#his face is sewn on rather than printed which was a surprise to me! I thought it was printed based on the pics

[superbellsubways]

he is home

[kitty0boy]

You know the drill. Marichat time with a dash of Adrienette. It is Adrienette April after all, I’ve gotta do a little something. Mari is 17 Adrien is 18, I’ll use “...” to show changes in perspectives as per usual.

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Adrien thought it would be a calm Tuesday, nothing special would happen. He’d somewhat memorized Hawkmoth’s schedule and learned that he didn’t usually release akumas on Tuesdays. For what reason? Nobody knows. Maybe he needs breaks from all of his crushing defeats. I mean seriously, how old is this guy? Can’t even defeat two teenagers and he’s been trying for what, almost three years now?

He let his mind wander during the ride to school. Even though he could legally drive now, his bodyguard still had to make sure he made it to school safe. At this point, he’d rather the Gorilla adopt him, he made a much better father than his own already. Even if he is paid to do it. No one was waiting for him at the front when he arrived, which was refreshing. There were usually swarms of fangirls waiting to escort him inside, especially after one of his photo shoots. They had become much more, revealing lately. What with him being and adult now. Which was difficult seeing as how he still had to go to school with teenagers that would tear him to shreds for an autograph. Unfortunately though, Nino wasn’t even at the front.

He stepped out. On his right he saw a group of girls wearing shirts with his face or his name on it, and in front stood a cute petite woman wearing a black skirt and a pastel green t-shirt. She was very angry, pointing at them, apparently telling them off. The other girls looked back and forth at each other before they spotted him. They nearly trampled Marinette as they made their way over. “Oh please Adrien, can I have your autograph?” One of them practically shoved a notebook up his nose, “Can you sign my shirt?” One of them said, turning around. A bright flash blinded him as one of the girls took a photo. He felt a hand on his shirt as one of them tried to take it off. “Umm,” he backed away, uncomfortable “sorry but I have class.” He managed to push through them and walked up to Marinette. “Hey, can I walk to class with you?” He nearly pleaded, he didn’t want to be left alone with them if he could help it, usually Nino ushered him inside but he wasn’t here for some reason. “Sure, I was about to ask you anyways, those girls were about to rip you apart.” He rubbed his neck.

He was glad Marinette was more comfortable around him now. Sure she didn’t always stammer in front of him when they were younger but she never seemed fully comfortable to be with him either. She seemed comfortable now though, looping her arm through his as they walked into the school. “So I’m going to assume you made this yourself?” She nodded in response. “The paw prints took furever to sew on too.” He giggled, “Clever, and where are these pawpurrints” he punned back. She pinched the hem of the skirt to show him, his eyes went wide for a minute. “Oh calm down I’m wearing shorts underneath.” He sighed in relief and squinted at the prints. Sure enough there were tiny paws sewn around the hem, almost as if a kitten stepped in green paint and walked around her skirt. “Wow, you’re stitching is purrfect.” She laughed, “Thank you, it’s taken years of purractice. I’m sure you could do it too.” “No way, I couldn’t pawsibly match the purrfection that is Marinette’s craftsmewnship.” The pairs laughed as they entered the classroom, their friends were huddled in a group, caught up in a friendly debate.

“Oh hey Mari, Adrien.” He waved, “What are we talking about?” Alya crossed her arms, “Well I think Mr. Superhero has moved on from his bugaboo but some of us aren’t convinced.” He could confirm Alya’s theory, he had moved on from Ladybug. In fact the person he moved onto had just walked him to class, but she couldn’t know that yet. Not until Hawkmoth’s defeat anyways, he didn’t want to hurt Marinette like he hurt Kagami. Alix sat in the back of the class with her feet propped up on the desk, as sucker in her mouth as usual. She smiled coyly at him. Ladybug had given her the rabbit miraculous already which gave her insight to everything in his life. Possibly Ladybug’s life too. “There’s no way he’s moved on,” was Rose rebuttal, “He still flirts with her, he’s clearly still in love.” Was he flirting with Ladybug? He though he was just being friendly, he’d toned it down a lot at least. Marinette snorted, “Oh come on Rose he flirts with everyone.” Alya quirked her head “Girl what are you talking about? No he doesn’t.” Marinette crossed her arms, “Oh yes he does. The first time Nathaniel was akumatized, Ladybug had me go on a date with him to trap him.” Nathaniel blushed, “And Chat Noir came by to tell me the plan. You wanna know what he did?” Marinette put on her best smirk and turned to Alya, “Hey I haven’t even introduced myself,” she mimicked, grabbing Alya’s hand and getting on one knee, “I’m Chat Noir.” She kissed the back of the bloggers hand and stood up. “And then he started flexing and saying things like ‘don’t worry you’ll be save with me.’ And when I asked about Ladybug he said ‘she’s busy with something tonight so, you get to be my Ladybug.’ Honestly he’s a flirty as they get.” She concluded and crossed her arms. The girls just stared at her in shock. His chest felt hot and he quickly rubbed the back of his neck as if it would cool him down. How did she even remember that?

“Marinette I have met Chat Noir on multiple occasions and he’s never flirted with me like that.” Marinette turned her head to the side adorably. “But what about when you were Rena Rouge? I saw him getting real chummy when your sisters were the Sapotis.” Alya grinned, “I think that was more to make his lovebug jealous. Well, ex-lovebug because we’ve clearly found out who has the cat in the bag.” Marinette waved her arms in front of her, “Hang on now, this happened years ago. Who says he has a crush on me?” Alix snorted and everyone stared, she hand her phone in her hand and was starring at it, clever little cover up. Juleka raised her hand, muttering “Actually he was on your balcony last night.” The class gasped and Alix stifled a laugh. Adrien tried really hard to remain neutral, which was really difficult seeing Marinette’s pink face. “He just stopped by because he was bored, I’m sure he stops by lots of people’s houses.” Everyone else shook their heads, Chloe decided to speak up. “Well he stops by the hotel to get milk but he doesn’t speak to me.” Then Lila stalked up to the front, “Well actually I know who Chat Noir fancies now, and it’s certainly not Marinette.” Adrien stood, “Oh really now?” He challenged crossing his arms. “Yes it’s quite embarrassing but it’s actually me.” The class gasped but Marinette laughed. “Ok now that’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. Chat Noir doesn’t even like you.” Rose turned to Marinette, “Now that’s quite rude, I’m sure Chat Noir doesn’t dislike anyone.” Marinette raised her hands in surrender, “Ok sure but he doesn’t fancy her either.” Adrien was glad Marinette was on his side rather than believing her. Since Lila had joined the Agreste foundation, he’s had to do very uncomfortable photo shoots with her. And with summer right around the corner, bathing suits would be in soon and he wished for time to slow down. Lila had already been way to touchy with him, now picture that but basically naked. Not his idea of a dream come true to say the least.

“Well then,” Alya crossed her arms and hip bumped Marinette “we’ll just have to assume he’s in love with you then.” Marinette’s face turned a deep red which made Alya smirk “And it seems the feeling is mutual.” Marinette hid her blushing face before a Giant and very familiar hand picked her up and carried her out of the school. “August!” She screamed in surprise. While the class was distracted Adrien snuck out and transformed in the hallway before leaping over their heads and onto the roof. Thankfully, preschooler August was much easier to speak with than toddler August. “Pretty doll.” He said, starring at Marinette.

Chat flicked his bell to get Gigantitan’s attention, “You’re right, very pretty.” He winked at her before turning back to August, “But she’s not yours, is she? We shouldn’t take things that aren’t ours.” August bent down to Chat Noir’s face, “She’s not yours either, finders keepers.” He smirked, “Hey now, we never said she wasn’t mine. But either way there is a big difference between dolls and humans. So put her down and we can talk about this like big boys.” August contemplated for a second. Chat Noir had learned from his last battle with him that August was a big boy now, a lesson he learned the hard way.

Coming to a decision, August stood up straight, and dropped Marinette. “No!” He sprinted off the rooftop and dove after Marinette. She reached for him and he grabbed her, pulling her flushed to him and spinning mid air as he collided with the sidewalk. Marinette sat up, completely unaware of their very compromising position. He propped himself up on his elbows and turned his attention to August “Oi! Big boys don’t drop pretty girls August.” Marinette laughed and butterflies fluttered around his stomach. “Well this pretty girl thanks you for the save kitty.” She flicked his bell and smiled at him. August made an other swipe at Marinette and Chat rolled them over into another compromising position, praising the fact that Marinette had worn shirts today. Marinette blushed up at him before he dug an arm under her back and stood with her. “What do you say to a game of keep away?” She smirked, “I say game on kitty.”

After defeating August and returning him to his school, Chat brought Marinette back to their school. Their whole class whooped and cheered and whistles at the pair. Alya approached clapping slowly as he slid down his staff with an arm wrapped around Marinette’s waist. “Well would you look at that. Someone is smitten.” He pretended to be confused. “What are we talking about now?” Nino walked up and looped his arm around Chat’s shoulders. “Oh just the fact that you and Marinette seem awfully, what was the word you used earlier Marinette? Chummy.” He continued to play dumb, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re stalking about civilian.” Alix, who was much taller than Marinette now, strode over and took Marinette’s hand. “Come here a second.” She lead Marinette to the center of the group, in front of him. He gave her a look that said ‘Alix I’m going to kill you.’ She smirked back and lifted their hands above Marinette’s head, spinning her around. Her skirt flew in all directions and her lose hair glided gently in the breeze. Alix smirked at him, “There’s your proof. Absolutely captivated.” He was so going to get back at her on patrol later. He made a pact to stop dating until Hawkmoth’s defeat and for the past few months, she was absolutely no help. He laughed it off, “Well like I said, she’s a pretty girl, especially in my colours.” He grinned at her blushing face.

“As lovely as this Chat was I’ve got places to go, things to see. I bid you all fair well.” He turned and started walking away but he didn’t get far before a hand grabbed his bell, spun him around, and kissed him. He pulled back in disgust as Lila grinned up at him. “I did miss you last night kitten.” She cooed, and poked him in the chest. A very angry Marinette made her way over to them with a water bottle. She shoved Lila away held it out to him “Rinse.” She instructed and he did, taking a big swig of water and swallowing. Then Marinette wrapped her arms around his neck and, standing on her toes, kissed him.

That was much better. You know what? Screw the pact, he closed his eyes and let the butterflies in his stomach emerge and fly around them. It was almost like they were in a world of their own. He smiled against her and lifted her so he could smile up at her. Each kiss sent a bolt of lightning through him and the cheers of their classmates just barely reached his ears. An angry Lila tried to run away but Juleka and Rose stopped her and started lecturing her about consent. He wanted to spend a lifetime just like this. With her legs and arms wrapped around him, the world was peaceful. There was no Hawkmoth, no Lila, no danger.

She pulled back and smiled at him, “Purromise that won’t happen again.” He grinned, “Believe me purrincess, I don’t want to kiss anyone but you.” He spun her around before putting her down and giving her a quick kiss goodbye. “See you tonight?” She asked, he nearly combusted on the spot. “That is a very dangerous questions my dear.” She smirked “Do I seem like the type to run from danger?” He laughed, this girl was going to be the death of him. “No you almost certainly aren’t.” In an attempt to make her blush as much as he was, he bent down and kissed her exposed collar bone. “I will see you tonight then.” Before she could tease him back, he leapt away.

Adrien emerged from the restroom and the second Alix spotted him she grinned and approached. “Broke the pact I see, how’s that kiss?” He smiled, “Worth it.” She laughed at him. “It’s about time too, you do realized she’s had a crush on you for ages right?” “Oh I knew that, one time she confessed to me and I had to go over to her house for breakfast with her parents, that was awkward. I was still in love with Ladybug you know?” Alix stared at him, “Hang on was this as Adrien or Chat?” He looked at her confused. “Chat, who else?” She laughed at him, “Must have been a fleeting attempt to get over a Mr. Adrien Agreste.” His eyes widened, “Wait she had a crush on Adrien, me?” She nodded, “It stopped about a year ago, seems she moved on to, well, you.” He smacked a hand to his forehead, “Mon dieu, I could have dated her in civilian form all this time?” Alix grabbed a sucker from her pocket and handed it to him. “Don’t worry model boy, once we defeat Hawkmoth you can snog her to your hearts content as yourself.” He popped the sucker into his mouth. “You know, August loves these things.” He said crumpling the wrapper in his pocket. “Oh really? I’ll be sure to give one to the pretty lady next time he gets akumatized.” He really hoped there wouldn’t be a next time, for his heart’s sake.

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That’s all for this fic, thanks for reading!

[cowboyshit]

starlight will be the only light when I can tell my heart to you... PART ONE OF ? future parts: two, three

Ship: Hangman Adam Page x Female OC (Hazel Baker) x Matt Jackson  Summary: Hazel��s engagement ended awhile ago, and she’s finally decided she’s ready to jump headfirst back into the dating game by having a fun, carefree, no-strings-attached night with a handsome cowboy at the local rodeo. Instead, she finds something much, much more complicated and catches herself between two men and a whirlwind of feelings.  Rating: explicit (part one only has a brief, heavy-handed make-out scene but it’s written explicit enough to elicit this rating, and the piece itself will become more explicit in the future) Length: 14,079 words Warnings: alcohol mention, brief descriptive make-out/verging on smut situation

author’s note: wow, this thing turned into a monster I didn’t expect. Initially, I just wanted to have a little fun and write the elite as rodeo cowboys in a rodeo au, but this fic sort of took on a life of it’s own. I will warn that not much happens in this part, despite how long it is. It’s just a bunch of FEELINGS. Look forward to part two, where things get even messier than they are here! And yes, I promise in the next one they’ll actually get together.

“Oh wow, look at that one.”

“Hazel, I told you I wasn’t going to bring you here if you weren’t going to behave yourself.” Her friend, Andrea’s playfully exasperated tone made Hazel grin wide.

“I know, but can you blame me?” She said and nudged Andrea with her elbow, jerking her chin toward the blond-haired cowboy dead ahead. 

He was handsome in a heart-stopping, jaw-dropping kind of way, she thought. The late afternoon sun hit the edges of the blond curls that stuck out of his cowboy hat, making them look as if they glittered. His eyes crinkled at the corners as his cheeks pushed into them, a big smile on his face as he laughed. She could just hear the faint hint of it - that laugh - through the people passing between them and it sounded warm, and rich, and honest. She wanted to hear it closer.

He was wearing a bright pink, long-sleeve button-up with some sort of white pattern she was too far away to figure out. It was fine print, but looked like swirls. Maybe paisleys. The sleeves, upper back and chest supported bold, silver-white thread and patches sewn into it of varying sponsors and brands. Considering the multitude she could count, it was easy to guess he was one of the hot shots on the rodeo circuit. The money went where the winners were, after all. Plus the addition of that big silver, gold-trim belt buckle that was biting gently into the fat of his stomach had likely been won as a prize at another rodeo. It looked pretty fancy, even from this distance.

“Who is that?” She asked, and when Andrea didn’t answer she finally pulled her eyes off him and looked at her friend. 

Andrea blushed and shook her head. “You don’t need to go near those guys.”

“What?!” Hazel exclaimed, frowning at Andrea and looking back at that beautiful pink-shirt wearing blond-haired cowboy. He was talking with two other cowboys, both with long, dark-brown hair. She looked from them, back to her friend and found Andrea frowning at her. Hazel rolled her eyes. “Oh come on! You know how long it’s been since Ethan and I called off the engagement and ended things. I’m finally feeling like me again, like I’m getting over that heartache. I could use some fun! The best way to get over someone is to get under someone, right?” She wiggled her brows and grinned playfully. “So, spill it, who is he? What’s his deal?”

Andrea worked the grounds when the rodeo pulled into town and had been doing it enough years that she was known and knew the folk who came to compete. It was a side-gig she had on top of working the cafe at the stockyards. This meant she often knew the rodeo competitors and other cowfolk who found themselves in Brimwood Creek. Therefore, she knew exactly who Mr. Blond Haired Angel Cowboy was and for some reason she was withholding that information. Andrea knew Hazel had a penchant for falling for those handsome cowboys and was enough of a confident little flirt to strike up some fun with one, but she’d never minded before. A thought occurred to Hazel as she remembered her friend blushing, and she looked both surprised at the realization and apologetic.

“Oh! Are you two a thing?” Understandably Andrea wouldn’t want Hazel making eyes at him if she was after him.

“What?” Andrea laughed and shook her head. “No.”

“Okay, so what’s wrong with him then?” She was getting suspicious. She narrowed her eyes on him, trying to find the flaw, but just found herself more distracted by how handsome he was. She glanced at his hand, or tried to, but couldn’t see his ring finger from where they were standing. “Is he married?”

“No! Hazel, look. He’s not the kind of guy you’re after. He’s sort of a recluse. He comes out to compete and then disappears after hours instead of spending time hanging out with everyone. I’ve never once seen him with a girl. He’s not like the rest of them, at least from what I’ve seen.”

Now that was surprising. A lot of these cowboys were known to be roaming heart-breakers with a little lady in every town the rodeo made a stop in. That’s what Hazel had been thinking when she’d gotten Andrea to agree to not only bring her to the rodeo, but get her a little bright green paper wristband that’d let her stay once the rodeo wrapped up for the night and the citizens took off, happy and entertained. After her serious, four-year long relationship had ended over half a year ago she was finally ready to get out, but she’d only meant to find herself a good one-night stand. Her heart wasn’t ready to open up to anything more than that.

“What a shame,” she murmured, eyes still on him, “cause he is quite the looker.”

“Adam! Harper’s out, you’re takin’ his spot!” A sudden barking shout from an older, bow-legged cowboy to her right drew his eyes, and when he nodded and lifted a hand to signal he heard and understood, he caught her watching him. His gaze moved from the cowboy to her, lingering a little, and she wished she could tell what he was thinking. Probably: Why the hell is this woman gawking at me?

