#i asked my mama if i could be a horse rider and she said no

[quixoticall]

To Hell I Go

MASTERLIST

Suggested Listening: Anything Zach Bryan but particularly, "Something in the Orange", “Open the Gate”, and "I Remember Everything"

Chapter Warnings: Gun violence, injury, some light death ideation, Billy is here, death of an animal

WC: 2.8K

Author's Note: Hello! It's been a while! Please know I'm working on TCGU! But I've been really inspired by Zach Bryan recently and this concept of the Final Girl of the West which is how this idea was born. I hope you like it!

_______________

“Sheriff Hopper’s after us. Has his new Pretty Boy deputy with him too.” 

The sun is high and bright and bothersome but you’ve been on a job for the last month, which paints everything bothersome,  even Max’s warning. 

“Didn’t know Hopper was working with anyone,” you muse, as you dismount your horse, Calliope, and hand the young girl the reigns. Your muscles are stiff and achy from riding so long and you smell like a manure pit. You desperately want a proper bed—or a shallow grave—to fall into. 

“He’s new. Hops probably needs the help on account of his leg being fucked up since you shot him,” Max responds, admiration tinging her voice. 

You scoff, “I didn’t fuck up his leg, he’s just old and fat.” 

You had barely even grazed him. 

“Pretty Boy, huh?  I’m sure your brother is seething about that.” 

Max glares at you through her lashes, “he’s not my brother,” she warns. 

You know this, of course, you’re just in a bad mood and looking for a bruise to poke. You should probably apologize but Max’ll get her lick back soon enough—it’ll be easy with you, too. You’re all bruise. 

“Billy hates him, already ran into him and the Chief in Amarillo. Came home all black and blue from their scuffle, ended up running him off the trail and he fell off his horse.” 

You whistle lowly, knocking Billy Hargrove off his horse is no easy feat. He must’ve been angry after that.

“He said that they had a list of all the gang’s members. Not our names or nothing, just descriptions, I guess. Apparently, Hopper has you on the list as ‘crack shot girl’. ”

You drink this information up, eyes scanning the horizon, half expecting Billy or Hopper or even Creel to spring out any moment.  Nothing but the wind through the grass, though. 

“What does he have you as?” You probe. 

Max nearly pouts in response, “Red.” 

You’re trying not to laugh, and instead grapple to change the subject. 

“What about the ‘Pretty Boy’ deputy? Does he have a name?” 

You don’t care too much, you want to keep the conversation going, it’s the only real one you’ve had in weeks. 

“Heard it was Harrington or something like that,” Max shrugs, quickly losing interest in favor of brushing Calliope’s mane. 

It has to be “something like that”, you decide, because you knew for a fact there wasn’t a single Harrington west of the Appalachians. There hadn’t been in years. 

_______________

Steve Harrington was the first in his family to leave Wyoming in thirteen generations. It wasn’t by choice. 

Steve’s daddy had been a cattle rancher. He hadn’t owned any land like yours had but he was the best bull rider in all the West. That was, until his fatal fall off the saddle when Steve was barely old enough to ride himself. 

The heartbreak of her true love’s death had made a ghost of Steve’s mama, effectively making him an orphan. 

He was thirteen when he had come to your Daddy’s ranch, threadbare hat clutched tightly in his fists nervously as he asked for work. 

You were twelve then and watched the whole exchange from the top of the stairs with your sisters, the three of you drinking him in with an odd curiosity. He had been all limbs back then, thin and awkward but as tall as a man. His face was uncreased and fearful, giving away his true age. You listened, unseen as the young boy stuttered through an explanation of his pitiful circumstances. 

He wasn’t looking for charity, he made a point to specify, but work. He could ride and wrangle and he knew how to work the land, too, he explained, chest puffing with pride. He would earn his keep, he propositioned. 

The ranch was always in need of hands, and your father was always benevolent to necessary causes and in circumstances that made him seem like a better man than he was, so it was a done deal before night’s end. 

_______________

“Son of a bitch,” you exhale through gritted teeth, desperately trying to reload your goddamn shotgun. 

It was supposed to be an easy enough job—a little stagecoach stick up right outside of Tombstone. You had been scoping the target for days, a miner and his family making their way back East after striking it big in the mines. They were obnoxiously flagrant about their wealth—just like all New Money—and it was obvious that they were traveling with their coffers full of that fine California Gold. The plan was that you, Billy, and Tommy would ambush their stagecoach sometime around twilight before they reached Tombstone proper but then Max had decided to tag along and, while she was your favorite member of the gang by miles, she had no place at an armed robbery.  

The whole operation was slowed down to accommodate the tagalong and suddenly it had become too dark and late to hit them before they arrived in Tombstone, so you had to adjust and hedge your bets on ambushing them when they left the small town the following morning. Someone must have recognized the crew that night and tipped off the sheriff, though, because next thing you know, the four of you are about to run the stagecoach off the trail when you hear gunshots and Hopper’s gruff demands for your surrender.

There goes that easy $800, you sigh to yourself, steadying your aim over your shoulder. You’re a lousy shot at this angle especially while riding a horse, but you’re not hoping for a miracle, only to distract long enough to give Max a chance to get away. She’s the slowest of the four and you refuse to leave her behind. (Even if all of this is kind of her fault.) 

On the opposite side of the road from behind the stagecoach, you see a sharp movement— the deputy, you’re sure. From the corner of your eye you catch fragments of familiar hair, eyes, lips and suddenly your finger slips on the trigger, a stray bullet flies behind you, spooking a horse and causing some commotion. You hope it’s Hopper’s but you can’t bring yourself to check. You can’t bring yourself to do anything. At all. Because there, on the other side of the road, all tan skin and freckled-faced is Steve Harrington, alive and older and looking at you with an expression of shock matching your own. 

“Sunshine?” He shouts over the gallop of hooves and in hearing his voice you’ve lost all doubt that this was some sort of joke you managed to play on yourself. 

It’s him. Truly. 

What you say back is lost to the wind as a lone shot rings out and suddenly you’ve lost your balance on your horse and you’re sent tumbling down, fingers fighting for purchase along your reigns. 

Steve’s stunned face and the smoke from his gun are the final things you see before hitting the ground. 

Son of a bitch.

_______________

You and Steve became fast friends, being close in disposition and most importantly, age. 

While you loved your younger sisters they were just that: younger. At six and eight respectively, Hattie and Lottie were far too preoccupied with dress up and tea parties, hobbies that you had also adored at their age, but at the mature age of twelve, no longer stimulated you. In Steve you found a confidant and an accomplice. 

You snuck him extra portions at supper and spent your spare moments following him around reading aloud from one of your many books. He had a penchant for war epics and horror while you liked romance and mystery. Both of you could agree, though that Westerns were the best. 

In exchange for your generosity, Steve taught you how to ride and shoot and lasso.

He was the best teacher truly and would often outdo men of twice his age and size when it came to rearing and riding. He learned everything from his daddy, he had told you.  Steve talked about his father a lot. About what he was like and everything he was exceptional at and how the crowd had gone stone silent when his broken body hit the dusty ground. 

“That’s how I’m going to die too, one day,” he had told you, grim but not sad. “On a bull in Cheyenne. Probably the same one, he’s the only one that could take me out.” 

“How do you know how you’re gonna die?” You awed at him.

“Just a feeling in my gut. Sometimes you just know,” he shrugged sagely. 

You nodded along and tried, desperately so, to will your gut to give you a precognition about the circumstances of your own death.

“I don’t know how I’m gonna die,” you admitted to Steve after a long moment of self-assessment, “but I know you’re gonna be there.“

You had no clue what possessed you to say that other than the fact that you knew it to be categorically true. 

Steve smiled in response, pleased. 

_______________

You wake up under a sky of pinprick stars. Dreams of childhood vows and muddy fields filled with promise fade as you take in your surroundings.

There’s a fire burning next to you and a sharp pain running along your entire body, burning to match. Max suddenly appears by your side, looking equal measures relieved and frazzled. 

“What happened?” You ask weakly. 

“Pretty Boy shot Calliope and you fell into the ravine. Had to fish you out of there and find a place to lay you down.” 

“What about Billy and Tommy?” 

“They left us.” 

Of course. 

“Bastards.” 

“Bastards,” Max agrees. 

“And what about the sheriff… and the deputy?” 

“Sheriff fell off his horse when you shot him and his deputy went after Billy. Didn’t see where though, but I’m sure he didn’t catch him.” 

“Probably not,” you croak before accepting the canteen Max brought to your lips.  Billy was a menace on a horse, agile and quick in ways most men could only dream and he already had too much of a head start. 

You try to stand up now, too fast evidently, since Max rushes to your side to help you along when you waver.  Eventually, you’re on your feet, stumbling forward with only Max keeping you upright, your whole body screaming at you to stop. 

“Come on then, Red, let’s go back home.” 

Your whole body aches so much your vision blurs and there’s a pain along your ribcage that may hint at a broken bone. The ride back to the Creel House on the back of Max’s scrawny horse is utter agony but at least Max has gifted you a mercifully silent journey by not trying to make conversation.

“You know him,” Max murmurs. It’s nearly morning when she finds enough courage to bring it up.

“Pretty Boy called you ‘sunshine’,” she continues, “I heard him.” 

You freeze. 

“You must’ve heard wrong then. I’ve never seen him before in my life.”

You leave it at that.

_______________

By the time you were sixteen, you felt like you knew Steve better than you knew yourself. You could read him like a book—every crook of an eyebrow, every sideways glance, and their meaning were neatly categorized in your mind. Part of that was the familiarity bred by endless idle hours together and part of that was the burgeoning ache that had been festering inside of you in the past months; the soft, comforting ember of friendly affection had given way to something hotter, something you couldn’t bring yourself to define yet but singed your skin at the sight of him and made you want to chart his every mood like sailors charted the stars. 

This was exactly why you could tell he was upset even though he denied it. Something about the way he clenched his jaw while he aimed his gun at the row of cans sitting on a broke down fence a little too hard indicated that he had something weighing on his mind. 

“You’re meant to hit the targets, you know,” you goaded after he had missed all of five shots. 

His jaw clenched harder. 

“You can’t be cross just because I’m the better shot than you,” you needled further. 

“I’m not cross,” he argued back, crossly. 

“Yes, you are! You’ve been sullen and cross three weeks now even though you say otherwise and it’s driving me mad so, why don’t you stop being stubborn and tell me what it is that’s making you act like this and we can fix it and be back to normal. I don’t want to spend my last week here watching you pout all over the ranch.”

He sighed a drawn-out, guttural thing, and then suddenly, it hit you. 

“Wait, are you mad I’m leaving?” Your tone wasn’t accusatory as much as it was curious. Truthfully, when your parents had share the news that they were sending you to a finishing school, you had been devastated at the prospect but you tried your best to keep your true feelings from view. Your father had made it known that he had gone to great lengths to secure your spot and your momma got misty eyed when she spoke about how many doors this opportunity would open for you.

“No, I’m not mad you’re leaving,” he argued back and flinched at how unconvincing he sounded. You knew deep in your bones that you'd miss Steve the most when you were gone. No matter how fair you'd go or how'd long you'd be apart, you're sure you'd miss Steve.

“Steve, you know I’d rather be here, shooting cans than anywhere else, even that fancy school,” you cajole. It's a simple, earnest statement but as far as you could trust yourself saying without confessing your devotion.

“You say that now,” he petulantly threw himself down on a tree root and you moved to sit next to him, “but as soon as you make friends and meet new people, I’ll be dust.” 

You laughed at the uncharacteristic display of self-pity. “You really think I’d find someone I would love more than you?” 

The idea of it was so ludicrous you didn’t even realize the carelessness by which you threw out such hefty claims of affection. Of course, you loved Steve and he you, and while you were never scared to voice that to each other before, now the word meant something different—at least to you it did. 

Your eyes shift down to your boots, hoping he didn’t pick up on the change in your heart. 

“Not more, just different.” 

“Different how?” 

“You're going to find someone,” it was his turn to get flustered and glanced at the ground, “... someone you want to spend the rest of your life with.” 

“Well, I want that to be you,” you responded, not thinking and far too quickly. 

“No, I mean, someone you want to marry,” he spits out, exasperation being quickly replaced with embarrassment as his words sank into place.

You stalled at the implication your heartbeat becoming almost deafening. Steve was afraid you were going to go out and find someone else to marry and leave him behind. Was it possible that he was equally consumed by that same burning affection that had been sieging your heart for months?

Out of the two of you, you had always been the braver one. The one that always jumped in first, the one to take a risk on a whim. And, while it terrified you and made your voice small and wavering, you couldn’t help but say right back, “I want that to be with you, too.” 

Steve beamed in response. 

_______________

Tommy and Billy had beaten you and Max back to the Creel house. At least the bastards had the decency to look a little ashamed as they watched Max support your limping form through the threshold. Mostly, though they looked surprised. 

“Thought the deputy had gotten you,” Billy whistles lowly through the toothpick that is perpetually resting in the corner of his mouth. 

“He killed my horse,” you bemoan. “ Max had to fish me out of the ravine on her own, no thanks to you two.” 

The blond man shrugs in response, “We couldn’t go back. Thems the rules, you know that.” 

You do know that but you are miserable and tired and just looking for someone to blame for the life you had fallen into so you glare back. 

Billy is unfazed by your glare and in a rare moment of kindness, offers to acquire a horse for you during his next round through the nearby ranches.  This uncharacteristic show of pity makes you realize you probably look as bad as you feel and for a brief moment wish that Max hadn’t pulled you out of that ravine. 

You manage to stumble onto your cot, body raked with pain and you lay there, unmoved until night comes and it’s not until the dark has truly settled and you are sure that no one could possibly see, that you begin to cry.

