awhile, but I am a busy man no? And I am sure that your husband and his friend will be back soon.” Bronte stood to escort them out, having one of his men hold the door open in politeness. Dutch turned, ready to ask about the boy before Jack ran down the stairs to join them.

“Uncle Dutch!” He cheered running to his side and the gang's leader crouched low to greet the boy before taking his hand and walking him outside. “Where's mama?” The boy asked but Dutch was reluctant to answer at first, only keeping an eye on the armed men that lined the gravel driveway towards the mansion.

She sat on the steps with him and distracted him long enough for the men to arrive and when John did return through the gates the boy took off and ran into his hands, this bright smile on his face. “How did it go?” Arthur asked Dutch and Nora specifically but neither provided a coherent answer, besides the subtle comment she made about them being married now.

“Excuse me?”

“My thoughts exactly.” She chuckled, walking around to Casper and mounting up alongside the men. “Will you be returning to camp with us, Nora?” Dutch asked as he took lead on The Count. “Not sure. If you wish me too then I see no harm in joinin' you fella's.”

“Please come with us, Nora.” Jack begged, his bright eyes silently pleading the woman to join them. Dutch scratched his nose, tilting his head over towards Jack. “It seems that the boy has spoken.”

“Alright, guess I will be goin' then.” Jack cheered and it livened up the evening for the group and having him back would mean that this turned to be the end of a very bad and stressful week.

...

“Abigail!” John hollered and the woman cave rushing over at the mention of her name, she faltered in her steps when she noticed her child in his arms and in no time broke into a sprint to reunite with her child.

“You got my boy back! You got him back.. thank you, thank you all.” She blinked away a few happy tears and quickly rushed the boy into camp and soon Dutch had departed while he told his dear best friend, Hosea of their little adventure. Nora turned towards John who looked longingly at his family, holding a cigarette between his lips. “Go over and sit with them, Marston.” She said and he nodded as if she were giving a command. He scurried off.

“So we're married?” Arthur asked as he escorted the female back into Shady-Belle's grounds.

“I was just as shocked too.”

“Who's idea was that?”

“Dutch's, I don't know why he said it or where it came from but Angelo Bronte didn't seem thrilled when we brought it up.”

Javier began to play a song on his guitar, one recognised well by the gang who all cheered once the first note was played. “That's a shame.”

“As much as it's been an honour, bein' your pretend-wife I am afraid that I am spoken for by someone else.”

“You are, are you?”

“Nope.” Nora chuckled lowly, scuffing the dirt up with her boot. “But I have eyes for someone.”

“Well I respect that, ma'am. I should leave you to get on with the party however, enjoy yourself.”

He said a humble goodbye before returning to his room for the night, deciding that he had enough excitement for the day.

She spotted Kieran sulking near the chuckwagon and decided that he was who she wished to take with for the evening, especially since he was one of the rare decent men around. She walked over and joined him at the table, offering a liquor bottle she picked up on the way. “How are ya?”

“I'm fine.” He mumbled and she noticed in the low light how his cheeks had flushed a red. “Good job on gettin' Jack back. Must've been fun.”

“Guess that could be said.” Nora brought the bottle to her lips and took a sip of the beverage, cringing at the bitter taste. “Didn't take too much work and nobody needed to die.”

“Well you got the kid back, it's w-what matters.” Gone was that confidence from before. The man took a long drink from the bottle, despite his earlier refusal to do so and she watched with curiosity, wondering what had happened while she was out. “Did somethin' happen to you?”

“No.” Kieran said bluntly. She didn't believe it, narrowing her eyes is suspicious before diverting her gaze over towards the scout fire where some members of the gang sat, unfortunately for her she met eyes with Micah Bell and he gave her a wicked grin that chilled her to the bone.

“Listen, I'm gonna talk to Mary-Beth for a short while. You need me I'll try not to stray too far from camp.”

Kieran nodded slowly. “G-Guess I'll do the same.”

Nora placed a palm on his cheek, running her thumb along the top of his beard before pulling away. He leaned into her touch and the minute it had gone he pouted like some child. Kieran moved to longingly watch her as she walked away from him to enter the old building, taking note of how she lingered in the doorway for a little too long before eventually disappearing indoors. “You got it bad for her too don't ya?”

Kieran shook his head to deny these claims, but Hosea only laughed as he saw through the blatant lie. “Jus' keep ya head on your shoulders an' everything will be alright.” He left Kieran alone after that and all he could do was sulk in his spot, both annoyed and confused with his feelings and how he struggled to come to terms with them. Nora was sweet and spoke more to him than anybody else, he always looked forward to her visits as they not only meant that he wouldn't be alone for a prolonged period but also because he could have a conversation with someone who thought of him as an equal and not some vermin. “How'd you end up in this mess, Duffy?” He muttered to himself, taking to drink again from the bottle and slowly he slipped into a dazed state of drunkness and tomorrow he would most likely regret his decision to so foolishly drink.

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 44)

Saint Denis Times Tribune

This chapter might be a little sad for some of you, Hosea gets laid to rest. Then we read something disturbing in the newspaper that threatens to throw reader into despair. 

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

Digging a hole in the ground in a quiet spot outside Bluewater Marsh with Reverend Swanson brought back a few unpleasant memories. My brother and I had done it twice over not far from our very spot years ago, hammered two crosses into the ground, said a few words. This time it was for Hosea. We'd picked the spot with the small gathering of people who had decided to come, most of the gang was present, aside from the obvious missing folk, some who had volunteered to stay back at camp to protect it, and a few who admitted they couldn't handle being there. Charles and Abigail were in Saint Denis, retrieving Hosea's body from the mortuary. We wanted to give him a burial that meant something, not what the state would've provided; probably an unmarked grave somewhere we'd never find out about. If it meant turning to crime, breaking in to give Hosea what he deserved, we'd do it. 

It had been Abigail's suggestion. She was taking it hard; Hosea, I realised, was a father to her just as much as he was to Arthur. Tilly, as well, she had been withdrawn and quiet since we'd found out, and she was nearby picking flowers to lay.

When the grave was prepared, the group stood around it and waited wordlessly. The mood was solemn and painful, the air unnaturally still, quiet. It was a short while before hoof beats and the rattle and creak of wagon wheels on uneven terrain sounded Abigail and Charles' return. Hosea was in the back, a white sheet blanketing him. As soon as I laid eyes on him, I felt my throat grow tight with the urge to cry. I held back, knowing I had far less reason to shed a tear than any of the people around me. 

I averted my eyes when Charles and Swanson worked together to lift the body, carried it over and carefully lowered it into the grave. Abigail joined me and Tilly, sliding in between us and taking Tilly's hand, then mine. I gave hers a silent squeeze of support. 

They adjusted the blanket, made sure he was carefully covered and comfortably positioned in his final resting place. Then Charles stepped back, stopping beside me. Everyone gathered in a circle around the grave, pressed shoulder to shoulder, Swanson standing at the head; he retrieved a Bible from inside his coat. 

"It's been a difficult few weeks," Swanson began, "it's never easy, losing a comrade. But I think all of us can agree Hosea was far more than that. He was a friend. A saviour. And to many of you, I know he was more a father. He was certainly the voice of reason and goodness among us."

Heads nodded. Shaky breaths could be heard and I didn't dare look up to see who was crying, I knew I would join them. 

"I'd like to read a few words from my Bible, if that's okay?" He continued, and when nobody protested, he took a breath and looked down at Hosea. "But first, would anyone else like to say anything?" 

Abigail let go of my hand to raise hers in the air, and all eyes turned to her. 

"He really was like a father, weren't he?" She said, a ray of happiness in her choked up tone, "I always felt that. When the gang took me in I– Hosea always looked out for me. He was so kind to me, to everybody. It hurts so much that all those people see when they look at us is monsters, and they can just do this– I wish I'd done more that day to try and– I can't do nothing now. I just hope he knows I love him, wherever he is."

I stroked her back, my tears welling over silently. 

"Ain't nothing anybody could've done. Hosea would know that, we all do. And I wanna say that I love him too, one of the greatest men I've known," Tilly said, stepping forwards and kneeling down. She reached over and placed a small bundle of flowers on his chest. "He always had a wise word for anyone, a little bit of hope and care when things seemed like they were falling apart. I'll miss him, painfully."

"We all will," Susan nodded, her voice betraying her grief despite her ability to hold back the tears so clearly aching to come out. Everyone nodded in agreement, and there was silence for a few moments followed by the flipping of pages. I looked to Swanson as he opened up his Bible, parting the pages to the one he'd marked with the ribbon that was attached to the spine. 

Swanson cleared his throat, his tired eyes focusing on the page. He'd changed a lot from the man I first became familiar with; before, he was almost always drunk or uncomfortably out of it, but since the move to Lakay, he seemed to be doing better. At least some good had come out of the awful circumstances. It was just sad that everyone else had gone the other way.

"Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death," Reverend Swanson read from the Bible, uttering each word slowly and clearly, then paused and looked up at us all, "I believe Hosea was a good man. Perhaps not in the eyes of the law, as Miss Roberts said, but at heart. He took in those that needed help, gave those of us who had been chewed up and spat out by the world another chance at finding a family. And he did so, never from a place of judgement,

"With his sickness, and the difficulties of the recent months, we must take solace in the knowledge that he is at peace now. And he is with his darling Bessie," he said, and a few nodded, small smiles appearing on their faces. "Perhaps you would all like to join me in a prayer?" 

I brought my hands together, clasping them at my heart and bowing my head. 

"Almighty God, you love everything you have made and judge us with infinite mercy and justice. We rejoice in your promises of pardon, joy and peace to all those who love you. In your mercy turn the darkness of death into the dawn of new life, and the sorrow of parting into the joy of heaven; through our Saviour Jesus Christ, who died, rose again, and lives forever more," Reverend recited, head bowed, eyes closed, "amen."

"Amen," was murmured among the group, some spoke with more conviction than others, varying degrees of fraught emotion. 

Soon, Charles and Mr. Pearson were stepping forwards to bury Hosea. They carefully blanketed him in the soil, laying layer after layer ever so gently, as if tucking him up in bed for his eternal sleep.

-

I rode back to camp on the back of Charles' horse, Taima, everyone else making their own way back. We attempted to split the group a bit, drawing less attention in case any law were around. He stopped next to Rayna, and held my hand as I slid down to my feet. 

"That was lovely," I said as he remained on his horse, and he nodded. 

"I'm relieved we could do that. He deserved to be laid to rest by those he cared about and who cared for him," he said.

"Hosea was always very kind to me," I recalled the way he'd comforted me when Arthur had gone missing as I spoke. "I wish Arthur could've been there today."

Charles nodded sadly, and there was a pause, I realised he still hadn't dismounted. 

"I'm sorry, I won't keep you, are you off somewhere?"

"I met with Rains Fall the other day. Things are bad up at the reservation, I was heading over there to help out," he explained. 

"Arthur mentioned that name to me a while ago," I recalled. "It ain't right what's happening to them. Is there anything I can do?" 

"Not right now. Things are tense, the army is involved. I think it might be safer for you to not get involved right now," he told me, and I nodded in understanding. 

"Okay, Charles. You take care," I said, giving his horse a gentle pat on the neck. 

"I will. I'll see you later," he nodded to me, then tugged on the reins, turning Taima and heading back the way he came. I watched him disappear down the tracks, picking up speed, then looked back at Rayna. 

I approached her, pulling my brush from my saddle and tending to her mane, running the bristles through. It wasn't tangled at all, someone had been seeing to her. Her coat was also clean, brushed thoroughly. I continue to brush her mane anyway, as a means of spending some time with her. I needed a little love from her. 

"How're you doing, girl?" I asked under my breath, stroking my free hand up and down the bridge of her nose. I raised onto tip-toes and kissed her face. 

A sharp huff through a pair of nostrils caught my attention, and I looked up to see Jet on the other side of the hitching post. He was standing still with his head bowed. He hadn't been ridden in a couple of weeks, of course, but he'd been well looked after by the likes of Kieran. The men's horses had managed to make their way back to Shady Belle before we left for Lakay, and it was a relief that we hadn't lost any. 

I felt quite emotional looking at Arthur's horse. I wondered if Jet missed him. It looked like he did, with the way his eyes were glumly stuck to the ground, but that could've been me projecting my own human emotions onto him. Either way, I approached him, stroking his neck and his face, giving him some sweetness. He pushed his face into my touch and flicked his tail, and I smiled. 

"I'm sure he misses you too," I sighed, reaching into my satchel to retrieve an apple, lifting it up to his mouth. Rayna perked up, nudging her nose into Jet's space as she tried to snag the treat for herself. "Not for you!" I laughed, ensuring Jet ate it up. 

"Hey, Miss, you alright? How was the, uh…" Kieran's once small, now more self assured voice came from behind me. 

"Hi Kieran," I smiled, turning to face him, "it was nice."

"Oh, good," he nodded, then looked down, drawing attention to the thing in his hands. "I hope this ain't too presumptuous of me, but I made you something. Well, for your horse."

"Oh?" I looked down at the object. It looked like a piece of shredded up rag, and essentially that was all it was. 

"I noticed she's docked? Ain't got much tail left," he began, pointing and walking around to the back of her. I followed him. It was true, she had a little hair but it didn't grow very long.

"Unfortunately so. I bought her like that," I nodded. 

"I figured it's so buggy 'round here, she'd like a little help keeping the flies off. Made this to add to her tail, it ain't very pretty but it should work."

"Oh, thank you, Kieran. That's very thoughtful," I smiled, gesturing with my hand to give him permission to attach the thing. 

He took some strips and bundled them with the hair around her tail, braiding them into it securely before tying it off where her natural hair ended. She was left with a tail that was braided at the top, from which dangled strips of fabric, just as long as any other horse's tail. Nifty. 

"That looks pretty good! I think she'll like that," I beamed, patting Kieran's shoulder appreciatively. "Thank you for all the work you put into these horses. They're lucky to have you. As is the gang." 

"If it's my way of bein' useful, I'll take it. I like being around the horses," he explained, watching as Rayna discovered her new tail, flipping it around. It'd do nicely to dust the flies away. 

"I'm pleased you've found your place here, it's good to feel useful, ain't it?"

"It sure is. Especially since I feel I've got a lot to prove. Maybe I ain't raking in cash for the box, but these horses are invaluable. Think of how much we use 'em, they gotta be looked after well," he said strolling over to Jet, brushing down a patch of ruffled fur on his flank with his hand. 

"Exactly," I agreed. "And I'm sure the boys'll appreciate you keeping their horses happy while they're gone."

Kieran nodded slowly, going quiet at the mention of the others. The silence went on for so long it began to feel awkward, and I was about to excuse myself when he finally spoke up. 

"I'm sorry, by the way. Can't be easy for you, with Mr. Morgan gone." 

My lips parted, I stared at him for a second. Eventually I closed my mouth and nodded. 

"Just trying not to get too caught up in thinking about where he could be," I said, and he smiled at me in that shy, closed mouth way of his. 

"Well, there ain't much point in getting yourself all worried, now," he said, then looked around timidly, "if there's anything I can do for you to take some stress off, maybe take a couple of your chores, you let me know."

"Aw, thank you. That's kind. But I'm okay, I reckon I prefer keeping busy," I told him. 

"In that case, can I give you any of my chores?" He asked, then snickered and shook his head. "No, I'm kidding. But uh, yeah, if there is anything I can help you with, it's the least I could do. You saved my skin."

I shook my head and smiled. "Thanks, I'll keep it in mind," I told him. He nodded, rubbed his hands on his pants. 

"Anyway, I–" he finished his sentence by simply pointing over his shoulder, then he shuffled off in that direction. 

-

I'd stopped keeping track of the days since Arthur's departure, but I had to figure it'd been a few weeks. It felt like longer, though, every day dragging and dragging. I spent most of my time in camp, most people did. Nobody was going out pulling jobs, bringing in money; Sadie and Charles had decided that the heat was far too intense to risk drawing any more attention, so any work we did was legal and purely for survival. Hunting, selling skins, gathering herbs and selling those, that sort of thing. It didn't bring in much but it was enough to buy the food and supplies we needed. We were trying to stretch the money in the camp fund tin as far as possible considering there wasn't much going in it and we didn't know how long we'd have without Dutch and the others. 

I had been given a rare outing, though, with Abigail. We'd been handed a small bundle of cash and tasked with going into Saint Denis to buy some vegetables. We took one of the wagons, and I drove us into town and to the market where I knew we'd get a better price than the general store if we haggled. She did a better job than I did of getting the price down, she wasn't afraid to bat her eyelashes and put on a little charm with the man running the stall. He helped us load up the wagon, to boot. 

"You feel like finding somewhere to get a cool drink before heading back? I got some money saved up, ain't suggesting we use the camp funds. I just feel like staying out a little longer," Abigail suggested when we climbed back on the wagon. 

"That sounds real nice," I nodded gratefully. 

"We won't be too long, but we've been cooped up in that swamp so long I feel like we deserve some time away," she said, and took the reins. We rode around for some time before finding a small cafe that advertised fresh lemonade and a courtyard around the back. We figured it was a good a place as any, and the courtyard would keep us out of view of the street in case anyone happened to recognise us. 

Abigail treated me to my drink and we sat down on a table in the courtyard, the place was pretty vacant. Most patrons were sitting inside out of the sun, it happened to be a rather warm day, but we valued privacy over shade. Abigail sighed and leaned back in the metal chairs that probably would've burned they were so hot in the sun, if it weren't for our clothes acting as a barrier. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a breath. 

"You hear that?" She asked, and I strained my ears. All I could hear was the murmur of voices from the cafe and the streets beyond, the ringing of the church bells, hoof beats on cobblestone. The sounds of the city. "Ain't an alligator hiss, a cricket or a disgruntled Pearson for miles."

"Ain't a fan of this new camp?"

"Is anyone?" She countered drily.

I chuckled at her admission. "Sorta reminds me of growing up," I mused. 

"Oh, of course. I'm sorry," Abigail averted her eyes guiltily and I shook my head. 

"No, it’s okay. It ain’t too pleasant, I know," I snorted, "there are a lot of reasons I ain't been back since I left. But it feels a bit like home anyway." 

"How're you finding it all?" She asked. 

"You know, fine," I shrugged and sipped my drink, ignoring her eyes on me, all concerned. "How're you finding it? I know you must be worried about John."

She made a tsking sound, and her expression withered. "Sure. I understand why we can't just go busting him out without a thought, but still. He's my– he's the father of my son. I just wish there was some sense of urgency about getting him back."

"You know I'd help you, Abigail, if I was good with these things. John saved my life. If I could save him too, then…" I trailed off and sighed. "I miss him too. He's a good friend."

"Never said I missed him," she said, pressing her lips together. 

"Come on, Abigail," I nudged, looking at her directly. 

"Maybe a little," she said quietly. "Anyway, don't you prod me tryin'a get me to open up about my feelings. If I hear you say you're fine one more time I'll lose my damn mind."

"What do you want me to say?" I cocked a brow at her.

"I don't know. That you miss Arthur, or something," she stammered with uncertainty.

"Of course I miss him. With my whole heart I do, I thought it went without saying."

"You're allowed to open up about it, that's all I'm saying," she sighed. "You've been real quiet. Some of us are worried."

"I'm always quiet, though."

"Sure, but not like this."

"This is my way of dealing with it. I feel like if I speak too much about him I'll– it'll spiral into something and I won't be able to handle it so well," I told her honestly, and after searching my eyes for a moment she nodded in understanding. 

"Alright then. As long as you'll tell someone if it gets too much."

"I will. Thank you. Everyone has been so kind these last few weeks," I smiled, emotion bubbling and threatening to make me cry. 

"Well, in situations like this, sure beats being a bunch of bastards to each other. And you know, it could go either way, everyone’s so wound up."

"Some people went the other way. Or are at least heading there. I can't stand the bickering going on," I sighed and Abigail rolled her eyes.

"I've learned to tune it out. It's Uncle who's gettin' on my nerves. Keeps going on about having to do something, get some money, figure a better place to move to. All the while he's sitting on his ass drinking the last of the booze," she grumbled.

"I don't think I could stand moving again so soon, truth be told."

"No, you're right. All this moving is wearing thin. More than ever it makes me wanna take Hosea's advice and get the hell out of here," she admitted, her lips puckering sadly. 

"He told you that?"

"He always thought it'd be best for me and the boy to be out of this life. We were just trying to make John see sense," she explained, and suddenly I realised her issues with John were far more complicated than simply being angry that he'd left for a year. "He never was the family kind."

"Maybe his arrest will be the kick up the backside he needs. For what it's worth, I think you'd all be better off getting out, too."

She nodded, looking down. She was quiet for a few moments. "You and Arthur ever talk about leaving?"

My mouth opened but I just stared at her. I didn't know how to answer. "Uhh, sure, it was mentioned a couple times," I settled on. "Mostly when Dutch was on about going to Tahiti."

"Oh, Christ. I sure as hell weren't going along with that, whether John went or not."

"Did he want to go?"

"John don't know what he wants. I ain't got no hope of knowing," she chuckled. 

"Well, I hope he chooses you and Jack in the end, Abigail," I smiled at her, "I think he will. He's not that big of a fool."

"I hope you're right. Actually, I wanna get a newspaper while we're here. See if anything's been said about him, d'ya mind?"

"Course not," I said, and finished the rest of my lemonade.

We left the cafe then, and made our way back out to the streets to find the paper vendor. He wasn't far from the wagon, so I waited there while Abigail went and bought the newest paper. She handed it to me when she climbed up onto the wagon to join me. 

"I uh, can't actually," she began quietly, then cleared her throat. "Would you mind reading it for me? I'll drive."