His frown deepened and then he looked away as one of his friends - a handsome man with a dark beard and his long, equally dark brown hair secured in a ponytail, tucked beneath a black wide-brim cowboy hat - asked him a question. Hazel’s eyes jumped between them for a moment, admiring the view, before Andrea tugged her sleeve.

“Come on, quick gawking. You promised you’d help me work and not spend the entire day ogling cowboys, remember?”

“Oh, right,” Hazel said, dramatically overacting with a heavy sigh, “I did say that. What a bummer.”

“Shut up,” Andrea laughed and pushed Hazel’s arm playfully, to which Hazel gasped in mock offense, which quickly spilled into laughter before she pushed her back, the two turning to walk toward the chutes and figure out where they’d be best helpful. Neither girl saw the blond-haired cowboy, Adam, turn and watch them retreat with a curious, lingering, thoughtful frown across his naturally down-turned brows.

The rest of the afternoon and evening went by rather quickly. In between lending a hand wherever Andrea needed her, the girls propped themselves up on the metal fences and watched the rodeo events take place. It’d been a couple years since Hazel had gone to a proper rodeo, and her heart felt full to experience it all again. Even the way the crowd hollered encouragement for a particularly good ride, or how everyone lingered in groups and their familiar conversations drifted by her ears as she walked past them brought her back home. She’d missed it, every sense of it, and for a good moment during one of the last rides she let herself close her eyes and soak everything in as deep into her skin as she could get. For the most part she’d wanted to find some cute cowboy to hook up with after the show, but in reality she’d needed the entire day spent here more than she realized she would. She’d been away from this world for too long.

Eventually the citizens were gone, the gates were closed and security made their rounds past little encampments where friends had gathered around portable barbecues and bonfires to check and make sure everyone had the wristband saying they could stay. Hazel and Andrea were hanging out with a small group of workers like Andrea who saw to the set-up and tear-down of the chutes and paddocks, the feeding of the animals and the cleaning of their pens, the organizations of the rides and kept the level ground of the arena smooth for each competitor. One of the older men, a veteran of the rodeo, was telling a hilarious story about a mishap with an angry bull when Andrea gently nudged her elbow in Hazel’s side.

“I heard there’s a cowboy who was asking about you,” she whispered suggestively with a little wiggle of her dark, bold brows.

Immediately Hazel thought of him - blond curls, pretty eyes - and her heartbeat increased. She looked hopeful at Andrea. “Was there?”

“Mhm,” she nodded and tipped her beer bottle back, taking a slug and drawing out the anticipation. “One of the Jackson brothers. Matt.”

“Oh,” Hazel’s shoulders dropped as she felt a stab of disappointment that it wasn’t Adam. But then again, what had she been expecting? She’d only ogled him like a weird-o, then made sure to watch his ride and holler for him until she couldn’t breathe, wrapped up in watching him sit through each buck, knees bending in perfect rhythm with every jolting land and upward hop and twist the bronco put him through. He hadn’t even looked twice at her, but she’d hoped…

“Oh?” Andrea blew a breath from her lips and shook her head. “I thought you’d be all over that. He’s exactly your type and,” she tipped her beer bottle with her brows raised, “exactly what you’ve been looking for.”

No strings attached. Just adult fun with no expectations.

“Yeah, no, I am, believe me.” That was the dark-haired bearded cowboy Adam had been talking to. Hazel remembered thinking he was handsome, but she was so distracted by Adam that even in her mind she could barely remember him. “He’s hot. I was just… you know… hoping maybe Adam had said something?” She felt like she sounded pathetic, fishing desperately for some sign he’d thought something of her too.

“Adam? Adam who?” Andrea asked, perplexed.

“The blond haired cowboy we saw first thing today!”

A few curious eyes pulled their way as Hazel talked louder than a whisper, interrupting the old cowboy’s story. He set her with a heavy glare and she sheepishly shrugged her shoulders.

“Sorry!”

“Adam Page?” Andrea asked with a whisper once everyone had gone back to talking, then shook her head. “Honey, no. I told you, he’s not like the other guys around here. You could prowl the entire rodeo grounds tonight and you wouldn’t find him. He never sticks around here. Goes right back to his trailer, keeps his nose clean of trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be trouble,” Hazel retorted with a pout.

“Oh yeah, right.” Andrea snorted and slugged another swallow of beer. “Speaking as a friend that knows you, I’d say go find Matt. He and his brother have a little bonfire on the other side of the grounds, past the corrals. A few of their friends will be there too, so it won’t be too weird for you to drop by.”

“Won’t you come with me?” Hazel asked, frowning.

“Oh, no,” Andrea shook her head quickly, but even by firelight Hazel could swear she saw a little bit of color in her cheeks again.

Andrea was always so busy with work and her four younger siblings that she never found time to date, and normally because she didn’t have the time, she didn’t get boy-crazy the way Hazel always had. It was… interesting to see Andrea a little flustered.

“Alright, spill the beans. Why won’t you come with me to the Jackson brother’s little fire pit?”

Andrea glanced at the people they were sitting with, who were still engrossed in their own stories, and then back at Hazel.

“Hazel, it’s nothing.”

“Unless you tell me the exact reason I’m going to grab you by your wrist and drag you over there with me.”

“Hazel!”

“Don’t test me.”

Andrea groaned and set her beer bottle in the cup-holder of the camping chair so she could bury her face in her hands. “I kind of sort of have a crush on Nick Jackson.”

Nick Jackson, obviously the other half of the Jackson brothers. 

“Really?!” Hazel was so enthralled by the idea of Andrea having a thing for one of the cowboys she immediately wanted to hook them up. “Well, come on! Come with me, come talk to Nick!”

“Hazel, no. I can’t. You know I can’t. I don’t want to do the whole one-night-stand thing with a rodeo cowboy I’ll have to see next time they come into town, and I have too much going on to add an attempt at a long-distance relationship to everything. He’s cute and he makes me feel tongue-tied and stupid when he smiles at me, but that’s just all it’s going to be. You, on the other hand,” she fixed her with a pointed stare, “should go get what you came here for before it’s too late.”

Hazel wanted to drag Andrea with her anyways, just to shove her in front of Nick and let the sparks fly, but she knew her friend and she knew what she said was right. Andrea’s life was already packed and bursting at the seams, the last thing she needed was a romance with one of these rodeo cowboys.

“Okay, I’ll go talk with Matt.” She said as she popped up, “and I’ll make sure to tell Nick you said hi.”

“Hazel!”

She smiled at Andrea’s frustrated, warning tone and gave her a wink before turning and heading off to make the walk across the grounds, past the corrals just outside the touch of the bright stadium lighting. Hazel was used to those kinds of slide-in conversations at these after-hours events. Everyone was everyone’s friend, and if a cowboy had been asking after you, all his attention would be yours the minute you were in that firelight. Honestly, was she really the kind of girl who was going to pine after some guy who wouldn’t give her the time of day or was she going to let loose, be free and have a little bit of fun with a totally handsome, dark-eyed cowboy who definitely wanted her? The decision was too easy to make.

She started to walk across the grounds and could just make out the horses in the pop-up pipe-fence pens, lined in a halo of white from the distant stadium lights. She could hear their soft breathing as she drew closer and the gentle swish of their tails as they flicked away late summer night flies. Her pace decreased until she stopped, turning toward the corral and watching the shape of a large golden palomino mare who dozed on the other side of the little one-horse pen. Noticing eyes on her, the mare's ear twitched and she shifted her weight, opening her dark eyes on Hazel. Her pale lashes looked gilded as they caught the light.

“Hey girl,” Hazel beckoned with a soft clicking under of her tongue, slipping her hand into the pen and holding the back of it out as a greeting. “Aren’t you a pretty thing,” she talked gently, her voice just above a whisper. All the people were far from the pens, set up in little circles around their parked trailers, and their laughter and conversation was a happy, distant noise. It left Hazel feeling as though she were in some hushed, isolated place, somewhere special.

She’d always lived for these moments as a kid, these points in time where it was just her and a horse, and she could talk about everything. The things that she was going through, the dreams she had, or even all the places she’d love to go riding if she ever could.

The mare drew close at the sight of Hazel’s hand and brushed her velvet, whiskered lips over the back of it, huffing a warm breath gently that smelled like sweet hay. Hazel smiled. “Hello, beautiful,” she said, gently turning her hand and letting the mare sniff and lip curiously at it, testing her smell. 

“You have a little snip on your nose!” she exclaimed softly with delight, seeing the oddly shaped little white mark between the mare’s nostrils. 

“When I was a little girl I had an imaginary horse I used to pretend was with me when I ran around, and I always imagined she was a pretty golden palomino with a little white snip on her nose just like you, and one, two,” Hazel scratched beneath the mares chin and leaned to try and count the markings on her legs, “Oh, darn. Almost.” She looked back at the mare’s face and smiled. “My imaginary mare had three socks, but you’ve only got two. Well, you’re still beautiful anyways. Dreams can’t always come true, hm?”

She laughed gently under her breath as the mare stepped closer to the fence, stretching out her neck and as if to offer more areas to scratch. 

“Her name is Dolly.” A warm, low, soft voice nearly startled her, but she kept herself calm so as not to spook the mare. The mare clearly knew this intruder, though, as she swung her head forward and pointed her ears, letting out a loud rumbling whicker in immediate greeting. She forgot all about Hazel’s scratches, clearly too happy to see whoever had joined them. Hazel glanced over her shoulder and saw him - Adam - with his blond curls tucked neatly beneath his wide-brim cowboy hat and a sheepish expression across his face. He almost looked embarrassed to have interjected. “Well, it’s Lil Dun Dolly, officially. But I just call her Dolly.”

“Oh! This is your mare?” She felt her face go hot. He was going to think she’d stopped here on purpose. Probably saw her lingering outside his mare’s pen and wanted to know why the weird-o who’d been staring at him earlier was now bothering his horse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to disturb her.”

“Ah, no, ma’am. It’s no trouble,” he laughed a little weakly and cleared his throat, waving his hand between them, “Dolly doesn’t mind the company.” He glanced at her and almost looked like he wanted to say something else, but lost the courage.

“So uh, how much of our conversation did you hear?” She asked, already cringing a little inside, but when she braved a peek at him, saw he was smiling a sort of lop-sided smile.

“Are you going to be mad at me if I say all of it?” That smile of his seemed to want to stretch a little wider.

“No,” she said, laughing, “but I am going to be embarrassed you heard me telling your horse about the fact that I had an imaginary horse when I was little.”

Adam had walked up to the fence and leaned on it while they talked, cheating his body toward her and glancing down beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. She could just barely make out the sinful blue-green of his eyes with the way the shadows and light played on either side of his bearded face. Dolly abandoned her interest in Hazel and was now affectionately lipping at the folds in his shirt with the arm he had leaning on the fence, clearly happy to have him in reach. He reached over and affectionately rubbed his palm over the bridge of her nose and up her forehead before he started talking again.

“Mine was a little bay paint.” He said, and she frowned at him, confused by what he meant. “My imaginary horse I had when I was little? It was a bay paint with a big white spot across it’s chest and one over its haunches. I called him Bandit. What’d you name yours?”

She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, pushing high into her round cheeks. She wanted to worry over the way her heart started beating a little faster, but she couldn’t be bothered, trapped in those pretty, bright eyes of his. “Her name was Honey.”

“Honey, that’s a good name for an imaginary horse.”

“So is Bandit.”

They smiled at each other for a minute too long before they seemed to realize it, both clearing their throats and trying to jump into a different conversation, cheeks hot. They laughed awkwardly and Hazel shook her head. A change of conversation was probably for the best, so she grabbed at the first topic she could think of.

“I saw your run earlier, by the way. You were impressive! The way you sat that bronc despite his best effort to throw you was honestly amazing.”

He looked flattered and it endeared her how humble he was. Most cowboys at his level soaked in whatever adoration they could get. Damnit! Couldn’t he do something to make her not like him? This was becoming unfair. 

“Ah, I owe most of it to that little firecracker I was riding,” he said, patting his hand against his mare’s muscled neck and gently ruffling her cream-white mane. “I’ve ridden him a couple times at past rodeos, but he was on something else tonight. He helped me get that good score.” 

“Oh stop being so humble,” she laughed and rolled her eyes, “any cowboy or cowgirl who competes in the rodeo knows it’s the animal, the rider, and the rider’s understanding of that animal and their communication that makes the ride. No matter which sport it is. It’s about how you work as a team, you know?”

He was looking at her with an expression she’d describe as surprised understanding, like she’d just said something he thought of as important, too. Like they shared the same understanding of something a lot of people took at face value. 

“Yeah… it’s... exactly that,” he stumbled over. “I haven’t seen you around before, how do you know so much about the rodeo?”

She felt her cheeks get hot and shrugged, choosing to look at Dolly just as an excuse to not see him looking at her like that. “I did some barrel racing a few times in my late teens and very early twenties.”

“You did?” He said with delighted surprise.

“Yeah! It wasn’t anything huge, just locals, qualifiers, and a few state shows. But I always enjoyed it.”

“Why’d you stop?”

She hesitated. “It’s… complicated.” Her eyes lifted slowly and apologetic to his. “Sorry,” she started, trying to explain it wasn’t something she talked about with practical strangers, but he held out a hand as if to stop her and gave his head a little shake.

“You don’t have to say any more.” He assured her, “I’m sorry if I touched a sore spot.”

“It’s okay,” she noticed the way his brows tilted downward a little harder than they were naturally set and it tugged at her heartstrings in a way she wasn’t ready for. “I don’t tell many people about that, actually. Although it figures that my rodeo past would come up at a rodeo though, so that’s kind of on me.” She laughed, and he grinned a little deeper.

“Man,” he said and sucked air through his teeth. When she looked at him he shook his head in disappointment. “I can’t believe you missed the opportunity to tell me this ain’t your first rodeo.”

For a drawn out second she just stared at him - the way a half-smile hung on his lips, just showing those slightly imperfect teeth; the way his eyes hung on her face, hoping she thought the silly joke was as funny as he did; the way one blond brow quirked higher than the other; the way that smile inevitably deepened as a couple more seconds crawled past. 

And then, she laughed and shook her head. “I can’t believe you just made that silly of a joke.”

“Believe it,” he laughed and shrugged, warm southern accent merrily heavy as he talked. “I didn’t become a rodeo competitor to shy away from making rodeo-specific jokes whenever and wherever I can.”

“So that’s why you decided to compete in rodeos for a living, huh? Not the thrill of the sport, not because you’re good at it, not for the money…”

“Nope! Just the jokes.”

They laughed together in gentle breaths, their smiles still on their mouths by the time it stopped. She knew then exactly how dangerous this was for her. She needed to excuse herself and step away, because there was something between them that made her nervous and excited and painfully hopeful. Hopeless, more like. Everyone knew rodeo cowboys didn’t settle down; they traveled the road over half the year during the season and went from town to town, never too far from a pretty doe-eyed cowgirl in denim she’d cut into too-short Daisy Duke’s. After what Hazel had just gone through, the last thing she could afford was catching feelings for a rodeo cowboy.

“I should probably um-”

“Hey, would you like to-” 

They had started talking at the same time and talked over each other, sharing an awkward laugh before he cleared his throat and tipped his head toward her with a smile. “Please, ladies first.”

“No.” She said it a little too breathlessly and cleared her throat when he looked at her with a curious expression. “Please, I want to hear what you were going to say.” 

Carelessly, she mentally shut off the alarm bells blaring in her head and refocused on him. 

“I was going to ask if you wanted to walk with me? I kinda like walking the corrals away from everyone at night. I normally do it alone but, if,” he glanced at her as if asking permission even as the next words tumbled out of his mouth, “if you wanted to, I’d like your company.”

“Yes!” She said, almost too quick, and then blushed and shook her head, heating up clear to her crown with embarrassment for how eager she’d just obviously been. “Sorry - erm - I mean yeah. That’d be cool, I guess.” 

When her eyes darted to him, she saw he was fighting a grin. He jerked his head to the side and turned, starting to walk down the fence line. She fell in step beside him and for a moment they shared the quiet together. The crickets chirped in the tall grass outside the dirt grounds; the horses snorted and swished their tails, some of them lifting their heads and watching them curiously; the cattle flicked their ears and huddled close together, moving as a group wherever they went.

“What was your run when you were competing in barrels?”

Of course he’d ask a rodeo related question to break the ice and figure out what they should talk about. Typical cowboy.

“My mare ran between 18.3 and 19 seconds. My gelding was a little slower, he normally clocked solid 20.”

Adam sucked in a breath and released it slow, brows raised, he tilted his head toward her and appeared impressed. “Those are some good times.”

“Not World Championship times, a few seconds off, but yeah, I did pretty good in my local and state classes.” Wanting to shift the attention off herself and back onto him before he asked a question she wasn’t comfortable answering, she decided she’d throw a rodeo question his way. “So why bronc riding?”

He glanced at her a little sheepishly.

“Come on! Why bronc riding?”

“It’s just you have to really know a horse well when you’re riding them as they buck. It becomes a kind of dance; you need to anticipate every move, where that horse is going to shift its weight, making sure you’re as fluid with it as you can be so you don’t get dislodged. It’s about precision and timing, nothing can be off. It’s a constant attempt to achieve perfection in a narrow time window and it’s just you and that horse. You have to trust yourself to understand those animals so you can do it exactly right and not get yourself hurt, either.”

“Wow.” She was stunned, genuinely, and she wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t unheard of for a cowboy to talk so highly and credit the animals he competed with, but there was something about the way passion bled into Adam’s voice the more he tried to break it down that really got her. “You really love doing this, don’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?” He laughed, and she decided she definitely liked the way a smile looked on his face. 

“I love it,” she said, and tried not to pay attention to the way that made him grin a little more, scuffing the toe of his boot against the hard packed dirt ground they walked. “So why trailer in Dolly if you don’t compete in a sport you need your horse at?”