Silent tears stream down your face for your companion, your horse, the last thing you called your own. One more thing stolen away--and this time, by a ghost no less. A gift from your daddy when you had turned seventeen, her name plucked from one of your books on Greek mythology she had been your companion when you had felt most alone.

Calliope was the final reminder of a life long gone and now she’s just another thing you’re left mourning.

Next

[nopeferatu]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤



OOF...well, since most of my favorite pieces of writing are eternal wips, I guess I'll just post the snippets here, haha. Please bear in mind that nearly all of them are over a year old, and none of them are very good—I do draw more than I write, after all. But I do dabble here and there and so yeah! This is some of that!

5. Untitled WIP

This is suuuper old, one of the first things I wrote after watching the movie again in early 2022 and falling deep down the rabbit hole. It's actually not that great and is pretty sad in it's entirety, so I tried to grab the better chunk, haha. Try, if you can, to mind the first person pov—I know better now.

It's been years and I still really miss you, Jack. All I known in life is the feeling a missing you. You think I'd get used to the feeling, what with all them months and miles between us in the before times, but this missing you runs so much deeper than these tired bones have ever known before.

Yanno how you said your Mama believed in the Pentecost? She ever tell you 'bout that Bible story, how God made Adam and Eve? It goes like this—the Lord took a big pile a sand and breathed into it to make Adam, then he took Adam's rib and from it, went on to make Eve.

Was thinking on it the other day and figured, what if that's how God made the two a us? What if he breathed life into a pile a horse shit, then when I came up, took my rib, put it in a rodeo fuck up and sent the two a us out to the world, pair a deuces trying to fnd their way? I always thought maybe this hurt was emptiness, where my heart went missing after you were gone 'cause you'd taken it like you took my shirt. Now I'm thinking, what if the pain's from that ol' rib coming back after you died to settle in where it don't belong no more? Tryna rearrange all my insides that gone without for so long, and my body's rejecting it like a horse rejecting rider 'cause it knows it don't belong to me no more, never did, neither.

Then again, maybe it's just busted up in there. Maybe it has been since the summer a '63, and I just ain't taken notice 'til you went on and met your maker.

Maybe this ol' heart's just broken.

Know I shouldn't be asking shit from you considering all the ways I took and didn't give you nothing but hurts in return, but I’m asking as a man who never asked for nothing from you, neither—you wait for me, Jack Twist, just a little longer. Used to say that I couldn't wait to see you again, but you helped give me a second shot, try and fix up what I didn’t think I could hardly stand no more. Now I know I can bid my time here a while longer, being a daddy and granddaddy, living out some a the life that you didn't get to have.

So you wait for me… even if it's just so I can tell you how God damn sorry I am for it all.

I love ya, little darlin'. Reckon I always have, reckon I always will. You enjoy them whiskey rivers, but make sure to save the last round for me.

4. Want

This snippet is also super old, and once again, forgive me for the first person pov. Ik a lot of ppl don't typically like it in fiction and I've also kind of grown unfond of it. I was young! I was dumb! I've learned I've learned I've learned!!!

As I'm crying and coughing up the blood from my lungs into my mouth, the second thought comes to mind: just how bad I want for Ennis to come find me, come and save me from what I know's coming next. But he weren't there. Never was, never would be. The tears came down harder 'cause a that one.

The very last impossible thing I wanted was something I dreamed of for a long time. Even though most everything I craved was outta reach, I always thought I could get it, somehow, some way if I tried hard enough. But from the very start I'd known this want was impossible, and yet sometimes I wanted it more than I wanted life itself.

Dying alone on the side a that hot Texas highway, all I wanted was to be nineteen again, close enough to touch the Heavens on Brokeback Mountain.

I thought I could hear Ennis hollering for me back at camp, and I smiled. I'm comin', cowboy.

Then I closed my eyes, and would never want for nothing again.

3. Untitled WIP

I really hope to finish this one, someday. I really like playing around with the other potential bad end of BBM, where Jack ditches Ennis for Randall after May 1983 because his hope and patience has run dry.

"Name's Randall. Educated type of fella, went to college, got him a job as foreman of the ranch down a ways from my place." Jack takes a deep breath, sighs it out. "Tells me he loves me more times 'n even Lureen's said it," he stays quiet a moment, kicks at the loose pebbles on the ground. "Tell you what—feels good to hear it, too. Man's gotta know he's loved ever now 'n' again, Ennis."

Ennis thinks of cold mountain nights filled with the bleating of sheep and illegal elk, of dozens of jobs taken and abandoned, of divorce; thinks of four years of missing and bruising kisses, of sixteen years of hands worshiping at the temple of a bull rider's broken body, and of every cold night in between filled with dreams about bright blue eyes and the warmth of a perfect smile. He thinks of the last twenty years he spent dropping everything at the siren call of a postcard, and for the first time in his life Ennis thinks about love; wonders what it might be, if not that.

But Ennis doesn't say so, just clenches his trembling fist even tighter into itself.

2. Five Boys that Jack Twist Had Liked (and One More Whom He Had Loved)

This one is another old one that I reaally hope to finish one day. I have a about 3 1/2 of the 6 part written, I just...need to find the gumption to get through the rest.

4. Andrew Peterson

Andrew had been one of his daddy's ranch hands, a boy who would've been two grades above him if Jack hadn't dropped out of high school his sophomore year. He had just graduated, was one of the lucky few whose parents didn't value his contribution to the family finances over his education, and was hired on for the summer in the hopes of making a little cash before heading out of their dead-end town and into the real world. It was a plan that Jack, at sixteen, had already been well acquainted with.

It wasn't often that the Twist Ranch hired hands around his age to help out around the place, and Jack, always the friendly type and more than just a little lonely, had been eager to make a new acquaintance. Andrew hadn't seemed to mind when Jack started taking his chores alongside him, appearing glad for the company, himself. They shared easy smiles and private jokes, becoming such good friends in such a short time that his Mama would tease about one of them losing their very shadow if the other wasn't around.

Just like with Stephen before him, Jack had been drawn to Andrew like a moth to a flame. He never understood what there was in a boy that drew his eye to them in a way that none of the fillies who flirted around with him ever did, until Andrew, after a tiring day mending the old fence posts that corralled the bulls in and about two months worth of dropping frustrated gestures and signals, had said, "Fuck it," pulled Jack out to his Daddy's feed barn and into a scalding kiss that left Jack weak in the knees.

Andrew hadn't been his first kiss—that honor had gone to lil' Miss Sharon King back in the first grade. Seeing as how Jack was well regarded amongst the ladies as a 'pretty boy', there'd been plenty of kisses after that, too. Andrew had, however, been the first kiss that finally had him understanding what all the fuss was about.

As if to slide it on home, later that summer he even made sure to be Jack's first fuck, rounding out on all the bases that left Jack with a whirlwind of questions about himself and even more feelings bursting inside than his young heart ever thought it could handle.

"Been savin' to go to school in Denver," Andrew started, breaking the silence one night out in the feed barn. They sat passing a cigarette and some of his daddy's stolen whiskey between them, riding out the residual high of a midnight roll in the literal hay. It had been dark out, and with only the full moon and the hot red cherry at the end of the cigarette bathing them in their glow, the two were effectively shielded from the scathing eyes of the light. "'m leavin' in a few months, splittin' before fall comes." His gaze was fixed somewhere on the black horizon, watching something that went unseen to Jack.

Jack felt his stomach sink like the stones he used to skip in the creek way out past his house.

"Denver? Ain't that a might bit far for some schoolin'?" He tried to laugh, but it came out sounding choked and strange. Instead, he looked down into the whiskey bottle in his hand and took a swig from it, willing its sweet burn to help him maintain an air of indifference. "What they got down there, anyway?"

Truth be told he didn't blame Andrew for wanting to go—he had been itching to leave Lightning Flat in the rearview, himself. Still, he was unsure that he wanted the conversation to continue. He didn't want to think about his new companion leaving so soon after this something between them had begun. Nevertheless, curiosity—slightly embittered—took hold and ultimately won out.

Andrew took a long drag out of the cigarette. Its hot cherry burned a bright, fiery red before dulling once more to an ashy gleam. "A chance for fellas like us," he finally breathed. The smoky tendrils made their escape past his lips, taking his words with them.

"Oh," Jack muttered after a beat of silence. He wasn't quite sure he understood, nor wanted to understand, what Andrew was getting at, but tried hard not to let his disappointment seep out into his tone regardless.

It hadn't worked. In a moment, Andrew smashed the lit butt out against the wall, leaving them cloaked in darkness once more before leaning over to kiss him sweetly. It had knocked the breath out of Jack, just like their kisses were wont to do.

"Maybe someday you can come pay me a visit. I dunno, it might just be a sweet life down there, yanno?" Andrew's smile, only barely visible under the glow of the full moon above, was easy and inviting.

For once all motormouth Jack could do was smile back before eager hands, warm like the end of the cigarette and the whiskey settled deep in his belly, were on him again, ready to reignite the fire that set Jack aglow.

That summer, Andrew had pressed red-hot marks into his flesh that would soon fade on the outside but sear into Jack's soul for a lifetime, forever branding him as the different sort of boy he had been both warned about and accused of being in the entirety of his short life.

Looking back, he realized he'd known what Andrew had meant all along. At sixteen years old Jack knew what queer was, and finally understood, with no room for doubt in his mind, that it was him. He reckoned that weren't nobody's business but his own, though.

After that summer, Jack never did see Andrew again.

Twenty-four years later, tucked cozy warm into his Colorado bed, Andrew would awake from a dream about blue eyes and wonder, not for the first time, what had ever happened to the kid who'd been his that one short summer before making the move that forever changed his life. Looking beside himself, into the handsome face that had laid dreaming beside him every night the past fifteen years, Andrew would smile and hope that, wherever Jack Twist was in the world, he had gotten out of Wyoming and been lucky enough to make his own bit of bliss out of the hard hand he'd been dealt.

1. Clipped

Summary: Tomorrow may tell another story, but for tonight, this man—with his baby blue eyes, sleepy, self-conscious grumbles, and beautiful clipped dick—was his, all his, and that was enough. It had to be enough.

Aaand here's a fic I've actually posted! Lol! Fun fact: this was actually the very first fic I wrote following watching bbm again in January 2022, and it remains like. The only thing I'm actually super duper proud of. It isn't even that good, but I'm just proud that I actually finished something for once lol.

Thanks for the ask, @alifeasvivid! :D

[limerental]

ficletober day 2 - Yen & ciri missing scene bonding

After waking from a nightmare, Ciri tells her Mama about Mistle

Takes place toward the end of the saga, after the family has been reunited

content warnings for spoilers for the witcher saga, largely tower of the swallows and lady of the lake. references to canon events related to war, violence, attempted and threatened assault, death, and loss.

I know that there are mixed feelings about Ciri & Mistle's book relationship and my feelings are also pretty mixed, but I don't think anyone can deny that Ciri loved her and Mistle loved Ciri. I think by the end she would have been feeling some guilt and regret about her time with the rats and then more guilt and regret for missing that time.

Rain dripped off the manes of the horses and darkened their backs, standing with heads lowered together beneath the meager shelter of a tree. The three mares, one dapple grey, one chestnut, and one glossy black, had taken some time to adjust to one another's company but stood together now with only the occasional head shake or pinned ears.

Their riders took shelter within a mildewed tool shed that only leaked a little through its mossy roof. It had a dry patch of floor and a door that could be barred against intruders, which was all they needed. In the wake of war, all sorts of strangers roamed the roads, and one could never be too careful.

No one was likely to disturb these travellers though. If any crept near enough to inspect the tied horses and the cozy toolshed, they would encounter the figure seated against the trunk of the looming tree, his hooded cloak pulled low over his face against the spring rain, his ugly-looking sword only a twitch of fabric away from finding itself beneath a nosy wanderer's chin. 

No wanderer had yet strolled by to test him, and the last grey dregs of the day stretched into a grey dusk thick with fog.

"Our noble sentry seems to have dozed off," said Yennefer, peering through the crack in the door. "I did tell him that my wards made keeping watch out in the mud unnecessary. If he's grouchy in the morning, you remind him I told him that."

"More space for me," said Ciri, splaying her limbs across one of the two bedrolls they carried with them. Though she had insisted many times that Geralt and Yennefer should be the ones to share, she had been sleeping tucked against Yennefer each night. 

Since reuniting and embarking on their journey as a trio, the Witcher had been intent on as many small, self-sacrificial gestures as possible. He slept out in the rain and would not lie holding Yennefer at night and offered the two women the larger share of food.

"He's atoning," said Yennefer scathingly as they ate a meal of fish jarred in oil and a wedge of hard cheese. "He still thinks one can barter suffering for suffering. I hope he gets his fill of it soon. It's incredibly dull."

"Atoning for what?" asked Ciri as she licked the oil from her fingers. 

Despite all that she had been through and everything that had changed in her, sitting beside Yennefer in the packed dirt made her feel like a little girl again, the one she had been at the Temple of Melitele years ago.

Yennefer's scarred fingers trembled on the lid of the jar as she tightened it closed. She shook them and cursed.

"You know already," she said. "You know how much guilt and blame he carries."

Ciri knew. She carried that same guilt and blame and had for a long time, magnified now that she knew just how many lives had been lost in her name. 

"Hush," whispered the sorceress, her arms encircling her, a scratchy wool blanket snugged close around them. Ciri sobbed into the warmth of her body, her ribs hitching painfully. "It was only a dream."

Sleep came quickly in the musty toolshed but did not last. Ciri found herself waking with a gasp, whimpering on the edge of crying out. Something came up beside her in the dark, an arm encircling her waist, a quiet murmur close to her ear. For a blurry, desperate moment, she thought Mistle and then smelled sweet lilac perfume and turned her face into Yennefer's chest.