"Of course," I nodded, looking down at it. The wagon started moving and I scanned the front page for news about infamous outlaws being captured, but the entire cover was on about a ship heading to Cuba. I gave it little thought, flicking through the paper scanning for anything to do with outlaws, bank robberies, John Marston… 

I finally came across an article a few pages in. It was about the bank, talking about multiple criminals at large, one imprisoned, one killed at the scene, all linked to Dutch's boys. I skim-read it, trying to find something I didn't already know. When I did find something, my mouth dropped open. 

"They… they're saying he'll be–" I turned my eyes to her, unable to spit it out. 

"What?"

"Well, they wanna move him to Sisika," I finally said. Abigail stared at me with eyes frozen wide. "Yeah, he's currently being held in Saint Denis, but they wanna move him to Sisika by next week."

"Well then we're gonna need to break him out soon. Ain't no hope of getting him out of that place!" She exclaimed and I shushed her, looking around, we were still in the middle of the city. Abigail sped up the horses, almost taking out a pedestrian.

"Calm down! We'll just get back and tell the others."

"What else does it say?" She asked harshly. 

"Not a lot. It's all very vague, like they don't wanna say much. I mean, I guess it makes sense. They're hardly gonna put the time and date of when they'll be moving him with the others still out there, that'd be asking for a break out job," I shook my head, rereading the article. "Other than that it's just saying what we already know. Good Lord, you know how many officers were killed?"

"I don't particularly wanna know," she sighed. We were out of the city by then, and heading for the bayou. I gnawed on my lip. They'd killed a lot of people on that bank job, the number printed in front of me difficult to comprehend as individual lives. I closed the newspaper, swallowed down the sickly feeling in my gut and stayed quiet as we headed back to camp. 

Abigail rolled the wagon to a stop at the entrance to Lakay, tearing the paper (literally, I was left with the front cover) from my hands and jumping down, marching towards the shack at the edge of camp. I didn't move for a while, watching her run, moments before I heard her yelling. I sighed and closed my eyes, taking a breath. So, John was being moved to a heavily guarded prison in the middle of an island, and the majority of our most competent members were missing. I was struggling to remain positive about such a thing. 

I looked down absent-mindedly at the page still left in my hand, turning it over and looking at the headline. LOST AT SEA. I thought about Arthur, wondered what he would do if he was here. He probably would've been the first to grant Abigail's wishes and come to John's rescue. He was always the one to go saving everyone. But once again, he was the one whose location was unknown, and once again, nothing was being done about it. 

But what could be done about it? He'd gotten on that boat and we knew nothing–

I felt like someone had pushed me from behind, slamming me into a bath of ice cold water. Ice cold water with an electric current going through it. 

I gripped the paper, lifting it and scanning the words on the page. Departing from Saint Denis… the day of the bank robbery… a terrible storm… unknown number of casualties… it all became a blur but I managed to take in the essential information. I shook my head, my hands stiff as if I was sitting up in the grizzlies despite the hot humid air around me. What were the chances? Could it really be? I was overcome with the most awful feeling. Immediately my mind began conjuring up alternatives.

Surely there was more than one boat departing from Saint Denis that night. Right? Ships probably come and go all the time from a city as busy as Saint Denis. Did I have the date right? I never was any good at keeping track of what day it was. If this was the boat that Arthur had boarded, this news would've been printed sooner, wouldn't it? The odds of it being that boat, the chances of everything lining up in such a way–

"Are you alright there?" Lenny's voice broke me from my stupor and I turned my wide eyes and gaping mouth to him. 

"Uhh," I responded dumbly. I couldn't yet speak. I extended a shaky arm, handing him the scrap of paper. He took it from me with a frown on his face, and I watched his eyes dart back and forth as he read the article. His frown didn't shift immediately, but his brows gradually raised, realisation sinking in.

"You don't think…" he began, eyes flicking back up to me. My head jerked, it wasn't a nod or a shake, it wasn't any real response, but Lenny seemed to gain something from it. "We should… we should tell the others," he murmured, seeming about as stunned as me, though dealing with it a lot better. 

He swallowed visibly, dragging the back of his hand across his brow, wiping away the beads of moisture collected there as he frowned back down at the page, eyes darting to and fro again. He licked his lips, pressing them together, his hand gripping the paper hard enough it shook a little. 

"I…" he began, shaking his head. He met my eyes again. "Are you alright? You don't look so good." 

"I'm, um, I don't know," I frowned, turning, swinging my legs over the edge of the wagon and sliding down. Lenny reached out, ensuring I didn't stumble, eyeing me up with a creased forehead.

 I didn't know what to feel. I couldn't tell how I felt, at all. I didn't feel anything. There was a sense of panic there, but it was behind a wall, just in the peripheral, at the edge of my senses. 

"Maybe you shouldn't stand up," he worried, touching my elbow.

"I'm okay," I shook my head. 

"You want me to go and show them this?" He asked and I nodded. 

"Yeah, maybe you should. I think I'm gonna… I feel like I need a minute, just," I said, ambling away towards the water's edge. 

"Shall I send someone to you?" He asked me, and I could hear how concerned he was but all I wanted was for people to not focus on me, it was Arthur and the others who mattered then.

"No, I just need to be alone for a bit, don't worry, Lenny," I told him, shaking my head. "Thanks," I added, then slipped behind one of the half collapsed buildings and leaned up against the side, staring out over the swamp and breathing heavily. 

I squeezed my eyes shut, peering into the blackness behind my lids. I squeezed them so hard that bursts of nonexistent light filled my vision. I hoped that when I opened them I would see the peeling wall of Arthur's room in Shady Belle and he'd be sleeping pressed up behind me on his bed, and everything from the last few weeks had never happened and it was just a particularly terrible nightmare. But I opened them to a blurry image of green and brown, blinking into focus the swamp with gators floating in the distance, spoonbills flying overhead, flies and mosquitoes buzzing around my face. Something wavered in me and I felt tension building, it came out as a sob, one I choked back and trapped behind the hand I pressed over my mouth. I took several deep breaths, steadying myself, reining it in. Someone said my name, so soft and gentle and kind it almost destroyed that control I pulled back. 

I turned to see Mary-Beth peering around the side of the building, her big, pretty eyes looking so sad and sympathetic. I shook my head and turned away from her.  

"Hey, now. Come inside, won't you? Lenny showed us that article. I know you must be going out of your mind…" she cooed, and I heard her footsteps padding on the soggy ground. 

"I don't want to," I said, my voice sounding tight and quiet.

"Okay… alright," she said carefully. I felt her hand on my back, between my shoulders, rubbing softly. 

The breath I took was jerky. "Where is Molly?" I asked, suddenly realising I hadn't seen her for a while.

"Molly? You're close with Molly?" She said, sounding surprised. 

"No, I just– her and Dutch. I wanna know how she's taking it, that's all." 

"Oh… well, truth is, she ain't here," she admitted, looking down. 

"What?" I turned to look at her.

"Apparently she left while we were out burying Hosea," she told me. I raised my brows.

"Oh," I released the small noise, looking away. Perhaps she'd decided to go back to Ireland after all. At least she'd never have to hear about this. "Nobody's worried?"

"Well, her things are gone. And one of the Morgans," she said, and I nodded. "Doesn't look like she's been taken away against her will. I sorta saw it coming. Dutch was the only thing keeping her here, and," she trailed off, shrugging lightly. 

"Well, that's…" I began, my voice disappearing when I realised I had nothing to say. 

"Can any of us do anything for you? Do you need someone, I don't know, do you need a hug or someone to talk to?" She asked after a moment. 

"Mary-Beth, you're very sweet. I appreciate you coming and seeing how I am. I'm just… I don't quite know what to do with myself just yet. If that really is– if what I read has something to do with Arthur–" I closed my eyes and shook my head. "What'll I do?" 

"Well, it's okay to cry. You don't have to hold everything in," she said, taking my hand in hers and squeezing it.

"All that'll achieve is giving me a headache," I muttered, "I think I might go out for a ride."

"Alone?" She balked, and I nodded, "are you sure?"

"Yeah."

I slipped my hand out of hers and walked around the building, heading for the horses. Mary-Beth followed.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea," she warned, fiddling with her fingers. 

"I have my guns. I promise I'll come back later, I ain't running off," I assured her, "I know these parts well. Grew up here."

"Well, okay then. Please be safe."

I mounted up, patting Rayna on the neck, clicking at her and tugging her reins. 

"I will be. I won't go far," I forced a smile at her, then trotted off down the path.

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Second Chances - Ch. 4

Flight

Warnings: mild swearing

Word Count: ~8400

You open your eyes, your body incredibly stiff. Your left arm is asleep under your head. You realize that, despite being uncomfortable, you haven’t moved an inch in your sleep. Seems that even in your unconscious state, your body was far more aware of the closeness of Arthur behind you. The canvas above you still pelts with the sound of rain.

You peak over your shoulder, twisting your stiff neck. Arthur is already sitting up, staring out of the tent into the grey world beyond it. You slowly turn your body, sitting up yourself, feeling embarrassed and wondering if Arthur might be angry. His expression is hard to read, but he looks serious. He looks over as you sit up. He reaches behind him and puts on his weathered hat, clearing his throat. 

“Sorry if I woke ya,” he says in his gruff voice. 

“Nah, you didn’t.”

The two of you sit in silence for a few moments. You start to feel more relaxed. You question why you felt so nervous around Arthur. All he has been to you is kind since he decided not to turn you in. You know your nervousness and anxiety comes from your husband, the way he treated you. You have to remind yourself that Arthur is the farthest thing from the man you were once married to. 

“Looks like it might rain th’ rest of the day,” he says, still not looking at you. “We might as well head on back to camp.”

He gets up and leaves the tent, entering the downpour. You take a few moments to straighten yourself up and work out the soreness in your joints. Once you’re composed, you head out after him.

The rain has slightly transformed the world around Lake Don Julio, dulling down the harsh yellows of the grass and turning the orange rocks to brown. The sky above is still heavy and dark. It seems to whisper a promise of more rain to come, and possibly even lightning. You approach Rain while Arthur packs up the tent; the fire had already been doused by the rain. You pat your horse affectionately and tighten up the saddle. Arthur follows suit, mounting Boadicea. You hoist yourself into your own saddle and the two of you turn to leave.

Within moments of having left, you’re clothes are soaked. For the moment, you’re not cold since the desert still seems to retain some of its endless heat. You decide to pick up a conversation with the burly man ahead of you.

“I must admit, I’m lookin’ forward to readin’,” you say, unsure if he can hear you over the sound of the rain spattering in puddles. 

“It ain’t gonna be fun, I promise ya,” he responds. “Dutch and Hosea taught me to read when I was 14. Pain in the ass when ya first start.”

You pause for a moment. “Are you going to be joining in my lessons?”

“Maybe, if ya want. Hosea and I are thinkin’ of plannin’ a real estate scam.”

“If he’s doing that, how is he gonna have time to teach me?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout that. S’long as ya show him ya wanna learn, he’ll make time for ya.”

The two of you fall silent. Arthur spurs Boadicea into an easy canter, you following his lead. During the trip, you both keep an eye out for more prey, despite the rain. You both pick off a few more deer and pronghorns. 

In the early afternoon, you reach Hennigan’s Stead. Arthur calls back to you.

“We oughta find a few more animals, bring ‘em back whole for Pearson.”

You shout your agreement and start looking around for any signs of movement from animals, despite the fact that you’ve begun to shiver. You’re as drenched as you would be if you had gone and jumped into the San Luis River. You shake your hands, trying to stave off the chill from your fingers. 

Arthur suddenly breaks into a gallop, leaving the trail behind. You look ahead of him and see he’s spotted more pronghorns. You push Rain to follow him, pulling out your bow and hooking an arrow to the string. The thrill of the hunt pushes the cold to the back of your mind.

The two of you hop off your horses, stalking the grazing animals. In a matter of seconds, you’ve both brought down an animal for each of you to carry. You wonder if you should butcher your kill. You watch Arthur take his pronghorn whole and strap it tightly to Boadicea’s back. You do the same. 

Once you’re back in your saddle, the cold comes back to you. You do your best to suppress the shivering, not wanting Arthur to see. If he notices, he doesn’t mention it, and the two of you go back to the trail, traveling at a brisk trot. 

You’re just about to come to the chasm when Rain begins to whinny and snort in fear. She stomps fiercely and tosses her head. You’re reminded of the cougar, and you look around quickly, holding a hand to your bow. Then you hear it: a faint rattling over the sound of the pummelling rain. You look towards the sound and see the rattlesnake on one side of the trail, slithering away from your horse towards a large rock. You guide Rain to the other side, patting her and telling her to calm down.

“Everything a’right?” Arthur calls behind. “Yeah, just a snake. She’s fine. I don’t know what it is, but she’s more terrified of snakes than just about anything else. One time a wolf tried scaring her, ran right under her. All she did was stomp her foot and kick him in the head. Last time I think that wolf tried goin’ after a horse.”

Arthur laughed. “Yeah, most horses are real scared of snakes. Except Boadicea. She don’t seem to care much.” He patted her neck affectionately, praising her. 

The two of you trot down into the chasm, following it north. A small creek runs down its trail, licking over the horses’ hooves. You follow Arthur up the rise, leaving Hennigan’s Stead behind. 

As you come over the ridge, you glance around at the watery landscape and you spot, in the distance to your left, a rabbit feeding in the open. You quickly dismount, grabbing your bow, and begin stalking the oblivious rabbit. You shoot the arrow quickly, but the downpour has made your sense of the surroundings more blurry, and you miss it. The rabbit darts off into the tall grass, vanishing. You sigh in frustration, returning to Rain. Arthur has stopped, watching you. He says nothing, and he turns Boadicea to carry on. 

The two of you head back to the trail. Not far ahead is the copse of trees, marking Bison Point. Despite the heavy downfall of rain, you can see the columns of smoke rising from the fires that are always lit in camp. 

You enter the trees, their wet limbs and leaves brushing against your hat and face. You’re glad to be back, despite knowing this is the end of your freedom. You’ll be able to get fresh, warm clothes on at least. 

“Who’s there?” yells Bill, approaching with the repeater.

“Arthur, ya dumbass!” You chuckle at his response.

“The hero returns!” Bill retorts. 

You hitch Rain next to Boadicea and heave the dead pronghorn onto your shoulder. You walk awkwardly towards the wagon.

“Think we’ll be well fed tonight!” praises Sean as he walks past you. 

You stop at the front of Pearson’s wagon, slamming the carcass down on the table. The cook approaches, seeing you and Arthur with your kills.

“Very nice!” 

“We got more with that, Pearson,” Arthur says. “Got quite a bounty for ya.”

“Very good, Mr. Morgan. You did well.”

“It weren’t just me, Pearson. Y/N did a lot of the work.” 

Pearson looks at you, scratching his moustache. “Ah, very fine.”

You smile at Pearson, going back to Rain as Arthur sets down his kill. You go and gather up the pelts from her hindquarters. You look back at Arthur, talking with Pearson, grabbing the pelts off of Boadicea, as well. She snorts and shuffles her feet nervously, and you work quickly before she can have the chance to kick or stomp on you. You haul the pelts back over to Pearson, struggling a little with their weight. 

“Here ya are,” you say, plopping them on the ground beside his table. He looks at the pile, a pleased expression on his face. “Very good, Y/N. That’ll do just fine. If you two go out hunting more often, I won’t have to worry so much about having meat in the stew.”

You look down slightly, doubtful that you’ll get a second invitation from Arthur. Over all, the trip was rather uneventful, and you wouldn’t be surprised if he found your company lacking. 

“Shoar, think we can hunt some more in the future.”

You’re taken aback and stare at him, once again waiting for him to announce he’s joking. Instead, he pats your shoulder. “Y/N is pretty good at huntin’. Bet she can get even better, too.”

He releases your shoulder and walks away towards his tented wagon, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. You stand awkwardly for a moment before recalling you’re freezing, so you go back to Rain and pull off your bedroll, which is dripping wet. You head back to your small tent, bending down and going inside of it. You unroll the bedroll, wishing there was a place to hang it so it could dry, but the rain hasn’t let up a bit. You reach into a large bag stored at the back of the tent and reach in, pulling out fresh clothes. You change quickly after pulling the front flaps of the tent shut. 

You remain seated in the tent, still feeling cold and shaky from the storm. A distant rumble of thunder echoes above you, announcing the storm isn’t going to pass anytime soon.

A voice from outside calls your name. You recognize the gentle voice of Hosea. Pulling the flaps open, you poke your head out after putting your hat back on. 

“Yes?”

“I heard your trip was fruitful. Figure, if you’re up to it, we can start readin’.”

Another rumble of thunder, this time closer. You swear the rain starts coming down harder. 

“You sure? Don’t know where we can do it while the weather’s like this,” you say.

“We can start under the canvas Bill and I use at night. Should provide enough cover.”

The old man turns away and walks towards the canvas he mentioned. You follow him to it. Hosea pulls a chair under the canvas, stretched above his and Bill’s bedrolls on four long, skinny poles. He sits himself on the chair and gestures for you to sit on a bedroll.

Once you’re seated, he reaches into his satchel on the ground, pulling out a thin book. You recognize it as a children’s book. It’s titled ‘Otis Miller and the Black-Hearted Lady’. The cover is brightly colored, depicting a cowboy standing before a woman in a black dress holding a smoking pistol. 

“We’ll start with one of Jack’s books. It should be easy enough for you to start with,” he says, handing you the book. You hold it carefully, and then look back up at him. 

“Arthur says you and Dutch taught him to write. Could you teach me?”

“Of course,” he smiles. “Once this rain lets up, we can do that. It’s hard to write when all our tables are soaking wet.”

You smile and open the front cover of the book, recognizing none of the symbols on the page, apart from the fact that they are words.

“Before we get too involved with the book, let me teach you the letters,” says Hosea, stripping a paper out of his journal he pulled from his satchel. He writes every letter twice, one capitalized and one in lower case. He hands you the paper and starts teaching you their names and pronunciations. 

You go over them with him for what seems like hours until he’s finally satisfied and you have their names memorized. He pulls out another piece of paper and writes down simple words, consisting of no more than three our four letters a piece. He hands it to you.

“Now, try to remember how each letter is pronounced, and put them together.”

“But some letters are said different ways,” you say, feeling less confident. 

“That’s okay, I’ll correct you.”

You shuffle your feet under your knees and begin. Some of the words are easy, but some prove difficult. You struggle quite a bit with the word ‘cat’. You have to keep reminding yourself that ‘c’ can be started as an ‘s’ or a ‘k’. Hosea, though, is patient and helpful.

After some time, you manage to read off every word he’s written with no difficulty, but your brain is beginning to feel like mush. 

“You’re doin’ real good there, Y/N,” Hosea says, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll have a new page of words for you every day. Now, are you done for the day or do you want to carry on?”

“Could I have a break? I don’t know if I’m done for the day.”

“Okay.”

You get up, stretching your numb legs. The rain has finally slowed to a drizzle. You approach Pearson’s wagon, reaching into the barrel to splash some water on your face. When Pearson sees you, he grabs you and assigns you the job of helping to cut up more vegetables for the stew.

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

For the next several days, the routine becomes the same. When you aren’t doing chores for Grimshaw or Pearson, you’re reading. Right around the time Pearson sets out the stew, you go to Hosea to get his latest sheet of paper with new words. You sit with him each afternoon while the two of you eat, reading them off. Once you’re done with the paper, Hosea has you read from Jack’s book. 

Every once in a while, Arthur will take Hosea’s place, mostly whenever Hosea has run off to Blackwater or on a job. 

One afternoon, you see Hosea waiting for you at one of the tables eating his serving of stew. There’s a blank paper and a pencil set before him, and he looks at you expectantly. You approach with your own dinner.

“You’re learning fast, Y/N,” he greets. “It’s time ya start learning how to write.”

You sit down, excited. Since you’ve begun to learn reading, you’ve slowly started to enjoy it, although Arthur wasn’t wrong: it’s a pain in the ass. 

Hosea instructs you to write every letter of the alphabet on the blank page, two forms of each: one capitalized and one lower case, just as he had the first day of lessons.

You grab the page and recall a memory from a few days ago when you had caught a glimpse of a page of Arthur’s journal. Your reading wasn’t progressed enough to understand any of the words he’d written, but you had admired his beautiful writing: the looping curves, the graceful swipes. 

You begin writing the letters, and to say that they look dreadful is an understatement. They all end up crooked, and some could hardly even be called letters. Hosea chuckles a bit when you hand him the finished page, feeling slightly sheepish. 

“Well, it’s a start, I guess. Let me show you a technique.”

He pulls out a new sheet and draws 24 small, straight horizontal lines along it. He then instructs you to write the letters more slowly along each line. You do so, and the result is better, but only slightly. At least they’re straight.

“Good, now name the letters to me,” he says, pushing his empty plate away and pulling out a pipe. 

You do so, not even hesitating while naming them. You’ve been reciting them to yourself every day since lessons started. Whenever you’ve come across anything with letters, you’ve taken the time to name the letters, even if you can’t read what they say as a word. You feel somewhat proud when you finish saying them.

“Very good. You’re learnin’ fast, Y/N,” he says again, puffing. He flips the page over to show the blank side. He then writes some simple words, each followed with another horizontal line. He tells you to copy them as closely as possible. 

Obediently, you write down the words, but they look terrible next to Hosea’s. His writing isn’t as curvy or appealing as Arthur’s, but it still looks better than yours. 

“Well, at least you can read ‘em,” he praises with a chuckle. “I’ll add a sheet like this every day with your reading pages.”

He pulls out Jack’s book and tells you to read.

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

It’s the end of April. The rain that came down during your hunting trip with Arthur has long since disappeared, the land thirsty and desperate once again. The hunting trip was the last time you had left camp. It was also the last time you had seen the outlaw for more than a couple of hours. Not that the two of you weren’t busy. Now that you had reading and writing lessons on top of your chores, you went to bed exhausted every night. From what you had heard from Hosea, he and Arthur were also busy pulling this real estate scam together. 