“Sometimes I help pick up, if something happens and they need someone to step in and help. Dolly’s been doing it for years and she’s a great little pick up mare, never lets the excitement from the broncs or the bulls rile her up.”

The cowboys who did picking up were the ones who rode in at the end of the eight second ride to offer a horse for the cowboy to safely jump off and onto. They’d take the rider away from the bucking roughstock and somewhere they could safely dismount and await their score. That required a sound horse who’d listen to its rider and not get carried away with the spirit and herd mentality of another horse kicking its heels up or a bull twisting and threatening to charge with angry snorts. Telling a horse to run toward another horse that was bucking like that was a whole other ordeal. Those cowboys needed people they could trust, and it said a lot that Adam paid the extra gas to haul a trailer and dealt with loading and unloading his mare here just in case he was needed.

“Plus,” he concluded, and looked almost a little sheepish, “I like having her company.”

“You really have to stop being so cute.” The words were out of her mouth before she could think about the consequences, and he laughed. If not for the shadow beneath his wide-brim hat and the gentle haze of darkness they walked through, she thought she might have seen him blushing.

“Ah,” he rubbed at the back of his neck and stopped in his tracks, making her stop a second later and turn to face him, her head tilting curiously as she looked up at him. He knocked the brim of his hat back so it sat more slanted on his curls and let her see that handsome, blond bearded face more clearly, lit in gentle white-blue from the distant haze of the stadium lights. It caught one side of his face more than the other, and his eyes were such a dark, pretty grey-green that she bet they’d have her heart doing somersaults over how pretty they were in the daylight. 

“Look, I don’t normally do this, but,” he started, pausing a little between his words, struggling to get out what he wanted to say. Her heart increased its beat, racing with anticipation, her full lips fell apart in a gentle break to let her suck in a sharp breath of air. His eyes fell dark down to them and he trailed off, looking intently. She was dizzy. Was he going to kiss her? Oh God, he was going to kiss her. 

Please, she thought, kiss me. 

No, she groaned inwardly, don’t kiss me! 

If he kissed her, she wasn’t sure she could keep fighting off the chemistry that was obviously between them, and something was telling her it would hurt a little bit to see this one leave her bed in the morning and never call again.

He started to lean in. She caught her breath.

“Hey, Page! Finally coming to hang out with us or what?”

They both jumped apart and looked with wild eyes on the cowboy standing a few paces behind Adam, who must’ve just walked up from the glowing orange fire pit set up near the trailer at his back. She didn’t recognize him immediately, but Adam clearly did. 

“Hey Nick, actually, I-” Adam had turned his body a little to answer Nick, and when he did it revealed her standing near him.

“Oh jeez,” said Nick, blinking, the wide happy smile he’d been wearing slipping away almost immediately, “I hope I didn’t just interrupt something.”

“No!”

“Nope!”

They were both too quick and too eager to jump in and defend themselves, as if they hadn’t just been seconds away from giving in to temptation.

“You didn’t interrupt anything,” she said, rushed, and tried to ignore the way Adam’s eyes shot back over her, and how he took a small step away, as if her words had repelled him back. She wished she could explain it, that it wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him, but that she knew better than to. That she was guarded against any kind of hurt right now, even something as little as regretting the cold space that’d be on his side of the bed by the time she woke up the next morning.

“Right,” something in his tone told her Nick wasn’t buying it from either of them, and when she pulled her eyes away from Adam and looked at him, noticed he seemed to be struggling to keep from grinning again. Her cheeks felt hot. 

“Well, things have wound down a little bit, but Kenny’s still hanging out and we’ve got food and drinks leftover if you guys want. Well,” he shrugged and held up his palms, stepping back as if to physically excuse himself from their space, “I mean, you guys probably want to get back to whatever you were doing out here all alone, so…” Did she sense a sort of mischievousness in his tone? Was he teasing them? Maybe she should have brought Andrea and sent her ahead to keep him occupied so he wouldn’t have interrupted them.

“No,” Adam was the one who spoke up this time, but he wasn’t looking at her. “I’d love to come hang out.”

“Really?” Nick said, “huh. That’ll be a first.”

He was definitely poking fun at Adam in the same way you’d tease a good friend. It occurred to her that if Andrea, someone who worked the rodeo grounds when they came into town, knew that Adam was the type to be a loner, the friends he had would know it even more. What had Nick thought when he’d seen that Adam was with her? Was he surprised? Glad that Adam wasn’t alone for once? Did he even care?

Adam shot him a glare she just caught as they started towards him, to which Nick bit into his wide grin and turned away, leading them both back toward the nearby fire with camping chairs strewn in a haphazard half-circle around it. She bit into the inside of her lip to keep from smiling, not wanting to give away that she’d seen the interaction between them and fought the urge to playfully bump her hip into Adam’s. The warm glow of the crackling fire and the light laughs and conversation grew louder as they came close.

“Found a couple wanderers near the corrals,” Nick announced as he made his way back to an empty chair, flopping unceremoniously down into it and grabbing a can of diet coke from a nearby ice chest. It made a soft pop as he cracked it, and Adam and Hazel were left staring at the little group.

“Adam!” Said a man with surprised delight. He was sitting in the chair beside the one Nick had sat down in, and made it look tiny by his mass alone. Even beneath his purple checkered pearl snap, she could see how big his arms and chest were. He wasn’t wearing a hat, though he must’ve been all day, as his tight wound dirty-blond curls had a slight crimp from where the band had sat. He had eyes a more vivid, concise blue than Adam’s could be. They were so blue that she could tell even in the orange glow of the fire. “Who’s your friend?” He asked, turning a politely curious eye and friendly smile on her.

“Oh,” Adam started and glanced at her, slight smile on the edge of his mouth before he looked back, “this is-”

“There you are Hazel. I was beginning to worry you weren’t going to come after all.” Matt Jackson had walked from around the trailer, chewing gum, returning and eyes all hers, not having noticed he interrupted Adam talking. His attention absorbed Hazel, like a dog trained on a scent, he wasn’t going to give up until his paws were on her. She’d seen that look before on a man, and normally it excited her, especially a man as handsome as Matt was. Alright, maybe it still excited her a little (she was only human), but Adam shifted ever so slightly beside her and she felt the change in the air around them and watched as Matt’s eyes jerked from her to him, and he looked genuinely shocked.

“Page?! Finally decided to be social, huh?” His smile showed teeth. “That’s great! Sit down and hang with us.” He waved toward an empty chair near Kenny, who was watching the three of them with a curious eye.

Matt’s attention was hers again, those brown eyes dark as sin, smile just the right level of smug that made her palm itch to slap it and grab desperate around his shoulders to pull him down into a passionate, heated, dizzying kiss. To spell it out in one word, Matt Jackson was one-hundred percent certifiable, damningly handsome trouble. It was the kind she’d been initially looking for, the perfect distraction from her broken heart… So why was her smile a little pained? Why did she want to turn toward Adam and ask where he was planning to sit so she could sit with him, put her hand on his arm, do something to let him know the only place she wanted to be was back to where they were? Why the fuck did it matter? He was just a guy; a guy who was trouble in a different way. That kind of trouble that meant broken hearts and burning aches in your chest for days; that kind of trouble was exactly what she was running away from.

Matt had moved closer to her while she was thinking, and she snapped out of it when his hand waved in front of her. He laughed softly, as though finding her momentary lapse in concentration adorable. Assuming she was so taken away with seeing him again and knowing he’d wanted her, she’d had her feet knocked right out from under her.

“Earth to Hazel!” He said, smiling. “Come on,” his head jerked toward a pair of chairs on the opposite side of the fire. Still a part of the group, but paired off a little separately. “I saved you the best seat in the house, right next to me.” He said, a grin growing before he winked.

Pretentious, egotistical prick. She nearly snorted. Fuck, he’s hot. 

But she managed to pull her eyes away, intending to make eye contact with Adam and get help on what she was supposed to say here. Only… she didn’t meet Adam’s eyes. He had turned away from her and was already edging around the fireside to join Kenny and Nick opposite of where Matt was. He’d walked off without even waiting for her, or waiting to see what she’d say to Matt. 

Hazel sucked back a sharp stab of disappointment and mentally chided herself immediately thereafter. What a fool. Just because he was cute and she was sure they’d been about to kiss didn’t mean anything. A momentary lapse in judgement where he’d been about to kiss her didn’t mean anything if there wasn’t going to be any follow-up. If he was willing to fold at the first sign of another man’s interest, it wasn’t worth her getting hung up on either.

But maybe she was being a little childish and spiteful when she turned a charming smile back toward Matt and made sure to speak loud enough that Adam would hear her, saying, “I’d be happy to sit with you!” She put a bright smile on her face she didn’t necessarily feel, and looked up beneath her mascara-curled lashes as she bit into the corner of her grin to match his smirk.

They sat in the two camping chairs, pointed inward toward one another, though hers damnably kept Adam in her sights too, just beyond Matt. She could avoid looking his way, she thought, focusing on Matt’s smile and his appreciative dark eyes, wondering what the hell was wrong with her that she’d waste her chance for some fun with a guy this handsome over one she barely knew.

“You seem to know your way around a rodeo, huh?” Matt asked her, chewing thoughtfully on his gum after pushing his hat back on his head so the firelight would catch his face and reflect the warmth and hunger that was in his eyes. His long dark hair was tied back, a few wispy strands caught the soft night breeze and stirred. She wondered what it looked like down, around his shoulders, curtaining his face.

“Do I?” She asked him, and remembered how she’d told Adam about her former barrel racing days. She didn’t volunteer that information here.

“You do,” he said, and reached lazily between them to tap a long finger playfully on her knee. An excuse to touch her. “You don’t seem that green to me, little filly.”

Alright, maybe she swooned a little bit at that, and maybe the smile on her mouth was a little more honest than before, and maybe her focus sharpened on Matt and Adam became a soft, firelit blur of pinks and blues and golden blond in the background. She laughed and didn’t notice the way Adam stiffened at the sound, and how his eyes shot fast over to see her grinning at Matt, and Matt’s finger on her knee. She didn’t see Nick frown and glance between herself, his brother, and Adam. She didn’t notice any of it but Matt. There was something… commanding about his charm.

“Well, you haven’t even tried to ride yet, cowboy. You don’t know how hard I can buck.”

The smile he wore stretched wide enough it showed his teeth. Endearingly she noticed his bottom teeth were crooked; it softened her to see something human peek through what had so far only been arrogance wrapped in a damningly handsome package. A little imperfection. Cute. He laughed loud at that, too, and his brows shot up with surprise.

“Alright!” He laughed again and his hand smoothed over her knee. It’s weight was heavy with intent, and warm.

Adam came a little more into focus past him. She could see how he tilted his head toward them. Was he listening?

“Do you have any experience riding a wild filly? Can you manage to stay on?” She barely managed to get the words out, and she wished she was looking into those soft grey-green-blue eyes, and that she’d get to see the wrinkles push up his hat when his eyebrows shot up after she got the words out. She wondered what sweet-seeming Adam was like when faced with bold, flirtatious advantages. Instead, she refocused on Matt, and she saw the self-assured expression cross his face at her tease. He slid his fingers off her knee and leaned back in the chair, gesturing down at himself.

“You’re talking to the top number one PRCA Team Roping Header champion, sweetheart.” He scoffed playfully, jokingly offended she’d question his skills. She wished she didn’t feel the need to press her thighs together and adjust her seat, or the way she wanted to take in a sudden, sharp breath when his eyes pinned hers. What was it about a cocky man that made something inside her come alive? That’s why he was fun to play with, but she’d never make the mistake of dating someone like him. That ego was fun in small bursts, but too much was liable to get you burned.

Somehow she managed to cover the jolt of attraction with a soft laugh and a jerk upward of one of her brows. She knew she was smiling too much into her words and couldn’t stop herself. “A roper? That doesn’t tell me you can ride a bucking horse, cowboy. Maybe I should go find myself a champion bronc rider, then I’ll be sure he’ll stick the ride.” 

And she hoped Adam was eavesdropping and heard her say it, but she couldn’t look away from Matt to check.

Something in that dangerous look that flashed dark in his eyes told her he caught on to exactly what she was trying to do and say. It was a challenge, and she was quickly learning Matt was the type of man to grab on to a challenge with everything he had. He had a boldness that matched hers, and it invited her to play along. They continued to flirt and talk, weaving around and through topics, using little chances here and there to lay a hand on an arm, or a knee. She danced a dance she knew well, avoiding giving pieces of herself away she assumed a man like him wouldn’t actually care about. He was just trying to get into her pants, not her heart. 

That was a good thing, she reminded herself, once again trying to resist the urge to let her eyes find Adam. They’d made eye contact by accident a few times that night as she talked with Matt, both catching the other trying to sneak a glance and looking away just as quickly. Matt had noticed a time or two as well, but he never made a comment or said a thing. Instead, they kept talking, kept flirting, and eventually got on the topic of his recent, most impressive roping championship run.

“That’s where I won this buckle,” he said, tapping the shiny, gold-filigree decorated silver buckle with it’s bold writing proclaiming him as champion of that specific rodeo.

“Is there a replay of the run?” Hazel asked curiously, wanting to see the way he and his brother worked in-tandem to rope a calf in less than six seconds.

“Yeah,” he said, and pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped away, and she used the chance to look at Adam. He wasn’t paying attention to her this time, but was nodding and talking to Nick, moving his hands. Expressive. Nick had his hat in his lap and was stretched out, boots propped on the ice chest the sodas had been. He was nodding in agreement. She blinked, watching Adam’s hands… and then Matt leaned over to show her the clip and drew her sharply back to him. Suddenly, with his free hand he reached up, fingers skimming her cheek as he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

“Sorry,” he’d breathed softly near her when her eyes darted to him and she noticed how close they were. She’d barely have to move to put her lips on his darkly bearded cheek.

“No you’re not,” she said.

“No, I’m not.” He agreed, and she noticed his eyes had fallen to her lips, which ached and wanted all at once after having been denied earlier.

“Alright, I’m going to call it quits.” It was Kenny speaking up and moving out of the chair that made her jump and glance toward the rest of the group. He somehow came across as even larger when he got out of it, and she briefly wondered what the hell his workout routine was like. It was then she noticed the light had died down, the fire was burned to coals glowing a soft orange-red among the black. It’d be safe to put out, clean up, and leave. Nick had popped up as Kenny edged around the fire, and was starting to grab up empty soda cans and whatever other trash they had to throw out. They made quick work of taking care of things before she could even offer.

“I’m heading out too,” Adam volunteered quickly and without a glance in her direction. “Night guys, see y’all in the morning.” He didn’t linger, lifting his hand in a slight, dismissive wave before he took off and didn’t let his eyes touch her again. He was avoiding acknowledging her existence entirely. Where did that nice, genuine sweetheart go that he’d been earlier? The one that’d made her heart skip in a way it never had, not even with her recent ex. 

The way Adam was treating her stung, and she was, yet again, angry that it did. He’d chickened out of making the move on her and let Matt step in. That was on him. It wasn’t her fault and she didn’t deserve to be treated like shit for getting attention from someone who wanted her and was willing to do something about it. She didn’t deserve to feel guilty for flirting with Matt.

That’s what she told herself as she watched Adam disappear into the night.

“I’m going to get a ride back with Kenny,” Nick said as she and Matt stood up from their chairs and started folding them, helping each other shove them into the canvas bags and handing them toward Kenny’s outstretched hand.

“Alright,” Matt nodded, “see you guys in the morning.” 

Today had been the qualifying runs, tomorrow they’d have to compete with the best in their sport to try and win both the purse and the added points to keep them at the top of the yearly rankings.

“Nice meeting you, Hazel.” Nick smiled kindly, and Kenny bobbed his head of curls in her direction with a smaller, shyer smile before slinging three of the canvas bags with camping chairs on his back and grabbing up the ice chest in the other. Nick grabbed the other ice chest and the remaining two chairs, leaving nothing for her and Matt to take back but themselves.

“You too!” She said politely in return, and then they left and it was just she and Matt, completely alone.

“You want to come back to my hotel room?” The blatant invitation was asked without hesitation, wasting little time, and the look on Matt’s face was unmistakable. He’d reached out between them and grabbed one of her hands to pull her body in a little closer to his, and she realized the calloused pad of his thumb was gently skimming her skin and making goosebumps rise up along her arm. Her heart even started beating a little faster in her chest, making her pulse jump.

So why wasn’t the obvious answer so… obvious? Why did she look in the face of that handsome man she’d been flirting and talking to for hours and not find the word yes leaping off her tongue? 

“I-” she struggled with the hesitation, and a slight frown disrupted the predatory expression he wore. She saw confusion, and knew he had every right to be. Up until this point she’d been giving him every sign that he would have her in his hotel bed with her feet pointed up to heaven by the end of the night. “I want to say yes…”

“But…?” he volunteered softly, watching her. There was something suddenly gentle there in those brown eyes and across his face. It made something stir in her. Something she’d been reminding herself all day and all night to be wary of.

“I’m in a weird place right now,” she felt guilty, like she’d led him on, and hated that she did, immediately jumping to explain herself in a rush. “I was in a relationship for a long time and our break-up has me kind of messed up, I thought it’d been enough time and I could just have some fun but, I’m just… struggling. I’m so sorry Matt.” 

“You don’t have to apologize to me.” He sounded even more confused that she had, and chuckled softly just once before giving her hand a little comforting squeeze. “I’m not pissed at you just because you don’t want to fuck me.” He laughed a little dryly and shook his head. “Come on, let me walk you to your car sweetheart.”

He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Okay,” she said, and tried to shrug away the anxiety that told her somewhere, deep down, he probably was. He just didn’t want to be an asshole, so he’d said that to make her feel better. He’d probably noticed how many times she was paying attention to Adam instead of him.

After a lengthy period of silence filled only by their boots scraping the packed dirt ground, Matt tugged her gently by their joined hands, pulling her off balance to crash lightly into his body.