The shape of the dream had already fragmented, slick with blood and loud with the calls of carrion birds. She saw a mass grave. A greyed pile of limbs. Headless.

"Mama," moaned Ciri and clung, and Yennefer gripped her back just as fiercely. 

Sometimes faltering, sometimes flagging, she had told her reunited guardians the grueling story of all that had occurred to her since their separation, but some details she had kept to herself. She had spoken of the men who had squabbled over her and threatened her, of the brigands and bounty hunters and Elven royalty who tried to stake some claim on her body, but had not known how to put to words her time spent sleeping in the arms of a girl.

With some hindsight, she saw it more clearly. All of the Rats naive, foolish children, traumatized by war and split open and festering. Doomed from the start. Did they truly think that they could ride on pillaging and cavorting forever? That they would not meet a trap they could not slither out of or a tether they could not gnaw through?

And she and her Mistle the most foolish of all, playing at some great romance to last the ages. Domestic and cloying. Ciri did not know how to put words to it without feeling a sting of embarrassment, a cringe of awareness. She imagined talking about the way she had the rest in the light of day, imagined Geralt's stern voice telling her to go on, Yennefer's expression stormy, cursing under her breath with rising bitter fury.

How could she say any of it aloud?

It all sounded so silly and small and stupid. Crushingly naive and vapid, such a foolish little thing to feel, especially as meanwhile, Yennefer had suffered for her in a dark, filthy cellar and meanwhile, Geralt had fought across a great, war-torn distance to rescue her. 

I called her my Waxwing. I held her hand. I liked the way her fresh-shorn hair felt under my palms. I laughed with her. She liked to lay behind me at night and pretend she was my husband. She gifted me beautiful things torn from the hands of those we thought deserved them less, and I did the same. She called me Little Falcon. I fed her fruit and candy from my hand, and she fed me. I loved her. She loved me.

While she danced on tables in cavorting crowds and sighed under the stars with Mistle's arms around her and dreamed of their life together going on and on, never getting caught and never settling down and never growing old.

"Mama," she whispered against Yennefer's breast. "Mama, I loved her."

In the dark, all the littlest feelings felt bigger. 

And Ciri told her, between the breathless moments lost to voiceless weeping, about a girl called Mistle who was gone now.

And there had been bad things, of course there had been bad things. She whispered those things too. About their raised voices and stubborn arguments and touches neither were in the mood for. About the cruel things they had participated in, the raids and robberies and humiliations. 

"I'm sorry, Mama, I'm sorry," breathed Ciri. 

"Hush, I know. Hush, daughter. It's forgiven."

"I thought that she was– I loved her. Even though–"

"I know. I know. It's alright. Everything's alright."

In the morning, Ciri tried not to think about how red-rimmed her eyes must look, the streaks of tears still clear on her dirty cheeks. She washed her face and ate an apple, feeding the core to Kelpie. The mare's prickly, black whiskers tickled her fingers, and for a moment, she felt, quite ridiculously, like she could cry again. 

"Where to next, Ciri?" asked Geralt, looking rumpled and miserable from his night outdoors in the rain. Yennefer stood in serene contrast beside him, her dark hair falling in perfect waves, but Ciri saw a hint of exhausted circles beneath her eyes. There were bits of straw in her hair.

Her black mare had carried her across distances more vast than any mount in history, and yet did not know a thing about any of it, did not have the sort of mind that could parse that vastness, did not know how many times she had come breaths away from death, did not know how Ciri loved her and could never understand how small and foolish loving anything at all was and equally how brave and daring and significant.

Ciri leaned her head against Kelpie's damp mane and sighed.

"A town called Jealousy," said Ciri, and her chin only wobbled a little. "I'd like to see about a grave."

The three riders mounted and turned their horses onto the road.

[laurelindebear]

Kiss prompt 23 for Ardeth/Marianne, please!

Sorry this took so long, Nonny!

Another morning. Marianne rose early, before the children, for once. Shahira took after her father in waking consistently at dawn. When she bored of following him on his duties, she would often rouse her brother to play and do their chores together. Today they still slept, tousled curly heads tucked together like tiny conspirators. Marianne's heart always swelled to see them, but today it felt as heavy as her feet as she struggled upright and prepared breakfast.

Weeks had passed since the Medjai had discovered cultists exhuming Imhotep's body. Ardeth had followed them to England to prevent them from retrieving the Bracelet of Anubis that would lead them to the hidden domain of the Scorpion King. He had apologised profusely when they parted, but time was of an essence and he could not afford to wait.

Horus had sent directions to the massing Medjai armies in the intervening days, but communication to the settlements had been few. No unearthly army had overwhelmed them, so all could not have been lost; but why had she not had word? 'Soon', she would tell the children when they would ask yet again when their father would return, but day by day her anxiety grew.

The hours passed in the same routine as every day since he'd left. Prospective apocalypse or no, the animals still needed feeding, clothes needed washing and mending, meals needed cooking, little scraped knees needed kissing and little curious minds needed teaching. The world might end, but in the meantime it had to keep spinning as usual.

As the heat of the afternoon began to cool, Marianne sat in the shade, rereading the precious handwritten volume of her husband's poems. Nominally, at least; between her nerves and her swollen legs, she found it difficult to focus on the words.

"Mama, I drew a map of the camp for Baba to use when he gets back. Do you like it?"

Marianne snapped out of her moody reverie. "It is excellent as always. Such a clever girl you are, my darling."

"Are you all right, Mama? You're spinning your ring again."

Marianne stopped, now guiltily aware that her daughter had noticed her nervous habit. She really did take after her father; nothing escaped his keen eyes and instincts.

"Yes ma petite, I am fine. I am just missing your Baba."

"Do you think he will come back today?"

"Maybe," Marianne said, with a smile she hoped was convincing.

A shout went up from outside. A dust cloud on the horizon had revealed riders inbound. The camp sprang into action to prepare to counter intruders or welcome guests, and Marianne's heart lodged in her throat, half hope and half fear. The approaching convoy hailed; their warriors had returned. Marianne grasped the children's hands and tried to radiate more calm and composure than she had left. Riders dismounted and families swarmed forth to embrace loved ones and secure horses. Every second seemed to stretch into hours.

The children all but vibrated with excitement now. 'Where is Baba? I don't see him.'

'There,' Marianne answered at last, fighting to keep the sob out of her voice. The children needed no prompting to let go of her hands and sprint to the man whose eyes stopped searching as soon as they found hers. Marianne herself moved forward as though drawn by an invisible cord.

'BABA!' Shahira shouted, and Ardeth stooped down to gather her into his arms with a wide smile. Ramy followed just behind, piling into the hug with all his might.

'Baba, look, I lost a tooth here while you were gone, and I showed Ramy how to do the thing you showed me with the sword and - '

'It's not a sword, it's a stick,' Ramy corrected her. Ramy's meticulous nature combined with the contrarian tendencies of a three-year-old to make him as pedantic as an amateur research librarian.

'It's my practice sword! Anyway, Mama's letting me hold her knife sometimes now.' Shahira and Ramy regaled Ardeth with a meandering account of everything they had done since he saw them last. A shadow crossed over them, and Ardeth looked up into the dearest eyes in all the world, tears hovering on dark lashes.

'Maryam...light of my eyes, breath of my lungs, blood of my heart,' he said as he rose to his feet, 'how is it that you have grown even more beautiful than I remembered?'

Marianne reached up to hold his face in her hands as though committing it to memory, although there was no angle, no line, no hair of it she did not know by heart. 'Just grown, I think,' she laughed, but she couldn't hold back the tears any longer, dropping onto her swollen belly.

Ardeth pressed a warm hand onto the telltale bump and felt a soft kick in response. 'And you, little one: have you waited for me? I thought you might have come by now. Do not wait much longer: your mother and I are so very eager to meet you.'

'You're all right? The world is safe?'

'I am well now that I am home,' he reassured her as Ramy and Shahira clung to his legs. 'The world is safe. The world is right here.

'I missed you,' Marianne choked with relief.

He kissed her, soft and deep, until her tears dried, and showed her just how much he'd missed her, too.

[wandaluvstacos]

THE ONLY SECONDS THAT MATTER

CHAPTER NINE IS UP!

Genre: Contemporary Romance Rating: 18+

Includes: Extensive horse nerdery + cowboys, mxm romance (1 trans + 1 cis), some discussion child abuse, some instances of trans/homophobia (it is rural Oklahoma, y'all), depression, occasional sex scene (but it’s a slow burn for sure)

Victor Ortiz-Bennett had some reservations about moving to Oklahoma, but his late aunt willed him a 70-acre horse farm, and he decides to fulfill his dream of running and operating his own training facility. Victor’s been around the reining horse show circuit for a while, and he’s ready to settle down, travel less, and spend more time with the horses he loves and away from the people he can do without. That is, until he picks up a horse at an auction with a bucking problem he can’t fix, and he has to take her to the one guy who can ride anything– Johnny Stearns, a retired professional rodeo rider.

Johnny Stearns is loud, chatty, eccentric, and fears nothing, exactly Victor’s opposite. However, Victor finds himself sinking into an odd friendship with this new foul-mouthed cowboy without a filter, diving deeper into the mess that is Johnny’s life until there’s no way to extract himself from it. Johnny may talk a tough game, but there’s more to him than he’ll let most people see. Victor knows getting in too deep will mean a rough ride, but if there’s anything Johnny’s taught him, it’s how to stay in the saddle.

Excerpt:

“I ain’t no stranger to heartbreak,” Johnny said, sipping at his beer. “Lord in heaven, the wringer Daisy put me through… ain’t no one in the world deserve that kind of hurt.”

“You ever think of marrying her?” Victor asked.

“Daisy? I thought about it. I was a wild child for a while, and I’ll admit I sampled as many ladies as I could handle when I was in my prime. But life will kick the piss outtaya, and when you’re broken and bleeding in the dirt—after some damn big horse puts you there—you start to question things. I was thinkin’ of askin’ her, but then I found out she cheated on me so then that idea fizzled out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“That woman turned me into the world’s biggest got-damn fuckin’ idiot. I’d have rather gotten kicked in the head again than go through what she put me through. That’s how women are, right? You give ‘em your heart and they’ll play with it like a fuckin’ football.”

“I’d say men can do that, too.”

“I ain’t ever put a woman through what Daisy put me through.”

“Plenty of men have.”

“Well, shit, I know that. Gone through my whole life worried I’d be like my daddy. My mama was a real angel; ain’t no one else who coulda stayed with him as long as she did.” Johnny paused to take a giant swig from the beer he’d been given. “Listen. I ain’t any good at fixin’ what a woman broke, but I don’t think you’ll have any problem with the ladies around here. The horse business is filled with women. Ain’t nothin’ a country woman loves more than a cowboy, and that’s speakin’ from experience. I ain’t no George Clooney but strap me on the back of a crazy horse and suddenly I’m Don fuckin’ Juan.”

None of this talk was comforting to Victor, but he felt like he should reward Johnny for trying, especially since most men were emotionally constipated and wouldn’t have even bothered. “Thanks, man. I’ll keep that in mind.”

[gongju-juice]

3. Once Upon a Southern Night

Something Old, Something New

Warnings: Some racial tension. . .also might be some language but I can’t remember tbh

The thing about change is that it’s just that—change. You can change something, twist it, mold it, or turn it into whatever you wish for it to look like, but you cannot ever get rid of its original identity. 

Living in Forks was no short of that. Life was a blessing, and your days were filled with laughter and excitement. Beginning your senior year—Jasper had graduated—but the two of you were dating and closer than you’d ever been. He took you on dates to see the stars and bought you flowers and little trinkets to brighten your day. You read books in his lap and went on double dates with Amelia and her boyfriend, Stuart. 

You knew something was strange about your family—so much so that your mother’s weirdness no longer seemed so personalized. Maybe it was the fact they never ate around you, or maybe it’s the account of their golden eyes. And like your mother (and everyone else, frankly), your boyfriend was so inhumanly cold, like a Roman statue left in an icy museum.

But what did you look like asking such crazy questions? After all, what else could it be but coincidence? As for your mom and Carlisle, they were siblings—it was normal for them to share the same traits. But as for the others—Rosalie and Jasper were twins—and although they were different personality wise, they both had the same pale skin and bronze colored eyes. Maybe the old saying is true: living together with someone really does make you look alike.

One day while your family all hung out at the Cullen house, you received a letter in the mail. It was a bright, shimmering white envelope with fancy lace trimming. You opened it carefully—sure not to cut yourself so as to not to trigger Jasper’s weird paranoia around blood. 

“Oh my god!” you shouted, running into the living room. You looked at your mom. “Ivy and Dale are getting hitched!”

“Wow, Ivy?” she said. “I remember the two of you growing up like it was yesterday. When’s the date?”

“March 5. It’s going to take place on Dale’s parents’ farm. The reception’s going to be in the big barn house!”

You whirled in excitement, only to dizzy yourself into Jasper’s arms when you realized you’d fallen. He brushed a stray curl from your face.

“A wedding?” he said. “I thought Ivy was only seventeen.”

“You can get married in Alabama at sixteen with parental consent. I’m sure the Lauderdales were thrilled to hear of the good news. Dale has been hanging ‘round since we were six.”

You popped back onto the floor. “I’ve gotta find a dress and everything! Oh wait—I should call and see if we’re doing matching dresses or if we’re all gonna be wearing different ones.”

You picked up your phone and raced to the kitchen where you could find some privacy and feel free to freak out some more. She picked up on the third ring.

“Lucille!” you cried, “I can’t believe it’s finally happening! Please send me a picture of the ring ASAP, okay?”

She giggled. “It’s not a big deal, Y/N. We’ve been engaged since we were twelve. It’s just that now we’ve got that ice and permission to prove it.”