Dutch has become increasingly less suspicious of you, even approaching you and greeting you on occasion. Occasionally, he will stop and listen to you read with Hosea, sometimes even praising you. 

You sit on one of the crates beside Mary-Beth. She’s knitting away at an old shirt, and you hold a new book of Jack’s in front of you. This one is on the same level as the previous one, in fact it’s another Otis Miller novel. You read aloud, something Hosea had encouraged you to do. When you get a word wrong or have trouble with one, Mary-Beth is more than helpful. 

You’re just beginning a new chapter when Micah’s loud voice interrupts you. You’ve had no interactions with him since you first met, and that suited you just fine. He greets Dutch, followed by Mac and Davey Callendar.

“Dutch, I gotta new lead you might just be interested in,” he greets in his oily voice.

Dutch, standing outside his tent, lowers his cigar. “What is it, my boy?”

“A river boat,” says Micah, smiling. “Coming to Blackwater. Carryin’ a pile of cash. Me and the Callendar boys was diggin’ around, sounds like there won’t be too much security neither. Think it might be an easy take for us.”

Dutch stands silently for a moment. Hosea and Arthur approach him. 

“What you thinkin’, Dutch?” Micah demands.

“What about the real estate scam Arthur and I have goin’?” Hosea interrupts. 

“This river boat has a lot more money than some scam that might not work, old man,” Micah says, smirking at Hosea. 

“You watch your mouth, Micah,” Arthur growls. Micah chuckles.

“Take it easy, big guy.” 

Dutch still has not spoken a word. His face is cross, his inner gears turning. 

“How much you think this take is worth, Micah?” he finally asks.

“A lot, Dutch. Sounds like it’s bein’ moved from the bank in Saint Denis to Blackwater early next month.”

Dutch’s eyes sparkle at the mention of money from a bank; a guaranteed big score. 

“You say security will be light?” he asks.

“Sure, Dutch,” Micah says. “Heard it all from some bank teller when he was havin’ a smoke. They think if they move it on the boat, it’s less likely to be hit.”

“Well, they don’t know us,” grins Mac, Davey chuckling beside him. 

Dutch is silent for another moment. “Micah, keep your eyes and ears on this river boat. Sounds like it might be promising.”

“Dutch,” Hosea pleads again. “I don’t know too much, but this don’t feel right. Bank jobs are rarely easy. Besides, Arthur and I have got somethin’ comin’ together.”

“Hosea, if you and Arthur want to do this real estate job of yours, go ahead. But I think I might have a plan coming together. Faith, my brother.”

He pats Hosea on the shoulder, turning into his tent and sitting beside Molly. You glance at Micah, and you don’t like the grin hiding behind his thick moustache. 

He spots you sitting on the crate. He saunters over in your direction, still smiling.

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Murder herself!” he declares. 

“What are you talkin’ about?” you demand.

He stands in front of you, holding onto his gun belt. “I think ya know exactly what I mean.”

You stay silent. You know he’s trying to make you angry, you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

“What’s going on?” Tilly walks over, looking between the two of you.

“You ain’t told no one your secret?” he grins wider. “Why, little missy here’s wanted for murder down in Blackwater!”

“Murder?” Mary-Beth asks as your stomach clenches. 

“That’s right. Murder! I was walkin’ past the sheriff’s there. Saw a bounty poster for a Y/F/N Y/L/N. Same first name, same face. And I thought to myself it couldn’t be the same Y/N we know, she’s too quiet. Too sweet. But nope. She’s one and the same. Wanted for murderin’ her entire family in a single night.”

Mary-Beth and Tilly look at you, and you glare at the ground. 

“So what if she killed her family?” Tilly defends. “Maybe they had it comin’.”

“And maybe they did,” Micah remarks as Arthur approaches, drawn by the sound of arguing. “But that begs the question: how long before she kills one of us and says we had it comin’?”

Your temper is beginning to boil. You finally look at him, standing up, the book in your lap dropping to the ground. “If I kill anyone in this camp, Micah, it’s gonna be you!”

Micah chuckles slowly, knowing he’s finally pushed you. “I’d like to see you try.”

“That’s enough, Micah,” Arthur growls at him. “I think it’s time ya leave Y/N alone.”

Micah raises his hands. “Relax, big man, didn’t mean to insult your girlfriend here.”

You can feel yourself blushing, but you don’t care who sees. You approach Micah, shoving his shoulder with your hand.

“Just get away from me!” you warn.

Micah chuckles again, turning to leave. “Of course. Don’t need to be so serious, Miss Murder.”

You stand there, breathing hard. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you, asking questions you’ve no desire to answer. You turn and sit back on your crate, grabbing your book again.

Karen approaches you from behind. It’s obvious she’s drunk. “Don’t mind that big slug,” her voice wobbles. “He’s an ass.”

“He’s done that to near everyone since he showed up six months ago,” Tilly explains, going back to the washing bin near her bedroll. “He tried gettin’ me mad over killin’ one of them Foreman Brothers. Got real nasty when it didn’t bother me.”

Arthur still stands before you, wearing another curious expression. “Ya a’right, Y/N?”

“Yeah. Just frustrated. Was kinda hopin’ to keep that on the down low.”

“Well, it was bound to get ‘round sooner or later,” Arthur says. “I wouldn’t worry ‘bout it too much. Doubt anyone here will care much.”

Arthur tips his hat to you before walking away, back towards Hosea. The others around you begin going back to their chores, acting as though nothing had happened, which you feel grateful for.

You’re not ashamed of what you did. Those people, your parents and husband, deserved what you did to them. Hell, they put you through worse. However, you know most people wouldn’t see it that way, and that’s why you decided a year ago to not tell anyone.

May comes to Bison Point bright and hot, feeling more like summer than spring. Every day since Micah first brought the river boat job, he’s been hinting at it in some way to Dutch. You have hardly any time to notice, though, between lessons and chores. 

Hosea and Arthur have made it perfectly clear that they’ve no interest in the score. Hosea claims he has a bad feeling about it, and Arthur seems to be enjoying working with him too much to be worried about the boat. 

Everyone in camp has been buzzing about the score, though. The entire camp is desperate for money, and Micah and Dutch are both under the impression the take will be excellent. You, however, are nervous. No score goes entirely unnoticed, and you’re sure that no matter how lenient the security on the boat might be, it’s still likely to attract the law. Law from Blackwater, where your heavy bounty remains. 

You haven’t set foot in Blackwater for more than a year, since before you killed your family. Your father and husband had all been well-known figures in the town. Word and suspicion that you had killed them would still be prominent, so you have avoided your hometown like the plague. 

You announce your fears to Hosea one afternoon during reading. He has quickly become a close friend to you. Part of you is even beginning to see him as a fatherly figure, something you’ve been desperate for your entire life. He pats your shoulder tenderly. He, like the others in camp, knows you’re an outlaw, but he doesn’t know why. 

“I wouldn’t be too worried, Y/N,” he assures you. “We’ve pulled scores like this before, the law has never found us. Even if they do get chased, they won’t lead ‘em here.”

“Hosea’s right,” Arthur chimes in, approaching the table where you sit. “We been runnin’ from the law a while now, they ain’t found us yet. Even if this job goes south, which Dutch is shoar it won’t, we’ll be a’right.”

“I hope so,” you sigh. “If they find out I’m here, they won’t stop hunting me, or you for that matter.”

“I’ll keep ya safe, Y/N,” Arthur promises. “Ain’t no one gonna get anywhere near you.”

He tips his hat slightly towards you, smiling, then he moves on towards the main campfire. His promise fills you with warmth. You turn your face from Hosea, trying to hide the faint blush you know is in your cheeks before turning back to the book you’re reading aloud. 

The day comes for the big river boat heist Dutch and Micah have been planning for the past few weeks. Early in the morning, Dutch wraps himself in a black coat and ties on a red plaid bandana around his neck, approaching the horses. Micah, John, Bill, Sean, Mac, Davey, and Javier follow him, all of them wearing coats and bandanas. 

Dutch turns and calls attention from the camp.

“This is it, ladies and gentlemen. When we come back, we’ll all be rich enough to leave this place and find a bit of decent land. I promise you we can all have normal lives after this. No more worryin’ about if we’ll have enough food, no more worryin’ about if Jack will have new clothes. Stay with me now, and have faith!”

The others in the camp yell and holler their excitement and wish the party good luck. Hosea, Arthur, and a girl named Jenny are absent, having left for Blackwater the previous night to pull the final strings on their scam. You didn’t know Jenny very well, only having had interacted with her a few times, but she was quiet and kind. She has an incredible talent for drawing, putting even Arthur’s sketches to shame. She was young, close to Lenny’s age, and it was clear to everyone in camp that he was sweet on her. 

Dutch and the others mount their horses and leave the cover of the trees, the camp still yelling. You want to join in, but you have a bad feeling. Perhaps you’re just worried about the Blackwater sheriff chasing them here, chasing them to you. You shake your head, trying to dispel the feelings of unease with your chores. Unfortunately, the tasks you’ve been set are mindless. By midday, you give up and take out your book. Another drawback comes in the form of Ms. Grimshaw.

“Now ain’t the time for readin’, young lady!” she roars at you, stomping in your direction. You quickly stand up, dropping the book and dashing towards the crates near Karen and Mary-Beth, picking up a needle, thread, and cloth before she can get a hold of you. She nods, satisfied, and heads off towards Strauss.

“Some day, I’m gonna murder that old goat,” Karen huffs. “Don’t let her get to ya.” You smile appreciatively.

The sun is beginning to dip down to the horizon, rippling its farewells, and still the party hasn’t returned. Grimshaw paces the camp, expectant. 

“Hope everything’s okay,” says Mary-Beth over her plate of stew. Karen tips the remainder of her bottle, gulping loudly. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you say, hardly believing it yourself. 

A sudden thundering of hooves echoes into camp. You turn with the others and see the party coming back, coated in sweat, their horses trembling. You can tell instantly by their faces that something has gone terribly wrong. Arthur is mounted behind John on his Kentucky Saddler, Jenny behind Hosea on Silver Dollar, looking pale and weak. Mac and Sean are nowhere to be seen. Both Arthur and Jenny had left on their own horses, which are now absent. Dutch storms up after them on his arabian the Count. He hops off his horse, looking angrier than you’ve ever seen. 

“Everyone, get your things together now! We need to leave! You have five minutes!” 

The camp scrambles, turning everything to havok. You dash to your tent, throwing everything together, not worrying about packing it nicely. You can hear all around you people yelling, Grimshaw demanding from Dutch about what had happened.

“Things didn’t go as planned,” he hollers at her. “There was more guards than anticipated, Pinkertons too. But we need to get out of here, and fast.”

Within moments, the camp is packed up rather sloppily, a few things are being left behind. Charles yells out as he douses one of the campfires. He’s accidentally burned his hand, and Strauss rushes over to bandage it quickly. Dutch yells at everyone to hurry up. 

The horses are strapped to the wagons, and the entire company is moving out. You’re seated inside the wagon with the other women, along with Davey, who’s been shot in the side. He groans in pain, lying on his back, Abigail doing her best to tend to his wounds. Dutch and Hosea sit on the lead wagon, you can faintly hear them as the party leaves Bison Point.

“Where should we head, Dutch?” “Out west, I think. Towards Armadillo,” he grunts, still angry.

“You sure? D’you think the Pinkertons will follow us out that way?”

“Let’s hope they don’t”

Everyone is silent, you watch the sun dip below the far off mountains. You wonder what will happen now.

The gang has travelled all through the night, you struggle to get any sleep due to the cramped wagon and the fear in your gut that the law will catch up to you and the others. 

Dutch and Hosea lead the wagons off the trails, to shake off anyone who might be following. The eastern horizon is just beginning to fade from black to blue when you peak out of the wagon. Ahead, you can see the outline of Armadillo, a small, dry town set in the middle of the desert. Dutch suddenly pulls the wagon train to a stop, telling Hosea to hand him a pair of binoculars.

“What is it?” Hosea says.

Dutch stays silent as he scans the town. 

“Damn,” he says, lowering them. “Pinkertons.”

“You sure?” Hosea squints at the town.

“No doubt. They must have figured we’d come this way.”

Arthur has hopped off the back wagon and approaches the front.

“What’s goin’ on?” he asks. Hosea explains the situation to him. “What’s the plan then, Dutch?”

Dutch furrows his brow. “North. We go north, up into the Grizzlies. We’ll take our chances up there. Grab Charles and Javier, have them scout ahead of us, make sure we don’t run into any trouble.”

Arthur tips his hat, going back to the wagons behind you. Davey groans loudly behind you. Abigail looks worried. Along with Davey, it turns out John got shot in the leg, and Jenny has been badly wounded during the flight. From what you’ve heard, she’s in even worse condition than Davey.

The wagon train turns right, facing the mountains north, but the easiest way to get to the Grizzlies was to also head east, back the way you’d come. After a few hours, you see the peaks of Tall Trees. Seems like you had come full circle now, and how much things hadn’t changed for you: still on the run from the law. Despite all that, your life couldn’t be more different. 

Dutch leads the train through Tall Trees, still continuing north. Every once in a while, Charles or Javier returns, reporting the lack of activity ahead of them. Dutch seems relieved.

“That doesn’t solve one problem, though,” says Hosea. “What about what we’re leaving behind? Someone should check that we’re not being followed.”

Dutch agrees. Javier trots his grey pinto beside the lead wagon, listening. 

“Javier, grab Bill and Lenny, have them scout the trail behind.”

“Okay, Dutch,” Javier says, turning his horse to go and grab the men Dutch mentioned. 

The train continues on north, still avoiding the trail as much as possible, which is made difficult by how thick the forest is in Tall Trees. You spot the familiar path that leads to Aurora Basin. You almost wish Arthur was beside you instead of Grimshaw, he could ease your mind off your fear. Of course, you doubt he’s given much thought to how much his actions have changed your life. 

The train moves further north, across the Upper Montana river, past Lake Owanjila, and up into Big Valley. The forest here looks as though it had been burned years ago, the trees blackened above the ground covered in new, green growth. 

Upon arriving here, Charles returns from scouting north on his appaloosa mare. “Nothing up ahead, our way is clear. But there is a ranch where I thought I saw signs of another gang hiding out.”

“We should avoid them, then,” says Hosea. “We got enough trouble.”

“One other thing,” Charles says. “It looks like a real nasty storm is comin’ in.”

“We should head for it,” Dutch replies. “Might be our best bet for losin’ these damn Pinkertons.”

Dutch whips the horses further, Charles dashing ahead to scout again. 

You glance out of the wagon, trying to distract yourself from Davey’s constant groaning. The forest is thinning, and to your right, a huge meadow dotted with wildflowers flows ahead, split by a winding, shallow river. Farther along, you can spot the large ranch Charles mentioned, though it’s too far for you to see the people he warned of. The sky above it is dark, heavy with black clouds. If they hadn’t been there, you would’ve been able to see the peaks of the tall, snow-capped mountains. Dutch leads the gang straight towards the dark storm, urging the horses to go even faster. Lenny gallops to his side.

“More Pinkertons?” Dutch asks.

“Yeah, Dutch,” he says. “They’ve reached Owanjila.”

“Have they spotted you or Bill?”

“Don’t think so, but think they may have found our tracks.”

“We’ll just have to shake ‘em then,” Dutch says, tossing the reins even harder, the horses neighing as they pull the wagon as quickly as they are able. 

The company passes the large valley quickly, along with the ranch, taking cover beneath the thick forest once again. You notice suddenly how chilly the air has become. Throughout the journey, as the gang has fled the west, the temperature has dropped slowly as you’ve gone north, but now there is a definite bite to it. As you head further north still, into the foothills of the Grizzlies, small flakes of snow swirl down from the sky. At first, they all melt as soon as they hit the ground. As the train passes the trail leading up to the top of Mount Hagen, though, the flakes begin sticking to the ground, and the trail quickly turns to cold slush. The horses are forced to slow down to a walk. 

You’re becoming far too restless in the wagon. You head to the back, staring out to what you’re leaving behind. You can see below the faint green glimmer of the valley you had passed. You spot Rain, tied to the last wagon along with some of the other horses, including the Count and Silver Dollar. You decide to stretch your legs for a bit, and hop out of the moving wagon. You quickly step out of the way so the wagon behind yours, driven by Micah and Pearson, doesn’t trample you. 

“Get back in the wagon, Y/N!” hollers Grimshaw.

“I just need a minute,” you call back. 

Arthur suddenly hops out of the wagon that had just passed you, seeing you on the trail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing, I just been in that wagon too long. Pretty sure Davey’s dyin’, he won’t stop moanin’.”

“Well, it’s been the same in my wagon. Poor Jenny,” he says, shaking his head.

“How’s she doin’?”

“Ah, she didn’t make it. Passed away as we was goin’ through the valley. I gotta go tell Dutch. Why don’t you come with me?”

You agree, feeling somewhat sad about Jenny, despite the fact you hardly knew her. You accompany Arthur, walking through the mud towards the front of the train. Arthur quickly tells Dutch what happened, and he pulls his wagon to his stop. The others come to a halt as well.

“Poor Jenny,” Dutch repeats Arthur. “She was a good kid. Listen, we’ll take a few minutes. Need to pull out some warmer gear for everyone.”

Everyone gratefully gets out of the wagons. Javier and Charles have both returned to help out. As you and Arthur dig through chests to pull out thick, winter coats and blankets, you turn to him.

“Saw you come back without Boadicea. What happened?”

He doesn’t speak for a moment, not looking at you. “One of them damn Pinkertons shot her. Had to leave her behind.”

“Oh, Arthur, I’m so sorry.”

“She was a good horse. I’ll miss her.”

You don’t really know what to say, but you grab a large, blue coat with ram’s fur lining the inside. You hand it to Arthur as he’s giving out others to Grimshaw and Tilly. He thanks you as he wraps it around his broad frame, buttoning it closed.

After several moments, the gang is packed back up, bundled tightly. Lenny and Bill approach from the south, both looking tired. 

“Those Pinkertons have stopped down in the valley, there,” Bill says. Pearson hands him and Lenny thick coats to put on. 

“Very good,” says Dutch. “We’ll keep going north, we need to find someplace we can all stay for a while until we lose them. John, why don’t you scout up ahead. Micah will go with you. Arthur, why don’t you go ahead of us as well.”

“Here, take Taima,” Charles says, hopping off his appaloosa and offering Arthur the reins. 

“Sure thing, Dutch” says John in his raspy voice, mounting his dunn mare. He and Arthur set off, heading further into the slowly growing storm, Micah trailing behind them. 

You settle back down inside the wagon near Davey’s head, who’s still groaning. Abigail has wrapped him up in a coat, but he’s barely moved the past half hour. 

The train continues moving on north, the snow beginning to fall thicker, piling onto the ground. For the next few hours, you continue on with the gang, travelling in relative silence. Everyone’s still in shock from the fast departure from Bison Point. There’s little detail about the river boat job, and Dutch and the others who were there are being relatively tight-lipped about it. The one thing you know about it is things went about as bad as possible, and Dutch even killed a girl. You may hardly know him, and he’s had very little interactions with you since you’ve arrived, but you couldn’t imagine him killing anyone in cold blood. 

Night settles in over the mountains as the train continues on. The snow is now thick on the ground, and it’s still coming down in great swirls. Your breath forms a cloud in front of you, mixing with the others in the frigid air. 

You glance at the world around the wagons, which has been transformed by the snow and night. Tall trees stand wrapped in thick cloaks of the white powder, the trail ahead has become near impossible to detect. The air has become deathly silent, any sound absorbed by the thick snow which sparkles in the light of the few lanterns being lit. The train has left the trail, heading slightly west further up into the high peaks. To the right, below the ridge, lies a large, half frozen lake. 

The night grows darker, the snow thicker in the air. Still, Dutch leads the wagons on. John returns, blood streaming down his horse’s side from his wounded leg. 

“Nothin’ ahead, Dutch,” he says roughly.

“Good. Head on west, that’s where we’re headin’.”

John tips his hat and keeps going. Dutch points the train to head deeper into the mountains. 

For the next several hours, the gang travels this way until the air becomes lighter as an unseen sun brings the dawn. The snow still falls thickly and silently all around, piling up further on the frozen ground. 

Every once in a while, one of the lookouts returns, reporting nothing. Dutch mentions nothing about finding a place to stop, but you can tell it lingers on everyone’s mind as the day presses on. It’s only a matter of time until the train stops. 

By mid afternoon, the air has somehow grown colder. More blankets are pulled out, but they seem to do nothing to help. Hosea turns to Dutch as they prepare to head off again.

“I don’t think we can go much further this way,” he gestures, pointing to the west. “Mountains are gettin’ too steep.”

Dutch sighs heavily. “We’ll have to turn back east again, but guess we ain’t got much choice.”

He leads the train around a mountain, turning back once more. Night falls once again, and the snow hasn’t let up at all. If anything, it’s gotten heavier. The train angles towards the south now, forced to do so by the steep mountains and the heaping snow. You hear Davey groan behind you. He’s been getting quieter over the day; you can tell he hasn’t got much longer left. Abigail presses her hands to his forehead. She turns to Reverend Swanson.

“He ain’t gonna make it’, we need to stop somewhere.”

Swanson nods his head and climbs out of the wagon, walking up towards Dutch.

“Abigail says he’s dyin’, Dutch, we’ll have to stop someplace.”

“Okay, Arthur’s out lookin’, I sent him up ahead.”

Reverend grunts, turning back to your wagon.

“If we don’t stop soon, we’ll all be dyin’,” says Hosea. “This weather, it’s May. Just hope the law got as lost as we did.”

You look forward to Dutch’s wagon, which has begun to slow down. In the distance up ahead, through the snow, you can make out the bulky form of someone on a horse. The wagons stop. 