“Hey!” She said in surprise, jerked out of the anxiety spiral her thoughts were becoming, blinking rapidly at him.

He was grinning.

“Earth to Hazel,” he said, echoing that same phrase he’d had to use to pull her out of her thoughts earlier. They didn’t even know each other, how did he know to do that? 

“Sorry, I’m such a basketcase today, I swear I’m not normally like this.” She shook her head and rolled her eyes, exasperated with how much she was struggling.

“Aw, you’re fine.” He reassured and smiled at her. “Get out of your head, wild filly.”

Butterflies in her stomach at that little pet name he’d decided on after their earlier conversation and she blushed, looking away from him to gather her thoughts on a safer topic. She was thankful she saw her vehicle and could avoid answering altogether. “That one’s mine,” she said, pointing toward the little bright blue Ford Ranger waiting in the dimly stadium-lit field where they’d been parking cars throughout the day. They walked toward it, just a few paces away.

“I didn’t think you drove a truck.”

“I mean,” she laughed, “does a Ranger really count as a truck?”

He laughed and pulled her to a stop beside her truck, turning her to face him. He still held her hand and grinned down at her. “I was right. This definitely ain’t your first rodeo.”

And just like that, she remembered Adam’s joke, the same one he’d made earlier when she’d talked about her past. She hadn’t told Matt about that. She inhaled a sharp breath and blinked, but Matt was leaning in, pulling her close, and pressing his mouth hot against hers. And her lips were moving, forming to his, opening, her tongue prying at his mouth, his sliding into hers. And he was pushing her up against the side of her truck, jean-trapped cock rubbing against her thigh as she opened her legs to give him better access. And his breath was a hot hiss of air from his nose, and his beard scratched her skin as he moved his mouth hungrily over hers. His hands pinched her waist hard, trapping her at the angle he wanted to fit best between her legs. She spread them wider, and he dipped, fitting his hips up so he could rub the swollen, hard lump of his need and want more firmly against her. The pressure just barely teased her, enough to make a needy, whiny moan crawl up from her lungs and push desperate into his mouth.

He pulled his mouth off of her like he’d had to be forcibly removed, his arms shaking, fingers curled tight around her hips, hard enough she wouldn’t be surprised to see little finger-print shaped bruises on her skin later on. He tried to laugh, but was too breathless to do even that, and he hadn’t moved his body away from hers. He was struggling, trying to catch his composure.

“Sorry,” he said, and flashed his eyes toward her, “I just… meant to kiss you. I didn’t mean to get carried away.”

“No, it’s okay,” her voice barely had any volume to it and she was dizzy. Her lips were tingling and the breath she sucked in with need tasted like him. Like the faint mint from his gum.

“You are something else,” he murmured in a warm breath, grunting as he seemed to all but force himself to step off of her, peeling his weight away from her and letting her settle flat on her feet again. The night felt so much colder, all of the sudden. Her hips ached pleasurably where he’d been holding her. She flushed under the compliment, and the stare in his eyes that was still eating her up. It was killing him not to take her back to his hotel room, but he wasn’t going to cross that line again unless she gave him the invitation. 

“You too, cowboy.” She said, and her voice sounded dazed. Her blood was rushing in her ears.

“Drive home safe now, alright?” He said, and his hand moved at his side, like he’d wanted to reach out and grab her again but had to remind himself not to. It fell back down again.

“Okay,” she said, heart aching suddenly, confused on why she was still deciding not to say fuck it and throw caution to the wind. She pushed herself off her truck and turned to fish her keys out of her pocket. She’d turned it in the lock to pop the door open when Matt spoke up behind her.

“Actually, can I get your number? You can text me when you get home so I know you’re alright?”

It was a cute, classic excuse to hide the real reason he wanted her number, but she didn’t mind. She assumed he likely wanted to have her number on hand in case another rodeo brought him close enough to justify them meeting up and, maybe, he’d get lucky to actually sleep with her the next time they did. It wouldn’t surprise her and she wasn’t offended, in fact… she was more than interested. If he got her that crazy just kissing her up against her little truck… Wow.

“Yeah,” she said and smiled so he’d know she knew what it was about. She didn’t expect good morning texts and long conversations late into the night. She tugged her phone out of her pocket and pulled up her contact screen, passing the phone to him as she pulled her truck door open and hopped into the cab. He finished typing his information in by the time she turned to look at him. Matt extended her phone toward her with one hand, and leaned his forearm on the roof of her truck with the other.

When she grabbed the other end of her phone, he didn’t let it go. Instead he dipped down, and he pulled her toward him (though really she leaned up of her own volition) so their lips could meet for another kiss. He started to press in hard, to smear his lips against hers, the energy building back up inside him again, and pulled back with a sharp inhale. He released a slow breath through his nose, lips pressed together as he looked down at her.

“Are you planning on coming back tomorrow?” He asked, voice warm and smooth, his finger skimming her jawline after he let her take her phone back, thumb resting at her chin and keeping her face pointed up at him. Tingles spread from his touch. “I’d love to know there’s a pretty little thing like you in the audience cheering as me and my brother win the championship.”

There it was, that big ego that was all too natural and he couldn’t help flex with such confident casualness and a knowing grin shortly after. He might as well have winked when he took his fingers away from her chin. She playfully pushed her hand lightly into his chest as if to shove him off her truck, and he stumbled back.

“What makes you so sure you’re going to win?” She teased, pushing the key into the ignition and turning it over to start the engine. He flattened his hand on her still-open driver’s side door.

“Oh please,” he laughed and rolled his eyes. “Tomorrow night,” he tapped the belt buckle that currently clasped the belt slung through his Wrangler’s belt-loops. “I’ll have a shiny new buckle on my belt.” 

He was so matter-of-fact about it, she didn’t question that he was probably right. He slid his hand down her driver’s side door and slowly started to close it, but before he was shut out, he arched a brow beneath the shade of his hat.

“So, am I going to see you cheering me on tomorrow?” Something hung in his tone. Something that told her he actually cared if she’d be there or not. Funny… but she decided to not let herself wonder about it for too long.

Her smile pushed high into her cheeks. “Yeah,” she said with a nod, “I’ll be there to cheer you and your brother on tomorrow.”

“Good girl,” he murmured, and she suddenly felt dizzy all over again. 

He gave her that damnable wink, as though he knew the exact effect he’d had, with a smile pushing a little higher into one side of his bearded cheek than the other, and gently closed her truck door, stepping back to watch her drive away and giving her a wave in the rearview mirror.

**********

She chucked her keys on the side table, pushed the door shut behind her and half stumbled, half kicked off her boots as soon as she got home. The scrabbling of dog nails on hardwood from the kitchen alerted her that her two golden retrievers, Callahan and Carson, were about to rush around the corner to greet her. Hazel pulled her phone out of her pocket, typing across the touchscreen with one hand as the pups came panting and wagging their entire bodies, dancing and prancing around her, pressing their nose to her clothes and demanding attention for having left them alone all day.

“Alright, alright!” She laughed gently as they pushed at her, and abandoned finishing the text message to give them affection and apologize for not being able to take them to the rodeo. They followed her as she made her way down the hall and toward the master bedroom and adjoining bathroom. She finished typing the text message and hit send.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON Made it home in one piece!

She gently tossed the phone atop the fluffy comforter that lay over her bed, letting it land with a soft thud. It chimed with a returned text message as she rummaged through her drawers just as Callahan and Carson jumped up onto the mattress, flopping down with huffs. Carson perked his ears and glanced toward the phone as it buzzed again, then glanced over at her.

“I’ll look at it in a minute, Carson.” She chided, unbuttoning her long sleeve shirt and pulling it off, unclasping her bra and barely suppressing the relieved moan as she took it off. She slipped a soft, large shirt over her head, it’s hem just brushing her mid thigh. She unbuttoned and stepped out of her jeans, tugged off her socks and padded barefoot to the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash the rodeo dust off her face.

And of course Callahan and Carson got a few more cuddles before she finally reached for her phone and swiped to see Matt’s reply.

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON Glad to hear it. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.

She smiled and reached to flick off the lamp on the side table, typing away into the white-blue glow of the phone screen.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON In case I’m too busy working and don’t see you before your run, good luck!

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON Didn’t we already discuss that I don’t need luck, because I’m definitely winning? Anyways, hope I do get to catch you before the run, I’d hate to not get a little good luck kiss.

At that she rolled her eyes, but pressed the button to give a “heart” reaction on his text.

TEXT TO: MATT JACKSON Goodnight, cowboy. Rest up. 💗

TEXT FROM: MATT JACKSON You too, wild filly. ❤️

**********

The second day went by quicker than the first. Maybe it was because they were busier, with more people to watch the championship runs than had come for the qualifiers. Maybe it was because she threw herself wholeheartedly into her work to keep her distracted so her wandering eyes wouldn’t pull toward every blond haired cowboy she saw out of her peripherals.

Not that she had to worry. Either Adam was avoiding her, or there were just too many people to single him out, because even ducking along the chutes and helping sort and load the roughstock for the upcoming rides, she didn’t catch sight of him once. She thought it was peculiar, especially given that she crossed paths with Matt and his brother Nick at least four times that day, and had even run into Kenny once.

But never Adam.

“Ash! Give us a hand!” A shout from Andrea distracted her, and she shook her head as she glanced down the lane of pipe-fencing. “Stand by that gate,” Andrea pointed at a gate near her, “and swing it shut as soon as we push Bueno away from Brisket! Don’t let Brisket bully by you, cause he’ll try!”

They were trying to separate two of the bucking horses in the pen, Bueno, a big seal bay gelding, needed to be sent down the lane to the chutes where he’d get tacked up for the ride, but Brisket, the dun bay, needed to stay in the pens behind. Brisket was running as though stuck to Bueno’s side, as if he knew they were trying to separate them and he wasn’t interested in doing so.

Andrea and the young volunteer that’d stepped up to help her shouted and raised their hands, sending the big horses thundering in bouncing trots toward her. They were picking up their gait, coming faster. Hazel planted her boots firm and lifted her chin, getting ready to spook Brisket so he’d turn about, but keep Bueno running forward. However, as they got near, Brisket pinned his ears and lurched toward where she was standing, lips peeled and flat, yellow teeth showing.

“Hey!” She shouted, jumping back to keep from getting snapped by the grumpy horse, though, at the same time someone else shouted loud over her.

Whoever it was reached to wave a hat over her head, spooking Brisket into pulling his gait up and jerking his head upwards over his withers, ears flat and eyes rolling white. It had the needed effect, as Bueno jolted forward down the lane he was meant to go and Brisket back-stepped and turned about, releasing an angry, loud snort as the gate closed and he didn’t get his way. Whoever behind her had scared Brisket off swung the gate shut, and the automatic lock secured it.

“You alright?” He said.

She glanced toward the familiar voice and found herself trapped in pretty eyes that looked more blue than green today, framed by gold ring-curls that had a soft impression from the hat he’d taken off to shake in the horse’s direction. The mid-afternoon sun was beating down and made his hair look as though it were gilded, like he was some creature of heaven. She could have rolled her eyes at how stupidly romantic that thought was. He raised a hand to shake through his hair and set his hat back on his head, frowning with concern down at her.

“Adam,” She said his name on a breath, exhaling slowly, her entire body suddenly on fire, standing so close to him. She blinked, and her brain caught up through the surprise at seeing him to remember he’d asked her a question. Heat flushed her cheeks immediately. “Uhm, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. He didn’t get me, just tried to intimidate me. I don’t even think he was going to bite.” She glanced toward Brisket, who was being guided back through the lanes toward the holding pen where he’d wait for Bueno’s return, his ears perked and posture far less aggressive than before.

“Glad you’re safe.” Adam’s tone was dismissive and she whipped her head around to see him turning away, planning to walk off.

“Adam, wait-” She said it before she knew what she was going to say next. Adam paused and looked at her, though she could easily tell he didn’t actually want to. “I didn’t sleep with Matt last night.” She blurted it out and immediately felt embarrassed. Heat crawled up her neck and flushed her cheeks as she fought to keep looking at him and not fall to the cowardice that wanted her eyes at his boots instead.

A look crossed over his face, but before she could wonder what it meant, it was gone and a polite expression was in its place. Despite his cordial look, his voice that’d been honey warm the night before was cold when he spoke, and it sliced right through her. “That’s not really any of my business.” And I don’t care, seemed implied. He reached up to pinch the brim of his hat and tip it to her. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Baker.” 

Miss Baker, now. No longer Hazel. 

Those eyes lingered on her a second more, and then he turned away and walked off to prepare his bronc rope and get ready for his ride, his shoulders tense and back a little hunched.

She was hurt by his dismissal, and she was angry that she was hurt. What was he supposed to have done? Walk over and kiss her? Admit that he’d been jealous and that he wanted her? 

Yes, her heart whined. 

Fool, the scars across it mocked.

Maybe she wasn’t even ready for casual fun like she’d thought she was. How could she have been so affected by him? They’d only talked for a little while. Maybe there were still some things she needed to work through from her break-up instead of trying to bury that pain in attention and sex. Maybe she was just shaken because she’d been open with him, vulnerable, only to have him treat her poorly after she’d trusted him so quickly. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Hazel shook her head and closed her eyes, taking a breath and giving herself a moment to try and breathe and get out of her head.

“Up next, Adam Page’s ride on Brisby’s Bueno! This young man has had a stellar career this year, after running mid-rankings the last few years he’s risen to the top this year and is definitely this announcer’s must-watch kind of ride!” Kenny’s voice crackled over the announcer’s microphone, and she found herself mildly surprised to learn he was an announcer. He didn’t exactly have the look of an announcer…

Adam’s ride. His championship ride.

For some reason, despite what had just happened between them, she couldn’t help but wander toward the arena. She couldn’t deny herself wanting to watch his ride.

He rode beautifully, with his free arm raised, moving fluid as the rest of his body did with every twist and hard kick and upward hop the bronc gave underneath him. She watched the determination on his face, the way his chin bowed to his chest, and how hard his gloved hand wrapped around that bronc rope. Bueno kicked hard and jumped high for a horse as tall as he was, earning delighted and excited gasps from the audience at the show unfolding in the dirt ring in front of them. No matter what the horse threw his way, Adam stuck on, his legs moving in perfect synchrony over and down Bueno’s withers with each leap. The counter ran up, and Kenny’s voice excitedly crackled over the speakers, growing more and more heated as the ride progressed through snapping bucks and high-spirited kicks.

The buzzer hit eight-seconds. It’d felt like time stood still.

The pick-up riders charged their horses up, one took Adam as he took his hand off the rope and leapt over the pick-up horse’s haunches. The rider turned the horse away while the other pick-up rider unbuckled the snap on Bueno’s flank strap. He gave a few more excited, hyper bucks before slowing to a trot and allowing himself to be guided back toward the chutes. Meanwhile, Adam slid off the horse that’d taken him a slight distance away and landed with a thud onto the dirt, getting a supportive cheer from the crowd as he finished his ride safely. He didn’t even soak them in, but immediately turned his eyes toward the scoreboard, waiting for the judges final call.

89.6 point ride.

The crowd erupted into cheers, and she saw him glance down at his boots and smile, as though soaking it in himself, trying to believe it before he finally let himself look up at the crowd. They hollered even louder. She realized she was screaming for him too.

“89.6!” Kenny’s voice crackled excitedly over the speakers. “With that score, ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a champion! Raise a hand Adam, give them a wave!” He encouraged from the announcer’s booth, earning a glance and almost bashful smile from Adam before he shook his head and waved a hand at the audience, making his walk back to the chutes. Back toward her.

She was smiling when their eyes met, and he smiled too. It turned a little apologetic. A little sad.

She decided he was something of an enigma, and she would never understand him or these feelings she had for him. She shook her head and turned away, knowing she’d be needed in the holding pens as hands always were and deciding she’d rather throw herself back into work as a distraction to keep her mind from mulling. Unsurprisingly, it worked. Needing to stay alert while helping work around the animals and being a willing hand kept her busy and unable to pay attention to much else than what needed done and she could help with.

The only time she let herself stop again was to get herself a cold water bottle and perch up on the top of the fence to watch the Jackson brothers have their final run. She watched as they rode toward the box, the young white and grey-roan speckled roping steer loaded in the chute and ready to run the moment those gates flew open. Hazel caught sight of Matt glancing Nick’s way, Nick giving a reassuring nod before the pair separating to load up in their separate boxes. Matt hadn’t been putting on a front with his confidence; they gave the signal, the man pulled the chute latch open and the calf sprung forward, the brothers in quick pursuit. Matt, the header, threw his lasso over the steer’s horns and turned his direction. Nick, without hesitation, threw his lasso straight through the air and looped it perfectly around both back legs. He did it so quickly and so flawlessly, he made it look easy. Wrapping the rope around his saddle horn, he leaned back, holding tight as his horse dropped its haunches and pulled the steer taut. A cheer rocked the stands as the boys let the ropes go and the calf was able to kick free. The timer buzzed as they gathered and looped the slack of their ropes, still sitting on their horses.

She released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and shook her head in disbelief. It’d been over so quickly, with such precision, she found herself gaping as she watched the little speckled calf trot with a bleating cry back toward the pen to be with the other calves.

“And with that impressive time rounding out their final roping session of the evening, the Jackson brothers have done it again! Matt and Nick Jackson everyone, your rodeo tag roping champions!”

She screamed with the rest of the folks in the stands, jumping up and down and hollering enough to make her voice go out. The brothers shared broad grins and Matt turned his horse to ride alongside Nick, giving his younger brother a quick pat on the back and another happy smile. Nick returned the gesture of affection and waved toward the crowd as Matt rode off back toward the gate they were swinging open for him.

He saw her, and his grin slipped a little higher up one side of his bearded cheek. She noticed when he’d ridden, the tie on his hair had come loose not quite enough to be completely undone, but enough to give her a hint of how handsome he looked with it loose around his face. He shrugged as he pulled back the reins and stalled his sleek, bay roan roping horse to a halt beside her.