The phone buzzed and you looked at the image of the triple diamond ring which had a band of diamonds all around. You recognized that ring. It was Dale’s grandmother’s sacred family heirloom, the one that’s been locked up tight in their security safe. He only let you and her see it once when you were both thirteen and his parents were out in the field.

“I’m so excited for the bachelorette party!” you gushed. “We’re going to have so much fun! We should go to Pensacola and go to one of them spa places and then we can—”

“Y/N,” she said quietly, cutting you off entirely. “You’re not on the bridesmaids list.”

You were quiet, your flailing arms caught in mid air. “I’m not. . .but you said—”

“I’m sorry, girl, but Mama already chose who's going to be in my wedding. There’s 

Charlotte, Mary, Clarabelle, and Lydia. . .the ones I grew up with.”

“But. . .what about me? Didn’t. . .didn’t we grow up together?”

“Yeah, but. . .it’s just not the same, you know? Those people are family. You can still come to the wedding, of course. That’s why I sent the invitation.”

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel hurt. Here was your best friend telling you that you couldn’t be in the wedding. Mrs. Lauderdale. . .you thought she really liked you. Was it because you moved up north?”

“Oh, alright then. I was just—just calling to confirm the date. March 5, right?”

“Yeah, March 5.”

You hung up the phone and sighed at the counter, your head hung down. Just then, Jasper came walking in. He came up behind you and held you in place, his head resting on your shoulder. Suddenly, your mood improved instantly. But that was the thing about Jasper—he was always brightening your day when you felt down. It was part of the reason you adored him.

“You okay?” he whispered. “You know you don’t got to go to that wedding?”

You shook your head. “Of course I do. It’s my best friend’s wedding. How could I miss her big day? Besides. . .how did you even know I was sad?”

He stiffened. “I. . .uh. . .heard the conversation in the hallway.”

“Oh, well I guess that makes sense.”

He held you for a while against the hard granite. 

“Jasper?”

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Will you be my date to the wedding?”

“Absolutely.”

Rosalie was the one officially in charge in helping you pick your dress. Alice had a vengeful streak and wanted you to wear a big, white gown that would take all the attention away from Ivy.

“It’s wayyyy too hot in the south for that,” you pleaded, “and I ain’t trying to cause no trouble! It’s her Mama who did it, not Ivy.”

“She should’ve overridden that stupid decision then,” Alice continued, braiding your hair. It was still funny to know that the tiny pixie girl knew how to do a full-set of box braids. “If it was my wedding—”

“But it isn’t your wedding,” Rosalie insisted. “And Ivy isn’t your friend. Now like I was saying, Y/N, this little yellow sundress would look so cute with your skin tone. . .”

They even hooked up Jasper. They got him a nice cornflower blue dress shirt and a cream colored suit. Emmett even put on a whole show of picking his hairstyle, and even though they went through all that progress and hard work, you kindly reminded them that a heat wave was coming the weekend of the wedding and that it was best just to leave his curls the way they were. Jasper did not take kindly to his brother after that.

“Why don’t you come with us?” you asked your mom as she helped you pack the last of your luggage. “It’s gonna be so lonely with just me and Jasper. And besides, I’m sure everybody wants to see you!”

“No, no, I can’t. I’m scheduled for a surgery the day of the wedding. I can’t cancel it either. It’s a cancerous tumor that needs to be removed.”

You sighed, sitting up on your bed. “I can’t believe it’s here. She’s getting married, mom. We’re all going to be adults and pretty soon, if things go to according to plan, me and—” You cut yourself off as the overwhelming thought engulfed you.

“That’s right. You and Jasper will have your own wedding someday. . .speaking of which. . .we need to talk about the future.”

“The future?”

“Yes,” she sat on your bed. “There are some things you need to know before you set your eyes on your own big day. We’ll talk about that all soon, I promise. But as for now, go and enjoy yourself with Jasper. You’ll have him all to yourself. . .”

“Mom!” you shouted. “Jasper—he’s too sweet for that. He’s a real gentleman! It hasn’t even been that long ago since we had our first kiss, and he was scared to even do that!”

She raised her brows. “Hmmm, maybe that’s what he wanted you to think. But guys are never shy when it comes to that subject.”

The next day, your family wished you off at the airport. Jasper bought you first class tickets—a feat you deemed both extravagant and unnecessary—and you slept on his shoulder for most of the way. 

Immediately, touching down in your home state, everything felt so different. It was humid and hot; the type of sticky that makes your hair stick to the back of your neck, and people were so much more cordial then they were back at Forks. Some gave Jasper strange looks as he wound his fingers with yours, but again, nobody was unpleasant.

You would be staying at a hotel about thirty miles out from the country. There were, thankfully, two queen sized beds parallel to one another in the tiny room. But Jasper insisted sleeping in the living room part where a half wall separated the two of you.

On the big day, your boyfriend pulled out an authentic cowboy hat (the likes you’d never seen before), and the two of you headed down Ivy’s long dirt road. 

Fields of cotton and peas lined either side of the road, and for long stretches, there were no houses except the occasional large country home with animals and plots of cultivated land. The ditches teemed with life: jumping frogs, tadpoles, crawfish, and lillies. 

“Gosh, it’s been so long since I’ve been in the country,” he said. “This place isn’t much different from home.”

“Home? In Forks?”

“Rose and I—before we were adopted—used to live in Texas.”

“Really? That explains your accent! I just thought you watched too many western flicks. Oh, but why doesn’t Rosalie have one?”

“Well, she just hides it, I guess.”

You arrived at the house. There was a trail of cars already parked in the grassy yard, and people made their way in their finest Sunday’s best to the row of chairs arranged in front of the big oak tree where the minister stood.

“Y/N!” one of your old childhood friends exclaimed when she saw you. She was dressed in a teal dress, and at her side was some unknown boy you hadn’t met. “It’s so good to see you!” She looked at your boyfriend. “And who’s this?”

“Jasper Hale, ma’am, I’m her date for the evening,” he answered, tipping his hat. The row of women waiting to greet you gushed at his manners, and dare you say, they checked him out so openly. You hugged his bicep tighter.

“Just for the evening or indefinitely?” she cooed.

“Indefinitely.”

You sat down in one of the middle rows, and watched in awe as the wedding processional came down the aisle. Ivy was dressed in a glittery dress and carried the largest bouquet of white roses you’d ever seen. Dale had tears in his eyes as he looked up at his bride. They were so perfect, so in love, it made your insides melt.

After the beautiful ceremony, the party moved the barn. The rafters were draped in lights and white ribbons and flower petals covered the ground. You chose a table nearest to one of the wooden walls and curled into Jasper’s side.

“You look so gorgeous,” he said, tucking a dandelion behind your ear. “You out-shined the bride, and you didn’t even have to wear that ridiculous dress Alice was trying to shove you in.”

“All of my girlfriends keep whispering about you. You’re the real star tonight. The best looking man in both Washington and Alabama.”

Just then, Mrs. Lauderdale approached your table.

“Y/N, how are you honey?” she asked as you hugged her plump form. As the mother of the bride, she was dressed in a simple white dress and rocked a crown of flowers in her hair.

“I’m wonderful. Have you met my boyfriend?” You allowed her to inspect Jasper as he offered a hand.

“My, my. What a fine young man,” she cried. “Who knew you could get such a catch?”

She pulled you off to the side, and although Jasper tried to follow, you insisted he stay behind.

“I hope you aren’t upset about the whole bridesmaid situation,” she said, patting your shoulder. “We wanted a small processional anyway—makes it so we can get to the food faster.”

You shook your head. “‘Course not. It was such a beautiful ceremony. And Ivy—she’s stunning,” you said as you admired her twirling form with her new husband.

“Well anyway, John and the guys want to see you. John?”

Mr. Lauderdale greeted you with a nod. “How’s it going?”

“All good here,” you answered enthusiastically. In all honesty, John and his friends intimidated you with their skeptical expressions and hawk-like eyes. It was obvious the men of the family didn’t like you as much as the girls did—and that was fine. You were here for Ivy, not them.

“You got yourself a white boy?” Vernon, Ivy’s brother, asked. “A Yankee?”

“Actually, Jasper’s a Texan. And yes, he’s white. But it isn’t weird or anything.”

Like he was in on the conversation, he smoothly slid in beside you, his cold hand wrapping around your waist.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said as he addressed the men. “I’m a Houston native, by the way. I was raised on a farm myself—had a chocolate brown mare named Buttercup and a field full of bulls.”

“Ah, really? That makes me even more surprised to see you here.”

“Pardon me?”

Vernon smirked. “Y’all go and enjoy yourselves.”

Jasper pulled you away from the barn with a little more determination than you thought was needed. He hadn’t looked nor spoken until the two of you were completely alone by the fence where the ponies ran.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly. “You seem upset.”

“It’s nothing. I didn’t like the way those boys were talking. Had to get outside and clear my mind.” He pulled you closer to his body, and his cool skin felt good in the heat of the night.

“Holding you like this makes me get so sentimental,” he admitted. “It makes me want to take you to the nearest courtyard and get official. It makes me want to buy you a hundred acres and a big, nice house by a river. It makes me want to give you a bunch of kids to keep us company, so we can grow old together and live happily ever after.”

“I like when you get sentimental,” you breathed.

“But,” he stopped, “that last part might not be able to happen. There’s something you should know about me—about our family before you decide to give your heart away.”

“What do you mean? What could possibly be so earth-shattering that it’d make me stop loving you?”

He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, staring deeply into your eyes. His brows were creased, forehead wrinkled in thought. 

“Y/N, I wanted to wait to tell you, but I can’t stand lies. Most importantly, I don’t like to lie to you.”

“Just say it, baby.”

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness. 

It was a tall man, about the same height and build as Jasper, with bright crimson eyes and long dark hair tied back in a ponytail. He stared at you intensely before casting his burning gaze to Jasper.

“It’s been a long time, old friend,” he said darkly before inhaling deeply. “And it’s been even longer, Camille.”

And here the real story begins. Also I like cowboy Jasper playing with ponies maybe I’ll do a drabble on that.

Part One    Part Two   Part Four

[pxmun]

The herd was currently having an after party on Waterbaby's houseboat. Horse and Rider were busy chatting and catching up with one another. "Life is going to be so different now that we don't have to fight. It's going to be hard to adjust to this new peacetime." Rider commented. "I don't doubt it, but hopefully being in Centaurworld can help make the process easier." Horse added. The two watched Zulius and Splendib singing a karaoke duet while Glendale was busy in the background stealing goodie bags off the table, meanwhile Wammawink and Waterbaby were having their own conversation. Ched was in his makeshift nest of Garry's bones flexing for the skeleton. Horse looked over to see Durpelton and Stabby sitting on the floor playing pattycake. Horse couldn't help but smile at the wholesome scene of the father and adopted son duo. "So, got any plans now that the war is over"? Rider asked. Horse took a moment to think before speaking up. "Well, I've been invited to become a Shaman. I'm sure that will probably involve me having to go to Shaman school, but I was thinking after that finding a representative from both Centaurworld and the human world to mend ties between the two. " Horse replied. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea, do you have anyone in mind to represent the Centaurs?" Rider asked. "I was thinking of having Wammawink to represent Centaurworld ." Horse replied. "You want me to Centaurworld’s diplomat?!" Wammawink interrupted, her eyes twinkling in excitement. "Only if you think you're up to the task." Horse said. Horse was immediately pulled into a tight hug by Wammawink. "Oh, Horse I'd be more than happy to be the representative for Centaurworld!" Wammawink said enthusiastically. A light bulb suddenly popped out of Wammawink's head. "I just had a great idea! Rider, you should be the diplomat for the human world." Wammawink added. "Me? Represent the humans?" Rider asked stunned. "It will be great! You, me, and Horse, the three amigas bringing both worlds together. What do you say?" Wammawink asked as she included Rider into the hug. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try, especially if I get to spend more time with Horse." Rider said. "Then it's settled then! Group hug! Wammawink shouted as she squeezed the two tighter. That is when a sudden knock came from the door. "Zulius can you get the door please? Mama's in the middle of her super special three BFF's 4 ever hug." Wammawink asked. "Nooooooooooo". Zulius replied in an angelic singing voice. Horse managed to squeeze out of Wammawink's hug, breathing in some much-needed air. "It's okay Wammawink, I'll get it." Horse said as she walked away. "Alright, but hurry back"! Wammawink said anxiously, still hugging Rider. Horse opened the door to the outside but was surprised to find that no one was there. "Hello?" Horse called out. There was no answer. Horse surveyed the area, her war horse instincts kicking in at the possible danger her and her herd could be in. She didn't find anything on the boat, so Horse began studying the shore and the nearby forest. In the brush she spotted two figures. "Is that the woman and... Becky Apples!" Horse said shocked. Becky paid no mind to Horse, but the woman looked Horse in the eye before giving Horse a nod of approval and heading off further into the forest with Becky. "What was that all about"? Horse asked. Horse felt her leg brush up against something. She looked down and saw a large basket on the floor with a tag that simply read, To: Horse. She looked at it skeptically but decided to pick it up and bring it back inside. "What was that all about?" Waterbaby asked. "I have no idea, but apparently the woman left a gift for me, I think"? Horse said dubitably. "Well, that was... nice of her? Zulius replied, doubt in his voice as well. "Ooh, you gotta present Horse? Is it something I can store in my tummy hole? Because I wouldn't mind at all if you wanted to put your gift in there..." Glendale was interrupted by Wammawink gently smacking Glendale's hand away from the basket. "Glendale no. This is Horse's gift. You can steal the decorations later when we're putting them away." Wammawink replied. "Oh, okay." Glendale said in defeat. Horse felt her heart racing as she slowly touched the basket's weaved lid. Once she had a grip on it, she cautiously opened the basket. What was inside shocked Horse to her core. "Is that a baby centaur"?!