“Arthur!” Dutch calls. “Found anything?”

“I found a place where we can get some shelter,” Arthur replies in his gruff voice. “Let Davey rest while he, well, ya know. An old minin’ town, abandoned. It ain’t far. This way.”

He turns Taima with a flick of the reins, going back the way he’d come, urging her to walk.

“Come on!” Dutch hollers, flicking the reins in his hands, the entire train moving on. 

You travel along the trail for a few moments before, through the dark swirling snow, a small, cold town appears. Half of the buildings are falling apart, their roofs or walls collapsed. The wagons travel down the only road and then stop in the middle of the town; if you could really call it a town.

The gang exit the wagons, gathering their coats and blankets, wrapping themselves tighter as the blizzard roars angrily around you. Hosea and Dutch briefly discuss whether this is really a suitable place for such a large group of people.

“What other option do we got?” Dutch asks, placing a gloved hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “My friend, will you go check the place, make sure it’s really abandoned?”

Hosea nods his head, going to the largest of the building as Bill and Arthur position Davey onto a large wooden board. The old outlaw takes a lantern and pulls his revolver out, pushing open the door with ease. He stands at the doorway, pointing the gun into the corners of the building, checking it’s empty. 

“Bring him here!” he calls to Bill and Arthur. Abigail leads the way out of the cold, followed by the two men carrying the now-silent Davey. You realize that he’s been quiet for some time now. 

They set him down as the rest of the gang shuffles into the building, which is made of one large room with a fireplace at the end. A second one sits on another wall, halfway through the room. A few benches and pews line the walls. Other than that, it is completely empty, illuminated only by the lanterns carried by some of the gang. 

Grimshaw begins ordering people to get fires lit and bring in more blankets. She then orders Pearson to find out about food. You spot Abigail hovering over Davey as you shuffle through the cabin. She straightens up with a somber expression.

“Davey’s dead,” she announces. 

“There was nothing more you could’ve done,” replies Reverend Swanson, placing two gold dollars over the corpse’s eyes.

“What are we gonna do, we need supplies?” asks Hosea to Dutch.

“We are gonna stay here, and you are gonna get yourself warm. Now I have sent John 

and Micah scouting out ahead. Arthur and I, we’ll ride out, see if we can find ‘em,” Dutch answers.

“In this?” Arthur gestures to the open door and the tumbling snow beyond it. 

“Just for a short bit,” Dutch says. “I don’t see what other choice we have.”

Dutch turns and calls the attention of the entire gang. He gestures to Davey’s body, saying how much he loved him, along with Jenny, and how he wishes he could take their place. He then promises that things will be okay, that he and the others will bring in food. “We’re safe now,” he ends. “Now there ain’t no one followin’ us through a storm like this, and by the time they get here, we’re gonna be long gone. We been through worse than this before. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you, get yourselves warm. Stay strong! Stay with me! We ain’t done yet!”

He calls to Arthur, beckoning him to follow him outside. 

When they’ve left, Grimshaw calls everyone’s attention. “A’right, everyone, we have some work to do.”

For the next hour or so, Grimshaw and Pearson bark orders, slowly transforming the cabin and the other buildings that haven’t fallen apart into a functional camp. Lenny and Bill take one of the wagons out, along with Davey and Jenny’s bodies to get them buried. 

As you enter one of the buildings across the trail that Grimshaw has said will be the place where most of them men will sleep, you pass a sign with letters. You silently say the letters, trying to piece their sounds together. Mary-Beth trudges through the thick snow behind you with some collapsed cots. 

“What does that say?” you ask her. She narrows her eyes through the darkness, reading the word.

“It says Colter,” she replies through the thick scarf wrapped around her head.

The two of you exit the small cabin just as Lenny calls out that someone’s coming. He points his repeater, then drops it when he realizes it’s Dutch, Arthur with a new horse, and Micah. On the back of Dutch’s white horse sits a woman in nothing but her chemise and a thin blanket. Hosea comes out, asking Dutch how things went.

“Micah found a homestead, but he weren’t the first,” Dutch replies. Colm O’Driscoll beat us to it. We found some of ‘em still there. There’s more about, apparently, scoutin’ a train.”

“That’s the last thing we need right now, Dutch,” Hosea tells him.

“Well, that’s the way it is,” he answers, dismounting. “We found some supplies, some food, and this poor soul, Mrs. Adler.”

He gestures to the woman, Grimshaw and Abigail standing by her sides. He beckons to Tilly, Karen and yourself, asking to get her warmed up and something to drink or eat. He calls after her telling her she’s safe. Molly approaches him with a lantern, bundled tightly. 

“They turned her into a widow. Animals,” you hear him say as you help lead the new woman, a tall blond, into the main cabin. “I need some rest, I haven’t slept in three days.”

You take Mrs. Adler’s hand, guiding her to a bench near the door. Abigail returns to you carrying a bundle of clothes and blankets. Quickly, you both help Mrs. Adler dress, wrapping her up tightly in the quilts. She’s shivering, tears leaking out of her eyes. 

You help her sit on the bench, still holding her hand, which she clutches onto like a lifeline. Mary-Beth comes to her, holding a steaming mug of liquid. Mrs. Adler shakes her head.

“Have some of this, then,” Karen offers her a bottle of amber liquid. “Put a fire in your belly.”

Once again, Mrs. Adler denies her. You wrap your other hand around hers, looking at her sadly.

“Do you mind me askin’,” you ask quietly. “What happened?”

Mrs. Adler swallows hard, fresh tears streaking down her face. “They showed up at my house three days ago, and they…” she chokes down a sob. “They killed my husband.”

[fangirl-ramblings]

Once Upon a Time in Blackwater

I’m hoping this story will eventually fill in some of the gaps regarding the pre-canon of the game - namely the events leading up to the Blackwater Massacre. (But we’ll see how that goes) Plus if anybody can think of a better title let me know😜

Chapter 1

“Whatchu doin’ here gurlie?” Arthur asked as Lilly hitched her Hungarian half breed to the nearby post. She smiled at the affectionate nickname the man who she’d grown to love as a brother had gave her almost a decade ago when he, Dutch & Hosea had saved her as a frightened 15 year old who refused to give her name.

“Pleased to see you too Morgan” she playfully punched his shoulder. “I was gettin’ kinda lonely sittin’ in that room all by myself, so I thought I’d come and see some friendly faces…” she paused before landing the punch line. “…and your ugly mug too.”

He chuckled “well you ain’t wrong there” he replied scratching his scar lined chin before taking an oatcake from his satchel to feed her horse “You make sure you weren’t followed?”

“Well as I left Blackwater, I hollered over to the sheriff & his men my exact destination, and then made sure the group of men trailin’ me could see me clearly as I rode ahead” Unimpressed with her sarcasm he gave Lilly a steely gaze "No Arthur, I made sure, I promise" 

He huffed before teasing “Well with that head of wild red hair, you’d be easy to spot anyway.” It was now Lilly’s turn to shoot a dirty look in Arthur’s direction as he chuckled "Well me & Hosea are gonna be finalisin’ our plans in a bit if you wanna take a look with us” Casting her eyes downwards she shuffled her feet.

“Not real sure Hosea wants to see me at the moment” she mumbled causing Arthur to raise an eyebrow.

“When has he never wanted to speak with you, you’re practically like a daughter to him”

Lilly blushed “maybe because…he…er…walked in on me”

“That’s it? You know he’s seen a woman before Lil’” Arthur chuckled “he was married to Bessie for 30 years”

“No, he walked in on me” Lilly emphasised but the look on Arthur’s face showed he still wasn’t getting it “…with a gentlemen friend” She thought it was in everybody’s best interests to stay vague with the details for the time being.

“Oh…er…right” he replied scratching his neck, blushing slightly “well, that makes more sense”

An awkward silence now filled the air between the two of them. Neither wanting to look the other in the eye, Lilly kept looking at ground – hoping it would swallow her up, while Arthur focused on feeding and patting her horse before clearing his throat

“So….err…okay then…I’ll catch you later” he stuttered while walking away towards to his tent in embarrassment.

Feeling bemused by the whole situation, and not really wanting to encounter Hosea just yet, Lilly walked in the opposite direction towards Pearson’s wagon.

“Lilly Mae James, you ain’t gonna say hello?” A pleasant voice greeted her as she walked past the dominoes table.

“Tilly!’ Lilly turned to greet her pulling her friend into a warm embrace "How’s things?”

“Oh you know, nothing much changes around here” she giggled picking up some dirty plates from the nearby table “here grab some of these before Grimshaw clips our ears for loitering” Obliging, Lilly walked alongside her towards the wash bowl. “So…what’s this I heard about a gentlemen friend?”

“Miss Jackson, were you eavesdropping on my private conversation?” She jokingly mocked

“Oh please, Like you wouldn’t do the same in my shoes - you’re the queen of listening to things that don’t concern you” she laughed placing a dish in the water "So tell me all about him then”

Lilly felt her face redden. “There’s not much to tell”

“You’re tellin’ me you disappear for weeks, and that has nothin’ to do with a man?” Lilly rolled her eyes

“Firstly I didn’t "disappear”, I was out looking for leads on Dutch’s orders - as you well know. Secondly, it’s complicated"

“Complicated?” Tilly passed her the clean plates to dry “What is he married or something?” Lilly nodded gently trying not to look at the disappointment upon her friends face “Oh! Sorry I didn’t…”

"I should have known the reason no work is getting done is down to you two standing around engaging in idle gossip”

“Well hello to you too Susan” Lilly greeted the camp matriarch who now stood before the pair with her hands firmly on her hips.

“We have been doin’ work” Tilly foolishly argued, gesturing to the clean bowls still in Lilly’s hand.

“Well not quick enough” Grimshaw barked “Get a move on girls, Mr. Pearson has nearly finished preparing supper and people will want feeding” she barked “and don’t forget Miss Jackson that there is a pile of laundry that still needs doing” she added before marching over to her next victim “Miss Jones, that bottle of whiskey in your hand seems to be stopping you from your needlework…”

As soon as she was out of earshot Tilly placed a reassuring arm on Lilly’s, whispering “I don’t understand why you have to go & do somethin’ stupid like that? A married man?”

Shrugging her shoulders Lilly simply replied “You can’t help who you fall for I suppose”

Tilly sighed gently as she passed the last dish over. Turning to look at her oldest friend in camp she smiled “But at least you seem happier now"

“I am” Lilly beamed.

“Ladies” John greeted the two girls “I heard the food was nearly ready - any spare bowls?”. Lilly nodded handing him one from the freshly cleaned pile. Catching his eye giving him a small discreet smile to which he returned his own.

“That’s how you’re gonna greet her?” Tilly teased earning herself a confused look from John. “You two were inseparable before you both decided to go wandering and you welcome her back by askin’ for a clean dish?”

“errr welcome back then I suppose”

“Just ignore her” Lilly chuckled “We all know Mr. Marston ain’t one for outward shows of affection. I suppose I should just be glad he’s actually spoke to me in the presence of an other”

“Hey!” he laughed

“Miss Jackson, will you hurry up” Grimshaw’s voice roared from across camp

“I better go, but our conversation ain’t over” Tilly warned as she hitched up her skirts to run back to the waiting pile of laundry.

“What conversation’s that?” John inquired walking closer so they could talk quietly

“Never you mind” Lilly teased before looking around to make sure nobody else was around “Has Hosea said anythin’ to you yet?”

John shook his head “After what he saw this mornin’ I’ve been keepin’ my distance. I can’t deal with another lecture this week”

“Best thing for it I guess” Lilly nodded, wondering what else had been said to John.

“Nearly 10 years of running with you guys & I’ve never seen that look of disappointment on his face before”

“Well part from Williamson does something stupid” he joked trying to make light of the situation

“Does this make us as big as fools as Bill?” Lilly asked in mock terror, clutching a hand to her chest.

“Nah, that ain’t possible” he chuckled “Suppose it coulda been worse”

“Worse than Hosea catchin’ us in bed together? I don’t see how”

“I think once he’s calmed down, We’ll be able to talk him around, especially if it’s you doin’ the talkin’. She raised an eyebrow “Everyone knows you’re the only person who he lets get away with shit” Lilly opened her mouth to protest, but John carried on “Anyway, you mentioned last night that it was meant to be Arthur meetin’ you in town this morning”

“Dear Lord!” Lilly eyes bulged “You’re right, Hosea givin’ us the silent treatment, but Arthur? I can see him beating the livin’ daylights outta you before reading me the riot act!”

“Well, it ain’t like he hasn’t been lookin’ for an excuse to kick my ass either” he sighed “He still ain’t really talked to me since I got back, yet he’s always the first to have a go when somethin’ goes wrong”

“Give it time, you know he’ll come around eventually, just keep provin’ that you’re still loyal to the gang ” Lilly took John’s empty hand into her own “You know he’s just hurtin’ still –“

“Well it don’t help that every time Abigail has problem with me, she goes runnin’ to him like he’s her knight in goddamn shinin’ armour” he vented

Lilly tensed at the mention of name of the girl who had come between her & John “She just knows he’s got a good heart that’s all”

"You know I was thinkin’ - maybe all of this…” he gestured “..it’s a sign. A sign about us” Lilly titled her head in confusion “After we’ve finished up here in Blackwater, maybe we should just run away together again” he paused looking deep into her eyes “Actually do it this time”

“are you mad?” Lilly hissed “We tried running away last time and it didn’t stick”

“No, you got scared and ran back to Hosea & Dutch after 5 minutes away from camp” seeing the hurt cloud he face he closed his eyes and shook his head “ but it’s different this time”

“How?” she sulked

“You’ve spent weeks down here by yourself before you wrote to Hosea. Maybe this time you’re ready”

“Well what about the boy?”

“That kid could be anybody's” he protested

Rubbing a gentle thumb over the back of John’s hand, Lilly tried to comforted him “That as well be – and let’s be honest she could’ve chosen anybody to trap but for some reason she named you though.”**

“Shit Lil’, you know I dunno how to be a father” He placed his plate back on the table and gently moved Lilly’s chin with his hand so her gaze met his. “…at least not without you by my side”

Tilting there heads, each slowly moved closer to the other with their lips parted in expectation, before being startled by a gentle “Ahem”….

[stusbunker]

Known: Angels are Assholes

A Supernatural DARK Fan-fiction

Summary: Chloe faces what was following her in the woods. Dean gets a monologue, before going darkside and all knifey on some angels. Crowley toys with our reader. Cas squints in confusion. Somebody wakes up and somebody doesn’t until they’re gone.

Warnings: Suggested child rape (past, unfounded), blood, feelings, mind-fuckery, revelations, character death. This chapter is super long.

Series Masterlist

The clouds rolled in behind her as CC came to a stop in her usual spot, kitty-corner from the porch. Her bike had been miraculously refueled once she found her way back to it. The fog of the subconscious haven thinning as she put her boots on the ground and faced the figures looming in the shadows. She opened her mouth to call out but thought better of shouting at bits of her past. They’d find her anyway.

She stepped through the trees, letting the path unwind itself as she faced what she needed to know. Now that she was focused and no longer running the opposite direction, it all started to come together. Her granddad kneeled along the bank of a dusty river, strong hands timidly comforting a young girl, who was visibly shaking in her sparkling new school clothes.

“It’s alright, my Falling Star,” his voice was low, but CC recognized the nickname he had given her mother. The child whimpered and shook her head, an infant’s cry broke through the forest’s peace.

“I didn’t mean it now,” was all she heard her mother say.

As Chloe turned to look for the baby, she found a weathered neighborhood sidewalk, houses in need of paint jobs and new shutters stretching before her in every direction. A long sedan with police lights on the roof parked in front of a yellow Cape Cod with wooden siding. A woman with oversized glasses held a file in her arms as she talked to CC’s granddad, her mother and her watching them from the front porch. She hadn’t remembered her mother ever being that young, small and nearly fragile.

“Mr. Longfellow, we understand that the original complaint is unfounded, given the child’s other genetic markers, but there has still been a crime committed. Please, let us put the bastard away.”

“I know you mean well, ma’am. But my Candace is fine and we came here for a job, we won’t be staying long enough for any investigation. Thank you for your time.”

“Sir, if you’re protecting someone—,” the officer spoke for the first time. He couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, and he visibly flinched when her granddad’s eyes fell on him.

“The only ones I am protecting is those girls, now get. We’re done here.”

CC stepped forward, wanting to ask what the social worker was talking about and possibly glimpse the blood tests that must have been among her paperwork. But her mind held her in place until the memory faded and she found herself on another street, sleet-slick and freezing. She saw the old station wagon fish tail and the driver try to over-correct, completely losing control and wrapping the car around an old oak tree.

“Chloe!” Her mother screamed against the static of falling ice crystals.

“Mama?” Chloe was frozen watching her mother limp around the hood of the car to get to her.

“It’s okay, doll-baby, it’s okay,” Constance reached her hand in through the shattered passenger side window, to touch CC’s forehead. “You’re going to be fine.”

But she lost consciousness, the blood flowing through her hair as her mother continued muttering in Tsėhésenėstsestȯtse. Then she saw it, the blue magic flow from her mother and coat her in a golden light.

“You can’t die. You can’t die. You can’t die. You’re going to be fine.” Constance inhaled and then fell against the untouched edge of the tree’s trunk, her strength leaving her as she joined her daughter in unconsciousness. The sirens came an hour later, the back roads impassible, but miraculously the woman and the young girl were found in stable condition. CC didn’t even know they had ever been in an accident.

The darkness followed her to the small back bedroom in Montana as she saw her barely teenaged self staring at the ceiling. The argument wafted through the walls like a television left on.

“You’re just going to leave her? Clean up your own mess,” her granddad spat.

“That’s not fair. She’s safer with you, you know that. There are things that I need to do, that only I can do.”

“Yeah, you do too much of that and they’ll find you. They aren’t stupid, Constance. You shine like a beacon and they will follow you home,” his voice was desperate, Chloe couldn’t remember ever hearing him sound so worried.

“Then maybe I shouldn’t come back.”

There was an agonizing pause.

“Maybe not.”

Chloe didn’t realize it, but both versions of her wiped at the same tears of betrayal with the heels of her hands.

“It’s okay, child, just relax now,” Missouri’s voice was soothing, despite her own skepticism. CC opened her eyes, she was in the memory this time, not looking at it from the outside. “Well, this is a new one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” CC heard herself say it but had more pressing questions at the moment. She began to speak over herself, “What’s happening Ms. Mosley?”

“Girl, you’re going to have to slow down, I can’t hear all of you at once.”

“All of us?” CC remembered eyeing the corners of the room as if this woman was seeing things.

“I’m not the one asking if she’s crazy, so don’t you go thinking ill of those helping you, Chloe Cathleen,” Missouri snipped.

“Yes, ma’am,” CC said in unison with her past self, Missouri always had a natural command of respect and if she wasn’t shown it, she demanded it.

“Now, you’re gonna come back here, in a good long while, but I hope what I say now makes sense to you,” her dark eyes lingered, a burden near pity overtook the psychic’s soft features. “You are a miracle, made unique and uniquely made, but that also means you need to be careful. It’s like you have a glowing vacancy sign on the front door, next to the one screaming there’s nothing to see here. It gets confusing. But know this, you need to fortify your own house, because certain guests are welcome, but most are not.”

“Thanks?” CC’s past self said through squinted eyes, but her current-self locked onto Missouri’s weighted stare, certain she had sensed her the entire time.

A voice sounded behind her and Chloe suddenly remembered who had told her about Missouri in the first place.

“I was right, wasn’t I?” John’s easy grin turned sour when he saw the confusion on CC’s face. “Hey, everything okay kiddo?”

CC nodded, the grief of seeing Dean’s father again brought up the events that had led her to Missouri’s front door. Her granddad’s death and knowing she would have to face her mother again after years apart. “Yeah, or, it will be, in a good long while,” CC parroted Missouri.

“Somethings are like that,” John patted her back and walked her to his massive truck. “Where to? Dean’s got something in Illinois this weekend, but we could probably salt and burn things faster without him, what’d’ya say?”

CC smiled at the offer, but thought better of tagging along with the Winchesters, especially without Sam. “Just take me to Bobby’s, or close enough for me to hitch there,” CC corrected, seeing the tension roll in as John’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Thanks, though.”

*^*

May 13, 2014

The Bunker

Dean stalked down the hallway passed his room, ignoring Sam who lingered in front of his own bedroom door. The infirmary was the only place that made sense to keep CC, so that’s where he headed as soon as they got home. Dean hadn’t wanted to put her back in her old room, not after he gutted it. They had her on a simple cot, jacket set on the back of a chair and an old quilt from her truck tucked around her chest. Her gun and her knife rested easily on small bedside table. She never moved, still in a state close to sleep, her heart beat and her lungs expanded, but she never woke.

Dean watched her and chewed over the spreading numbness inside him. Between the two of them, they were a butchered collage of folk stories, each broken parts of different tales, cursed and waiting to be saved or charging the castle and any monsters that stood in his way. He was on a narrow path, one down, two boss fights to go in the grand saga of the Mark of Cain. Dean was alight, focused, up until he tried to start talking.

“Hey, Cease,” Dean’s voice caught in his throat. “I, uh, well, I ganked Abaddon. It was pretty unreal, actually, but yeah, put her down for the count this time.”

Dean had done his fair share of talking to the unconscious, especially if one counted the time spent praying to Cas, listening to his own voice wasn’t as uncomfortable as it should have been. He settled on to the empty cot next to CC and balanced his elbows on his knees.