“What did I tell ya?”

She rolled her eyes, but smiled still. 

“I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

He leaned in the saddle, the leather softly creaking. She smelled the faint cologne, a damp of sweat, a little rodeo dust, horse and leather as he reached and ran his calloused thumb gently along her jawline. Tingles again.

“Good girl.” His smile showed teeth before he winked, slipping his hand away, leaving her skin warm. He gave a gentle squeeze of his knees, getting his horse to walk back to where he could dismount and tend to it. Along the way she watched him pause to clap hands and receive congratulations from his fellow rodeo buddies, a fond smile resting gentle over her lips.

“You guys must have had a good night,” Andrea’s familiar voice broke her from staring after Matt and she shook her head, focusing on her friends grinning face.

Hazel laughed. “We didn’t hook-up.”

“Don’t lie to try and impress me or make me think you’re some innocent angel. I’ve known you too long for that.”

“I’m not lying!” Hazel protested, “Honestly! I… got myself confused.”

“What? Like lost your way across the rodeo grounds?” Andrea frowned at her.

“No, I… ran into Adam, and we talked and I opened up to him like…” Hazel glanced around, looking for anyone overhearing, then back at her friend's expectant, curious face. “Like no one I’ve opened up to in a long time. He was going to kiss me, but then Nick interrupted us and assumed we were coming to their little fire. Matt was there and he assumed I was there to see him and Adam got pissed off and now he’s acting like an asshole and Matt and I made out but I didn’t fuck him and now I’m more confused than I was coming into this mess.”

She’d talked fast, and her pleading eyes looked desperately at Andrea, who blinked rapidly.

“Wow, a hell of a lot more happened last night than I thought.”

“Yeah!”

“Don’t bother with Adam getting his panties in a bunch. Like I said, he’s a keep-to-himself kind of guy. If he was so upset with you and Matt flirting maybe he should have spoken up.”

“Thank you!” Hazel exclaimed with frustration. 

“Still, I can’t believe you didn’t sleep with Matt.” 

“You and me both.”

**********

Fire in his belly, it licked hot at the insides and spread over his skin like an itch he’d never scratch. In his mind, as he loaded the trailer and collected his winnings, preparing to leave the rodeo, he just kept seeing them.

Matt, leaning down on his horse to gently, affectionately hold her face. Her, looking up at him with a smile that he would like to have had reserved for him.

It was stupid, he told himself for the hundredth time as he climbed into the cab of his truck and started the engine, letting it gently rumble to life. It was stupid because she wasn’t anything to him.

Only that he’d felt like he’d been struck by lightning the moment he overheard her talking to Dolly. Only that he’d found a funny little smile on his face as he stayed quiet and listened, feeling bad for eavesdropping but finding a foreign, comforting warmth settling inside him the more he listened to her talk. Only that he’d thought the wind had been knocked out of him, like he got kicked in the gut by a bronc, when that soft light lit her profile and showed him the most gorgeous woman he could ever remember lying eyes on. Only that when her eyes had gotten sad, and she’d said she left competing for a reason she couldn’t share, he wanted her to trust him to take on that pain with her, and help her heal from it. Only that he’d shut himself off to the possibility of romance years ago, but when he talked to her he felt like every second of their time together was the most important moment of his life…

And then came Matt.

He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel and squeezed hard enough to turn the knuckles white. His jaw clenched as he glared at the open road, turning truck and trailer onto it, leaving the rodeo grounds behind. It wasn’t Matt he was angry with, or her for that matter, though he might as well have been with how he behaved.

It was himself.

The tension in his body slowly leaked out, color returned to his knuckles, and his shoulders sagged. It pierced right through him, remembering that look across her face this afternoon when he’d dismissed her. As he’d walked away he’d called himself every name in the book, begged himself to turn around and grab her and ask her what it was about her - a stranger - that made him feel so many things he hadn’t felt in years.

And how much that scared him.

And how much he let that fear control his life, removing the chance of losing her by driving her away before it could happen.

Driving her into Matt’s open, eager, waiting arms.

I didn’t sleep with Matt last night.

Why had she told him that?

He knew why. He only wished she hadn’t. He only wished she hadn’t looked up at him with those big, amber-brown eyes that made him ache to his core like he’d always known them. He only wished she hadn’t kept reaching for him with that longing he felt an understanding of, that made the defenses guarding his wounded heart snap and snarl and drive her away. It’d been bruised again and again and again, it no longer knew how to accept even the gentlest touch without fearing pain that might follow.

It was better this way.

He’d been telling himself that since the night prior, since watching her eyes light up as she talked with Matt by the fireside, and still finding himself aching for her company. He hadn’t been able to follow Nick and Kenny’s conversation, because any time her giggles swelled a little in volume his eyes shot to them, and jealousy was something bitter in the back of his throat. He had a feeling he hadn’t been subtle about it, because eventually they stopped trying to include him in their conversation and kept talking to one another, instead.

He had enough to deal with from helping his dad with the family tobacco farm, to trying to raise, train, and sell his own rodeo circuit horse stock, to trying to make a name for himself as the top, undeniable bronc bustin’ champion. There was no place, no room in his life for a woman that made him feel like loving her would change how he saw the world. Especially not one who lived a good six hours from where he did. Especially not one he’d hardly ever see as he traveled town to town to compete in the rodeos. It would never work, and the pain it’d cause when it didn’t wasn’t something he was brave enough to risk.

No matter how he tried to justify himself walking away from her, every piece of him screamed and rebelled against what he’d done. It was an exhausting spiral from want to anger to anguish to disappointment and he hoped it’d leave him soon. 

The more miles he put between her and those damningly beautiful eyes and that pretty little smile that made his heart skip a beat in his chest, the better.

Or so he tried to tell himself.

[artificialqueens]

Follow Every Rainbow ('Til You Find Your Dream), Chapter 7: 16 Going on 17 (Branjie) - Writworm42

A/N: LAST CHAPTER: Vanessa took a risk and set out for her new job as a nanny, only to find out that she’ll be working for Brooke.

THIS CHAPTER: Vanessa definitely bit off more than she can chew with the Hytes family, but she just might be up to the challenge the kids present to her.

I made a few changes to the events of the movie that this chapter is based on, but I hope you all love it nonetheless. And bonus points if you can spot the references I put in! ;)

P.S. the Zackey in the story is Zackey Lime, a Toronto drag king who is legit amazing and I highly recommend you check out ASAP.

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to Holtzmanns for beta-ing this chapter, Ilysm <3 <3

“… And that’s about everything there is to see.” Brooke brought Vanessa back into the foyer from the east hallway, smiling with satisfaction. “Any questions?”

So many, Vanessa thought, but she just shook her head, smiling faintly. They’d just finished a forty-five-minute long tour of the entire house, and Vanessa’s head was still spinning trying to recall all the details and directions, every room and what it was for and how to get in and when not to enter it. It almost made Vanessa feel like she was back at the convent, trying to make sense of the grounds on her very first day there and cataloguing every room and where it was. Chapel, cell, rec room, kitchen, so on.

Here, though, the sheer amount of rooms blew the convent out of the water. oldest girl’s room, middle girls’ rooms, oldest boy’s room, living room, music room, kitchen, first bathroom, second bathroom, guest bathroom, guest rooms, servant quarters, servant kitchen, living room, mud room, dining room….the list went on and on endlessly, and it was dizzying, having to remember all the places and pathways in the house.

And then there were all the rules and routines, which were so numerous it was enough to absolutely shock Vanessa. Don’t knock on the master bedroom past 7 PM. Lights off at 9 PM. Take the children out for a brisk walk around the grounds on a set, groomed and paved path after they’ve woken up and had their uniforms inspected at 6 AM. Drill them in their studies before they go for tutoring, in order to make sure they’re in the right set of mind to pay attention. If the children step out of line, notify Brooke immediately in order for them to be punished. Dine with the family and provide a healthy sandwich lunch to the children at exactly 12 o’clock, but have breakfast during their tutoring hours. Never eat fish or drink coffee, the smells are too unpleasant. The only books the children can read are classic literature and the King James Bible, of which they’re to memorize a verse a day; if they don’t get it right, drill them until they do. Model perfect behaviour, posture, and language at all times. Absolutely no riding in cars; if the children want to go somewhere, they can bicycle with a chaperone. And don’t ever enter the art room unless it’s with Brooke’s supervision, and never take in the youngest.

No, this was worse than the convent. Definitely worse. Still, how could Vanessa say that? Brooke was looking at her with satisfaction and approval, but there was still a note of scrutinizing skepticism in her eyes that Vanessa hated to see. She couldn’t blame Brooke–Vanessa was about to be responsible for her children, after all–but it still hurt, somehow. Maybe because she was used to seeing it; used to not fitting in, used to people deciding she’d mess something up before even giving her a chance to try. It had been that way ever since she was little, after all. This was finally a fresh start–someone who didn’t know her or her reputation. Someone who had been told about how good she was. Someone who was undecided about her, rather than already filled with images of Vanessa’s childhood and youth and many attempts at success that had ended in disaster.

She couldn’t break it. She just couldn’t.

So instead, she changed the subject.

“I know the kids will still be in their lessons for a half hour, may I go and change?”

Brooke turned back to Vanessa taken aback, a faint note of surprise in her eyes, and for a minute, Vanessa doubted the question, wondering if she’d made a mistake. Brooke did want a nun, after all; was changing out of her uniform coming across as being too comfortable too soon?

But then Brooke’s face smoothed over, and though she didn’t smile, she nodded. “Of course. It’s quite respectful of you to want to change into a fresh uniform after being in what I imagine was a very dirty train station and a crammed train all day.”

This time, it was Vanessa’s turn to be surprised at the way Brooke had brushed her off, the logic she’d strained to stretch towards. The expectations she was refusing to yield from, clearly spoken in the message she was sending. And Vanessa would be happy to play along, if it weren’t for one small problem.

“Actually, um…” Vanessa chewed her lip, watching as that surprised look crept back into Brooke’s eyes.

Come on, speak up, don’t make it worse.

“This is the only convent uniform I brought, I thought it’d be better to dress casually other times. You know, so the kids feel easy with me.”

From the look in Brooke’s eyes, it was clear that her kids’ comfort wasn’t on her mind when she had requested a nun come to watch them, and she was more than likely feeling sore about it now. But just like before, the look disappeared almost as fast as it had come, and her face is—well, happy isn’t the word, but calm again.

“Of course. Please, go change.”

Vanessa hightailed it out of there almost as soon as the words were out of Brooke’s mouth, and it was only when she was out of her new boss’s view that her heart started beating again.

It was okay; it would be okay. Maybe it was a shock for Brooke, but surely it wasn’t that big a deal—it wasn’t like she would be fired for wearing a regular dress, right?

As the clocks in the hallway ticked closer to Vanessa’s deadline while she weaved her way in and out, trying to find her room, she suddenly found it hard to be sure.

—

Vanessa hadn’t kept many “regular” clothes at the convent, but she liked to think that the ones she did have were pretty. They weren’t silk or satin, sure, but she’d sewn them herself, and that fact alone made them beautiful in her mind. There was something about the reds and blacks and floral prints she liked to wear that made Vanessa feel special, alive, almost like she was someone else. Not Vanessa the postulant, but Vanessa the dancer in fringe and lace. Vanessa the teacher in rough, stiff linens. Vanessa the girl at the beach in flowing, light cotton, or Vanessa the sleeping beauty in plaid button-up flannel.

It was a strange feeling, but nice at the moment, to be Vanessa the nanny, confident and motivated and ready to meet her tiny new bosses.

When she emerged from her room, though, that confidence dried up when she noticed Brooke looking sour-faced at her, then looked up at the clock.

Oh, fridge. She was two minutes late.

“That’s a… colourful outfit.” Brooke’s eyebrows rose practically to her hairline as she watched Vanessa rush down the stairs to meet her in the foyer, lifting up the yellow skirt of her dress and showing off the convent’s classic white tights in the process of trying not to fall.

“Yellow’s not my favourite, but I didn’t bring much.” Vanessa shrugged. “We, ah, donate most of our clothes to the poor when we enter the convent.”

“You didn’t donate this?” Brooke frowned, and Vanessa felt her face grow hot as she looked down at the ground.

“The poor didn’t really… want it.” she admitted. “Oh, but I made the rest! Before I came, ‘cause I didn’t want to look too stiff, y’know? They’re kids, after all.” It was the truth, and it must have been satisfactory, because even though Brooke didn’t seem impressed by the answer, she didn’t say anything else.

“So…” Vanessa broke the awkward silence that had begun to force its way between them, “Are we going to meet the kids?”

“The children will be right out.” Brooke said matter-of-factly. She turned away from Vanessa and dug in her skirt pocket, striking Vanessa’s curiosity until she saw what the blonde was pulling out.

Brooke blew hard on her whistle, its high-pitched, tinny sound reverberating off the walls before it was followed by the sound of a teenage voice announcing, “ COMPANY, HUP! ”

Vanessa had to fight hard to keep her jaw from dropping as seven children decked out in identical gray uniforms came–no, marched –down the stairs, feet stomping in perfect unison before they lined up by what she assumed was age and stood tall and straight, then gave her and Brooke a quick, proud salute.

Jesus, Mary, and fudging Joseph. She’d become a nanny to a military cult.

“Children, this is your new nanny, Miss Mateo. She was a postulant at the local convent, and she came highly recommended by the reverend mother as someone who will provide you with a good example of traditional Catholic values and behaviour.”

Now that’s a laugh, Vanessa thought, but kept her lip from twitching as Brooke continued.

“Introduce yourselves, please.”

What happened next was no less than terrifying.

Brooke brought the whistle to her lips again and blew one long, particularly high-pitched note, only for a tall, teenage girl to respond by marching a step forward and coming to stand straight and tall, saluting rigidly. She didn’t introduce herself, only stepped back quickly before Brooke blew her whistle again, two short bursts. This time, a muscular boy stepped forward and saluted in the same way as his sister before stepping back.

“Are you–” Vanessa started as the realization of what Brooke was doing sunk in, but she was cut off by another whistle, three long, low tones. A girl who looked around the same age as the boy next to her stomps forward, repeated the movements of her siblings, then stepped back.

“Excuse me, Brooke–”

“Captain Hytes,” Brooke corrected, and before Vanessa could so much as gawk at the sudden coldness, Brooke had turned away and resumed her ritual. Four blows in a long-short-long-short pattern came next, and another boy with a lean, fresh face stepped forward.

“Captain–”

“Please listen to their signals, you’ll need them.” Brooke shook her head sternly, but Vanessa had had enough. This time, when Brooke brought the whistle to her lips, Vanessa snatched it straight from her hand, sliding it into her own pocket before the blonde woman could grab it back.

“I don’t need a signal.” Vanessa protested stubbornly, her heart beating fast despite the firm, even tone she forced her voice to stay in. “I’ll use the kids’ names.”

“No, you won’t,” Brooke challenged, “You’ll use this whistle right here.” she handed a second whistle to Vanessa, who held onto it tightly, squeezing it so hard her knuckles went visibly white. “I won’t have shouting in my house.”

“But you’ll have a shrill, unignorable call that gives your poor nanny and everyone else a headache?” Probably yourself too, maybe that’s why you’re always in such a bad mood , Vanessa thought, but she bit her tongue. In any case, Brooke didn’t argue this time, because she couldn’t—from the way her eyes twitched, she clearly knew that Vanessa had a point.

“Okay, kids.” Vanessa turned back to the line of children before Brooke got a chance to. “Start again, please, but can you tell me your names and ages this time? And for the love of Saint Peter, please don’t do a salute. We ain’t sailors.”

Brooke’s eyes twitched again, and Vanessa had to bite down on her lip just to suppress a smile.

“You heard Miss Mateo,” Brooke directed, “Step forward, names and ages.” she clapped her hands, and the routine began again.

“Monet, sixteen.” The first girl marched forward, her voice clear and confident.

“Landon, fourteen.” The second boy stepped forward next before marching back, not breaking his stride.

“Kameron.” The third girl stepped forward. There was a beat, Brooke opening her mouth to say something, but Vanessa cut her off, putting out an arm to signal for her to hold back.

“No, you’re not.” Vanessa shook her head, but smiled nonetheless. “I see your sister looking all shocked at you. Tell me your real name and age.”

“I’m Kameron,” A red-headed girl, the one who had cast not-Kameron a dirty look, spoke up, “I’m ten. And I like you, you’re smart.”

“So’s your sister.” Vanessa winked, and the first girl blushed.

“Asia, thirteen.” She muttered, and Vanessa was almost glad that in her embarrassment, Asia didn’t march.

“Zackey, eleven.” A fresh-faced boy stepped forward next, resuming the marching orders.

“You already know me.” Kameron shrugged, and this time, Brooke only sighed, a little bit defeated.

“Crystal.” A small girl with curly hair stepped forward next, “I’ll be seven on Tuesday.”

There was another pause before Crystal nudged the last girl in line, a small, shy little girl who held a frog in her hands.

“I’m Plastique, I’m five, and this is Bertha.”

“It’s nice to meet you all.” Vanessa smiled. “I’m Vanessa.”

The children looked at her, surprised, and Vanessa’s heart sank as she realized they’d probably never had an adult invite them to use their first name before.

“Yes, well, now that the introductions are finished, I have work to do.” Brooke nodded curtly, the tension breaking in the room as she began to walk away. But before she could disappear out of sight, a high-pitched whistle caused her to jump.

“You haven’t shown me your signal yet, Captain .” Vanessa batted her eyelashes innocently as Brooke whipped  around angrily to glare at her. The blonde reddened, but ignored the bait, instead turning right back around and continuing to retreat from the hall.

It was incredibly satisfying to note that Brooke couldn’t hide the furious stomp with which she traveled as she went.