[mandareeboo]

You asked for drabbles, and lo and b3hold I do have a few. If you decide to keep asking, I'll send more sporadically if that's okay.

The Centaurs ask Horse what her equipment is and is for. Horse has trouble explaining that it's to accomdate and carry Rider, since the Centaurs don't know what a "Rider" is. They offer to take it off of her, but she isn't ready for that yet. Instead, they offer to take turns carrying it, so Horse doesn't get too tired.

"Rider and I... we're like one of you guys," Horse explained, watching out of the corner of her eye as Glendale bent her hooves to drink from a river. "When we're together, we're like a centaur. This stuff is to help her stay on me."

"So, you, like, piggyback them?" Zulius' eyebrows shot up. "That's a lot of work to try and replicate art. I kinda respect it."

"I run faster than Rider. It's just logical. And, besides- I like being able to keep my eye on her." She shook her head, reins jangling. "Though, I guess that didn't really work this time, huh."

Ched rapped a feathered fist on her chestplate. "Gonna be real, I just assumed these were, like, weird scales. To go with your weird face."

"They come off.... when Rider wants them too." Horse shrugged sheepishly. "Still don't have those opposable thumb dohickeys you all seem so fond of."

Glendale stood up with a jerk, accidentally splashing water her way. "Oh, I could keep those in my tummy for you! I get to hold onto things not my own and feed the gaping portal hole in me, you lose those you hold dear, it's a win-win."

Horse's ears flattened as she turned instinctively. "Absolutely not. Rider's going to need these when I get back to her!"

A soft pink hand on the back of her neck had her stiffening, but Wammawink didn't force the issue, gently patting her. "I'm sure your Rider person will understand if you want to take them off here and there. She wouldn't want your fur to get all matted, would she?"

"I... guess not. She always hatred it when I got rashes because we rode for too long."

She hooked her index finger under the side of her rein. "Let mama Wama carry the burden for a bit, huh?"

"Only if you promise to never call yourself that again."

"No promises," she sing-songed, and Horse rolled her eyes but bowed her head willingly.

Horse hadn't rode with a bit in a very long time now, but it was instinctive to smack her lips as the rein left her face, testing the sides of her mouth. Wammawink carefully wound the fabric around her arm and left it there, almost like a makeshift bracelet.

"Alright," she said. "Chest scales next."

"Ooh, ooh, can I wear them?" Durpleton raised both hands and made grabbing gestures. "I want weird chest scales!"

Horse looked at him, then his broad shoulders. "I don't really think physics is on your side there buddy, but go ahead. It's basically impossible to break these things." She moved to the side and gestured to a latch with her hoof. The plates unhooked and shifted outwards to make it easier to pull over her head. "It's heavy at first, but once you get used to it you'll never wanna take it off, promise."

A hand on her stomach made her jump, but Julius happily continued to unbuckle the saddle. "Gimme. I bet this will make my butt look even better."

"Guess that leaves the back scales for me," Ched hummed. The idea was undoubtedly daunting for the centaur bird, but he puffed his chest out. "Lay it on me, long-nose."

Glendale raised her hand. "Oooor I could wear it. On my body. Not in my portal tummy. Unfortunately."

"Oh thank glitter," Ched said. "Yes, please."

"You- you realize that's part of my saddle, right?" she asked. "I mean you could probably pry it off if you had to, but it's not supposed to seperate."

Zulius held the item up, scoffed, and tossed it to Glendale. "Oh, gross, nevermind."

The gentlest of breezes buffeted Horse's spine, and some instincts just couldn't be ignored. She hit the ground with a resounding thud, rolling and flailing her hooves in the air. Itches aplenty seemed to appear all at once, quickly vanquished with wiggles and whinnies of enjoyment.

"That's the stuff," she sighed, eyes fluttering closed with a smile. "Maybe Rider won't mind too much after all."

Wammawink ran her fingers over the worn leather and hummed. "I'm sure she'll understand."

[illyaana]

Homebound to you - Sasha Blaus

I can't find the artist on Tumblr (again (＞人＜；)) but this is the twitter post!

Synopsis: You are childhood friends with Sasha. This part is on how you grew up with Sasha and how she told you how she's joining the Training Corps. (if I tell anymore, it isn't a synopsis welp-)

Tags: Sasha x Binaural Reader, Fluff, SFW

Word Count: 2226

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Fanfiction Masterlist

The lush meadows of Dauper Village - the place both you called home.

It wasn’t one that you’d see written in the papers about its beauty. It was a hidden gem known by those who were willing to venture out and seek it. The forest welcomed you - the sounds of the woodland creatures and the wind against the bushes reminded you of life when you believed the world was much more peaceful than it was. The scene of an ocean blue stream of water surrounded by small animals was vivid in your memories.

“You don’t want to join me? It isn’t that dirty, trust me,” a 6-year-old Sasha said, gripping tightly onto the ends of your shirt.

Sasha Braus - the girl you’ve known ever since you were a kid.

No one could imagine the daughter of a hunter being friends - close friends - with the child of a scholar, but you both proved them wrong.

Sasha was your first ever friend. She was the one who made the introverted you more social with others.

She was the first person you truly cared for - nothing could’ve changed that.

Sasha played along a stream of water right beside the willow tree you both found the first time you ventured into the forest. She’d jump feet first into the stream, diverting the flow of water into multiple small streams before converging in the front of her feet. She loved seeing the small fishes play with each other as if they were racing to meet a bigger water source.

She’d beg you to join her in the small game - but you never did.

You wanted to steal every single moment with her in your eyes - to let it sink into the deepest parts of your brain.

“I’d rather stay dry, Sasha. My mom would kill me if I go back home with my clothes all wet,” your younger self said, trying to reason with her.

Sasha’s face immediately paled the minute you finished that sentence. She looked to her now soaked trousers. A ring of dried mud formed on the top half of her trousers decorated with dried leaves and vines.

“Why didn’t you warn me earlier?” she said, anger stricken on her face, “Mama is going to kill me now. I didn’t expect it to be this dirty.”

You chuckle at the red-faced girl in front of you.

This girl was meant for greatness - no one could deny that.

The adventurous side of hers could never be tamed.

It was wild and relentless - and you loved it to bits.

“You’re wearing shorts underneath, right?”

She nodded.

You sighed.

“Take off the trousers. I’ll wash them as best as I can and you sling it on your shoulder so that it can dry. That’s the best I can offer,” you told her.

In an instant, she ran to the bushes, took off her trousers and tossed them to you.

“You’re only 6-years old - how can you think like an adult at such a young age?” she said, an inquisitive look painted on her face.

“I grew up surrounding playful 6-year-olds, that’s why,” you said, teasing her, “I basically became their mom - looking after them, making sure they behaved well in public - I did it all.”

As time passed, Sasha became more than just a friend you used to look after.

You both became each others’ rocks - the very thing that kept each other from falling.

Sasha learnt how to hunt - to survive in the harsher world of the forest.

You learnt knowledge - to create and to move the world with a pen and paper.

You never saw Sasha hunt but you’ve pictured it billions of times.

You pictured her hazel-colored hair dancing in the air as she rode her horse. Her golden-brown eyes would focus solely on her target - they would force her victim to shudder and slow down, to become hers. Her muscles would flex under her thin shirt as he pulled the arrow in her hands against the bow - the tip fixed exactly at the weak point of her target. Then, with one swift release, her victim would fall and a rush of happiness would surge within her.

You could only draw it and picture it in your head, but how you wished to see her in action.

She’d always bring a huge portion of the meat she gained for your family. She’d say she caught more than she expected, but you could hear the rumbles from her parents.

Eventually, your families decided to move into one house to reduce the problems faced by the Braus family.

Your family would provide the income - the money to buy resources. The Braus family would help in gaining food and rationing out how much from the resources to use.

Even though your parents hated the idea of moving in with hunters, you were ecstatic.

You imagined a life with Sasha, and you were going to get a glimpse of it.

Every night, she’d come into your room with a cup of tea and talk about her hunt. You, on the other hand, would talk about what you’ve learnt for the day. Even though she never understood what you spoke on, she’d try her best to listen and even ask questions when she didn’t understand.

You taught Sasha how to use a quill while she taught you the wonders of the wild.

Sasha entered your room in the middle of the night. She had her blanket wrapped around her as she held two mugs of tea.

She saw how you continued to study throughout the night. You’d use an oil lamp as a light source as you crammed for all the future tests and exams you were going to face.

She hated the sight of you slowly losing energy. The eyebags under your eyes intensified each day. You didn’t smile as much as you used to. You lost the energy you had when you were younger.

Yet Sasha managed to keep hers, just like you wanted.

“Tea break?” she suggested, pushing a mug into your hands, “I caught a deer today! Tomorrow, you’re eating venison - get ready!”

You shook your head in denial as you placed the mug on the table.

“I swear, Y/N,” she started, agitation clear in your voice, “I will burn all your books if you don’t stop and drink tea with me right now.”

You knew Sasha’s threatens were to be taken seriously. She seriously once burned an essay you needed to hand in the next day.

You immediately closed your book and placed the hot cup of Chamomile tea in your hands. The mug itself gave you warmth, making you sigh in content.

Sasha hopped on your bed, dropping the blanket to her sides. She closed her eyes as she brought the cup of hot tea to her nose, taking it in.

You swear that she almost looked like an angel at that moment.

Her soft locks now reached her shoulders - messy and tousled. The pale moonlight against her skin highlighted her features. The gold flecks in her eyes against the hazel shined - it even showed against the steam wafting from the cup. The scar on her left shoulder from one of her hunts showed through the almost see-through shirt, showing how strong she was as a warrior.

You smiled, leaning against your chair while taking in the beauty in front of you.

“Y/N?” Sasha called.

“Yeah?”

“When are you free?”

“I should be free by this Friday, my exams end then.”

“Oh...” she said, trailing off.

You walk to sit beside her and place your head on your shoulder. You felt her relax as he placed her head on top of yours.

“Is everything good?”

She begins rubbing her head against yours.

“I’m good. I’m just worried about the future, that’s all.”

“The world must be ending,” you joke, “You’re actually thinking ahead.”

Sasha flicked your forehead, “Stupid - of course, I need to!”

A silence formed between the two of you as you both stared at the sky from your windows. It was pitch black. Stars twinkled against the black canvas, dancing to a song only they knew. The clouds tried their best to hide the beauty of the night, but their efforts were in vain.

“I’m thinking of joining the Training Corps,” Sasha said, cutting the silence.

Your face paled.

“What?” you froze.

“I hate hiding in fear, Y/N. I hate the fact we stay hiding away from the thing that threatens our lives. We should be killing it rather than just killing animals for meat,” she said with a serious voice.

You put both of your finished mugs on the floor and grab Sasha’s hands, forcing her to face you.

“Sasha, you might die. You might never see your parents again, you might lose everything,” tears form in your eyes, “I can’t lose you, Sasha - not now, not ever.”

She smiles while wiping the formed tears in your eyes.

“Bold of you to assume I’ll die the minute I see Titans,” she says.

She pulls you out of the bed, dusting off her shirt.

“We’re going out for a while. Get ready for an adventure after so many years, Y/N L/N.”

You both snuck out of the house and got on her horse. With one nudge from her, you both rode off into the forest. Through the dark greens emerged fireflies that lit the view before you. You spotted the eventful stream, the sleeping woodland creatures and the plants that reminded you of your childhood.

You turned to face the back of Sasha, and you were in awe.

She looked exactly like how you pictured her to look.

Her dancing hair, her flowing skirt, her smile - everything - it was what you imagined.

You wrapped your arms around her waist, pulling yourself closer to you. You pressed your head against her back, earning a chuckle from the horse rider.

“You better come home to me, Sasha Braus. I will never forgive you if you don’t.”

“As if I won’t.”

She signaled the horse to stop at the willow tree you used to spend most of your childhood days at.

She gets off the horse and runs to the tree. Her fingers slowly graze the tree, reminiscing all the memories you both have made right here.

“You know,” she started, “I used to stare at you reading those books of yours under this tree. The wind would blow softly for you when you perched yourself under the tree, but the vines of leaves at its branches would move so much. It was as if they were dancing for you. Even if I brought a drink or a snack, you’d just give me your portion and continue to read those books, but when I wanted you to talk to me, you’d instantly put the book down and give all your attention to me.”

“Well,” you say, “I’d always look up once in a while and see you play with the animals in that little bush there,” you point at the bush covered by fireflies, “I’d see you try picking up squirrels and capture butterflies wondering what goes on in your head.”

You get off the horse and walk towards Sasha.

“I’ll miss this the most when I leave, I think. This small haven we made from trees will always be my first home.”

You hug Sasha from behind, gripping onto her loose shirt.

“It’s happening, isn’t it? I can’t talk you out of it, can I?” you say, sniffles stopping you from speaking clearly.

She shook her head and you sigh, feeling defeated.

“Y/N, pass those exams and get into the Royal Capital. I will enter the Military Police and I’ll meet you within Wall Sheena.”

“I’ll try to get everyone to move. Then, we all will be together again,” you say, building your resolve.

Sasha turns to face you. The minute she sees you, she begins to laugh hysterically.

“You look like a lost puppy,” she says as she touches your cheek, “I’ll miss you, Y/N.”

You press your foreheads against each other. You both instinctively close your eyes, enjoying the small moment you two were sharing.

You couldn’t imagine how your life was going to be without the bubbly presence only Sasha could give. To think there would be no more random rendezvous, no more jokes and no more stories from the girl in front of you made you feel the pain you didn’t want anyone to feel.

But you knew that Sasha had aspirations and dreams - you were in no place to stop her, even if her life was on the line.

The only thing you could do was to cherish this little moment with her before years without her begin.