“You know I had a feeling, about you, about that thing inside you. And I know it was there longer than that day at Magnus’s. But I didn’t say anything, because, hell, who am I to judge, right? But it was worse than I thought, I thought it was just a chip on your shoulder after that case in North Carolina, but I was wrong, and for that, oversight, I apologize.” He shifted and he cleared his throat, “But, I don’t know why I’m sorry. Am I sorry because I missed the obvious? And never tested you? Or because I let you in and got hurt? What exactly is my fault here because I’m used to taking it all on and I can’t really feel it. Any of it. I’m just pissed and the only thing I want to do is the job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

He stood up, energy gnawing at him once more. His voice grew angrier, no waver to his jaw and no moisture in his stern eyes.

“So that’s what I’m going to do. Because I owe you that much, even if it’s not going to bring you back. I am going to gut that black-eyed bitch.”

The certainty hummed along his veins like a tuning fork, vibrating in the key of Cain and the decided fates of his enemies. Blood and destruction his new anthem. Gone was the righteousness and purpose that had carried him this far. Inside, his soul flickered.

He continued to watch CC on the cot, thoughts and memories warring with the need to move. Luckily, Cas called, giving him the excuse he needed, allowing him to walk away.

*^*

The Bunker

Tail end of Stairway to Heaven

“Cas, you just gave up an entire army for one guy,” Dean explained across the table. “No, there’s no way you blew those people away.”

Castiel didn’t realize how much he needed to hear Dean say that, to know that his friend believed in him once again. “Do you really think that we three will be enough?”

Dean gave Cas a company smile. “We always have been.”

Cas cautiously watched Dean as footsteps approached from seemingly out of nowhere.

“Guys!”

“I’m not here to fight,” Gadreel announced with his hands up. Dean locked on to the fugitive angel, his sights set, and his senses primed. Gadreel spoke pointedly to Cas as Sam challenged his honor, but Dean wasn’t listening, he was busy keeping the Mark in check. Then it happened, an olive branch, an opening to add to their numbers. To strengthen and inform their dwindling resolve. Dean reached forward with his lesser hand, extending hope, if a tenuous partnership. The moment their palms touched and their eyes locked, Dean knew. He didn’t hesitate, he swung, blade teeth up, slicing Gadreel hip to collar bone, a broad seam of grace gaping in his chest.

Sam dove for him, but it was already done. Dean pushed on, the Mark craved more, it demanded death. Both Cas and Sam had to hold him as bestial grunts escaped his lips, he wouldn’t be stopped, not yet.

They listened to him, but still left him in the fortified space behind the storage in 7B, the dungeon. There was that other thing they needed Cas’s help with and after Gadreel had escaped, however bloodied, they took the five minutes and headed deeper into the Bunker.

“I can’t believe she was possessed this whole time,” Cas muttered, hand drifting inches above Chloe’s body.

“What? You knew? How long?” Sam spat as he loomed overhead, head tipped, watching every motion of the angel’s fingers.

“Since Nebraska, since the fall, Sam. She, the demon, almost ran me over with her truck,” Castiel explained, huffing against the flickering grace inside him.

“And you didn’t think to tell us?!”

“Dean wasn’t exactly willing to lend me an ear, I suspect it had to do with hiding, who he thought to be Ezekiel, from the other angels, who were hunting me.”

Sam settled back on his heels, processing what that meant for his brother and CC and their, situation. “It’s been a rough year, I’m sorry. But, is she going to wake up?”

“I don’t know, probably. But there are layers to her mind that I can’t get through. She isn’t just dreaming, and she’s not an empty vessel. I don’t think... I don’t think she’s human, Sam.”

Sam froze, “Well, what the hell is she then?”

“Nothing I have ever seen before.”

“Any idea?”

“Some sort of hybrid, when I search her mind it literally tells me she is human, nothing extraordinary.” Cas’s brows pitched up, hoping Sam understood.

“Someone put that there to hide her.”

“More than one person did this.”

“Do you think she knows?”

“No, if she did, she wouldn’t have been possessed in the first place. She probably has no idea who or what she is.” Cas stood up, eyes still on the sleeping woman before them. “Or what she can do.”

*^*

A Demonic Massage Parlor, The Tropics

“You see, Y/N, there are perks to working with the throne,” Crowley muttered into the towel that held his face. The demon working him over was wearing an unnaturally beautiful vessel, every detail coiffed for seduction. Which she used to her advantage as she whispered poorly veiled taunts of demonic unrest.

Graciously, your vessel had died from cardiac arrest shortly after you walked him away from harassing the woman at the bus stop. You couldn’t have bothered letting him live much longer anyway, his mind was two parts alcohol, one-part abuse and a few too many pinches of misogyny. But he had means, even after his license had been revoked, so you kept on his identity and found your way back to being Crowley’s gofer.

The male demon who had been assigned your massage was too busy lusting over the one trying to get in good with the King. You kept having to move his hands as he worked. He was not utilizing his vessel’s muscle memory, at all. The entire scenario wasn’t much of a perk, it was more of one more thing to endure in order to stay on Crowley’s good side. You hummed in agreement, the deep voice still uncomfortable in your throat.

The walls began to shake, and you rolled your eyes at the bimbo’s obvious statement.

“Sir, I believe you’re being summoned.”

The next thing from her lips sent a pitfall through your gut.

“It’s a Winchester.”

You had no idea how she knew who was on the other end of the spell, perhaps it was an acquired skill or an enchantment to the room placed for her own protection. Either way, you remained quiet as Crowley waved the help off and dressed himself.

“Sir?”

“What? You want me to give your regards?”

“I’d rather you didn’t mention me at all.”

Crowley watched you with a slight distaste, “Fine, just don’t let Tarisette clock out, just yet.”

You nodded, rolling over as the man’s large gut shifted uncomfortably to the side. You really needed a new vessel and a plan.

*^*

She hadn’t seen her in eleven years, hadn’t even spoken in five, but her mother was just as beautiful and menacing as she had ever been. She remembered this conversation because it was the one that changed her life.

“What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

Words that were the perfect greeting for someone like Constance Collins to her estranged daughter, Chloe forced a chuckle. Playing tough, her past-self spoke, but she now watched her mother’s wandering eyes, the telltale fear and alarm of a trapped animal. She was scared of her, not just what else could find her. Find them.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on out there?!”

“No, Mama,” both of her replied, the past defiantly, the present sadly.

The edge wore off, maybe it was reliving it, but Chloe had let go of her anger with her mother somewhere between there and now.

“The angels are everywhere, you need to be careful,” Constance mumbled, stepping closer to her daughter, her hand coming up to brush away a strand of hair mindlessly. As if they were familiar enough for such intimacies.

“Is Gram’s angel back?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t heard that name, but we need to be careful. They will find you if they need to.”

“What about you?”

“Me? Me, they’ll kill on sight.” The fear resurfaced in those chilling words, nearly apologetically.

 Chloe turned and faced the bright and unnervingly blue eyes of a weaselly business man.

“Chloe is it?” The man’s voice was nasally but pressing.

“Maybe, depends on who’s asking.” She wasn’t in her body, but this memory wasn’t that old, she had seemed to have travelled sequentially thus far.  The missing memory set the hairs on the back of her neck on end. She watched herself talk to the weird man, confusion burning through her.

“Someone who knows your family, on your grandmother’s side.” He lost all pretense as two more angels stepped behind her past self.

“What do you want from me?”

“Relax, we just need to run a few tests, you won’t remember a thing.”

The scene changed, but she still hadn’t returned to her part in the memory.

“Sir?”

“Yes.”

“The Contingency?”

“What about her?”

“She’s waking up.”

“Well, knock her back out. She isn’t going to tweak herself.”

Chloe couldn’t see most of her body, only a strip of arm behind the angels surrounding her. The room felt like a surgical bay, pure white with lots of metal. A spare bed and what looked like dental equipment remained untouched on a side table. The metal rods looked long enough to pierce both ears, simultaneously. As soon as she arrived, she returned to the street with the presumptuous man.

“You can call me Zachariah. Do me a favor? Reach out as soon as you hear from those Winchesters again.”

“Uh, sure thing,” Chloe pocketed the business card, and before she turned to go the guy vanished. Figured, good thing she never intended to help the creeper in the first place. She crossed her arms over her chest recalling how she hadn’t been able to shake the sense of Déjà vu for a week.

There were ridges along the ground that rose and fell with each new memory, the woods cracking open and rearranging as she navigated the path toward her decision. She watched them sink and settle, unaffected by the new topography she walked on. After an hour or twelve, she came back to the clearing that held her Granddad’s cabin, spotting him eyeing her through the sun-bleached curtains.

She stomped toward the small house, feeling the anger and frustration churn with each step. He could have said something, anything, years before. This wasn’t just on Mama, this was on the Old Man too. She tried to center herself, tried to hold back the rage and the betrayal their secrets created. CC failed at composure, never one to tip toe into an argument.

She yanked the storm door open and stepped inside, eyes like saucers at the state of her granddad, her words sticking behind the latch in her throat.

“There’s our girl,” his voice fell flat, the mutilated side of his face rippling as he clenched his jaw.

“I guess this look is better than the bull elk,” CC mumbled as she took the familiar course to the battered sofa. “Let me have it, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Nothing. I’m not here to speak for the dead.”

“So, what are you here for then?”

“The choice.”

“Right, well, I want to wake up, figure out just what she got me into.”

“That’s not what you need to decide.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do I need to decide?”

“Whether you are going to go back to life as a human, forgetting everything you’ve seen and losing all those burdens and pain from years in the dark.”

Chloe stilled, though her hand reflexively worried the handle of her knife, worn and familiar beneath her callused hands.

Her granddad’s corpse continued, “Or, you go back. With all of the hard truths and the responsibilities of one brought into being by a simple childish wish from a being who had yet to grow into her powers or place in the universe. You can go back knowing who and what you are, but that comes at a terrible cost. For Heaven’s eyes will never be far from you now and the minions of Hell will seek you out as a fortress against the light.

Either way, you wake up. But, first, you must choose.”

His beetle black eyes watched her, the emptiness threatening to consume her as CC realized the elk was her true family. He never wanted her to come here, but now that she had; the choice must be made. Knowing she wouldn’t die wasn’t so reassuring anymore, and twisted laughter erupted from her chest. The part of her mind that became her worst memory watched her, unwavering.

As she closed her eyes, CC inhaled.

And chose.

CC opened her eyes, dragging in a deep breath through her nose as her body protested her every shift. She pulled her hands into fists and clenched her back through the clammy shivers of waking up. The air was cold and stale, a raw discomfort reassuring her that she was back in her body. She appeared to be with the Winchesters, there wasn’t any other place she could think of that had brickwork like theirs. She sat up and looked around, scanning the abandoned sick room. CC stood, staggering on pins and needles, and clumsily took her knife and her gun.  Carefully, she made her way down the hall. Every room was empty, or locked. Every room until the one she remembered. CC almost missed him, he was below eye level after all. But she found him, off to the side and flat on his back. Dean.

Dean sticky with blood and unnaturally still.

Dean.

Dead.

No.

“No.”

She stumbled from her perch in the door frame, reaching the edge of the bed to fall beside Dean. She grasped at his shirts, shaking him.

“What did you do?! Damnit Dean,” she howled, voice cracking from lack of use. She slapped him, the cold skin of his cheek stung as she fell face first against his pillow and fissured. This was not the reality she fought to get back to, she wanted to go back. But there were no more memories to seek out and now there would be no new ones made. Not with Dean. Her arms clutched to his face, pulling him up, his bulk anchoring her as she sobbed. Nothing felt connected, rage, guilt, grief flowed into a noxious mix and Chloe had to step back. Hurling all over the floor as her body rejected the trauma as much as her mind had.

Once the putrid yellow liquid had emptied itself, she focused. Where the hell was Tweedle Dum?

“Sam!” CC walked backwards, keeping her eyes on Dean’s body as if he would disappear at any moment, just another nightmare she needed to pass through. “Goddamn it, Sam, where the fuck are you?!”

She was still crying but clutching the door knob and shouting through the cavernous Bunker had given her some slight release. If anyone was going to hear her, it wasn’t going to be misunderstood for more than it was. There was a faint rumble and the sound of doors closing.

“Sam?” CC’s voice broke and she whispered to herself, “Oh, Maheo’o, please.  He’s okay. He has—”

Sam rounded the corner, dirty and mystified.

“—to be.”

They fell at each other, Sam tucking his gun in his belt before his arms could hold her to his chest, keeping her upright. “I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

She felt his words more than she heard them, her head clouded, ribcage unhinged and gaping. She kept looking over her shoulder, watching Dean’s body, but Sam turned them both away, unwilling to let her dwell on it like he had, the entire drive home.

“What happened?”

Sam swallowed. “Metatron.”

Angels. Of course.

She nodded, trying to remember everything she could about what they had been hunting last. “But what about Abaddon? And Crowley? How long have I been out?”

“Yeah, well, hey are you alright? Do you need anything?” Sam held her at arm’s length, taking in her eyes and her steadiness. “Because I was going to summon Crowley, make him fix this. Since he was the one that started this whole suicide mission with the Mark of Cain.”

“Suicide? Sam, what are you talking about?”

Sam sniffed. “Oh, Chloe, tell me you know. That you--”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me, dumb ass.”

Sam almost laughed at that, inhaling with a mirthful pout. “Let’s get you some water and then how about we see what we can do?”

“How can we just leave him like that?”

Sam gave her a sad smile. “We’re not going to. Let’s go.”

Sam led her to the kitchen, keeping his right arm over her shoulders, at the ready should she lose her balance. But he needed her there more than she ever could.

“Finally,” Crowley muttered as he watched Sam and the empty vessel slink off together.

*^*

This was new. It was as if a seatbelt had been strapped to his soul, barring him from escaping the wreckage that was his body. So much for meeting his new Reaper and getting the spiel that was once reserved for Tessa. He tested the barriers of his body, unsure what would happen if he couldn’t crossover. Would he go vengeful? Was Sammy going to have to go full blowtorch on his ass? He started to separate, slipping from solid to gas and back to liquid as the darkness pulled him apart. He folded in on himself, twice, twenty, two thousand times until he was frayed and knotted and mangled beyond belief. The unscratchable itch remained the same, the Mark the source, but not the remedy. Dean stretched, reaching out to gain control in a space only he could navigate. It was disgustingly fragile to him now. Everything felt, lesser. It still reeked of humanity and its pathetic mortality.

Then he heard him, Crowley. That smug bastard really could spin yarns, but Dean wasn’t convinced, yet. He settled back, as easy as slipping into an old flannel, finding his arms and toes and all the other places he liked to control. Once Crowley made his true offer, Dean knew what he sold to be true, or as available as any other fate to him now.

And so he opened his eyes to bask in their shared damnation.

Next Chapter: Too Good to Be True

[nerdywriter15]

Once Upon a Stardust: Chapter 8/?

Summary: Follows the basic plot of the movie Stardust with a Captain Swan twist. In an attempt to win the affection of Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan leaves her home in the town of Storybrooke and travels to the Kingdom of Misthaven in search of a fallen star. Once there, she discovers that the star is in fact a person, a man who goes by the name of Killian Jones. Together, they must face many dangers, including sorcerers and pirates, in an attempt to return Emma to Storybrooke and Killian back to the sky.

Rating: T (It’s probably more K+ but I want to be safe. Also, the rating will remain the same throughout the whole thing.)

Word Count: ~ 2,731

Catch Up: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7

Read on FanFiction, AO3

Notes: Hi, everyone! I’m finally back. I’m so, so sorry for the long wait, but I have finally returned to this story. If you’re still with me, thank you so much for sticking with it! I’m going to have a lot of free time over the next couple months so I’m going to do my best to finish this story up within that time. Even if that doesn’t end up happening, I promise I will finish it eventually! Hope you enjoy, and thanks so much for reading! Also, I apologize for any errors! I was really excited to post so I didn’t edit as much as I normally do!

Rumplestiltskin stood atop a large hill, looking around as he inhaled the cool, crisp air. It had been necessary to retreat from society once his appearance started to deteriorate, both to conserve energy and to keep prying eyes from inquiring about his strange looks. While scales covering a person's face was not unheard of, it was certainly not something that one saw every day and was sure to attract some unwelcome questions. And unwelcome questions almost always led to unnecessary deaths.

He couldn't dally for too long though. He knew with no amount of uncertainty that at least one other person in Misthaven must have seen the falling star. Time was of the essence.

As he made his way down the hill and toward the road, he noticed a small white cottage about a quarter of a mile ahead of him. The house had a pen in front of it, which contained a brown goat. Off to the side of the pen stood a small cart.

As he neared the house, he considered continuing on foot, but quickly decided against it. Any trouble that came from acquiring the cart was sure to be minuscule in comparison with the time (and magic) he would save. And saving magic was indeed imperative. The more magic he used, the faster the star’s magic would wear off and the faster he would return to his former scaled state.

Figuring he might as well try his luck, he approached the cart and began quickly untying it from the tree. He then walked over to the pen, opened the gate, and began leading the goat toward the cart.

"What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?" he heard someone from behind him shout.

He turned around to see a sandy-haired man with blue eyes walking around the side of the house, his arms crossed over his chest. Rumplestiltskin barely suppressed rolling his eyes as he plastered what he hoped was a remorseful look on his face.

"Begging your pardon, sir," he said. "But I’ve just gotten word that my son is deathly ill and in need of my help. I’m trying to get to Brooke. But it’s a long journey for an old man with only his feet."

The man’s expression softened. "I really wish I could help you," he said. "Truly, I do. But I’m afraid that cart requires two goats to pull it and my other one just died a week ago."

It wasn’t the ideal situation, Rumplestiltskin thought, but it could be easily remedied.

"Well if all I’m missing is a goat…" he said, waving his hand and enveloping the man in a puff of smoke. When the smoke cleared, it wasn’t a goat standing in front of him, but rather a fox.

"Must be a little rusty," he said waving his hand again and generating another cloud of smoke. When the smoke dissipated, it was indeed a goat standing before him, its coat the same sandy color as the man’s hair.

"Come on," he said, guiding the newly formed goat toward the cart and fastening him in. Once that was done, he proceeded to hitch the other goat to the cart and then headed to the back and took the reins. Looking down, he saw that the green scales had returned to his right hand, starting at his fingertips and extending down to the center of his palm.

"I’ll have to be more careful going forward," he murmured to himself before urging the goats onward.

He rode for about an hour before he spotted a covered wagon in the distance. He could see a steady rise of smoke from behind it, which meant there was a fire going. Hoping he could perhaps hustle his way into a meal and save himself the energy of conjuring one out of thin air, he directed the cart in the direction of the wagon.

As he got closer, he could feel a hint of magic in the air, the force of it getting stronger as he approached. It wasn’t light magic, but dark, like his. For a moment, he considered turning back. Interacting with another magic user seemed risky, especially with something as precious as a star on the loose. Still, it might prove to be an opportunity to get some information about the star’s whereabouts.

"Who goes there?"

A woman with blonde, curly hair came around the back of the wagon. She wore a flowing purple dress with an ornate crown atop her head. But the thing that was truly striking about her was the large fireball, also tinted purple, that burned in the palm of her right hand.

Although it had been many years since he’d ventured outside of his lair, Rumplestiltskin knew exactly who the woman standing before him was.

"Put your fireball away, Maleficent," he said. "I swear to you on the laws that bind all magic users that I mean you no harm. I simply wished to see if I might share a meal with you before continuing on my way."

She looked at him for a moment, clearly trying to parse out whether he was telling the truth, before extinguishing the fireball.  

"Right this way," she said beckoning toward him before disappearing to the other side of the wagon.

Rumplestiltskin dismounted the wagon and led the goats forward, tying them to a post that Maleficent had fastened her own horses too before following her around to the wagon’s other side. He saw an open fire with some type of creature — a rabbit he would guess — roasting on it. Maleficent was sitting on a stool right beside it. On the ground right beside her foot was a small, white bird.

With a wave of Maleficent's hand and a puff of purple smoke, the bird transformed into a woman. She was in her mid to late thirties and had pale white skin and a mane of long, dark hair. Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but think that she looked somewhat familiar.

"Get our guest a seat," Maleficent said to the woman, who nodded and hurried off to the wagon. Rumplestiltskin couldn’t help but notice that a small silver chain, which was attached to the wagon’s wheels, rested around her ankle.

So the woman is Maleficent’s slave, he thought. This made the fact that she seemed familiar even more intriguing, but he couldn’t quite place her, even when she returned with a stool for him to sit on.

"That will be all," Maleficent said, and with another wave of her hand and puff of purple smoke, the woman once again transformed into a bird.

"What would you like?" Maleficent asked, gesturing toward the rabbit as Rumplestiltskin took a seat on the stool. "Heads or tails?"

"Heads," he answered, and Maleficent nodded before waving her hands yet again. A plate with the rabbit’s head appeared in his lap while another plate with its lower half appeared in Maleficent’s.

Not bothering with table manners at all, Rumplestiltskin grabbed the rabbit in his right hand and took a bite, closing his eyes and giving a sigh of pleasure as the food met his tongue. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He brought it back up to his mouth and began to eat ravenously.

"So what brings you to Misthaven?" he heard Maleficent ask.

"I seek a fallen star," he said, his mind more focused on his meal than what he was saying. "And when I find her, I shall cut out her heart, become immortal, and…"

He stopped short, realizing what had just escaped his mouth. He dropped the plate on the ground and looked up to see Maleficent staring at him with a wry smirk on her face.

"Limbus grass!" he exclaimed. "You dare to make me spill my secrets to you by using limbus grass?"

"Yes," Maleficent replied defiantly. "And it was indeed worth it. A fallen star is not common in these parts."

Feeling anger pool in his belly, Rumplestiltskin raised his hands. Storm clouds gathered behind him and lightning coursed through the sky, followed by a clap of thunder. Maleficent fell to her knees and stared up at his face in horror. He himself was, of course, unable to see his own face, but he knew that Maleficent was seeing his true form.