“Alright, see y’all later.” Vanessa shrugged, “I think it’s leisure time for you anyway.”

“You’re not going to lead an activity?” Kameron frowned, but Vanessa just shook her head.

“Nah. You guys can go play.”

It hurt Vanessa’s heart to see how the children hesitated, but they marched away at last, and Vanessa was left alone to think about what she’d gotten herself into.

–

The first place Vanessa went after seeing the children off was the bathroom. She let the water in the sink run until it was freezing, the cold stream making her fingers red the minute it hit her skin. But she could barely feel it; could barely feel anything. It wasn’t until she’d bent down and splashed the water in her face, gasped for air and wiped the droplets from her eyes, that she truly grasped what she was dealing with, why she had been sent here.

She was in Hell; she was in a nightmare. A place where no one like her was supposed to be able to thrive. Probably could survive. And Nina had known Brooke for ages–she probably knew her parenting style. So why would she send Vanessa all people to live with seven little soldiers and their cold, overly-strict, barely-motherly mother?

She was out of her depth, completely in over her head. These kids were nothing like she had been when she was growing up; Hell, they weren’t like any kids Vanessa had ever met in her entire life. They weren’t kids at all; just tin sailors, robots following their mother’s commands.

She closed her eyes, leaned against the sink and breathed in deeply. No; she couldn’t get this overwhelmed this fast. She had to think about her surroundings, break it down and tackle it like Nina and that man on the train and said she was capable of doing. There was hope; the mischief in Kam and Asia’s shenanigans. Plastique holding Bertha and forgetting to step back. Crystal announcing when her birthday was. The small chuckle she could swear she had heard from Landon when she’d sassed back at Brooke. The way the children walked hesitantly, but quickly out of the foyer when she’d told them to go play, as if they couldn’t wait but were afraid she’d take it back.

She opened her eyes, stared herself straight in the face, watched as a glimmer of determination grew in her reflection’s eyes. She could do this; she had to do this, whether Brooke liked her or not.

She opened the bathroom door and charged towards her room, ready to spend some time there in quiet thought, maybe get changed into something a little nicer for dinner. Maybe dance like no one was watching, just like she used to in her cell at the convent on days she needed to loosen up.

She stopped dead in her tracks, though, when she saw the door to her room.

“Shhh!” she heard giggles from around the corner, but refused to acknowledge them; she didn’t look at all, didn’t change her face from the passive, relaxed smile that had been on it before. In fact, she didn’t blink at all. Only opened the door and walked into the room, bypassing the large, dripping bright-red pentagram painted on her door.

–

“ ALL OF YOU OUT HERE, NOW!”  

Vanessa hurried out of her room with a pounding heart, her breath already catching in her throat. As soon as she swung open the door, though, she was met with a furious, red-faced Brooke, who she could tell was foaming at the mouth to yell at someone for what she had found on the door.

“Who drew this?” Brooke hissed as the children rushed out of their room, lining up by age and standing at attention. But barely a second passed before the fear in the children’s wide eyes turned to shock, then to relief.

“I did.” Vanessa looked back at the red rose she’d painted the door over with, courtesy of the paints the butler, Mr Lurchenstein, had lent her ( “your methods certainly are unorthodox, Miss Mateo, but sure, take what you need.” ). The pentagram was completely hidden behind the flower’s red hue, the black lines outlining its petals taking care of any stray marks or drips she hadn’t been able to cover up. “I wanted to make a mark so that the children could remember where to find me.”

“You couldn’t put up a temporary sign?” Brooke snarled, but Vanessa refused to crack, only shook her head as she turned back to look at the lined-up little devils still staring at her in surprise.

“It wouldn’t speak to who I am as well as this would. Especially since a permanent reminder certainly couldn’t help.” Vanessa winked, and thank God Brooke was still so distracted being angry at her, because the way Landon and Crystal especially crumpled at the words would have been a dead giveaway otherwise.

“This isn’t your property!” Brooke spat, “You can’t just ruin things because you want to express yourself! I won’t–I can’t– Miss Mateo, you will fix this right now, or I swear to the Lord–”

“Captain!” Vanessa gasped, cutting the blonde off at the pass as she feigned shock, “Please don’t tell me that a good Catholic such as yourself is taking the good Lord’s name in vain? After you’ve chastised your children for not following the holy example our Saviour has set for us?”

“I–Well–” Brooke sputtered, deflating a bit, her tone lowering as she realized what she’d just said, what she’d been called out on. Once again, Vanessa had caught Brooke in her own trap, and once again, she couldn’t escape.

“Now, I understand that this is your door, and I’ve done a disrespectful thing by painting it,” Vanessa acquiesced, “But I really do think that becoming this enraged is teaching an unholy reverence of property that a Catholic certainly shouldn’t be espos–expos–trying to model to her children. After all, it’s not exactly unsightly, is it?”

“No, it’s pretty!” Zackey cut in, trembling a bit when Vanessa and Brooke turned to look at him in surprise.

“Me too.” Monet nodded eagerly, “It really does say exactly who Vanessa is.”

“Completely!” Landon and Asia agreed in unison. “And you know how much mama loved–”

“That’s enough.” Brooke’s face stoned over again quickly, the ride from anger to defeat to some unreadable expression practically giving Vanessa whiplash. She kept her observation quiet, though; from the way Brooke’s eyes had taken up yet another wall of defensiveness, Vanessa could tell that she didn’t want anyone to notice, or at least, to say that they had.

“Alright, Miss Mateo,” Brooke sighed, turning back to Vanessa, “Have it your way. The painting can stay. But before you do any other… modifications , you will come to me for approval first, do you understand?”

“Absolutely.” Vanessa smiled, and Brooke only nodded before turning on her heels and stomping away, leaving Vanessa and the others to breathe out a sigh of relief. The temporary peace erupted as quickly as it came, though, when the kids looked back up at Vanessa, their eyes narrowing.

“Just because you covered for us doesn’t mean we like you.” Asia warned, but Vanessa just shrugged.

“I didn’t say it did.”

–

After another brief stare-down, Vanessa led the children into the kitchen for their mid-afternoon snack, peeking into the fridge to see what the cook had left and immediately recoiling.

Raw broccoli. Yuck .

“Y’all want something other than these dry little trees?” Vanessa dangled one of the stalks from her fingers, wrinkling her face, and was relieved when a couple of the children laughed, all of them nodding eagerly. It was a little glimmer of hope amidst everything, seeing how they had reacted; the fastest way to the heart was through the stomach, after all. Maybe she was finally earning some brownie points with her seven little monsters.

Then she noticed the way the kids were looking at each other, and that hope dried right back up.

“Can we have peanut butter and jelly?” Plastique clapped her hands eagerly, bouncing a little in her seat. “That’s our absolute favourite, but mother–”

“Which one of you is allergic?” Vanessa crossed her arms over her chest, and Plastique’s bouncing stopped dead in its tracks as her siblings’ jaws dropped open.

“I was a kid too, once.” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “I know all the tricks in the book.”

“It’s me.” Kam sniffed, her eyes cast down at the floor. “I’m the allergic one, so mother doesn’t let us have it.”

“Mhm.” Vanessa nodded, though she couldn’t help the smile that curled at the corners of her mouth. “So we not gonna do that, then. Any other suggestions?”

The children were silent, but Vanessa didn’t expect them to say anything, anyway; imagination was hard when people tried to stamp it out of you, she knew that. No matter; she already had an idea forming in her head.

–

“ Why does this house smell like–”

“It’s broccoli.” Vanessa shrugged as Brooke stormed into the room, her nostrils flaring. “You did say the kids should have broccoli.”

“Yes, but not–”

“It was in the fridge.” Vanessa popped another cheese-coated stalk in her mouth, grinning when Brooke’s face took on a stricken look, as if Vanessa had just hit her in the face with a block of cheese. Which, in a way, she supposed she had.

“I said no pungent foods –”

“It was in the fridge.” Vanessa repeated, “I assumed that it would have passed your inspection if it was?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“The Lord doesn’t approve of hypocrisy, Captain, and eating cheese that your children are not allowed to indulge in really wouldn’t fall in the category of fairness, would it?”

Brooke took a deep inhale, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sighed out impatiently. “No, it doesn’t. I’ll throw the rest of it out.”

“No need to.” Vanessa shook her head. “It’s already all finished, and now I’ll spray some freshener and the children can brush their teeth. Problem solved.”

Brooke could only stare in shock as Vanessa stood up and waved for the children to follow, all of them looking like deer in headlights as they walked past their speechless mother out into the hallway.

“Okay, that was cool, but it doesn’t mean we want you here.” Monet huffed under her breath, but Vanessa wasn’t bothered; she understood, after all, so why would she have tried to tell the kids not to feel upset that yet another nanny had arrived to put even more distance between themselves and their mother?

“I wouldn’t want me here, either.” Vanessa threw up her hands in mock-surrender, “But here I am.”

She didn’t bother looking back as she flounced off to the servants’ quarters, ready to get a full list of the children’s allergies and intolerances from the cook.

–

Dinner in the Hytes household was at nineteen-hundred hours sharp. Brooke had made that very clear during her tour, and though throughout the day, her brood of goblins made a strong effort to confuse Vanessa by saying that it was at five o’clock, six o’clock, seven thirty, Vanessa had made sure to double-check with the other staff that nineteen-hundred was correct. So sure, in fact, that she had written it on her arm in thick permanent marker.

There was just one problem–Vanessa had no idea when nineteen-hundred hours actually was , and she certainly wasn’t about to ask the demon squad for clarification. So instead, she tried to remember the twenty-four hour clock lessons from the seventh grade, wracking her brain to remember the trick she was taught, whether it was to subtract ten, eleven, or twelve hours. And then there was the matter of actually doing that math herself…

“You’re still here?”

Vanessa looked up from her book to see Lurchenstein standing in the doorway of the servants’ quarters kitchen, looking aghast. Looking up at the clock, it blinked 6:55 PM, and suddenly, she realized her mistake.

“Nineteen-hundred hours isn’t eight?” she kept her voice calm despite the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks. She already knew the answer–if dinner was at eight, then the butler’s shock wouldn’t have been reasonable. But if it was at seven…

“And your dress is covered in paint, too…” Lurchenstein groaned, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “You need to change, quickly! If you’re even a minute late, the captain…”

He didn’t need to finish his sentence; Vanessa was already booking it through the house in a frantic attempt to get to her room, praying to God she wouldn’t get lost on the way.

She arrived in the dining room at 7:05 PM, panting and gasping as she stared at a sea of very pleased faces and one enraged one. Brooke’s expression was so grim, her lips pursed together in such a thin, resolute line that Vanessa thought the captain might implode. She needed to say something, and needed to do it fast.

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa admitted breathlessly, her heart seizing as she spoke, “It’s my fault. I haven’t used the twenty-four hour clock in a very long time, and miscalculated. If it weren’t for Mr Lurchenstein, I would have missed it entirely. I should have double-checked, and that’s on me.”

It was strange–instead of making a snippy comment or taking her to task, Brooke relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry for assuming you knew.” Brooke shook her head. “Thank you for being accountable. I don’t tolerate much imperfection, but not knowing isn’t quite the same…”

So the captain did have a heart. Thank God.

“It’s subtracting twelve.” Vanessa was unable to suppress a little smile as she began to take her seat, her heartbeat evening out and relief washing through her body. “I got it n– Oh! ”

She rocketed back up as her rear hit something soft, springy, something that jumped right back at her.

“Miss Mateo?” Brooke shot her a questioning look, but Vanessa hardly heard her; she was too busy glancing out of the corner of her eye, watching as something fat and green bounced away…

“Rheumatism.” Vanessa coughed, taking her seat.

“Right.” Brooke looked doubtful, but said nothing else. A double blessing.

“So, shall I say grace?” Vanessa changed the subject before anything else could be said, before the rude brood had a chance to call Vanessa out on her lie–not that they would, really, because what could they say that wouldn’t give them away? In fact, Plastique and Crystal were already shrinking back a little, looking awfully guilty…

“Yes, please do.” Brooke confirmed, and as if on signal, every member of the Hytes family made the sign of the cross and bowed their heads in such perfect unison that for some reason, it once again took Vanessa by surprise. Still, the alarm quickly dried up, because even though she’d been at the house for only nine hours, she already knew that if she expected anything less than this, it was her fault. She’d made her bed, that was for sure.

But that didn’t mean she had to lie in it, not necessarily. Not without a fight.

“Actually, before we pray, I thought I’d say something.”

Immediately, every child’s head snapped up, their faces seized with terror. It was pretty satisfying, Vanessa had to admit, and it was tempting not to play to their fears, to snitch or to pretend she was going to. But that wouldn’t get her anywhere, she already knew that. She had to catch these flies with honey, or she could expect something much worse than a frog on her chair next time.

“I wanted to thank all of you for making me feel so welcome here. All those precious games we played and gifts you gave me, knowing how scared and worried I must be, coming into a new place all on my own. How important it was for me to feel accepted and welcome—really, you guys have made me feel at home, and I can’t thank you enough. Now, shall we pray?”

Unfortunately, they never got to grace–because the kids had started sniffling, and then broken into tears.

“Don’t worry,” Vanessa shook her head at Brooke, who was looking around the table in confusion. “They’re just happy.”

They ate the rest of their dinner in relative silence, but towards the end, Vanessa couldn’t help but notice that the dirty looks from the kids had ceased, and every request to pass the salt or for more mashed potatoes was accompanied by a shy smile and a please . And when they finally filed out of the dining room, children first and adults following after, Brooke’s eyes didn’t carry quite the hard, furious look that Vanessa had gotten used to seeing in them.

It was about an hour later, though, that Vanessa really knew that things were turning around in her favour. Vanessa had finished her prayers, finished laying staring at the ceiling without much but passing, overlapping thoughts rushing through her head, and had decided it was time to tuck in for the night. Even if it was only around nine o’clock, she was used to early bedtimes at the convent, and from the schedule Brooke had laid out, it seemed like this house would be no different. The house was already silent, too, everyone else having gone to bed and either fallen asleep or having been smart enough to keep their late-night shenanigans very quiet.

Everyone, apparently, except for the oldest Hytes daughter, who Vanessa could see and hear out of the corner of her window scaling the wall to climb down and meet a very strapping young woman in a military uniform waiting for her on the ground below.

Oh, this was too good not to listen in on.

“Are you sure your mom–”

“I’m sixteen, going on seventeen in a month,” Monet hissed, “And you’re almost eighteen, which means you’re basically an adult. I don’t care if she treats me like a kid. Mama never used to. So mother can grow up and realize I can take care of myself.”

Vanessa had to resist letting out a snort at that, but held back, moving a little closer to the window so she could hear better.

“I don’t like sneaking around–”

“Once you’re nineteen and I’m eighteen, we won’t have to. Anyway, I have this new nanny, she’s…she’s not like the others. She’s actually kind of…well, she’s pretty chill, not like mother at all. As long as she’s around, mother won’t assume I’m up to anything bad, and if she catches us, it’ll be Vanessa’s fault.”

Oh, Hell no. Vanessa had half a mind to call out, pop her head out the window to let Monet and this other kid know who they were dealing with. But before she could, something stopped her–a tiny voice, sweet and scared, one that she wasn’t used to hearing from Monet.

“I–I love you, Monique. I wanna be with you. And I know mother would approve of you, just…you’re in the military, and…you know how that’s a sore thing here. It’s too complicated. So if we have to sneak around for now…”

“I get it.” Monique sighs. “Well, at the very least, can we stay on the property? Your garden’s so big and so nice, and it’s a lot safer than going around at night. We can still spend time together, and I’ll be gone before your mom wakes up.”

Vanessa sighed out, her heart growing warm at the confession, at how responsibly and gently this Monique had responded. It was cute, how vulnerable Monet was being, how Monique was so willing to meet her halfway. Heck, when Vanessa was that age, she certainly wasn’t that thoughtful, and definitely not nearly as careful of her parents or what other people thought as these two. She had always believed in kicking her way across boundaries, not tip-toeing around them, on making messes if she had to, not planning things out to avoid them.

Maybe, just maybe, the kids would be alright after all.

“ Shit .”

Vanessa’s head snapped up at Monique’s voice, the teen’s tone suddenly changing from gentle to fearful.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. Vanessa had left her window open, and the two love-birds had spotted her.

“Shit, is that your mom’s–”

“No, just the nanny. Maybe she’s asleep–”

Vanessa had two options. Pretend to be asleep, never mention it, keep Monet feeling like her secret was safe.

Or, she could pop her head out, flash a thumbs up or something, let Monet and Monique know that she was on their side.

Fridge it–she might as well take a chance and do the latter.

“I won’t tell.” Vanessa whispered, popping her head out just enough so that the girls could see her, hopefully hear her enough to put their minds at ease. From the way their eyes became wide as saucers, she guessed they could.

“Seriously,” Vanessa crossed over her heart, making a crucifix, because that was how serious she was, how badly she wanted them to know she was telling the truth. “You seem like a lovely girl, Monique. Just…be careful, and don’t leave the property.”

The two teens didn’t waste any time–they scrambled away, huffing and hurrying and knotting their hands together. Good; they trusted her.

Vanessa was about to close her window, go to bed for real, when the scuff of footsteps running back under her brought her back to look outside again.

“Um,” Monet looked at her feet, chewing her lip and shifting from foot to foot. “I just wanted to say–Thanks. And, um…I like you. You’re cool. And I’m gonna tell the others to stop messing with you, ‘cause…I think I want you to stay.”

Vanessa felt her breath catch in her throat, her heart soaring as a grin spread over her face.

Monet wanted her to stay. She was going to stay. Finally, finally, she’d done something right.

“Don’t worry about it.” Vanessa shook her head, forcing a relieved breath out with the words. “I want to stay, too.”