Soon, a swarm of fireflies surrounded the two of you, giving you a clear view of the woman before you. The bright, flickering lights enhanced the raw beauty only Sasha exemplified. Her eyes stared into yours, begging you to say something.

It was only fair to do this now. If it didn’t happen now, you don’t know when you’ll have the chance again.

“I love you, Sasha Braus. Ever since I was kids I-”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

Your lips met under a firefly-lit forest under the willow tree in your safe haven.

Wanna request something or just wanna talk? Go ahead and send me an ask here! If you want to send a request, please check my guidelines to see what I am comfortable with. Thanks for reading <3

[desdemonafictional]

The Erl King

To begin with, it’s important you know that the roads in Drusselstein did not get paved until 2003, when the project was undertaken by some private investors interested in building an export market in the USA. As of 2012, five percent of the country’s population owned one hundred percent of the country’s automobiles. Forty years ago, it could still have passed for a medieval kingdom.

It was 1976, and the carriage made a heavy thudding sound on the shadowy ground as it lurched over half buried trees and washed out gullies. The driver was a Doofenshmirtz man, his expression comfortably grim as he urged the rented nags over various obstacles. They made decent time, although the horses were as old as they were ungainly—domesticated animals do not favor the forests of Drusselstein. Wild animals don’t particularly care for them either, but those don’t have much of a choice.

High above them, the white half globe of the moon flickered between withering leaves. It was autumn, and the man’s family had been journeying to the capital to apply for yet another loan, before the year dwindled down to nothing. Prospects so far remained grim.

The wagon contained five bodies, four human. There was a dog, the man and his wife, and two boys. They had started off from the capital when the sun was high in the sky, and the man had silently refused equally silent requests to pause for the night at an inn at the border of the forest. It was common knowledge that wood trolls were attracted to the sound of carriage wheels after night fall, but the village of Gimmelshtump was only an hour away once you passed the tree line, and the man had not been in the mood to let some trolls that might or might not even be in this region of the forest dictate his actions.

He was, in addition to simply being a man, a Drusselstenian man. This meant that he was never entirely unarmed when it came to the monsters of the countryside.

In the back of the carriage—more of a covered wagon, really—the man’s oldest son sat with his hands cinched around his knees. He had spent a hefty chunk of his relatively short life as a lawn gnome—and would spend more, most likely, if his father’s business with the bank had gone as badly as it sounded—which gave him some familiarity with the dangers of unprotected spaces. Witches, spells, wood trolls, der kinderlumper, so on and so forth. He was eleven years old, and he was fairly certain that he’d like to live to be twelve regardless of how much he did not want to see Big Black Boots Boris on Monday. Driving through the forest at night seemed to be a good way to make sure neither ever happened.

His name was Heinz, which is usually short for something else but in this case was not.

Heinz looked out the back of the carriage. It was open to the darkness, and the road wound out behind them like a pale silver thread.

Now, wood trolls. He could deal with wood trolls. Everybody knew what to do with them, and given enough preparation they’d hardly slow you down. Witches were trickier, but they didn’t usually wander the roads at night. Witches were more the house keeping types. Bats and goozims were probably more of a threat than—

Child.

Heinz let go of his knees and crawled to the edge of the wagon. He heard something, underneath the rattle of wheels and the creaking planks, like a third set of hooves. It had a ghostly uncertainty to it, not quite consistent enough for an echo and not quite solitary enough to be real. Heinz looked back at his mother, seated beside his father at the front of the wagon with her hands squarely in her lap, and bit his lip. She’d ordered him to be silent, but that was hours ago, and besides, she never remembered to give him back speaking privileges. If he didn’t carefully forget after a day or so, he’d never get to talk at all.

Child.

A sound like a voice slipped in through the cracks in the rattling carriage.  Heinz jerked back from the darkness and searched wildly in every direction for the source of the sound, another traveler or perhaps a radio, and found nothing but his parents and his little brother, exactly as they were.

Heinz swallowed.

Carefully, he leaned over the back of the carriage to get a look at the ground. It was probably too much to ask for the wheels to be trailing a bell or some strange noisy junk, but he’d rather not jump to conclusions.

The wind whistled, but it was not a voice. There was nothing under the wheels.

“Child,” the darkness said, “come with me.”

Heinz toppled backwards and skittered across the bouncing wooden floor, heels pushing wildly at the planks until his back was pressed up flat against the back of his mother’s chair.

“Mama,” he hissed, eyes fixed on the featureless night beyond the bounds of their walls. “Mama there’s something out there.��

“I told you to be silent,” his mother replied. Her voice was colder than the moonlight across the dirt.

“I know, I know, but there’s something out there,” he said. “I can hear it talking.”

“How can you hear anything over the rumbling of this two bit rental,” she said, as motionless as ever. It wasn’t a question, Heinz was pretty sure of that.

“I can hear it,” he insisted, “there’s a voice, and hooves, and it wants me to go somewhere with it.”

His mother shifted. Something he’d said must have done the trick, because she turned back for a moment to glance over her shoulder at little Roger, who was sitting placidly across the carriage, staring harmlessly at nothing.

"Do you hear anything, darling?" she asked the smaller boy, a hint of reserved worry around her deep set eyes.

"No mama," Roger said.

The moon went dark behind a canopy on the road ahead. Any emotion in his mother’s face died. “There,” she said, “then there is nothing Heinz. Be silent.”

"But mama, I heard it—"

His mother snorted. “Roger heard nothing,” she said. “And elves only come for beautiful children. It is the wind in the leaves.”

And with that, she returned to her motionless vigil.

Heinz scowled at his brother. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Roger gave him a mild look that was altogether too mature for a six-year-old’s face. “I didn’t hear anything,” he replied. “It’s late. I’m going to sleep the rest of the way.”

Roger’s meaningful look slipped right past Heinz, who was already crawling back to the end of the carriage. The younger boy gave up on further communication at that point—even at six years old, Roger was aware that his brother was by nature strange and irrational. High strung.

Heinz leaned over the edge again, this time searching the tangles of branches along the road side for a hint of motion in the darkness. The alder trees rose high and curving, and empty of everything except the wind. Heinz sighed and sat down again, resting his forehead against the sill. Maybe it was nothing.

“Child.”

Heinz froze.

“You, dear child.”

He twisted his head. “Roger,” he hissed, “Roger do you hear that?”

His brother only made an irritated six-year-old noise and rolled over onto his side, firmly avoiding the problem. No help from that quarter, then. Heinz took a deep breath and turned back to the window.

Out in the inky night, he could make out the shadowy figure of what might have been a mounted rider in the tangle of the undergrowth, moving with eerie speed through the dense brush.

“You, dear child,” it called, “come, go with me.”

Heinz leaned out the window. “I’m sorry mister,” he called out, only a little louder than the sounds of the carriage. “My brother is sleeping, I don’t think he wants to go anywhere with you!”

The shadow figure’s horse balked, danced sideways, and then ducked gracefully out onto the piecemeal illumination of the road.

“I’m sorry,” the rider said, a new and uncertain note in its echoing voice. “Who?”

The rider, as best Heinz could see, was striking and male, and wore in his long knotted hair a spired crown with peaks like the knobs of old branches. His face was a dark pane of shadows, with glinting pinpricks of light where the eyes were—should be, Heinz amended uneasily. He wasn’t certain.

“Roger,” he answered, dutifully. “My brother. He’s not interested, um, please try back some other night?”

The black horse tossed its head, a mane like cobwebs fluttering against the night. The rider cantered forward, slipping into a more casual distance, head tilted curiously. Closer up, he was more strange than frightening. Heinz had always found that things were less frightening up close, where you could see the seams. Take wildcats for example. Way less scary when they weren’t stalking you through the underbrush.

“Ah,” the rider said, peering past Heinz into the dim space of the wagon. “I didn’t know she had a son.”

“What?” said Heinz. He started to build up some indignation, but then, why bother, he’d been mistaken for a servant before. He went with the more important question. “Do you know my mother?”

The rider regarded him silently for a moment, and then inclined his head. The wicked peaks of his thorny crown glinted. “I am the Erl King,” he said.

“A king?” Heinz repeated, scrambling up over the back of the wagon. He perched there, as close as he could get to the rider. “Can you give my father a loan? Or are you a poor king? My father is a poor baron, that’s what he says.”

“I am rich,” the Erl King said, “but I have more valuable boons than money to grant men. Power, talent, charms, a really excellent peach cobbler recipe—”

“Oh,” sighed Heinz. “He doesn’t want any of that.”

The Erl King cleared his throat. Or whatever passed for a throat. “Right. Ah. So. Come, dear child, go with me.”

Heinz frowned. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

The king reached back like he was rubbing his neck with one twisted hand. “Er. Come away with me.”

“Come away where?”

“To… my kingdom?”

“Oh.” Heinz paused, took that in for a moment. “What, like on a vacation?”

“…Sure. A lengthy… holiday.”

“Gosh, let me tell mama, she wants to go on a vacation so badly, this is great.”

“No, no, hold on,” the Erl King cut in hastily, “not your family. Just you.”

“Me?” Heinz said.

“You.”

Heinz considered this. After a moment, he glanced back at his brother, sleeping placidly with his knees pressed up against the back of their parents’ seats. Something clicked into place.

“But,” Heinz said slowly, “elves only take beautiful children. You are an elf, aren’t you?”

“I am something of that nature, yes.”

“So… why me?”

The Erl King blinked—you could tell because the twin liquid pinpricks of his eyes darkened for the flash of a second. He trotted forward again, horse keeping effortless pace with the rumbling wagon. He leaned in, over the neck of his mount, and peered at Heinz. On the lit pane of his cheekbone, Heinz could barely make out a twisting curling pattern, like the limbs of a very old tree.

“Men have such strange concepts of beauty,” the Erl King murmured. “Child, you are not like them.”

Heinz’s spine stiffened. “I am too! I’m just like everyone else!”

“No,” the Erl King replied, “you really are not.”

“I’m going back in the wagon,” Heinz threatened, throwing a leg over the wall just to demonstrate how serious he was.

The king didn’t seem particularly worried. “You have talent, dear child. Much talent. Come away with me, and I will show you how to make the most of that—my kingdom is hungry for artists, you would never be without admirers.”

“What--Me?”

“There will be dancing,” the Erl King went on, casually, “and there is always food, lovely endless food the likes of which you will never taste elsewhere. I have daughters who would play with you, any game you like. We have many beautiful old things that need to be fixed. You could be very useful to us. We would be so very grateful.”

“Dancing?” Heinz echoed, a little bit behind the curve. “Like—for fun?”

“You enjoy dancing,” the Erl King said, and it wasn’t a question.

Heinz glanced around, nervously, but no one was listening to him. “Yes,” he whispered.

“Come away with me,” the king said, offering one knotted dark hand towards the boy. “No one will tell you to stop breathing so loudly, or to be still, and you will always have a bed.”

“Um,” said Heinz. “That sounds really great, but—”

He looked again over his shoulder, at the shapes of his family in the darkness. He knew enough at age eleven to know that he wasn’t happy, and that maybe he had never been. Other people were happy, even Roger seemed happy enough. Kids at school. Uncles. Dogs. If it was possible for them, then why not him too?

The hand waited, extended patiently into the void between the monstrous horse and the creaking wagon. Heinz considered it. He had heard a little bit about elves, just enough to know that people didn’t like them very much. They took children. Well, people also didn’t like him much, and at least this elf was asking first.

Heinz sighed. “I’m sorry, your highness. I can’t go with you.”

The Erl King retracted his hand. “Dear child, you can’t be serious.”

Heinz gestured helplessly toward his family’s vague shapes. “I can’t, I—I already ran away once, I had to come back. They need me.”

The Erl King regarded him with his strange eyes, black and hooded. “They don’t love you,” he observed, a touch reproachfully.

Heinz flattened his lips, stared into the empty darkness. “I can make them,” he said.

The fairy horse tossed its head and stamped, losing distance as the wagon rattled on. The Erl King regarded Heinz with something almost like sadness. An alien, curious sadness.

“I only offer,” he said, finally. “I cannot take you by force.”

Heinz shivered. “Thanks for the offer, then, your majesty. I appreciate the thought.”

The king inclined his head.

Half an hour later, the wagon arrived in the village of Gimmelshtump, wheels shaking ominously on their posts. The man and his wife went to unload their dog and their children and bring them inside the house, only to find their eldest son huddled at the back of the contraption where the windchill bit hardest. His skin was paler than the fading moonlight, and worryingly cold to the touch. The man and his wife exchanged a glance, lifted up their son, and silently carried him to his small bedroom.

In a day or so, the fever passed, and the boy survived.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Ready now; Queen x reader

*Author’s note*

To the anon who requested this from way back when, I first wanna thank you for being SUPER PATIENT with me.  I was going through a lot at the time you sent the request but I am slowly but surely getting through them. Eventually once I get the chance, I may open requests back up again.

Now there’s not really any serious warnings other than swearing, fluff, and angst.  I hope you all enjoy this fic and until next time stay safe, stay healthy, stay positive.

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things

@waddles03

@psychosupernatural

@ixchel-9275

@simonedk

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels

@platawnic

@queensdivas

@geek-and-proud

@queendeakyy

@kairosfreddie

____________________________________________________________

*Oklahoma city, Oklahoma, 1976*

It was like every other Wednesday night at COWBOY’S.  The live dancing, bull riding, and of course the famed karaoke night.  I’ve been coming to this club for as long as I can remember, in fact I think I was a kid when I first came here.  It was to see my mama sing for karaoke night and of course my dad is known around here as the world champion bull rider.

He kept that title from the time he was 16 up till just before I was born.  And because of his reputation, I (and I hate to admit it) but I get special treatment every time I go to Cowboy’s.  In fact the current owner, he was my dad’s longtime friend and fellow bull riding competitor.