"Rumplestiltskin!" she exclaimed. "I had no idea! Had I known I was in the presence of someone so great, so powerful, I would never have dared! I swear to you, I will not seek the star!"

"Oh, no, you won’t, dearie," he said, pointing his finger at her, hitting her with a blast of burgundy lightning. "You shall not see the star, touch it, smell, or hear it!" he said as the lightning pulsed through her body, raising her slightly off of the ground. "You will not perceive them even if they stand before you!"

With those final words, the lightning disappeared and the storm calmed. Maleficent fell to the ground, unconscious but alive. Rumplestiltskin briefly thought about killing her, but he had already sworn upon the laws of magic not to do so. It was best not to trifle with such promises.

With a reluctant sigh, he turned around, and got back in his cart, unfastening the goats with a wave of his hand. He grabbed hold of the reins and urged them forward.

~/~

Regina sat astride her black stallion Rocinante, urging him forward as he thundered along the edge of a white sand beach. She could feel the wind rushing past her face and tangling in her long, dark hair. When she was around others, she always had it pinned up, one of her many tactics to inspire respect and fear amongst the kingdom’s subjects. But she was all alone now. And the mission that she was currently on required her to look less intimidating than she normally did. She wanted to lull the person she was seeking out into a false sense of security.

She urged Rocinante on, toward a wall of cliffs that sat along the edge of the water. As they approached, she slowed him down and dismounted. She gently patted him on his snout, taking his bridle off. He was a loyal horse and could be trusted not to run off on his own. Giving him a chance to wander around a bit was the least she could do for the horse that she considered a better companion than most humans in her life.

After parting with the horse, Regina made her way along the edge of the cliffs until she found her destination: a small cave. To the untrained eye, it would be difficult to even know it was there. But Regina had been here many times before. The cave was home to a fortune teller whose predictions were always accurate. As soon as her mother had died, Regina had sought him out, hoping to find the whereabouts of her mother’s stone. But so far, none of the advice she had received had helped her.

"Welcome back, my child," she heard someone mutter as she entered the cave. At a small wooden table in the center of the table sat a haggard old man, with scraggly grey hair and an even more disheveled beard. Across the table was strewn a variety of brightly colored bottles and different herbs and spices. A small hammock hung in the corner, alongside a small fireplace that Regina knew must have been magically conjured. On the opposite wall was a shelf hewn out of the rock, on which rested different a pile of small stones with various markings on them -- runes -- and a few large books.

"I trust your quest for your mother’s stone has proven fruitful?" the fortune teller asked.

"That is why I’m here," she said. "Your runes seem to have pointed me in the wrong direction. I have had no luck."

"Reading the future can be a tricky thing." He rose from his seat at the table and headed over to the shelf, picking up some small stones with various markings on them. "Shall I consult the runes again?"

"Yes, but I want to try something."

"I’m here to serve you."

"Try throwing them in the air," she said. "Throw them high."

He did as she asked. As they came down, she asked, "Is my name Regina?"

The fortune teller caught the runes in his hand. All of them had fallen so that she could see their symbols.

"Let’s try this again," she said.

The fortune teller regarded her dubiously, but once again threw the stones in the air.

"Is my favorite color blue?" she asked.

The stones fell into the fortune teller’s palm again. This time, their blank sides were all facing up.

"One last thing," Regina said. "This time throw them even higher."

The fortune teller opened his fist and launched the runes into the air. Regina waited until they stopped rising and then spoke.

"Are you working for my sister?" she asked before pushing the fortune teller to the floor and sticking out her hand to catch the runes.

They landed in her hand, each and every one facing up.

Regina let the runes fall to the ground before dropping to her knees and shoving her hand into the fortune teller’s chest. Her fingers closed around his heart and she heard him let out an audible gasp.

Normally she would have pulled the heart out and crushed it, as she had done with so many others, but his gasp of pain — so similar to Johanna's just a few days ago — gave her pause.

She’s not here anymore. You don’t have to act cold and cruel to get her approval.

Johanna’s dying words played in her head against her will. She tried to brush them aside, tried to pull the heart out, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

With a growl, she withdrew her hand and stood.

"I should kill you for this," she said, watching as the fortune teller lay back on the floor, panting as though he had just sprinted a mile. "I won’t today. But if I get wind of you helping her ever again, I will not hesitate to come back here. And you will wish that I had crushed your heart today."

And with that, she scooped the runes off of the ground, stuffed them into the pocket of her dress, and stalked out of the cave. Now that she had them, the stone was as good as hers. She just had to ask in which direction she should travel.

~/~

Killian sat with his back against the tree. The Swan girl had been gone for what felt like hours. He was starting to wonder if something had happened to her, and if so, what would happen to him if she didn’t return.

Would he die of hunger? Thirst? Would a wild animal eat him before either of those things happened?

The sun fell below the horizon and with every rustle of the trees, his imagination ran wild. Was there someone out there? Did they know he was a star and were they coming to cut out his heart?

Eventually he heard the unmistakable sounds of something walking through the bushes ahead of him. There was definitely something there this time. Even though he knew it wouldn’t help him any, he stood to meet his foe. His body trembled and he could hear his breathing speeding up. All of those noises ceased, however, when the figure finally emerged from the bushes.

A white unicorn walked forward, stopping right in front of him. Killian reached his hand out to stroke its main.

"Care to help me with this?" he asked, gesturing toward the chain.

The unicorn looked him straight in the eyes before turning its horn on the chain. With a sharp swipe, it fell to the ground. Killian knelt down and gathered it up, wrapping it around his wrist before standing up again.

"Thank you, my friend," he said. "I don’t suppose you could help get me out of here?"

The unicorn moved its head up and down in what seemed to be a nod. Mindful of his injury, Killian hobbled over and successfully — if albeit clumsily — mounted the creature. Once he was comfortable, he tapped the unicorn lightly on the neck. It whinnied in response and trotted off at a light pace into the night.

[silviasutton1989]

The Guest Ch. 2 “Liam!” (LiamxMC NSFW)

A/N: Ok so i want you guys to know how much I truly appreciate you all!! But I recently got a new job. So I have no clue right now how I will be able to maintain 2 series. But know that I will try (like right now I should be washing my hair). i hope you guys like this one and I hope you all stick around while I work through this thing called life lol! *also this picks up immediately after the last chapter, the link is below.

Rating: It’s not too bad but there is sexual content ADULTS ONLY (Happy Thirsty Thursday) 

Catch Up: Ch. 1 “That’s Not My Name”

Summary: Liam thinks of a way for Candace to remember his actual name...Candace is welcomed to Cordonia....by Olivia

"Liam?"

"Yeah ...again I'm sorry" Liam bows his head in embarrassment, "I just needed another life...and if I wasn't Prince Liam than I could be..."

"Me. You just decided you wanted to be me?" The man beside them splays a condescending smile before reaching out his hand to Candace. "I'm Drake...Drake Walker."

Candace narrows her eyes at her new Drake, she takes his hand slowly shaking it, "Candace...Candace Sutton."

"That's good to know since apparently you're in love with me...Sutton." His flashes a cocky smile taking another sip of his drink.  Seeing that Candace didn't find the joke funny, he puts headphones on, "Well this is going to be a long trip."

Unable to sleep during  13 hour plane ride Candace worried about who Dra-- Liam really was, was she stupid for blindly following him, would his family accept her, would Daniel hold their last checks until they made it back? Through the dark clouds she couldn't see much of Cordonia's landscape but as they arrived to the castle it finally hit her: Liam was a prince ...like a real life Prince!

The palace was bigger than anything she had ever seen before and walking inside seeing gold from floor to ceiling, oil paintings and statues at every turn, never in her life had she ever seen anything so amazing, never in her life has she ever felt so out of place.

"Its pretty late." Liam has his arm around her waist walking her through the the halls. "There 's a room already set up for you. In the morning I will give you a tour." He takes a step closing in the space between them, beaming. "I'm so glade you decided to come...You don't know how happy I am." He takes her lips in his own in a soft caressing kiss, wrapping his arms around her hugging her tight. 

"Well I don't think everyone here agrees with you." Candace motions behind him, where four girls stand at an atrium, scowling. While the other three girls simply stare the red head in the middle cocks a smile and waves. It was meant to look friendly but Candace wasn't sure.

"See they're waving, I'll introduce you to Olivia and the rest in the morning." he states before showing her to her room.

"Wow this is bigger than our apartment!” She exclaims, her broken down luggage looks unsuitable for the room and the throws it into the closet, quickly closing the door. "I could get lost in here, all by myself."

"Well I thought you might say something like that." taking her hand leading her to a door. "My room is right here."

"Explain to me again why we aren't sleeping together. Don't tell me you dad thinks you're a virgin or something."

"Oh god no...but this is a religious monarchy and out of respect we must at least appear to be admirable. But..." He pulls her close to his chest holding her tight "if you keep that door unlocked maybe I can come in and thank you for being the best girlfriend." leaning to kiss her, she kisses him back, the two unwilling to untangle themselves from each other. "I'm seriously considering not leaving this room."

"Go!" she laughs giving him a playful push. "See you in the morning."

"Ok....I love you, Candace"

"I love you too Dra---Liam."

Candace woke up that morning in the strangest position. When she fell asleep last night she was alone, but here she was now: her legs twisted in another's, his hands cupping her breast his wet lips trailing down the back of her neck kissing that spot that always gives her goose bumps.

"Umm...Drake." She calls out before he quickly stops turning her to face his dark eyes.

"It's Liam." He says plainly.

"Sorry...you've just been Drake to me for so long. I don't think Liam even suits you."

Liam's eyebrows raise as he bites his lower lip with a sinful smile. "That sounds like a challenge."

Before she can protest he dives underneath the covers, her sleeping gown being tugged off her body. For a moment all she can see is movement from underneath the blanket, until Liam tosses the blanket onto the floor, the cool air hitting her body making her nerves stand on end.

His eyes trail her body, her beautiful cocoa brown skin against the cotton white sheets makes his cock twitch. "I'm going to make you remember my name."

"Make me?" She teases with a smile opening her legs just slightly so that his eyes would roam in that direction.

"Candy... when I'm done with you you will be screaming my name." Liam wastes no time hovering over her, kissing his love from her lips to her chest, taking attention to her breast, getting his own thrill from the hitching of her breath.

"Say my name, Candy."

"Umm..Dra--Liam...Liam." his eyes have a seriousness she's never seen before in her slip up. He raises to his knees his hands forcefully gripping her thighs.

"What's my name Candy?" 

"Liam." She answers quickly, he smirks, "Good girl." His head lowers to her waiting center, kissing so softly.

"Liam..." she moans priding herself she got it right. Instead of praise he buries his head between her legs his tongue working wonders on her clit, before sliding lower, lapping up her goodness as if it we're his morning breakfast. Candace's fingers tangles in his thick locks, rocking her hips into his mouth letting the organism come like a wave that she named Liam. He holds her down as she squirms keeping his pace until the wave subsides

"Hoo.."  Liam exclaims raising his head smile plastered on his face, wiping his mouth before reaching for a condom. "Now you're going to scream it." 

His enters her, filling her with every inch. "Shit Candy." Liam sucks in a breath trying not to loose control but she's so wet so tight she feels too damn good. "Say my name." He orders before quickening his pace inside her warm sex.

"Liam." she pants letting his ministrations take over her body, her nails dig into his back, her legs wrapped around his waist, keeping up with his rhythm letting his mouth claim every crevice he could as she did the same.   

"Say my name!"

"Liam...Liam!...Oh god Liam... Liam! ...I'm going to..."

"Me too baby..come with me.."

They rock together thrust for thrust the release just withing reach when...

"Good morning!" The voice sends Liam flying off the bed, scrambling to find something to cover them before looking up to see the fiery redhead with an evil grin holding a breakfast tray.

"Olivia what the fuck!" 

"Oh I'm sorry Liam. I thought this was the guest's room." Olivia gives her best innocent look but Candace wasn't buying it. "I thought I would welcome her to Cordonia...you know give her a tour, help her get ready for the homecoming ball tonight, be the welcome wagon. I wasn't interrupting anything was I?"

"Ball?" Liam you didn't say anything--"

"I was going to tell you after ....this. My father wants us to attend the ball just to save face. I thought we could go and I would make my public abdication there. Then we could spend the next few days together before going back."

"Abdicating?" Olivia raises and eyebrow looking at Candace with immediate fault. Her demeanor quickly changes when she looks back at Liam. "Well your father would like to speak with you....and Candace...I'll meet you in the courtyard in 30 minutes." She turns on her heels sashaying her way towards the door, stopping before opening it. "I would never had pegged you to go all vanilla on me Liam...missionary? Your best work has always been The Bridge."

"Liv!" Liam shouts but she's out the door before he can say more.

The room is quite for a second before Liam get up from the bed looking or his shirt. "Leave it to Liv to kill a mood huh?" he chuckles nervously.

"Well I really wouldn't know...I don’t know her, but you two seem to know each other very well. Are you honestly going to leave me to spend a day with your ex?" The thought made her stomach churn another thing she should have considered for before coming on this trip..meeting Liam’s past lovers.

"I wouldn't call her my ex...and I promise you her bark is way tougher than her bite." He gives his love a quick kiss on the forehead before heading out the door. "You're going to love her, just give her a chance."

"Liam. Stop. we need to talk about this...we need to talk about everything." She felt helpless. In the past 2 days she had no control of her world. She didn't like not knowing her next step especially leaving it all for Liam to make the decisions just gave her a foreboding feeling. 

"I will talk to you about everything. About Olivia my family any girl I've ever been with if you want. But I need to see my father. If I play this right we can go back to New York with enough money to start our own life...you trust me don't you?"

He gives her that smile. That damned smile that she has to look away from for fear of blushing. "Sure. But after the ball I want to know everything."

"Promise I will see you tonight."

Olivia took Candace to a boutique to find a dress for the ball. The gowns were gorgeous but the second Candace saw the price tag her stomach churns. 

"Something wrong?" Olivia asks stepping out of the dressing room wearing a long emerald gown, Candace could only imagine how much it cost.

"No it's just this one dress could pay off my rent for 4 months." 

"Oh.. yeah times are hard these days aren't they?" She states while looking at herself in the gown.

I can't imagine this is how Liam lived...he left thousand dollar close to worrying about being evicted." Olivia hadn't seemed to be listening to her so she just vented out her feelings

"Umm...hmm." she mutters before going back to the room tossing the gown over the door onto the floor as if it was nothing. "So how did you two meet?"

"Oh we work together. He's the chef I'm just a waitress...that's if we still have a job...."

" Is that so?" she calls out from behind the curtain

"Yeah he's really a great cook but...for him to want to leave all this something has to be wrong right?"

"Oh you know Liam he takes nothing seriously." Olivia emerges from to stand in front of the mirrors again trampling over the beautiful green dress as she walks by, "Abdicating when he's the only heir left for the throne...typical Liam."

"Only?"  Candace just assumed Liam had other brothers not just one, it didn't seem to phase him to leave his country with no king...there's so much she didn't know and it was starting to make her head spin.

"Hey! Are you going to try on anything? I'm going to get this one." 

"Actually,I'm just going to wear one of my own dresses."

"Suit yourself. I guess I will see you tonight then." Olivia watched through the mirror as Candace left the boutique the poor girl looked dumbfounded and Olivia couldn't help but smile.

Candace felt so insignificant as she made her way to the ballroom. Liam had asked Drake to escort her and no matter how many times he said she looked fine, the light blue gown she bought last year when she was a brides maid for her cousin's wedding, just didn't look fitting with the beautiful gowns the other women wore around her.

Drake lead her to a group of  people. "Hey guys this is Candace...she's in love with me." Drake adds. " Sorry Sutton but I had to do that one last time. This is Maxwell, Hana, Penelope, Kiara, Madeline, and Olivia."

"We've already met" Candace and Olivia nod toward each other. 

"So do you dance? " Maxwell asks "Because I have been looking for someone who can help me get these fuddy duddy parties cracking!" He does a quick spin before sicking his hand out to her.

"Well I will certainly try to keep up." she chuckles.

"Hey they are about to open the doors. So what are you going to be announced as?" Hana asks her voice just as soft as her appearance.

"The guest.." Madeline mummers the other girls  snicker.

"Announce?" he feeling of embarrassment begin to creep over her

"Don't worry Candace." Olivia smirks "I will tell the herald what to call you...what's your last name?" 

"Sutton." Candace and Drake say at the same time. Drake tries to hide his blush by coughing and turning away. Olivia catches and smiles.

"Come on girls we can let Lady Candace go last so she can have a big entrance....she is the guest after all." She winks at the girls behind her. And they walk through the open doors giggles and whispers as they pass.

"If feel nervous...should I be nervous? That's stupid huh?" She looks to Hana and Maxwell. 

"Of course not!" Hana insists.

"Just don't fall." Maxwell adds Hana elbows him into his side. "Ouch it was just a joke. See you in side Candace."

She watches the two go and the doors close again.

"You Ready?" Drake holds out his arm for her to take.

"Guess so.."

The doors open and she almost forgets to catch her breathe at the sight of everything around her.

"Introducing Sir Drake Walker and Miss Candace Sutton a waitress from New York."

If it wasn't for the bursts of laughter from the crowd that followed, she probably wouldn't have even noticed what was said. But the looks were all too much and as the tears started to form in her eyes she tried to turn around but Drake held her tight.

"Hey Sutton never let them see you sweat...that's what they want."  he gives her a look, one that's calming reassuring, it makes her feel like she was in control. She smiles and they continue into the ballroom the laughter soon stops and the music begin to start.

"That could have been worse...Want to dance?"

"Sorry don't dance, I was supposed to just escort you here. I did my job now there's a glass with my name on it somewhere."

Before she could speak the Royal fanfare begins and then she sees Liam. He looks so different, maybe not different, he cut his hair, and dawns a suit...she'd never seen him in suit...never. He looked regal...royal, as if this was his place. She looked around and finally realized she didn't know anyone maybe not even Liam,what was she doing there? She didn't belong and she knew it. 

Liam spots her in the crowd she looks beautiful. He smiles thinking about how much better he could make her life...how much he loved her...how much he would give everything up without a second thought for her. He was so focused on his thoughts of her that he almost missed his father's words.

"Today we celebrate the Homecoming of my son Liam....and I have an announcement. Our country was rocked by the sudden abdication of my first born....we were in peril; unsure of the future. But tonight we celebrate because Liam has come home....to claim his throne. My people I give you your future Majesty...future king...Liam!"

The crowd cheers all but two people Liam and Candace. 

Tagging: I’m only going to tag a few people who I think will appreciate a good (that’s a relative term lol) Liam story and a few of my closest friends who I know will give me the feedback I’m craving…I love you guys.

@agent-bossypants @andy-loves-corgis @missevabean@blackcatkita  @darley1101 @lolablackwrites @jadedpixiescribbles @indiacater @umccall71 @speedyoperarascalparty @findingdrake @stopforamoment @museofbooks @mrsdrakewalkerblog @bobasheebaby @itsmychoicebih @gardeningourmet

@hopefulmoonobject @caroolhr

[nic-and-annie-in-france]

Paris Vignettes

I found it pretty hard to write about our time in Paris because the city is so present in the American collective imagination. Paris means romance and sophistication. Everyone already knows about the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, and the Louvre. What can I say about the place that hasn’t already been said? Not much, which is why I’ve chosen to write more about the little moments than the big monuments. These are the small things that happened on our Paris trip that will likely never be advertised in a travel brochure.

We left home on a sunny Saturday afternoon. As we rode the bus through the town to the train station, I realized it had been ages since I had seen the town in full sunlight like this. I couldn’t stop staring out the window. Even though our town is not what I’d call picturesque, it looked so beautiful with people walking around outside and every factory and apartment building illuminated.

We waited on a bench about an hour at the station for the train to arrive. To pass the time, I eavesdropped on the family seated near us, and learned that they were from the Paris area and were returning home from a ski vacation. The little girl in the family, maybe three or four years old, had left her sunglasses in their driver’s car, and the mom was calling the driver to ask about the sunglasses. After she hung up, she told the little girl that they wouldn’t be able to get her sunglasses back before the train arrived, so they would have to go back home without them. The mom’s work acquaintance, however, was coming to this area in the following week, so she told her that the coworker could probably bring the sunglasses back with her next week. The little girl sounded disappointed. “But I don’t want to go home without my sunglasses…could we call the police and get them to bring my sunglasses?” By the time we boarded the train, I was highly invested in this little girl and the fate of her sunglasses, but since it was all happening in French, Nicolas was unaware of the drama. As soon as we were on the train and out of earshot, I told him the whole story. We laughed. We cried. We hoped that one day she and her sunglasses would be reunited.

We checked into our hostel in Paris after dark. Our room was several flights of stairs above the ground floor, so after we huffed and puffed our way there, we set our things down and checked out the view. There were some trees in a courtyard nearby that partially obscured our view, but the skyline literally glittered with thousands of tiny lights almost too far away to see. I could tell that the Eiffel Tower wasn’t in our line of sight, but I was eager to look again in the morning and see what else was visible in the daytime. It’s certainly easier to navigate in the daylight, but it’s a lot of fun to see a city for the first time in the dark and then discover it all over again the next morning.