[vfdbaudelairefile13]

Misery Loves Company Part 1

Prologue: The One Where Lemony Learns of a Very Forlorn Death 

I am going to be kind enough to give you the chance to change your mind about reading the sad tale of Violet Snicket and her two half-siblings, Klaus and Sunny Baudelaire. You might think that the lives of three children would be safe, fun, and comfortable...but in the case of these three, you would be entirely wrong. That’s because rarely anything was safe, fun, or comfortable in the lives of these very unfortunate children. Each of these children was extremely unlucky, leading unfortunate and terribly unhappy lives.

This story begins like how a great number of other stories begin, in the middle of someone else’s story because no story has a true beginning or even a true ending, most stories are just snippets and interjections of a grander story. The story we’ll be interjecting ourselves into will be the story of Lemony Snicket. 

 Lemony Snicket was a middle-aged man. He had a clean face, rigid build, eyes of ocean blue, with dark brown hair. He nearly always wore a frown upon his face, he was someone who has been through the wringer a few times. Some days he didn’t know how he survived the days of his youth...or the inevitable heartbreak that made him into the lonely man he is today. 

Lemony was an odd man, he had a rather unusual knack of defining words and phrases randomly, and when I say randomly, I mean it. It doesn’t matter who he is speaking to or whether or not he was the one speaking, Lemony would just say a word or phrase followed by the sentence, “which is a word or phrase which here means…”. He was what many people would consider a bibliophile, a man who loves words. There were only two things he loved more than words and his outdated typewriter, that was the love of his life, Beatrice Baudelaire, and more importantly his fourteen-year-old daughter, Violet. 

Due to complicated circumstances, Lemony ended up being a single father to Violet when his daughter was still just an infant which was not a problem to Lemony, the last thirteen years of his life were the happiest, although you wouldn’t be able to tell because the man rarely ever smiled in public. He loved having his daughter around. Unfortunately, there was one factor in his life that made having and raising a child much more difficult.

Lemony was considered a fugitive, he was on the lam for a situation that had happened shortly before Violet’s birth. In some cases, Lemony was also assumed by many of his old friends and colleagues to be dead, which he was also strangely fine with. This made keeping Violet a secret from VFD a lot easier.  He rarely liked to discuss the events that led to his less than perfect life with his daughter. Violet has asked him on numerous occasions but he rarely ever told her more than it was an unfortunate misunderstanding involving him, her birth mother, and a few of his former friends, some of whom have become his enemies. This was one of the reasons Lemony was glad that no one from his organization knew about Violet’s existence. He and Beatrice promised each other that she would be kept safe from anything related to VFD. 

Violet was a curious girl, she had an intellectually inventive mind. At only fourteen years old Lemony considered his daughter, one of the finest young inventors and in all honesty, even if she weren’t his daughter, he would still bestow this title upon her. Lemony couldn’t be more proud of his daughter whenever he saw her tying her long brown hair up with one of her many solid color ribbons, he would smile to himself because he knew the wires, nuts, and bolts of his daughter’s mechanical mind were working at top speed with a new invention and Violet didn’t want something as trivial as her hair to ruin her concentration. 

Lemony felt as though he failed Violet in many ways. For starters, he has never been able to relocate her mother, but it wasn’t due to a lack of trying. In his youth, Lemony was a prominent member of a secret organization alongside Beatrice and this organization was the exact reason as to why he lost touch with Beatrice so many years ago. Lemony refuses to allow his daughter to be involved in such a dangerous organization which is why he has done his absolute best to keep the entire thing a secret from her, although it broke his heart to do so. He knew that his daughter had so many unanswered questions about her past and her own birth mother, but Lemony had to be careful about what information he gave to her. He couldn’t let her know about VFD or his and Beatrice’s involvement within it. Lemony had done some not-so noble things in the past, albeit for noble reasons with noble intentions but it didn’t change the fact that he and Beatrice walked the grey line of morality and at some points during their acrobat routine, both had fallen on the darker, more wicked side of things once or twice. He didn’t want his daughter to be ashamed of him or her birth mother. To try to free himself of some of the guilt surrounding the topic, Lemony had purchased a beautiful silver, heart-shaped locket for Violet for her fifth birthday. On one side of the locket had Violet’s name engraved to it and her birthday right underneath her name in smaller print, while the other side was plain. He had put a picture of her birth mother inside of it even writing Beatrice’s name on the back of the picture. Ever since that day, you would rarely ever find Violet without that locket. It was always around her neck or as she put it, “The locket lands right on my heart, so whoever’s picture is inside,  I am keeping close to my heart,” That same year believe it or not, Violet had sewn her father a yellow ribbon with the words World’s Best Dad in sewn in purple, which he wore on his wrist like a watch. 

Lemony would describe his and Violet’s relationship as extremely close. The two of them were literally thick as thieves with Lemony living his life on the run from both the authorities and former enemies this was the only way for the two of them to live. He and Violet spent a lot of time together, and when they did spend time apart, they were never far from each other. Due to their situation, they always lived in either a small studio apartment or motel room. It was all he could risk renting. Of course, he never used his real name, he had a long list of aliases that he used interchangeably to keep his identity hidden from anyone who would want to hurt his daughter or himself. 

But although the two were so close, Lemony felt he was robbing his young daughter of a true childhood, there was not a day where he believed had she still been in Beatrice’s custody that she would have a more fulfilled life and a better childhood rather than the sorry excuse of a childhood he has provided. Living life on the lam alongside his daughter, meant that he and Violet were always moving. If Lemony had any doubt in his mind that where they lived had been compromised, it was time to go. Violet had learned at a young age to just go along with her father’s insanity even if it didn’t seem normal, because of this Lemony and Violet always had backpacks that rested next to their front door, they kept essentials in there. Violet has always known life to be spontaneous and adventurous, but she longed for a normal life. She knew that this would never be the case, seeing that her father was falsely accused of numerous crimes and she swore that he once told her that he was also suspected to be dead, but she couldn’t be so sure. She secretly hoped that during his odd jobs of investigating, that maybe he’ll one day find enough evidence to clear his name and then he’d show the world that he hadn’t died and that he wasn’t a wicked man like the papers wanted everyone to believe. She loved her father but she felt like there was more to life than hiding in the shadows and hoping for a new day to arrive. 

On this particular day, Lemony and Violet were out shopping at a convenience store, Lemony ushered his daughter to be quick as he did not feel comfortable being outside in public very along, especially in the city. Had he known where all of his enemies were at every second of the day, living a normal life would be easier on Lemony but alas, that was an impossible feat. He could not risk anyone from his glory days seeing him especially with a teenage girl who looked so much like Beatrice. Anyone who knew him or Beatrice would be able to put two and two together. 

“Violet...let’s go,” Lemony called to her as he tipped his fedora a bit lower to hide his face better.

Violet smiled, “I’m coming, why you are in such a rush Mr. Lemons,” she replied jokingly using a nickname she had given her father when she was a small child.

Lemony smiled at the nickname but replied to her in a slightly stern tone, “You know it’s not safe for me to be out in public for too long. So please grab a few more snacks and let’s go,”

Violet nodded running back into the small, narrow aisles of the convenience store. 

“Hello, Mr. Feint. In a hurry, yet again,” the storekeeper said to Lemony as he proceeded to hand over the merchandise.

“Oh, always. But my daughter doesn’t always grasp that concept it seems,” 

“Aye, she’s a young girl. Young girls like to live life at the moment, and sometimes that moment can be dragged on a little longer than the rest of us would like,”

Lemony rolled his eyes.

“Did you hear about the fire?” the storekeeper asked. 

Lemony’s eyes went wide. Fire. A word that triggered so many good and bad memories to flow back to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t investigated fires in a while, he hadn’t paid attention to any kind of fire, literal fire or figurative fires, in such a long time. The word always burned him at his inner core. He looked back to make sure Violet wasn’t anywhere in earshot. “What fire?”

“It’s on the front page of the Daily Punctilio,” 

“Oh...trust me, you can’t believe anything  you read in the Daily Punctilio,” Lemony replied, “In all honesty, I’m surprised those idiots haven’t been sued for defamation, yet.”

“I don’t know, man, it seems real. The Baudelaire mansion is a pile of charred rubble now,” 

Lemony’s heart fell to his stomach and the world began to spin around him. “D-d-did you just say...Baudelaire mansion?” He turned again to where Violet was still shopping and for once in her life, he was glad she was ignoring him and taking her leisurely time. He most definitely didn’t want her to hear anything about the name, “Baudelaire”. 

“Yeah, it’s a shame what happened. The paper says it was a freak accident. Either way, those poor kids, having to grow up without a mother or father,” the storekeeper said handing a copy of the Daily Punctilio toward Lemony. Lemony quickly grabbed the paper and he couldn’t believe his eyes as he skimmed through the article. Right there on the front page was a piece of news that changed his life forever. “Baudelaire Mansion Destroyed”

No! It couldn’t be true. Not Beatrice! She couldn’t have been residing in the same city as he and Violet. There’s no way, she can’t be dead.  Before he knew it, he could feel tears slowly falling from his eyes, he hurriedly wiped them. 

The shopkeeper realizing that Lemony was starting to cry, looked up at him and started to stare at him intensely for several moments. This started to concern Lemony, who looked at the shopkeeper and asked, “Can I help you?”

The shopkeeper shook their head ever so slightly and replied, “I didn’t realize this was a sad occasion.”

And with that sentence, Lemony’s eyes went wide. He threw money down in front of the shopkeeper, rolled up the newspaper as best as he could to hide it from Violet and he rushed to her and grabbed her by her arm as gently as he could. He did his best to not let her see his face. Violet looked confused but she was used to his irrational behavior so after a moment of questioning why they were rushing out of the convenience store, she just went along with it. 

Later that day, Lemony was able to come up with a lie to excuse himself to leave for another day of his investigative work. Violet hadn’t thought much of it, just another typical day in the life of her father. All afternoon, Lemony had found a way to hide from Violet and reread the article that he had bought from the storekeeper. Each time he read the headline, he still couldn’t believe it. Beatrice was dead. Bertrand, an old friend of his, was also deceased leaving behind two young children. Well, Beatrice had left behind three children. How was he ever supposed to tell her? She had many hopes and dreams about meeting her birth mother and getting to know her...but now she will never get that chance. This whole time, Beatrice presided in the same city as the two of them. Lemony felt like utter shit, his resources were limited because he was either presumed dead or on the lam but that didn’t make him feel any better about himself as a father or the entire situation as a whole. 

Lemony couldn’t simply stay in their motel room and sulk. He wanted to see this to believe it. Thankfully the Daily Punctilio had printed the address to where his darling dearest had resided for who knows how long. He had decided to walk seeing that it was not as far from his residence as he expected. His mind wandered endlessly about who could have done this? What if it was a freak accident? He laughed at that notion. He knew someone was behind this. These things don’t just happen, especially not to a prominent VFD agent who has made a few enemies of her own. He wondered if Beatrice had ever given up VFD. He believed that she and Bertrand would have to see that they had two children together. Violet has a brother and sister ...that she may never meet.  Every single time his mind wandered back to Violet, he felt more and more like a horrible father. He never found her mother, and now it’s too late. She may never get to meet her half-siblings since Lemony would not be able to adopt them since he was on the lam and in other cases, presumed dead.  His mind was torturing him his entire walk. Asking a thousand and one questions that he may never answer. Now he knew how Violet felt every time she asked about Beatrice. So many questions in your head but no answer ever arrives. 

As Lemony reached the burned remains of his ex-fiance’s mansion, his heart dropped for the second time today. Everything was charred and ashy. Lemony could imagine just how the fire looked from the inside. The fire was not generous, it didn’t leave anything untouched or salvageable. The entire mansion smelled of smoke and ash as if the fire had just been set. Lemony had to be careful where he walked as to not trip on anything or allow his weight to break the surfaces underneath his feet. He had never been to this mansion, of course, but he closed his eyes and imagined just how beautiful Beatrice would have kept it. He began crying again as he walked around what he assumed to be the library, which was now a pile of ashes and broken down bookshelves. He strolled around to each room as carefully as he could, imagining what his and Violet’s life would have been like had he made better choices in his youth. Beatrice is dead because of me. My daughter will never meet her mother and it’s all my fault. That’s all that played through his mind as he walked along the desolate and burned down mansion. 

He was so lost in his thoughts that he jumped upon hearing a cough. “Shit,” he muttered to himself and quickly found a safe place to hide. He could not be seen, especially not here and not by the authorities. The authorities would blame him for this crime and then he’d surely never see his daughter again. The only evidence they could use against him is the notion that some arsonists like to revisit the scene of the crime, to see the damage that they did. To revel in the fact that they had tarnished someone’s property and life. He could not give anyone a reason to believe that he had started this fire. So he hid in a spot where he could see if the coughing figure was getting close to him or his hiding place. Lemony would be ready to fight off whoever it was and run, run like Hell, get Violet and move again. As the figure got closer, the coughing didn’t stop, it actually got a lot worse. When the figure finally got into a good viewing point, Lemony noticed that it was Arthur Poe, which would explain the excessive coughing.

“Well, children. I would have taken you to see what remains of your house but the official fire department asked me to wait until it was a bit safer,” Mr. Poe managed to say after a long fit of coughing.

Two smaller figures that seemed to be children appeared from behind him. Lemony could see their faces and immediately could tell that they were the kids from the Daily Punctilio. His heart broke in two when he saw that the young boy, he believed the newspaper referred to him as Klyde, began to cry as he held his infant sister, Susie. 

Those were Beatrice’s children. Alive and well. Well, except for the fact they were orphans now. Lemony lowered his head and looked at the ground. These poor children. This was so unfair. Lemony wondered what would come of them now. Who would the children be placed in the care of? Beatrice and Bertrand must have some sort of plan for these children. Lemony wanted so badly to just walk out of his hiding place and tell Mr. Poe that he’d take the children but he knew deep down he couldn’t. 

“We have absolutely nothing,” Klaus replied to Mr. Poe.

Lemony frowned. If those kids are anything like their mother, they’ll get through this. There’s no way their story gets worse from here. 

I hate to inform you that Lemony, was in fact, dead wrong. So dead wrong that I am going to give you a chance right now, to run away, run far away from whatever device you are using to read this sad tale because the story does get worse, it gets much, much worse. In my extensive research on the Baudelaire and Snicket cases, I can tell you that this is only the beginning and the further you go down this rabbit hole, the sadder things get, the more dire things get. It is my deepest apologies to tell you this, but that’s how the story goes.  If you’re still here, this is your fault…but on with the story.

Mr. Poe frowned at Klaus’ statement, “Your parents left behind an enormous fortune which will be yours when Klaus comes of age. Until then you will live with your dear Count Olaf, who will raise you in place of your parents.”

Klaus and Sunny didn’t reply to this just kept wandering the burnt remains of their homes but Lemony froze over. Did he just hear Poe correctly? Count Olaf? Their dear Count Olaf? Lemony immediately realized that this story was not over and he was now involved. There was no way Beatrice and Bertrand would want their children placed in that wretched man’s care. Something was not right. Lemony did not know how Olaf managed to get a hold of these kids, but if Lemony had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t have them in his custody for very long.

[I want to say thank you to one of my friends, Bunni [@hongmoondescendant for the first pic (the one that looks like a film reel. Truly appreciate it. Thank you.

Also big thanks to everyone on the VFDiscord that has been uber supportive of this AU idea and everyone who has helped me figure out how I was going to do the first four without Violet. There are so many of you. Love and appreciate you all. Hope yall LOVE this]

[reekierevelator]

The Face of Tomorrow

Sitting, eyes red and head drooping, foot almost glued to the pedal, feeding the coarse material through the needle.  At last, she moved her foot away and let her head fall. Another piece finished.  Twenty shirts, all exactly the same, already today.

But before Ode could take a few moments to rest her arms and have a sip of water the foreman arrived to snatch away the finished shirt, saying ‘Atta girl, plenty more where that came from’, and pushed a sewing pattern down in front of her tired eyes. This was quickly followed by ‘Here you go then, next piece’ as he thrust a pile of cut-outs on to the heavily scratched beech wood of her small work desk.  The new pieces were in a dazzling shade of almost iridescent blue with a subtle pattern of thin black lines running through them. Ode sat up and stared, mesmerised. The foreman couldn’t understand it. ‘It’s the same shirt dear, just different material’ he explained slowly, as if Ode was some kind of simpleton.

Since leaving school Ode had spent long hours working in the dilapidated red brick building only the boss calls the Golden Garment Company factory.  Her fellow workers called it the workshop. Her old school friends called it the sweatshop. Long hours and poor pay, but ‘it’s a job’. And without qualifications Ode felt lucky to be employed at all.  She knew it was only because her mother had taught her the basic skills required – through making her sew and mend from a very young age, - that she’d got the job in the first place.  In her own family, new clothes were a rare and almost unheard of luxury. It had been that way since they had fled to escape the fighting, arriving in Britain from Nigeria when Ode was a small child.  

She had never owned the kind of on-trend fashionable clothes that she’d seen on some of the city’s girls. And she knew anyway that she was plain and unattractive. Fancy clothes wouldn’t hide that. People had never been backward in coming forward to tell her so.  

Once, she’d gone with her friend to try on expensive clothes in a posh shop – it was what they did, try them on, admire themselves in the mirrors, and then return the clothes to the rails.  Sometimes Ode took even longer as she examined the textiles, the way a particular fabric had been cut, sewn, pleated. It was much more valuable to examine the actual clothes, see exactly how they had been treated, cut on the bias or whatever, than to read about them in the odd fashion magazine that came her way. She could understand why her behaviour could irritate the woman in charge of the changing rooms and how she might get annoyed.  When Ode emerged wearing a floor length sequined gown the woman had carped ‘You don’t really fit the modelling mould, do you love? Not got the required features: not thin enough, not tall enough, and your legs are too short.’ It cut Ode to the bone, but still she couldn’t shake the obsession.