As I walked inside I could already see the place was packed with people.  Line dancing and really lighting up the dancefloor making this club a real Hoedown. I first went up to the bar and there running it was the owner’s son, Jensen.  He and I go way back, even though he’s like seven years older than me, he treats me like his little sis.  Always keeping the boys away.

“Well, well, well, well, well. Look who walked in. It’s the singing sensation (Y/n) (L/n). Can I just say I am a huge fan of yours!” He teased me at the end.

“Oh Jensen stop it. You know I’m not famous yet.”

“Not yet, but you will be soon.”

“I’m not so sure.”

“Okay hang on, let me get your usual and then you spill your guts.” He walked away and got my usual beer and filled it almost up to the rim.  He slid it towards me and he said as he leaned up against the bar, “Alright now talk.” I took a sip of my beer before saying.

“What if no one likes my song?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Jens you know as well as I do that no one really sings original pieces here. It’s always covers of famous songs, and the last time someone did do an original he was booed off the stage.”

“First off, his song sucked and he kept screwing up on the guitar. So of course he was thrown off the stage. But you—you’ve got a serious talent in song writing. And your voice—baby girl the only other female singer I can compare you to here was your mom.”

“You really think so?”

“Coming from a Texas man forced to move here when we first met, you’re bout the only good thing in this one horse town. Hell you’re way better than just sticking right here. Especially since—well you know.”

“I know. It’s……it’s been rough. Ever since the car crash mama’s been—well not herself lately. Music is bout the only thing I can do to make her happy.”

“So you get up on that stage and knock these cow-folks right off their boots. Now go relax on the dance floor and I’ll let my old man know you’re here.”

“Thanks Jensen.” I pulled out my wallet to pay for the beer but he stopped me.

“No need, this one’s on my tab tonight. But expect to pay me back once you hit the big time.” I smiled at him and pocketed my wallet back into my jeans.

“Thanks Jensen, you’re like the brother I never had.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you yah silly little day dreamer.” He teased as he placed his cowboy hat on top of my head, teasingly rocking my head from side to side till I stuck my tongue at him and took another swig of my beer.

I then headed off to the dance floor to cool off (dancing always helped me calm down, especially when it’s with a group of people) and I danced with some of my old friends from high school, just letting my hair down as I danced the first hour of the night away before they would call up the performers for karaoke night.

*3rd Person POV*

Unbeknownst to (Y/n), it was also on that night that the most famous rock and roll band would also be there on that night to see her perform.  Freddie Mercury, Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon, otherwise known as the band Queen, had just arrived in Oklahoma city to do their two night concert they had scheduled for their “A day at the Races” tour.

To let down some steam and relax after a few days on the road, Freddie had heard about this club from a friend of his and convinced the other three to come along and check it out.  All four of them wearing cowboy hats, so that they wouldn’t stick out like sore thumbs, they entered inside and saw the whole place buzzing.

“Wow, this is even more filled than the Disco club Veronica and I met at.” Said John.

“Well Tony said this was the one place in America where you would get a traditional Southern treatment.” Said Freddie. “And I like it. It’s reputation proceeds itself.” He continued with a smile as he adjusted his hat.

“Remind me again why we had to wear these though?” Roger said.

“Don’t be such a party pooper blondie. Besides you see every man in here. Tony said that everyone in Oklahoma wears cowboy hats. Anyone who doesn’t is automatically labeled a stranger. And I don’t want no Wanted poster of me across the state for refusal to wear a cowboy hat.” Freddie said as he playfully shoved Roger.

“It’s not so bad.” Brian said as he fiddled with the string of his hat.

“You’re just saying that cause you can’t feel it on your head.” Quipped John.

“Alright, alright Deacy darling you’ve had your shot at Bri. Now I don’t want any more brawls tonight. I wanna enjoy this night, you three know how much I love to party. So don’t fuck this up for me.”

“If you wanted that Fred then you should’ve left Roger on the bus.” Brian said.

“You know what yah curly haired space poodle……”

“Gentlemen.” The four of them turned to see an old man around his mid-50’s walk up towards them.  He wore a traditional brown colored cowboy hat, his grey goatee reflected off the lights, and the spurs off his boots jingled with each step. “Now I get it we all need to let off some steam, but if you’re gonna cause any trouble I’m gonna ask you all to leave.”

“No worries my good sir. You must forgive my friend here, he didn’t quite have him fixed yet so his testosterone can run him ragged like one of your bulls.” Freddie sweet-talked the man.

“Watch it Fred!” Roger sneered as he took out a cigarette and lit it up.

“Alright. I’m trusting you to keep an eye on your friend there. I get enough drunks brawling every night here, I don’t need another damage fee added to my billing. Bobby Singer, owner of Cowboy’s.”

“Pleasure to meet you Bobby dear. I heard about this place from a friend of mine and this place does not disappoint.” Freddie praised as he and Bobby shook hands with each other.

“Thank you son. Built this place myself with my own two hands before moving the wife and son up here.”

“How long has this place been here?” asked Brian.

“Well came up here around 51, bought this property at around 53-54 and the doors finally opened by the start of the 60’s so…..about 16 years this club has been around. And she’s still going strong.”

“Impressive.” Freddie praised.

“What kind of drinks do you serve here?” asked Roger.

“Well if you mosey on down to the bar, my son Jensen will lay down everything we got. We mostly do beer but if you can take something stronger, we got that as well. Enjoy yourselves boys.” As Bobby walked away, the boys bid him farewell.

“He seemed nice.” John said.

“A friendly old man, kinda reminds me of Miami. Firm, strict, knows when you’re starting trouble Rog.”

“Watch it Fred.”

“Alright come on, I think we can all do with a drink right now.”

“Yes.”

“Or ten.” the band members walked over to the bar to see Jensen cleaning out a mug.

“Excuse me darling!” Freddie cried out to Jensen.

“Yes can I he—he-ha-ha……oh shit! You’re….you guys are Queen!”

“Yes. I take it you’re a fan of ours?” asked Brian.

“Y-Yeah.” Jensen squeaked.  He then cleared his throat before continuing, “I mean yes. When I first heard Bohemian Rhapsody for the first time, it changed my life on how I look at music. Not even some of my favorite bands can do what you guys do.”

“Well thank you darling. Bohemian Rhapsody was a masterpiece.” Freddie said.

“But a complete nightmare to make.” Roger added in.

“So what can I get for you guys?” asked Jensen.

“What all do you got?” asked John.

“Well you guys actually came on a good day. Wednesday nights are our special’s night. Every drink at half price. We’ve basically got every beer imaginable, but we also do vodka, gin and juice, margaritas. And of course we have the basic water and soda for those sensitive to the strong stuff.”

“Well then my darling, we’ll go ahead and take three of your finest beer and a vodka shot please.” Freddie said.

“Coming right up.” Jensen walked off to prep the drinks for the four young band members.

“He seems like a nice chap.” Brian said.

“He does indeed.” Agreed John.  Before another word could be said, Bobby soon came up on stage and said.

“And that was Carol Anne with ‘Sweet home Alabama’.” The crowd then cheered. “And now ladies and gents, it’s time to be graced by our very own special songbird. Please welcome our very own Southern Belle. (Y/n) (L/n)!” the crowd cheered and it was then the four English rockers soon saw a young woman coming up on stage.

She looked to be about John’s age, maybe a couple years younger.  In her hand was a 12 string acoustic, she got onto the stool and adjusted the mic.

*My POV*

God my nerves were really starting to get the best of me.  What if no one liked the song? Oh god I wish daddy could be here, he always knew just how to calm me down.  I adjusted the mic and plugged in my guitar.

“Hello everyone. I uhh—” I cleared my throat. “Tonight I’m gonna do something a little different than my last few performances. This is an original piece I’ve been working hard on. Hope you all like it.” I turned towards the ensemble band and nodded to them.  They nodded back and as I began playing the opening on my mama’s guitar, Aaron came in with the violin and Jack soon came in with the bass.  

By the chorus, Daniel came in with a soft drum beat and as I passionately sung out the chorus, I could already hear some people cheering or whistling at me.

She was driving last Friday on

Her way to Cincinnati on a

Snow white Christmas Eve Going home to see her mama and her daddy

With the baby in the backseat Fifty miles to go, and she was running low

On faith and gasoline It'd been a long hard year She had a lot on her mind,

And she didn't pay attention She was going way too fast Before she knew it she was spinning on a

Thin black sheet of glass She saw both their lives flash before her eyes She didn't even have time to cry She was so scared She threw her hands up in the air

Jesus, take the wheel Take it from my hands 'Cause I can't do this on my own I'm letting go So give me one more chance And save me from this road I'm on Jesus, take the wheel

*3rd Person POV*

Everyone was involved in hearing (y/n) sing.  Like her mama before her, the adults all whistled and cheered for the young girl for she truly did sound like her mama whenever she sang, maybe even better than her.  But the one most intrigued by her was the leading frontman of Queen.

“Just who is that talented young lady?” Freddie spoke out as (Y/n) played a small instrumental break in the first chorus.

“That there is (Y/n) (L/n). Her parents were known in this club. Her mama for her singing and her dad, God rest his soul, he was the world champion bull rider. She’s got a gift with that voice of hers.” Jensen said as he cleaned out a mug.

“She does indeed.” Freddie muttered in awe as he continued to watch (Y/n) sing the next part of the song.

There was one point of the song where she held out a note so long, it felt like she was running on endless air.  The crowd all hooted and hollered as she held that note before finishing the song.  Everyone soon cheered as loudly as they could while (Y/n) smiled under the spotlight and stood up from the stool and took a bow.

“Wow she was amazing.” Brian praised.

“I’ll say, she held that note for like 10 beats. Not even I can do that.” Roger said.

“Excuse me, Jensen.” Freddie called out.  Jensen who had just gotten done serving another round of drinks for a bachelor party, came back over and said.

“What’s up?”

“Where can we meet that talented young lady?” he asked him.  The other three band members looked at Freddie confused.

“She’ll be out back. That’s where she usually goes when things get too hectic here.”

“Thank you so much darling.” He dowsed the last of his vodka and stood up and walked out of the club with the other three members behind him.

*My POV*

After the performance I went outside to cool off. I stared up at the starry sky and whispered.

“I wish you could’ve seen it daddy. It seems I really wowed everyone tonight.”

“You did more than just that dear.” I froze and slowly turned around and—pinch me I must be dreaming.  Cause right there in front of me stood my all time favorite rock and roll band Queen.  I closed my eyes and shook my head trying to wake myself up from this dream and found that I wasn’t dreaming.

Freddie Mercury, Brian May, John Deacon and Roger Taylor were really right in front of me.

“You—you’re……”

“Yes darling we know who we are. But what I’m more interested in is who you are. How long have you had that lovely voice for?” Freddie said as he came up to me and actually wrapped an arm around me.

“Well I uhh—for a while I guess.”

“And that was an original song you sang back there?” Brian asked.

“Yeah just…..a little something I came up with. Was it bad?”

“Au contraire darling, it was unlike anything we have ever heard. And that’s saying something.” Freddie said.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. The way you managed to have utter control of your voice as you belted out certain words of the song. Only one other person has been able to do that and that’s me.” Freddie bragged.

“Umm hello what about me?” Roger piped in.

“Oh yes you and your dog whistle range. That takes skill too.” I softly chuckled.  Man this was definitely not how I pictured this night would go (well except in my dreams). “Now then (Y/n). How would you like to be an opening number for our concert?” wait what?

“What?” I asked.

“What?” I heard the other three echo back.

“You’ve got the voice, the talent, you are too good for just singing at the clubs. What better way than to finally dive in and take this opportunity.”

“Uhh Fred can we talk to you for a second?” John soon spoke up.

“Just stay tight for a moment (Y/n) dear.” Freddie said as he bopped my nose before walking back towards his bandmates.  Okay what the hell just happened?

*3rd Person POV*

Freddie and the boys walked a few feet away from (Y/n) so that she couldn’t hear them.

“Fred are you crazy right now?” Roger hissed softly.

“What?”

“We can’t just go picking up random singers off the streets and ask them to open up for us!”

“I agree with Roger. No offense, but I don’t think Reid or even our tour manager Bill will go along with this.” Brian added.

“You don’t believe she’s worth giving a shot too?” Freddie asked.

“No, no it’s not about that. She is talented, beyond talented. We just—can’t do something like this. Picking up a random teenager and ask her to leave everything behind for the rest of our tour.”

“They do have a point Freddie. Plus how do we know she even wants this? I mean maybe she just sings for fun. To be honest I never thought we were that serious till our first album went on the shelf.” Deacy said.

“Okay first off that hurts Deacy dear. How dare you think that. And number 2, I have a feeling she does want it. She may not physically show it but there’s something in her eyes that show that she wants a chance at the real spotlight. And who am I to crush a fellow singer’s dream? Especially one as beautiful and adorable as her, just look at her!” they all turned towards her. “Who knows, maybe we’ll get an additional family member in our rag-tag band.”

“Whoa wait hold on now you’re saying we need another person involved with Queen?” Roger snapped.

“I’m thinking broadly Roger dear. Don’t be so dramatic about it darling. Now then, are you three with me?” Brian, Roger and John looked at each other and Deacy was the first to speak up.

“You’ll never let it go either way. I’ll say yes.” Fred smiled before turning to Brian.

“I mean—” he sighed heavily. “Okay fine, she can come with us. But only if her parents say it’s okay.”

“Well blondie?” Fred questioned as he turned to Roger.  Roger sighed heavily and said.

“I’m already ruled-out even if I say no.” Freddie cheered and hugged his bandmates before heading back over to (Y/n) to discuss his brilliant idea.

*My POV. 1 year later*

If you had told me that on the night I would perform my first original piece live before the people at Cowboys and then told me I would soon be standing before Queen, who not only saw me sing but also offered me the chance to perform alongside them, I would’ve called you crazy and laughed in your face.