We went to both the Louvre and the Musée d’Orsay, Paris’ two most popular art museums. In terms of time period, the Musée d’Orsay picks up where the Louvre leaves off—the Louvre has art from Antiquity until the 19th century, and the Orsay covers about 60 years of art after that, including most people’s favorite Impressionists. So in terms of collections, comparing the two museums is like comparing apples and oranges. However, I really enjoyed comparing our experiences of the two museums and how the space in each building is used. -- The Louvre is a royal palace that has been repurposed to become a heavily trafficked public building and tourist destination. The oldest part of the building dates from the medieval period, and has been changed and added onto ever since; the iconic glass pyramids in the front are only 30 years old. In terms of the floor plan, it’s pretty typical for a European palace. There are two main wings where you basically travel down a straight line of progressively smaller rooms. As an art museum—and as the world’s most popular art museum—it’s kind of a nightmare.  We couldn’t find a single staircase that let us access all five floors. Several times we wanted to leave the right wing and go to the left one, or vice versa. And after studying the map, making a game plan, carrying out the plan, and checking the map again, we realized with frustration and horror that we had never left the first wing at all. After an exhausting day of wandering around through crowds of people, we were lucky to finally find the exit. Don’t get me wrong, it was really cool to see the Mona Lisa and tons of other masterpieces. It was just interesting to see how the choice of layout for the museum had very real physical and emotional implications for us and our trip. -- The Orsay, mercifully, is not an old palace—it’s an old train station. The main entrance area is therefore a giant open room with a rounded glass ceiling and a huge clock. Most of the paintings are held in rooms branching off from this central area, so it’s very easy to orient oneself and to travel to the rooms you want to see most. And this is what one would expect from a train station, where it is important for large crowds of people to be able to get from A to B without much trouble. Our day spent in the Musée d’Orsay was overall much more pleasant and comfortable than our day in the Louvre, not because we liked the art so much better (even though we did) but because the building was better suited to tourists and art.

On one cloudy morning, the first item on the itinerary was walking around the neighborhoods on the banks and islands of the Seine. We wandered down whatever streets looked most interesting. We went to the small park on the point of one of the islands and snapped a few pictures. Later that day in the Musée d’Orsay, we saw a Pissarro painting of the almost exact same view we saw from the point of the island.

We were supposed to only spend a morning in the Musée d’Orsay, but we enjoyed it so much that we ignored our grumbling stomachs and stayed until 4pm. As I think I’ve mentioned before, the French are pretty particular about mealtimes, and lots of restaurants close between 3pm and 7pm. Paris has enough demand from tourists at odd hours that we could have easily found a restaurant open between those hours, but we were just too embarrassed to violate the culture so flagrantly. Instead, we went to a grocery store and bought some pre-made sandwiches, a box of crackers, and two yogurts.  We brought our food to the Tuileries garden and ate in a secluded corner, enjoying the unusually pleasant weather, pointing out cute dogs to each other, and daydreaming about what our lives might be like if we lived in Paris.

Europe has a lot of religious art, and we both paid attention in Bible study, so we’ve gotten pretty good at identifying our saints and Bible stories in the paintings and sculptures we see. For example, in a painting of the disciples, Peter is always going to be the one who is balding in a horseshoe pattern, with one tuft of gray hair in the middle of his forehead. John is always going to be the youthful-looking one with no beard and longish auburn hair. In Paris, we decided to make a game of looking at an artwork and guessing the Bible/Church history scene before we looked at the title. It was our own little trivia competition each time we toured an art museum or cathedral. My personal favorite story to spot is Saint Anthony of Padua preaching to the fish, and one of my favorite artworks is this stained-glass representation of the book of Revelation.

One afternoon we headed to the outskirts of the city in order to go to the Musée Marmottan Monet. On our walk to the museum, we passed a horse trailer parked on the side of the road. My Kentucky brain didn’t register that that this was an odd thing to see in Paris, but Nicolas excitedly said, “Chevaux!” when he recognized the word written across the trailer. We rounded a corner, and then we found the chevaux: they were hitched to old-timey carriages parked in the middle of the street, surrounded by people in 19th century period costume. We were told by the man working security at the corner of the street that a TV series was filming there that day. We had to wait for permission to hurry into the museum between takes. 

We went to the Eiffel Tower around sunset so that we could see in the daylight and lit up at night. We took a few pictures, then just spent some time looking at it quietly and trying to absorb the moment. A street musician from the US was performing nearby—we were there long enough to hear, of all things, “Santeria” by Sublime and “Wagon Wheel” by Old Crow Medicine Show. Those were probably the last two songs I’d want to hear while trying to appreciate the Eiffel Tower, but in spite of this, and in spite of the selfie sticks and souvenir hawkers, it really was as cool—moving, inspiring, romantic—as people make it out to be.

[ask-the-richmond-newsies]

A day late again but here’s my Day Three for @girlsiesweek! 

Day Three: Relationships

Top: Tomily and Carings

Bottom: Tedixie and Jodee

Sorry y’all, I love my ships so this is going to be long, lol

Tomily is comprised of Tommy Russo and Emily Chapman. Tommy was the leader of the Richmond newsies and was ready to retire from the fine life of carrying the banner when he was nineteen. But when his best friend Ticker died of pneumonia, he stayed on an extra year to help everyone through the grieving process. When he did finally pass the torch and give the mantle of leader over to a boy named Fox, he was ready for a fresh start. He moved to the East Village in Manhattan and took a job as a banker. It was there that he met the man at the desk next to his, Jim Chapman, a widower of six months. One day, his daughter Emily came to the bank to take him out for lunch and that was it for Tommy. He thought she was the most divine creature he had ever seen. They exchanged smiles and when her and her father came back from lunch, he asked her on a date. What he didn’t know was that she was talking about him the whole time she was with her father, just asking about that cute blond guy that sits next to him at work. She accepted his offer and they went to dinner. They quickly fell in love and helped each other through their losses. He helped her to have fun again and she helped him to let go of his past. Being a proud Italian, he also introduced her to the best Italian food in town, outside of Little Italy, of course, and would take her out dancing. She brought him into her family and into their home and he just fell even deeper in love. Her father became like his father and her sister became like his sister. They’re truly a match made in heaven. His proposal was simple but very sweet. He had her come over to his apartment and made her dinner, there were rose petals everywhere, and their song was playing on the phonograph. While they were slow dancing, he spun her around and got down on one knee. They’ve been planning their wedding for several months now and will be getting married very soon in a beautiful spring wedding.

Carings is comprised of Strings and Caroline Chapman. Caroline met a sweet, flirtatious boy named Thumbs one day when she was in Midtown doing errands for her sister’s wedding. They got to talking and found out that her sister had met him in a similar fashion and befriended him the day before. They saw each other a few times after that and she developed a small crush on him. But he was three years older than her and interested in somebody else, plus she isn’t allowed to date until she turns seventeen. After awhile, he figured out her crush  and let her down gently. She played it off as if she was just screwing with him, which he hesitantly believed and that was that. Soon after that she went over to the Midtown lodging house, which she had previously visited a few times before, and hung out with her new friend Birdie. She told her what happened and being equally as big of a troublemaker as Caroline, Birdie decided what they need was a good old brandy spiked cup of tea. They ended up getting pretty tipsy when Thumbs walked in with a couple other newsies, one being a French-Spaniard named Strings. Strings was a wanderer who would pop into the lodge from time-to-time. Being the huge flirt he is, he began flirting with the pretty new blonde girl. The girls, him, and a couple other newsies passed around the booze and some of them got properly drunk. As they drank, Strings would play them songs on his guitar, which made the girls very happy. Later in the evening him and a guy named Soaks walked Caroline’s drunk butt home to the East Village. Though she clung more to Strings on the walk. And when they got to her place he took the fall for the booze smell when her sister answered the door. They’ve hung out a couple of times since then, including taking a couple of the little girlsies to a butterfly atrium at a botanical garden. He also gave her one of the kittens from the lodging house that they’re trying to give away to good homes. That one major brownie points with her. Without knowing it, he’s been inspiring her to try dancing again, a major part of her life she lost passion for when her mom died. Mostly their relationship consists of a will they, won’t they dynamic, as he wants to be with her but she’s afraid he’ll leave after he’s had some fun with her. He’s been known to wander from town to town and to go from girl to girl. She doesn’t want to be just another girl. But their biggest problem is that they don’t communicate their feelings with each other. He doesn’t know she has this fear and she doesn’t know that he’s in this for the long haul if she decides to give him a chance. But they’ll get there eventually. (Strings, Thumbs, Birdie, and Soaks belongs to @askmidtownnewsies) 

Tedixie is comprised of Teddy and Dixie. Darla met Theodore one day when he was working in her horse’s stall and grew quite fond of him the more they interacted. The feeling was mutual but had to go unspoken. They eventually decided to date in secret even though it was quite risky. They would go on secret picnics and rendezvous under the stars. He would leave her flowers in random places and she would steal glances. She would always wish on dandelions that things could be different, then one night as they were stargazing, she made a wish on a shooting star. She wished that they could be together openly and safely. Soon her wish would come true but in a way she would never wish for. One day her little sister saw her sneaking out of the house and followed her. She saw them kissing and Dixie heard the gasp. She made her sister swear that she would never tell. But the next day her sister came up to her and apologized profusely because it was an accident, and she didn’t mean to tell! Possible Trigger Warning! Dixie rushed over to the stables and found her father beating the snot out of Teddy. When she tried to intervene, he knocked her out with a single blow. When she came to, her father was in the processes of trying to string Teddy up in a nearby tree. She quickly grabbed a shovel and hit her dad over the head, knocking him out. She quickly helped Teddy out of the ropes, tears and horror pouring out of her. She stole the family horse and rode with Teddy as far north as she could before she stopped to find a doctor to treat his wounds. To pay for his treatment, she sold the horse then they hitched a ride in the back of a wagon once he recovered. When they got up north they finally settled and took odd jobs, living together for months. Neither one of them really dealt with the trauma of that day and so they kind of drifted apart. They also just wanted different things in life. They eventually sat down and decided it was time to go their separate ways. They cried and talked for hours, but in the end, they knew it was for the best. They agreed to stay in touch and seeing as they were each other’s first loves, they said that they will always love each other and they will. Dixie then moved to Richmond and is getting a fresh start as a newsie.

Jodee is comprised of Jonah and Chickadee. After having ran away from home a few years ago and having just had her heart broken a few months ago, Chickadee found herself in Woodside in Queens. As she was being harassed in the street, a newsie named Twinkle Toes came and helped her out. Even though she didn’t actually need it, she did appreciate it and decided it was the least she could do to go back to the lodging house with him when he invited her. She went around meeting the other newsies and later met the guy of her dreams when he found her digging around in a closet looking for some wood to whittle (which is one of her hobbies). She remembered seeing him at the strike rally a couple of months before and remembered thinking that he was a stud that she would not mind making out with in an alley somewhere. She kept the latter part to herself but did eventually mention she had seen him before. She did however, call him Stud and that became her permanent nickname for him. It was a short interaction but it would continue the next day when Twinkle Toes suggested she sell with him, as he never had a selling partner and may have been a little lonely. She happily agreed. After selling they started teasing each other a little and he mentioned he was a talented acrobat. She had him demonstrate then jokingly asked if he escaped the circus. It apparently was a sore spot. He admitted that he actually did come over from Scotland with a circus but eventually left it after the ring leader got abusive and continually whipped him. He asked her not to tell the others because he didn’t want them to know. She agreed then they went to dinner. He talked about this place called The Mysterious Maze that he likes to go to sometimes, but it’s better with a partner. It’s like a haunted house and with several escape rooms. They end up going there as an unofficial date which she would later admit she considered to be their first date. (Literally there are hundreds of asks between these two over on @ask-thewoodside-newsies and as much as I’d love to tell you every main thing, I’m just going to skip to the really big main things, lol.) After a series of unofficial dates, including one where they sat in a huge tree in the park and watched the fireflies until they fell asleep, their unspoken feelings come to a head. One day when they were selling, she caught a glimpse of the guy who one time tried to kill her when he caught her and her ex stealing from him and hid in an alley, pulling Jonah in with her when he came looking for her. She quietly told him the story and he tried to comfort her because she was so terrified. When the man spotted them, he started coming towards them, his anger increasing. In a panic, she remembered that PDA makes people uncomfortable and almost always look away. So she kissed Jonah or the first time, and as hoped, the man looked away and walked off, thinking he must have been mistaken. This was the beginning of a whole new chapter in their relationship. They went back to their tree and discussed being together, due to her being hesitant because of the trust issues her ex gave her. They decided that they should be together and started dating. They fell in love more and more each day. But one day, Jonah spotted a circus tent in the distant and he grew scared. They investigated and found out that it was indeed the circus he had run away from. To make him feel safe while they were in town, she took him to this small, beautiful, abandoned cottage she squatted in whenever she was in Manhattan. They stayed there for a few day and played house. But one night while they were asleep, a shadowy figure broke in and stole Jonah. In the morning she was devastated when she thought she had been left again. But after a few minutes of crying, she realized that things didn’t add up and that they had felt that they were being followed a few days earlier. They chalked it up to being a fellow newsies they did catch following them, but it turns out he wasn’t the only one. She went back to the lodging house, gathered the newsies, and staged a rescue mission. The rescue was surprisingly easier than she thought it would be, but it didn’t matter because she got the man she loved back. They went on a few more domestic adventures after that and they told each other they loved each other for the first time while in the kitchen boiling water. She helped him with his demons and he helped her with hers. Sometimes they fought, sometimes they argued, but they always found their way back to each other. They were each other’s light in the darkness. One winter’s day after competing to see who could pick out the best sweater for the other, he asked her to marry him. It was spontaneous and nothing special, but she didn’t care, she was just excited to spend her life with him. They plan to get married soon, but first she plans to reunite with and make amends with her newsies family back in Richmond. (Bonus fact: She’s going to ask Tommy to walk her down the aisle because he was her brother’s best friend and kinda like a second brother to her.)

[lost-in-hyrule-field]

Awakening (Part Two)

Originally Posted on Opal Writes

If you haven’t already, read Part One, because then everything will make more sense. Or not. Do what you want.

So I know I said this was going to be a two part thing, but it turns out I lied. As I was writing I felt it made more sense to split it into three parts.

This one’s a little steamier than the last one, but still not quite NSFW. It does toe the line though. You’ll need to wait for part three for the really steamy stuff though.

Enjoy!

While Zelda would have preferred to ride to the Akkala Citadel with just Link, her father insisted on her being accompanied by a large retinue worthy of her status. In the end, she had agreed to a compromise- a handful of knights, two wagons, and a severe faced lady’s maid.

However, Zelda realised that Link, given his current mood, would make a more taciturn companion than normal, and was almost glad of the extra company. Though, she mused sullenly, had they been alone, it would have been much harder for him to avoid her.

As they threaded their way along the northern bank of the Hylia river, Link rode ahead of the party, always within eyesight of her. Having refused to ride in the wagon with the lady’s maid, she now sat astride Alban, flanked by a pair of knights. Though, as her horse tugged violently at his reigns, nearly jerking them from her hands, she was forced to admit that riding was not the wisest choice, as she had yet to boast of complete mastery over the spirited white horse. She had taken him, his snowy coat instantly recognisable as belonging to the royal family, as opposed to the more pliable mare she usually rode, again at her father’s insistence.

Northern Akkala had for many years been an independent country following a relatively peaceful secession generations before, until Zelda’s grandfather had reclaimed it in a bloody conquest; though the region was sparsely populated, it was still a breeding ground of dissent and sedition. And though her father feared not for her safety as long as she was with Link, a show of authority from the Hylian royal family, though it was as seemingly insignificant as a white horse, always served as a potent reminder.        

The whole party rode in silence, Zelda’s eyes flickering every few moments to Link’s back while his remained firmly on the horizon.

She could still feel the press of his lips against her own, still feel his hands, one resting on her waist, the other cradling her face. And as her mind drifted from memory to imagination, she could feel his hand wander higher, caressing her breast as his lips ghosted down over the column of her neck, his breath ragged, and then she would feel herself flush and reprimand herself.

She was going to the Sacred Spring of Power to offer sacred prayers to its deity; she could not allow herself to be tainted by such thoughts.

But he had smelled like sandalwood, masculine and clean, and how could she possibly think about anything else when he was angry with her.  She’d decided what she needed to say to him, but catching him alone proved impossible.

The day seemed to stretch into an eternity of being jostled in the saddle, but when the sun started to dip meaningfully towards the horizon and the clouds began to show just the faintest blush of sunset, she watched as Link circled back around, stopping before her and her guards.

“We should stop and camp here for the night.” He said without meeting her eyes.

“I disagree,” she said imperiously, for no other reason than wanting to be contrary. “There’s still plenty of light, and I think the more distance we cover today, the better.”

“I know it’s still light, but the rest of the road is a fairly narrow mountain pass. Camping there is as good as an invitation to thieves. There’s nowhere else for us to camp between here and the citadel.” When he was finished, his eyes flashed up to meet hers for a moment.        

She sighed. She knew he would never disobey her, not in front of his fellow knights, but she also knew he was right. “So be it,” she said, dismounting. She turned to the knight on her right, “Go tell the company to set up camp for the night.”

He nodded silently and rode back towards the wagons. She turned back to Link, but he had already ridden off, presumably to sweep the area for monsters or other dangers of a more human ilk.

………………….

Later that night, Zelda sat up alone, the sheikah slate throwing a soft glow over her.  She had long since managed to unlock it’s basic functionality, but other than it’s remarkable photographic ability, it was really no more than a glorified journal. It must be capable of doing more, if only she could figure out how.

She set it aside, more forcefully than necessary in her frustration.

One of the wagons had been covered to a makeshift bedchamber for her, its floor piled with rugs and furs, and though she resented all of the fuss that had been made about the journey, and would never have admitted it, she really did find it preferable to sleeping on a thin pad in a tent, as she had been doing of late.      

And yet, despite the company, she had to admit that it was proving to be a lonely trip for her.

After a simple dinner, the maid had helped her change, roughly brushed out her hair, and then promptly left to go join the knights around the fire.

She could hear their voices, not clear enough to make out any words, but their laughter was evident as in rolled into the night.

She glanced outside, but couldn’t see Link by the fire.

She knew that she would never be able to focus on her prayers with a guilty conscience, and this would likely be the last time she could talk to him alone before they reached the citadel.

Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders like a shawl, she walked silently out into the night, glancing quickly towards the knights gathered at the fire. None of them had noticed her, so she hurried on. Their camp sight was bordered by mountains to the north and a river to the south- ‘more defensible,’ Link had said the last time they camped here. While he enjoyed climbing, she doubted he would do it in the dark, and so she hurried to the river bank.

It didn’t take long for her to spot him. He was clearly lost in thought, head propped on his hand as he sat, looking out at the water.

She stole up next to him and sat down, and he still didn’t seem to notice her.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” she said softly, startling him.

He jumped, hand going instinctively to the sword on his back.

She grabbed his arm, “It’s okay; it’s only me.”

She could see his shoulders relax, but he stood up anyway. “I’m sorry, Princess. I should go.”

“No, stay,” she murmured.

She knew he would never disobey her.

He sat down beside her again, his posture rigid.

“This is the head of the Zora River, correct?” she asked softly, tucking her bare feet under her and wrapping herself tighter in the blanket.

He hummed a wordless affirmation.

Her fingers rapped against her knee; she bolstered her courage. It was easier when she wasn’t looking at him. “I’m sorry.” The worst of it over, she turned to look at him. “About what I said last night. I know how much pressure you feel. Perhaps even more than I do, since people expect something other than failure of you…” she trailed off before she could loose her purpose. “Please, forgive me.”

She could see his shoulders slump as he turned to face her. “Of course I forgive you,” he looked back out across the water, “but that wasn’t what upset me.”

She placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then what did? Please, I want to make it right,” she pleaded.

“What you said… It just reminded me of my place.”

Her eyebrows knit together, her confusion evident in her voice as she echoed, “Your place?”

“Zelda, I’m just a knight. I can't have you,” he paused, looked at her with dark eyes, “no matter how much I want to.”    

“For goddesses’ sake Link, what does your position have to do with it?” adding, as the full weight of his words hit her, “You want me?”

“It’s not about wanting. It’s our duty. My duty to you as your knight and yours to Hyrule as its princess.”  

“My duty? Link, I’m a failure in all other regards, please, let me fail in this.” Her words were catching in her throat, and she could feel tears rising. “I want to fail. Goddesses Link, I want you.” She reached out, catching his face with her free hand. “I want you,” she repeated weakly.

She pulled him towards her, catching his lips with her own, and he responded with a broken cry, one hand fisting in her hair, the other wrapping around her back, pulling her closer to him.

She found one of her hands trapped between them, and the other went to his hair. It caught on the tie of his pony tail, and she yanked it loose. She broke the kiss for a moment. ‘I really like your hair,” she said breathily.

He pulled back an inch or two to ask, “Really?”

She nodded before closing the distance between them again.

He still smelled vaguely of sandalwood, but it was now overshadowed with a musky, horsey smell, not quite so clean.

His hand still clutched at her hair, angling her head as she felt his tongue dart out of his mouth and lightly trace the curve of her lower lip. She could feel his hand on her waist begin to move, ever so slowly tracing it’s way up her ribcage, until finally she felt his thumb brush along the bottom of her breast. Impatient, she squirmed. He brought his hand up further, first cupping it gently, then brushing his fingertips over her hardening nipple through the fabric of her night gown.

It was all so much; she moaned against his mouth, and he drew back and chuckled.

“Good?” he muttered softly.

“Mhm,” she assented, quickly making use of the pause to hitch up the skirt of her nightgown and slid onto his lap, straddling him.  

They looked at each other for a moment, Zelda suddenly unsure as she became aware of him pressing against her thigh. While a total innocent, she was not entirely ignorant, and the thought of what was to come made her heart hammer even faster in her chest.

He kissed her this time, hands roaming freely over her chest as he kissed her mouth, her cheeks, the her neck.        

Her hands were braced on his shoulders, but began drifting lower over his stomach, until, with a sudden groan, he grabbed her wrists, holding them in place against his navel.

He held her like that for a moment, dropping his forehead to rest against hers. “Zelda, I can’t. We shouldn’t. Not all at once. And you deserve better than a river bank.”  

Her breath came in ragged bursts. A part of her wanted to protest, but she knew better than to try.  