In fact she became quite acclimatised to cruel humiliation. ‘Your cheekbones are too low, nose is too big, your mouth is too wide, the shape and colour of your eyes is all wrong.’ In a way it made her more resilient. ‘You can’t squeeze into that dress my girl, even the bust’s not right.  In fact, your whole build is all wrong for those kinds of dresses. To be honest I can’t see even spending a fortune on make-up and cosmetics making much difference.’ Even when it left her almost in tears Ode found she could cope. That was just how her life was and since it was likely to stay that way she better get used to it.  

Somehow she just couldn’t help herself.  She inevitably found herself starting conversations with workmates, family, and sometimes even strangers at the bus stop by commenting on their clothes. She offered them her ideas on what might suit them better.  But what she considered sensible suggestions were often received as rudeness; unwarranted intrusions, impolite, offensive, insulting. On the odd occasions when she had ventured to make such suggestions to her friends they had either laughed out loud, asked what on earth she was thinking, or stared at her as if they thought he was going mad.  

But at least the meagre wages she was earning allowed her the very occasional luxury purchase. The unusual blue cloth triggered her desire.  At the end of the day she noticed the scrag end of a roll abandoned on the cutting room floor. She picked it up and approached the foreman.

‘Could I take this home with me?’ she asked

The foreman knew there was not enough material for another garment and that it would only be swept up and put in the refuse with the rest of the rubbish. He barked back ‘Of course not, it belongs to the company,’

‘I could pay for it,’ Ode answered timidly.

‘How much?’

‘I have six pounds saved,’ said Ode, rummaging in her pocket then stretching out her hand showing him the money.

The foreman cast his eyes furtively around the now empty room. ‘Sold’, he muttered, quickly grabbing the cash from Ode’s hand.

With the dress-making skills her mother had somewhat forcefully bequeathed to her Ode intended to cut the material into embellishments for her existing clothes.  But then she struck on the idea of unpicking the stitching of her own dress and using her own quirky ideas to remake it in a wholly new style, one she imagined would show off the blue material properly. The dress she created was highly unusual, a peculiar variation on the traditional dress of her ancestors, a new take on the sort of clothes her mother wore as if she still walked the Nigerian countryside every day. A matching gele, or headdress, completed the effect.

At first her best friend, Uma, impulsive and beautiful, with big eyes and an impish smile, was the only one she would allow to see her new ‘African’ dress. Then one day Uma said ‘Is real neat, yah. But what you gonna do wit it though – just sit at home wearin it, starin at youself in the mirror like you famous?  Shu, no girl like you ever gonna wear that kinda thing on the street.’

But maybe that was just the challenge Ode had been waiting for.  The very next Saturday she wore her highly original new dress while accompanying Uma to Harlesden market, shopping for yams, plantain, and cooking bananas.  She drew admiring glances from other girls, saying ‘Stunna, innit’ and ‘You got an ankara buba now Ode?’.  Even some of the boys approached her, passing comments like ‘That’s a wicked colour’, and ‘Cool dress’.  A white boy mentioned her ‘Impressive kaftan.’

Ode’s girlfriends were quick to convert to a full appreciation of the new style. They found themselves re-thinking the fashion advice Ode had tried to give them, which they’d previously rejected as ridiculously outlandish. It didn’t take long before they were asking her advice on materials, and arranging for Ode to run up clothes for them at home after they brought her the lengths of cloth they’d bought.

One Saturday afternoon Ode and Uma passed the unimposing little shopfront of a professional photographer.  They paused outside for a moment before Uma, on the spur of the moment, marched in, her friend trailing behind, and asked him to take photos of her. ‘For a fashion model portfolio?’ the photographer had joked, and Uma surprised herself when, the idea having been put in her head, she replied ‘Well yes.’ When she asked him for the names and addresses of modelling agencies her Ode’s laughter became uncontrollable. But still, he’d gamely suggested a few names while keeping his grin in check.

Uma collected the big glossy photos the next weekend and posted them off to New Vision Models, one of the names she’d remembered.  Surprisingly, the agency, under pressure to demonstrate greater ‘diversity’, invited her for an interview. But when Uma arrived to speak to Zelda it was quickly clear that she wasn’t really interested. Uma was glad she’d gone alone and that her friend wasn’t there to hear Zelda’s casual, acerbic comments on her height, weight, and the size of her feet.

Zelda’s phone rang.  It was an urgent request.  One of their clients had put together a mail order catalogue that had to go to print next day and they’d only just realized all the models they’d used were white. They couldn’t afford to be depicted as racially biased and they couldn’t afford to re-schedule the printing job.  In fact, business was so bad because of all the new online retailers that unless the catalogue brought in a lot of sales they knew the company was going to collapse anyway.  As a matter of fact they couldn’t even afford to pay the usual going rate for models but they desperately needed someone within the hour.

So for a minimal fee, from which Uma would earn only ‘experience’, the agency sent her to wear cheap clothes for some quickfire photographs which would be included in a mail order women’s clothes catalogue that would be printed in great haste on cheap paper. In their hurry a shot was taken of Uma wearing the dress in which she’d arrived, a dress designed and stitched together by Ode. The photo was included along with an arbitrary price the catalogue editor had made up on the spot.

Inevitably, the catalogue’s readers hated the clothes and bought very little.  But even while the company was folding, comments proliferated across the social media about one of the models, how she was so different to the usual mannequin-like catalogue clothes-horses and actually looked like a ‘normal lively girl’ for a change. As attention was directed towards Uma, more readers also commented that the only item of clothing in the catalogue that was worth buying was one that she modelled – a sort of esoteric take on traditional West African dress. Unusually, the dress was in bright pink rather than the usual primary colours and its pattern was picked out in subtle, swirling crimson and gold.  Surprisingly, the cut was for a casual dress style, a chiseled cut and only knee-length, with a rectangular neckline. Equally surprisingly, the dress was still somehow unmistakeably African.

While casually flicking through Instagram discussions a young man linked it to a message he sent to the husband of Phoebe, a young aspiring clothes designer. ‘People are saying there’s someone, something out there, that is “different” ‘.

When the husband brought it to her attention Phoebe investigated.  She checked Instagram. The nape of her neck prickled. She tracked down a copy of the printed catalogue.  She phoned the catalogue company, then the modelling agency, and then Uma herself. When she discovered who had made the catalogue’s one outstanding clothes item her sense of excitement went into overdrive. She ran out of her office in Jermyn Street and was soon on the Bakerloo Line heading north to Harlesden.  When she found the flat in the high-rise she confused Ode’s mother by asking to talk to the girl with the perfect eye.

The social media hubbub also reached Zelda.  She was quickly back in contact with Uma, offering her more work, and insisting the company could live up to its name of New Vision.

Ode handed in her notice at the sweatshop. The foreman told her to stay, warned her she’d regret leaving, since his own pay was linked to production and he knew how hard Ode worked. But Ode began working with Phoebe.  With Ode’s ideas and Phoebe’s business contacts it wasn’t long before they were selling vast numbers of new garments, not only throughout the UK but to the near two hundred million Nigerians and to other parts of West Africa.

Within a year Uma’s cheerful face was on billboards and the cover of Cosmopolitan. She was following in the footsteps of Iman and Naomi Campbell.

But Ode’s face, despite the cheekbones being too low, nose too big, mouth too wide, and shape and colour of the eyes all wrong, was the real face of tomorrow. It was already to be found on the inside pages of Business Today as well as StyleWatch, Glamour, and West Africa Now.  The world had moved on. The face of Britain was multicultural and not only was the West African market online, but the whole face of Africa was changing fast. Given the respect accorded a top class designer, business couldn’t be better.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

How To Wear The Men’s Logo Fashion Trend

http://fashion-trendin.com/how-to-wear-the-mens-logo-fashion-trend/

How To Wear The Men’s Logo Fashion Trend

At the turn of the decade, a glut of opinion pieces decried the death of the subculture. Mostly white, middle-aged rock journos moaned that there were no proper ‘scenes’ anymore. That fast fashion and Spotify had killed youth movements. That everyone dressed the same, in some version of post-Libertines skinny jeans and tees. That individuality had died in the 1990s with Britpop.

Roll on eight years and the NME’s dead, the kids have never dressed more disparately and, like a renegade master, the nineties are back once again (if you get that reference, you’ve probably already got the look in your attic). Where once you needed some knowledge to pick your Blur fans from your Oasis fans, today’s style tribes come pre-branded.

By embracing logos in a way not seen since the days when Tommy Hilfiger sold in shops other than TK Maxx, it’s easy to pick the skatewear kids from the high-fashion set, the wannabe grime MCs from the Rafsessives.

All of which makes logomania at once a trend that anyone can jump on, and one that’s fraught with peril. Unlike in the nineties, when logos were a slightly less gauche way to flaunt your wealth than wearing a coat made of cash, this time around they embody a convoluted blend of irony, status, lack of status, in-joke and fashion knowledge. Get it wrong and you’re your dad in the Supreme queue. Get it right and you’re Jonah Hill in Palace, quietly breaking the internet.

Here are four key ways to be the latter.

Wear It Loud And Proud

The OG logo move, both back then and right now, is the branded tee. “Gucci kick-started this trend [in recent years] with its logo T-shirt,” says Luke McDonald, a stylist at online wardrobe service Thread. Though street- and sportswear brands have never abandoned their graphics, the luxury brands had steered more minimal since the noughties as customers preferred a subtler display of wealth.

“But that doesn’t translate well to Instagram,” McDonald says. “Logos do.” Gucci’s tee, while still nosebleed expensive, let consumers buy into the hottest brand in fashion without shelling out four figures. Plus, everyone could see what you’d bought and where it was from.

Labels high and low followed suit. “At the moment, you can’t have too much,” says Nick Eley, head of men’s design at ASOS. “There’s a real trend for all-over or huge, oversized logo prints.” These are not for wallflowers. You are, in essence, paying a brand to act as their advert, so make sure your go-to is more than a pretty picture. “You should pick a label that feels authentic to your style and lifestyle,” says McDonald.

Logo clashing is doable, but tricky. It’s better to give your chosen brand the spotlight unshared. “I would treat logos in the same way I treat prints,” says Chris Hobbs, menswear fashion editor at MatchesFashion.com. “One at a time, otherwise your outfit will start to wear you.” If you look like an F1 driver, dial back.

As A Subtle Wink

There are always ways to dip a toe into any fashion trend, even one that’s as look-at-me as this. On the high street, the approach tends to be OTT – the logos themselves have less clout, so their owners need to go big lest the punters go home. But among the labels with more cache, even those that have long been logo-shy have leaned into the trend. Albeit gently.

“The subtlest way to approach logos is to pick a label that doesn’t visibly brand their product,” says Eley,” but which has a particular sign-off or print that is immediately distinguishable.” Think Burberry’s check, recently reintroduced after being binned in the noughties because of its popularity among the less-well-heeled, and Margiela, with its signature stitches.

For a pocket-money take on that approach, look for either tonal logos – think a white-on-white Stan Smith, or black-on-black Nike swoosh – or stick to trousers, where the branding is subtler. Joggers in particular, with the logo relegated to the side stripe, tick off two trends at once.

“You can also restrain the impact of your logos with layering,” says McDonald. “Under a plain hoodie or an open shirt, you just get the flash of a logo on a tee.”

With A Healthy Dose Of Irony

Let’s make one thing clear: all logos have some sense of irony. Those worn in earnest are too thirsty to be tolerated; today, status is earned by not looking like you care about status at all. Confused? Good. Because that’s the headspace you need for Gucci’s self-inflicted bootlegging, by which the brand flogs price-of-a-suit T-shirts with the word ‘GUCCY’ written on them.

Fair cop. Your correspondent once purchased a Palace tee in which the enormous rear logo reads ‘Placae’. It seemed funny at the time, but is in reality obscene. Also, no one has ever noticed the typo. However, ridiculous as all this might seem, it does introduce the one thing that’s never been fashion’s strong suit. “Fun,” says Benns. “Gucci is having fun with its typography. And I think that’s interesting.”

For those without the bank balance for knock-off versions at luxury prices, the streetwear world offers the time-honoured logo flip. “It’s always been about democratising those brands and the things they represent,” says McDonald. “It makes them accessible and relevant to street culture.” Bowlcut Garms does a number of neat brand mashups and Sports Banger has reworked everything from Helly Hansen (as Hackney Hardcore) to the NHS and Nike logos.

In Your Pocket

Gucci doesn’t make its billions from the stuff in Jared Leto’s wardrobe. Rather, it’s the accessible, affordable products that let everyone else buy into the brand without a call to Wonga.

“That used to mean fragrances,” says McDonald. “But now, every brand has a range of lifestyle accessories, from phone cases to lighters to keychains, all of which have the logo front and centre.”

For the man looking to rep the logo trend without going all fanboy, it’s the gentlest way in. For the genuine fanboy, it’s the most affordable.

Key Brands To Wear For The Logo Trend

Luxury Brands

Gucci

The word Gucci is almost as heavily ingrained in the lexicon of fashion connoisseurs as the word fashion itself. It’s a name synonymous with luxury, glamour and style – which is probably why people are so keen to have it plastered all over their chests.

The respected Italian fashion house has been one of the key high-end labels spearheading the logo trend, and also the one having the most fun with it. Pick from printed tees, hoodies, bags, trainers and more, all boasting that big-ticket green and red branding.

Off-White

If the logo trend is all about irony, then no brand is a better example than Virgil Abloh’s acutely self-aware Off-White. Abloh’s imprint has received almost universal praise for its tongue-in-cheek use of branding, logos and labels – perhaps most notably recently in its collaborative effort with Nike, ‘The Ten’.

He must be doing something right. After all, you don’t get named creative director of one of the most esteemed high-fashion labels on the face of the earth – Louis Vuitton – for not having your finger on the pulse.

Balenciaga

There are few brands that can get away with flogging a pair of plain white socks emblazoned with their logo for just under £100. Balenciaga is one of them.

Ever since Vetements’ Demna Gvasalia – a man known for his love of bold logos – took the reins of the Spanish luxury label, not-so-subtle branding has become one of its calling cards. Think embroidered baseball caps that cost more than your rent, politically-themed pool sliders and plenty of nods to popular culture.

Mid-Priced Brands

Tommy Hilfiger

When you take the nineties resurgence into account, it’s hardly surprising that Tommy Hilfiger’s legendary flag logo is flying high once again. Tommy was a staple fixture in the world of fashion 20 years ago and with a little help from the vintage resellers of the social media generation, is now back in full force.

Block colours, bold fonts and nineties styling are what it’s all about. And at manageable price points, adding a dash of Hilfiger to your wardrobe won’t leave you living off super noodles until payday.

Calvin Klein

It’s always been about the logos at Calvin Klein. When that now-iconic branded waistband first peered over the top of a pair of jeans, a legend was born, cementing the Calvin Klein font as a symbol of style and sex for men all over the world.

Today it’s more than just nice underwear, though. The American label has taken that same typeface and applied it to tees, hoodies, outerwear and more, staking its claim as one of the leading brands in the logo trend.

Levi’s

With little more than a small red tab, sewn onto the back pocket of its jeans to denote where they came from, Levi’s has hardly been a brand renowned for its heavy use of logos. However, in recent years, that’s all changed.

Many of Levi’s casual offerings now feature the brand’s sportswear logo, which first made an appearance at the 1984 LA Olympics. Its T-shirts are quickly becoming as iconic as their denim siblings, making now as good a time as any to get involved.

Streetwear Brands

Palace

In less than a decade, London-based label Palace has gone from fledgling skate brand to fashion royalty. Its unique sense of humour and beautifully designed ‘triferg’ logo have made it the imprint of choice for clued-up skaters, streetwear connoisseurs and fashionistos alike.

The Palace logo and font face have become common sights in skate parks, at fashion weeks and on the shoulders of the hip-hop elite. And with seasonal drops that see the streets of Soho jammed up with hypebeasts from London and beyond, there’s only one other label that comes anywhere close…

Supreme

Undisputed king of logos, Supreme is well known for its unfaltering ability to slap a bogo (that’s ‘box logo’ for the uninitiated) on anything – like, literally anything – and have people dropping their life’s savings to get their hands on it.

That instantly recognisable white-on-scarlet trademark is one of the most famous logos in fashion, made all the more coveted by the amount of sheer dedication (and money) it requires to obtain.

Stussy

The logo thing may be what’s hot right now, but California-born street/surfwear originator Stussy has been on it since day dot. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Shawn Stussy’s eponymous label in the first place, we might not be sat here writing this at all.

Known for its graffiti-inspired script logo, Stussy was the brand that pioneered heavy branding and made it one of streetwear’s calling cards. Plus, unlike similar labels, clothes aren’t produced in deliberately limited runs, so getting your hands on a piece is actually an achievable feat.

Sportswear Brands

Adidas

When it comes to bold logos, the big-hitting sports brands have been doing it for longer than most. Adidas’ trefoil logo and three stripe trademark have become two of the most recognisable designs in the history of, well, design.

Worn as a badge of honour by hip-hop heroes such as Run DMC in the eighties, Britpop stars and terrace lads of the nineties, and pretty much everyone else since, the Adidas logo is one of the all-time greats, making it one of the easiest to wear, too.

Nike

Nike’s logo couldn’t really be any simpler, but therein lies its beauty. The Swoosh has permeated every part of the world and you’d be hard pushed to find anyone who doesn’t instantly know what it is. Because of this, it’s an obvious go-to when it comes to getting yourself involved in the logo trend.

The Oregon-born sports label is known for slapping its mark on everything from tees to trackies, sneakers to socks – making it the perfect way to embrace the logo look without going too left field.

Champion

It may have been founded almost 100 years ago, but thanks to today’s obsession with logo-laden sportswear, Champion is now more relevant than ever before. Due to a number of recent high-profile collaborations, the American heritage brand has become a favourite in streetwear circles, while still counting athletes and sportsmen among its customers.

Think hoodies, tracksuit bottoms and tees in its signature reverse weave fabric, all featuring a hearty dose of in-your-face branding.