He dropped her wrists, cupped her face, and kissed her gently, chastely. “You should go to bed. I can’t keep you out late two nights in a row.”

She leaned into his palm as her breathing finally slowed. “If you insist,” she whispered.

He scooped her up, one hand under her knees, the other braced against her back.

“Whatever are you going to do if your fellow knights sees you holding me like this?” she asked, eyebrow raised, as he began to cary her back to their camp.

“Yell at them for letting you sneak off in the middle of the night.” After a few moment he added, “I’ll probably do that whether they see us or not.”

He laid her down gently on her makeshift bed and pressed a kiss to her forehead with a whispered, “Good night.”  

He rose to leave, but she sat up, catching his sleeve. “Please stay with me.” When he didn't respond, she added, “I don’t want… I just want to be near you.”

“Zelda, you know I can’t.” He pulled her hand from his sleeve and lightly kissed her knuckle. “You know I would… I want to… but we’re not alone. It would hurt your reputation.”

Her shoulders fell as he released her hand and walked off back into the darkness. She lay back with a sigh, sinking further into the lush pelt and wrapping a blanket around herself. He was right of course, as much as she hated to admit it.

Once they reached the Citadel, she and Link would set out alone for the spring. She only needed to tolerate the extra company for a day. She could survive that much.  

Link, however, very much doubted that his reputation would survive that long, at least among his fellow knights.

His trousers were more than uncomfortably tight as he walked back to the water’s edge.

He undid the belt holding his scabbard and placed it gently on the ground. He looked around, expert eyes seeing nothing of concern, before unceremoniously stripping and wading into the frigid water.  

He prided himself on his self control and composure. And yet, the very thought of her, of those long delicate fingers, and that pert, curling mouth, and the way she tossed her head back when she laughed-really laughed- was enough for those qualities to utterly desert him.

He doused his head, shaking his hair out like a dog when he came back up for air. She’d tossed his hair tie somewhere; he doubted he’d find it again.

He flopped onto ground, trying to focus on the cold night air against his skin rather than that way her hair caught the moonlight. He ran his hands through his wet hair with a sigh.

He would get this under control; he had to.

Keep reading Part Three

[lemonscreativeworld]

Courting Rites

Shiro is a coward but not a lonely one. 

Black landed on the cliff, the three bucks in her talons being thrown off to the side, near the wagon. Shiro patted her neck as Lance whooped and hollered above him. He looked up and counted that he and Blue had three as well; with Keith and Red's three bucks, they had more than enough food to call it a successful hunt. He slid off the back of his dragon and walked over to his bucks, inspecting them.

'Nice and fat.' He thought, smiling. Shiro dug in his pack attached to his hip and tossed Black a rabbit, deciding that she was more than deserving of a treat. She caught it and swallowed it in one gulp. She rumbled happily, nuzzling Shiro in the back. "Easy, girl." He said as Pidge came up to him.

"Nice work, Shiro." She praised. "Nine bucks today. That's about twenty for the whole week."

Shiro hummed. "We might be able to get at least another five tomorrow before we risk next year's breeding season."

"I agree. This should last us through the winter, especially with all of the fish and rabbits we've caught for ourselves. If the dragons eat their way through these bucks, then we can always go out and hunt some does."

Humming again, Shiro motioned for Black to pick up the bucks and load them onto the wagon, Green coming over from her spot by the front to help Black. The older dragon rumbled a greeting to her younger flightmate, licking her head. Together, the two of them made room for Lance and Keith's hauls and then all of the bucks were on the wagon. Green was hitched to the wagon and the group made their way to the tribe's camping spot.

They arrived right before dusk, the tribe finishing setting up tents. Their nomadic tribe moved from the mountain valley to the plains and small patches of forest besides the mountain with the seasons; spring and summer in the valley, plains in the fall and winter. It helped their dragons stop the urge to hibernate when the food slowed to a trickle in the valley. It helped the tribe as a whole because the five dragons belonging to the tribe was their only source of protection and main source of hunting.

Shiro smiled with fondness at the memory of Alfor, their previous chieftain, teaching him and his fellow dragon keepers that as he came upon Allura teaching those very same lessons to a group of young children. She looked up and smiled, waving to the group as they passed by her and towards the food tent.

When they reached it, Shiro veered to the right and headed towards the healing area.

"And just where are you going, Shiro?" Lance called slyly.

That stopped him in his tracks and he turned to face his team looking at him with looks of knowing. "Aha, well, Black was flying kind of off today, and I thought I would visit Hunk to make sure everything is okay, you know? Haha..."

"Hm, yes, well." Pidge chuckled. "I hope Hunk can fix her up. I would hate for you and her to spend another whole night in Hunk's tent."

"Wouldn't that just be tragic?! I better get there fast so we can leave quickly! Bye!"

They watched him practically run away, blush bright red on his face. Shaking their heads and laughing among themselves, they dropped off the food and went to do their own separate tasks.

He saw Yellow sleeping outside of Hunk's tent, guarding her keeper's tent. She lazily opened one eye as Hunk guided an elder out of his tent, smiling and nodding his head at her words. Yellow snorted then glanced over to Shiro and Black. She immediately got up, lumbering towards Black with enthusiasm. Black met her halfway, sniffing and nuzzling her while Yellow did the same.

Shiro chuckled at their affection, turning to face Hunk when he heard the other man walking towards him. Shiro took in the sight of the gentle man; a tall, impressive figure that looked like it held the soul of a warrior true, but was instead home to a kind and timid heart that loved with every beat. He was always smiling, always laughing, always a brilliant ray of sunshine that made Shiro melt.

"Hello, Shiro!" Hunk said, wiping his hands on his apron. "What brings you to my tent now?" The words were said teasingly, but his care was always genuine. Even if Shiro made up reasons to see him.

"Ah-uh...Black was flying off today. She seemed to do fine otherwise, but you know how she likes to push herself." He said awkwardly, hating to lie but needing to spend time with Hunk. He hated the worried look in his eyes even more as Hunk went to Black, gently grabbing her by her snout horn and guiding her head lower. He patted along her snout and looked at her eyes.

"Hm. There seems to be a little bit of build-up in the corner of her eyes. Looks like nothing more than sleep crust, but it could be bothering her." He turned to look at Shiro. "Did you clean her this morning?"

"Coran had us in a rush this morning, so I don't think any of us got to it."

"He ought to stop doing that. I know that Black gets sleep crust and ear wax build up quickly easily."

"Tomorrow is the last day of hunting. I don't know if any of them remembered to clean their dragons today, but if not, I suppose they could bring them to you if there's problems."

"True! And I will look at them gladly, but for now, I'd like to make sure that there's nothing else wrong and clean her up, if you wouldn't mind?"

The way he asked was too adorable; big dark eyes that were like a new moon night and sparkled with stars. Shiro felt his legs turn to jelly and nodded his head, unable to trust his voice.

A blinding smile and sincere 'Thank you!' were given to him and then Hunk was leading Black to the open air tent behind his own. Shiro followed and watched as Black settled in, knowing what to do and waiting for Hunk to get a pail of clean water and herb soaked cloth. While he was waiting, he fed Yellow a rabbit and scratched behind her head. It had her chuffing and plopping down at his feet, revealing her tummy for more scratches.

When Hunk came of his tent, he saw Shiro on his tiptoes, trying to get to Yellow's favorite spot. He laughed and it startled Shiro and Yellow; the latter rolling on her stomach again and nearly snapping Shiro in half. He just barely escaped it but was instead crushed underneath her. Black, who was watching them disinterestedly, stretched out her neck to sniff at her flailing keeper and doing nothing to help him, even after he pleaded with her.

"Yellow, up!" Hunk called. The dragon obeyed and stood up, allowing Shiro to crawl away and gasp for breath.

"For the love of Voltron, what are you feeding her?!" He coughed, sucking in huge gulps of breath.

"She's an Earth Dragon, Shiro. She's supposed to be big."

"I could have died and then Allura would have yelled at you for letting your dragon kill me."

"Yes, then you would have no one to mourn in your tent."

Shiro snorted, getting up and dusting himself off. He sat next to Hunk as he was wiping the sleep crust from Black's eyes. "Its not from lack of trying on the village girls' parts. They won't leave me alone with courting gift after courting gift."

Hunk hummed. "I don't understand why you don't accept some of them. Nyma is pretty cute."

"Nyma is interested in Rolo. They're good for each other, both being good-for-nothings."

"That's unfair to the other good-for-nothings!" Hunk laughed. Done with her eyes, he started work on cleaning out her ears.

Shiro looked at Hunk. "And what about you? Didn't Shay give you a courting gift?"

The healer stopped and sat quietly for a moment. "She did. But I turned her down."

Taken aback, Shiro stuttered, "But why? She's very nice and would be a strong mother. I thought you two got along nicely."

Hunk shook his head. "I don't know. We're compatible, but...I have my heart set on another."

The blood in Shiro's veins froze. He knew that Hunk was well liked by everyone, but he had never shown much interest in anyone. That had given Shiro hope but not the courage to give him a courting gift. Now...now, he would never be able to.

Still.

"That's great!" He said on a shaky smile. He hoped that Hunk wouldn't see his disappointment and heartache. "I know that she'll be a fool to turn you down."

"Yeah..."

There was a tense silence as Hunk finished his task. When he was done, he stood up and patted Black. "She should be good for a few days. But try to keep up with her cleaning." Shiro nodded dumbly, not saying anything. Hunk noticed this and looked worried. "Are you okay?"

Shiro looked up and gave him another smile, this one more fake than the last. "Of course! Thank you very much, Hunk." He too stood and grabbed Black's reins.

"Wait!" Hunk shouted, then looked embarrassed at his outburst.

Shiro was taken aback and looked at him. "Are you-"

"I have something for you. Please wait here." Hunk said quickly then rushed to his tent, leaving a confused Shiro behind.

He turned to his dragon and let his head fall on her snout. "I'm a coward...I should have given him a gift before this. Now I'll be a lonely coward."

Black chuffed in sympathy and licked his face. He chuckled and rubbed her snout. "Thanks, girl."

Hunk came out a few moments later, holding box. He marched up to Shiro and shoved it into his face, his own face red. "This is for you!" He yelled again.

Shiro cocked his head to the side in confusion, but took the box and looked between it and Hunk. He slowly started to open it and when he saw what was inside, he nearly dropped it.

A stylized 'V', the symbol of their tribe, painted black on one side and yellow on the other, was printed on a carved dragon in mid flight, its mouth open and roaring.

It was a courting gift and Hunk had just given it to him. He looked at Hunk again and saw he was shaking. "You kept turning down all those girls...and it made me hope...and you always visit me, even when there's nothing wrong. You give Yellow and I the biggest shares of your hunts and you always help me, even when you're busy. I thought that maybe you...were interested in me." Hunk looked at Shiro with tears in his eyes. "If I misunderstood, I don't want you to feel guilty about turning me do-!"

Shiro didn't let him finish as he drew Hunk into a hug, squeezing him gently. He held him for a minute before drawing away just enough to look at him. "Like I said, only a fool would turn you down." The smile, wide and so full of happiness it filled him with golden light, was worth every struggle he was put through in his life that led him to this moment.

Then the smile turned shy and he looked bashful. "Would...it be foolish to turn me down for a kiss?"

His heart beating out his chest, Shiro smiled wryly. "Well...I don't think I'll ever be able to turn down any request you make." He said as he leaned in, letting Hunk complete the distance. Their lips touched, soft as a petal.

They kissed for a moment before parting on exhales. Shiro opened his eyes to watch Hunk's flutter open and stare into his soul. They giggled helplessly like children, still holding onto each other.

"I just had a thought." Hunk said.

"Hm?"

"Do you think Coran will be mad that I already decided that Kolivan will be the one who announces our courtship?"

He laughed loudly and if it caused Black to push him in annoyance, then he counted it as a win.

[shameonpretzel]

You know what? I’d like to finish this. Before TJM finally comes out.

ONE SWEET DAY

Was she a ghost? A monster? He couldn’t know for sure.

The woman stood placidly in the middle of the lake, her bare feet barely skimming the water’s surface despite the fact she stood in the deepest part of the lake, with no rock to support her.

The man saw the woman at night, ambling about as though she had been sleepwalking. He followed her to this spot at the lake, spying on her at the water’s perimeter, concealing himself behind an oak tree.

She was so beautiful. Fire-red, waist-length locks seemed to flow and sway to the breeze, though there was no wind. Her hair also seemed to serve as her modesty; the woman was not wearing any garments.

For a brief second the man felt guilty for spying on her? Was she lost? She was staring up into the night sky, at the full moon directly above her. Perhaps he should approach her…

The decision was made for him; the man lost his footing and stumbled onto a tree branch, alerting the woman of his presence.

The woman took a moment to react to the sound, then slowly turned to face the man. The man blanched, then his face reddened immediately; she WAS naked, only her long hair concealing her modesty. He stared in awe at the woman, her emerald green eyes studying him, nary blinking. Now that his presence was known, he had no choice but to act.

“You’re…so beautiful,” he whispered, mostly to himself, but he couldn’t help but feel as though the woman had heard him.

For awhile she did nothing, simply content with staring at the man. Then the woman slowly smiled and and outstretched a pale hand toward her guest.

  ---

Lady Bridget paced down the halls of the palace, looking left and right through corridor. She was on a mission, and one that seemed more daunting as the days drew on.

“Your Majesty? Your Majesty?” she strode past the servants impatiently. Where could she have run off to now?

When she reached the garden she sensed she was drawing near to her goal. She briskly entered, the enclosed area of the palace surrounded by cherry blossom trees and divided by a shallow, thin pond that cut through the middle of the garden. After taking a few steps in side, Bridget sighed in relief.

There she was.

A blonde-haired girl in a pink royal gown sat quietly on a rock, her back to Bridget. She appeared to be picking away at the petals of one of the cherry blossoms.

“Your Majesty!”

The girl’s back straightened immediately. Without bothering to turn around, she sprinted for the nearest tree and scaled it to its lowest branch.

Bridget sighed in frustration.

“Your Majesty, please let’s not do this again….Your Majesty! Lena! Whoa!”

Bridget had lost her footing and fell into the stream, soaking her from head to toe. She hopped immediately out and shook her hair defiantly, making sure to sprinkle the girl with some runaway drops. She should’ve been mad, but she merely smirked.

“Don’t you dare laugh,” she threatened.

The girl covered her mouth with her hand and stifled a giggle. Bridget was relieved to finally see her smile. She approached the tree but rather than scale higher, the girl looked on expectantly.

Bridget sighed; she wasn’t making it easy for her today.

She assessed the girth of the tree and made a running leap for the branch, ascending the trunk and then barely missing it as she stretched a wayward hand outward. With great difficulty, she pushed herself onto the branch and then sat next to the blonde. When she was close enough, Bridget could see she had been crying.

“So…what’s up?”

The blonde did not respond. That was to be expected; the girl hadn’t spoken a word since that fateful day when her life had been torn upside-down…

Bridget shook her head. It was not the time for sad thoughts. She needed her. She placed a comforting arm around the blonde girl.

“Are you alright?”

No response from the girl, merely a sniffle from her runny nose.

“Hey…I know you’re feeling sad. I feel sad too. I think we’re both scared. But…you have to be brave. Not just for yourself but for…them. They wouldn’t want to see you cry…” she held the girl’s head in her hand for emphasis and looked into her eyes. “And I don’t want to see you cry, either.”

The girl stared back, wrapping her arms around Bridget in a needy embrace. Bridget held her consolingly and rubbed her back. She placed her chin atop her head and closed her eyes.

“It’ll be OK,” she whispered.

The blonde girl said nothing, though Bridget could feel her body convulse with the onset of fresh tears.

 “Come back here, you freak!”

A boy with a football-shaped head and blonde hair dressed in rags ran with the stray dogs and cats as he tried to escape his bullies. He had swiped a loaf of bread, and rather than share it, he decided to keep it for himself, much to the ire of his assailants. The boy ran as fast as his feet could carry him through the alley, occasionally, knocking over garbage bins and wagons to belay their pursuit.

At some point the blonde boy spotted a pile of old clothing littered in the street. Without hesitating, he jumped into the pile and stood still as the gang ran right past him. When they were out of sight, the boy decided to swipe the half-mask, top hat and cape for himself, then headed off in the opposite direction.

He heard the fanfare, faintly, then with a bit more intensity, then finally he spotted the caravans heading for the palace gates/castle walls.

It was a long procession. But the party moved in silence. The occupants didn’t  look like outsiders, but at the same time they looked…different. There was something about the way they had carried themselves, as though they were privy to some invaluable wisdom, like the fountain of eternal youth. Inside one of the caravan the boy spotted a young woman with black hair affixed In a bun, typing something into a computer. She’s was pretty, but like the others she looked…different. He couldn’t place his finger on how, and yet…

“There he is!”

The boy’s attention was brought back to the ringleader of the group of boys charging towards him despite his clever disguise. He led chase again but was able to evade them, hitching a ride on one of the caravans making its way within the castle walls. This was the closest he had ever been to the centre of the city, and he knew he would never want to be near the perimeter of Laste Haste, where evil things lurked afoot.

Could these newcomers have come from beyond the walls?

 “Welcome to Last Haste!”

The woman with the dark-haired bun exited the caravan to the greeting procession of a short balding man. The woman adjusted her navy blue business suit, as well as her glasses, and gave the man a formal bow.

“Hajimemasite- thank you. Pleased to meet you.”

The bald man closed the caravan door behind her, but not before taking a glance inside. He looked ahead to the rest of the procession, then back to the woman, anxiously.

“And…the others? The Royal Family?”

The woman adjusted her glasses. “Forgive me. I had travelled alone.”

The man nodded and continued to grin, but the woman could detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes. “Right this way,” he said breezily.

The woman followed the man as he led her to a modern looking building a few hundred metres away; all the while, she clutched the laptop to her chest.

“I must say,” began the man, trying to strike up conversation. “This is indeed a momentous occasion. Not since the world was forced into chaos has Last Haste ever received a visitor from beyond the…well, beyond. I trust your travel was pleasant?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Forgive me, this must all seem very…primitive, to you,” the man continued, a bit of edge to his voice. “But I can assure you, we here at the Western Kingdom of Last Haste hope to do everything in our power to make sure you are comfortable, Miss…?”

“Heyerdahl. Dr. Phoebe Heyerdahl.”

“Hmm, yes. Well, doctor, I for one enthusiastically welcome the joining of our two worlds. Heaven knows we’ve lived in resplendent squalor for much, much too long.”

“I only hope that my insight fuels your research.”

“As do I, Dr. Heyerdahl, as do I. This way…”

The man opened the double doors with a great flourish and they both walked inside.

The football-headed boy broke a piece from the loaf of bread he swiped, and traversed down the hall in total awe. Miraculously, he had snuck past the royal guards, and was now within the inner sanctum of the kingdom.

He eventually found his way to the royal garden, and stopped and stared in curiosity at the young blonde girl dancing by herself. It was evident by her flowing movements that she took ballet, and if she was practicing, it certainly wasn’t necessary. The boy stood at the entrance of the garden and watched her as she moved to and fro gracefully within the space. Only when she concluded did the boy clap, which finally alerted her to his presence. She gasped and froze in place.

“That was really beautiful,” said the boy.

The blonde girl said nothing, eyeing him up and down suspiciously.

He took a step forward. “Are you…who I think you are…?”

The girl took a step back in response.

“My Grandpa told me stories about you…you’re the Child Princess of Laste Haste, aren’t you? You look about the same age as me.”

Once again, the girl remained silent. Feeling a bit awkward with the one-sided conversation, the boy bent down and plucked a pink flower from the ground. He twirled it in his hand for a bit, opting to stare at the spinning petals than make eye contact.

“I like this flower,” he said. “It’s pretty, like your dress.” He extended the hand with the flower, offering it as a gift.

The girl stared at the boy, then at the flower, then back at the boy. At first she didn’t know what to make of the situation, but no one except Lady Bridget ever complimented her. In fact, up to that point in her life, she had NEVER been addressed by anyone outside the palace walls. Intrigued by this chance interaction, the girl outstretched her hand toward the gift of the flower.

“PRINCESS HELENA OF THE LAST HASTE, STOP RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”

The girl recoiled away from the gift as though it were poisoned, and retreated away into the garden. The boy tried to follow her, but he was immediately spun around by Lady Bridget, who did not look at all pleased.

“And just what do you think you are doing on the royal grounds?”

The boy was flustered. “I…..I…”

“What’s going on here?” Two royal guards in suits of armour appeared at the entrance of the garden, their weapons immediately unsheathed from their hilts. “You know its forbidden for outsiders to set foot in the Sacred Garden. Suppose he were to come in contact with Her Majesty! What is he doing in here?”

“Oh, uh…” Thinking on her feet, Lady Bridget pulled the loaf bread from under the boy’s shirt and waved it for the guards to see. “This…servant was just bringing me a snack to present to the Princess. As Helena’s personal ward, I can assure you that there would be no fraternizing with lesser folk on my watch. As you were.”

The guards looked dubious at first, but then replaced their weapons back in the sheaths and carried on their way. When they were out of earshot, Lady Bridget let out a sigh of relief.

“Phew…that was a close one!” She noticed the boy was trying to tiptoe away, but she stopped him in his tracks. “Uh-uh – you know you’re lucky it was me that spotted you first and not those two. Now, what on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

 “I was just saying hello,” explained the football-headed boy. “I saw her dancing by herself, and I thought she could use a little company. It must be lonely being the only kid in this place.”

Lady Bridget opened her mouth to speak, then thought against it. “Well, aren’t you sweet. But now I think it’s time for head home. I’ll show you the way.”

She grabbed his hand and led him out of the gardens. Before he left, the boy turned and looked into the garden one last time. For a split second, behind a large weeping willow tree, he spotted the Helena, the child princess, peering at him with heightened curiosity and interest.