But it happened.  With Jensen’s and uncle Bobby’s approval I was able to tour the rest of the North American tour with Queen.  I’ll admit it was frightening to perform in front of my first crowd of over 12,000 people, but once I got on that stage and just sang it felt good.

We had just gotten done doing a concert at the Hammersmith Odeon.  As par-celebration we all headed to a nearby pub the guys had rented out for the night and anyone who was involved with the concert was invited to come.

By 1am everyone was either completely drunk and were passed out on the floor, or they were having sex in the bathrooms. Wanting to perk myself up, I went to the restrooms to splash some cold water on my face but before I could walk around the corner toward the sinks I heard some girls talking.

“I mean don’t get me wrong Roger is amazing especially in the sack but why would he allow someone like her on stage?”

“Yeah all those songs she sings are soooooo boring!” I peeked around to see that the girls who were talking were some of Roger’s groupies.

“Queen is just being dragged by that little bitch who can’t sing for shit.”

“All her songs about Jesus or God or whatever. She doesn’t fit with them. I think they just pitied her so she could go on stage and sing her little country songs.” It was a stab to the heart.

I raced out of the bathroom and tried to contain my tears.  But it only got worse from there.  Walking pass the men’s bathroom were a few of the roadies who were talking about me.

“She brings to band down don’t you think? I mean her songs just aren’t up to par with where Queen is at. In fact I’ve seen sales going down at our concerts because of her.”

“Dorothy should’ve just stayed in Kansas singing for pubs. She’s nowhere near concert stadium material.” At that point a few tears ran down my face.

Was I? Was I really that bad? Did the guys really pity me? Was this all a big joke to them? I ran out the back way and just ran down through the streets of London.  

Not caring where I was going, or where I’d end up. I just figured the father I ran, the farther I would be away from those people and their cruel comments.

The next morning I was at my apartment (technically it was Freddie’s old apartment that he and his ex-girlfriend Mary had) lying on the couch holding the couch pillow close to me.  The things that the groupies and even some of the roadies said last night still rang through my head like a church bell.

Maybe I should give it up. I mean after all like they said, no one really listens to me perform.  So I decided to pack up my stuff and go back to America, back to Oklahoma, maybe try to get a job at Cowboy’s or something.  As I was packing up my last bag, the door suddenly opened and I heard Roger’s voice call out.

“Oi (n/n) you here?” shit why did Freddie have to give out spare copies of the keys?

“(Y/n) you in here?” I then heard Deacy’s voice speak up.  Oh great, not one but two of the Queens are here.

“Is everything okay poppet?” Brian’s voice echoed out. Great could this day get any worse?

“Everything’s fine.” I called out to them.  I quickly came out of my room and shut the door before walking towards the living room. “Hey guys what’s up?”

“Well you disappeared from the party last night darling so we came to see just why that was?” Freddie said.

“You didn’t sneak off with anyone last night did yah?” Roger teased.

“No! I—I felt kinda tired after last night’s concert so I just took a cab home.” I gave them a white lie.

“Why didn’t you tell one of us you were leaving? You know how dangerous the streets can be at night.” Roger said as he plopped himself on the couch.

“I’m not some fragile flower Rog. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can. I just can’t help it sometimes, you’ve become like another sister to me, plus Jensen made me promise to keep an eye on you less he shoot me in the arse.” I rolled my eyes as I chuckled.

“(Y/n) dear~” Freddie sang out as he peeked from the hallway. “If you don’t have anyone here, then why is your door shut?” oh shit.  I quickly turned towards him and he just grinned as he raced towards my room.

“Fred no! Don’t!”

“Oh so there is a handsome beast you’re trying to hide from us!” I ran behind him trying to stop him from getting in my room. “Oh-ho-ho this must be serious then, he not dressed or something?”

“No Freddie there’s no guy now please don’t go in my room!”

“Technically it was my room first so I get first—” he opened the door and that’s when he saw the suitcases.  “What’s all this?”

“I didn’t want you guys to see that.”

“So what were you planning on leaving without saying goodbye!?” By now I’ve seen Fred literally explode on some major temper tantrums but this—this wasn’t anger.  This was disappointment, and when Fred lowers his voice, looks you straight in the eye almost to the point where it’s like his eyes are piercing your soul, that really tears you up.

And you never want to make Freddie Mercury disappointed in you.  Cause let me tell you, it is the worst.

“Fred—”

“No, no, no. Please I would like to know as well.” Roger’s voice soon rung out.  I groaned internally as I turned to see the remaining three band members standing right outside my door.

Roger’s eyes glaring right at me with his arms crossed over his chest.  Brian’s eyes in shock at seeing the suitcases, and Deacy—he looked like he was about to cry.

“Well!” Roger snapped impatiently.

“Hey Rog lay off on her will yah?”

“Brian are you not as upset as we are about this?!” Fred asked.  At this point the three hotheads began screaming at each other.  God this was a nightmare!  I was hoping to just leave without any drama and now I’ve done and caused it!  I held my hands to my ears and shut my eyes trying to drown out their shouting and screaming.

Next thing I know I feel a hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes and there stands Deacy. His eyes soft, not looking at me in anger or disappointment.  He gestured with his head to follow him and the two of us snuck out of my room.

We both sat down on the couch, him sitting close to me as his arm wrapped around me.

“Do you want some tea?” he asked me.  I shook my head no.

“Umm…..I don’t know if I’ve totally ruined this but—could I get a hug?” a soft smile spread across his face and immediately his arms wrapped around me.

“You know you will always get a hug out of me sis.”

Since Deacy and I were the youngest members of the band, we kinda clicked more than the rest.  Guess our shy natures also kinda mixed in together so we kinda had our own special psychic bond with each other.  We always knew what the other was thinking or needed, we would pull the other aside when things got too chaotic (just like now cause I never liked getting or hearing fights).

His fingers stroked through my hair as I adjusted my head so that it rested over his heart.  We sat there in comfortable silence (well besides the still arguing hotheads in my bedroom).

“I’m not good enough for you guys.” I finally confessed.

“What?”

“I—I heard some of Roger’s groupies and even some of your roadies literally talk about how I don’t fit with you guys. That I’m not even that good. Or that you guys just pitied me in order to help me get on stage.”

“I knew those tramps would be trouble.” I heard him mutter.

“But they’re right.”

“No they’re not.”

“Open your eyes Deacy!” I removed myself from his embrace. “My music and Queen’s music they just—don’t mix. I don’t do hard rock songs like you guys do. No rock fans are gonna wanna hear me sing just plain country or folk songs for 20 minutes. They’ll just be going out to get beer or go shag till you guys come up. I’m boring!”

“You’re not boring. Those arseholes are boring. If they can’t withstand a 20minute first act then they shouldn’t even be at one of ours. Because we most certainly perform longer than that.”

“Well you guys give a performance, not just a show. For me; it’s just me and my guitar. I mean yeah there’s people that may like a song or two from mine. Hell you guys allowed me to have a song on A Day at the Races and News of the World. But—in person I’m plain.”

“You’re raw.” I looked up at him confused. “I don’t mean raw in the sense of bad or disgusting. I mean you’re vulnerable. You don’t do the flashy lights, the loud hard rock of drums, or extremely, overbearing, long ass guitar solos.” I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “It’s just you up on that stage. Just you and your guitar.”

“And people should see you as that.” We looked up and finally ceasing their arguments, Freddie, Roger, and Brian now stood there.  Freddie came up behind me, Brian knelt down in front of me, and Roger sat to my right.

“But they don’t.” Freddie began to massage my shoulders.

“Darling when I first heard you sing back in the states, It was like anything I’ve ever heard in a female singer. You have this rawness that can make anything a song. You could write a song about taking the piss and it’d be a hit.” I rolled my eyes.

“More like a flush down the sewers.”

“Oi you need to stop with the negative thinking!” Roger playfully growled as he took my head between his hands and playfully shook it, almost as if he were trying to shake out the negative thoughts out of my head.  I couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as I tried to free myself.

“Cut it our Rog!” I laughed.  He stopped then said as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Forget about what those rotter’s said. Never, ever doubt your talent. Because you have got something that not even Queen could ever have.”

“And just what is that?” I asked doubtfully.

“Rawness. Like John said, it’s just you up on stage. Most of the rockstars like us come up glammed out to the max, prance about the stage and do the headbanging hits. You—you connect with the audience just as yourself. And if people can’t see that, then they’re fools.”

“So you guys didn’t pity me when you asked me to join you guys?”

“Absolutely not! Whoever says that you just tell me and they’ll be dropped like yesterday’s rotten tomatoes.”

“Thanks you guys. I—I really needed that.”

“Hey, you’re part of this family now. We look out for each other.” Brian said as he gently took my hands in his, his thumbs gently stroking the back of them.

“There’s just one last thing that needs to be taken care of to ensure you’re feeling your normal happy self again.” Freddie said.

Oh no. Please not that!  At this point all four of them had the look of evil on their faces.

“No. Guys don’t you dare!”

“Too late lovie, we gotta make sure you’re back to your full-fledged happy self again. And we’ve got Jensen to thank for sharing with us your deep, dark secret.” I tried to make a run for it but it was too late, Brian trapped me in his long arms and soon I was gang tickled by Queen.

A couple weeks after that, we had just gotten done playing an arena in Houston, Texas.  Wiping the sweat off of my forehead (after not only doing a few of my own songs, but also joining alongside Queen playing guitar or piano) I accidentally bumped into someone.

“Oh sorry I—wasn’t paying attention.”

“That’s quite alright. Say you’re the young woman who just performed alongside Queen correct?” this man had a strong Tennessee accent.  From underneath his cowboy hat I could see sandy blonde hair and he had the most striking blue eyes.  He looked to be about his mid-40’s.

“Yes.” I said wearily.

“Oh sorry I know this must seem a bit creepy, please allow me to introduce myself. Stan Singer.” Wait what? Oh my god!

“Wait, Stan Singer? The Stan Singer, manager of Glen Campbell?”

“The very same, you a fan of his?”

“Yeah. My—my daddy first introduced me to him when I was just 5 years old.”

“Man has good taste.” We both laughed. “How long have you been performing with Queen?”

“A year.”

“A year? Now that I don’t believe.”

“Well truthfully I’ve been performing on stage back home in Oklahoma for a few years at a bar a family friend of mine owns. Cowboy’s.”

“No kidding. I was just there last month.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Quite a shindig that place.”

“Oh yeah, it gets crazy some days. But it’s the best place to go to.”

“Listen (Y/n), While I have enjoyed managing Glen and don’t get me wrong he’s a great guy and a great singer. I’m also looking out to see if there’s a next big thing I could help mold. And seeing you up on stage, you’ve got that special little niche in the realm of country singers. How about joining me for lunch so we can discuss a contract.”

“Me? You—you want to sign me up for a record deal?” I asked ecstatically.

“You’ve got something I’ve never heard from any male artist. Here’s my card, just give me a call whenever you’re ready to talk.” He handed me a business card and said his goodbyes as he tipped his hat at me.

Wow I—I can’t believe it.  I’m actually gonna get a real shot with my own manager.  And Glen Campbell’s manager, nonetheless.  I can’t believe this is actually happening to me.

Wait….what about the guys? What would they say? Would they be mad if I took this deal? Left them when we’ve already grown so close with each other?

During our bus ride to the next city of New Orleans, I was looking at Stan’s card debating whether I should call him or not.

“What’s that?” Roger spoke up.  He soon plopped down beside me with his arm over me. “Ooh a name and phone number! Already got yourself a groupie huh?” he teased as he nudged my shoulder.

“No Roger it’s nothing like that.” I nudged him back.

“Hey did I just hear (Y/n) got someone’s name and phone number?” Deacy soon piped in peeking his head from the curtains of his bunkbed.

“(Y/n) you sly little minx.” Freddie teased.  Oh man was I really not gonna miss this.

“Alright you guys lay off of her will yah. Now just who was it that gave you their phone number (Y/n)? Will there need to be any—talks we need to do with this boy?” Brian said.

“I already told Roger Bri, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it? I mean normally a guy wouldn’t give you his number unless he wants a date or something else.” Roger spoke. Deacy came up and slapped Roger over the head. “Ow! What was that for?”

“For being an idiot.”

“It’s a business card guys! For Stan Singer. Glen Campbell’s manager.”

“Wait I’ve heard of that guy. Yeah he’s like one of the best country singers out there.” Roger said.

“Yeah. Well Stan actually saw the show tonight and well he—he offered to be my manager. He wants to sign up a contract with me.”

“Oh my god darling yes!” Freddie cheered as he came up and embraced me tightly.

“Congratulations (Y/n).” praised Brian.

“But—” I started off.  Fred separated from me and he said.

“But what dear? You’re finally on your way! This should be a celebration!”

“But what about us? You guys? What if—what if this is the last time we’ll ever see each other?” at that point the guys grew quiet. They looked at each other and that’s when Deacy spoke up.

“The future is uncertain. Maybe someday we will meet again. But (Y/n), if you don’t take this shot now you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“It’s like Deacy’s song says. Time to spread your wings and fly away.” Brian said as he placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. I looked between the four of them and they all had the same look.

Acceptance and love.

I felt my eyes watering up and I choked out.

“I’ll miss you guys.” They immediately hugged me and told me they would miss me too.  We remained in that group hug for the rest of the night till we arrived in New Orleans later the next day.

As soon as we got to the hotel, the guys sat with me as I called Stan up and told him that I would like to have lunch with him to discuss the contract.  Stan agreed to fly down to New Orleans and once that date was made, the guys brought me in one last final group hug telling me how proud they were of me, that they loved me and knew that I would become big in my own way.

On June 27th, 1977 I preformed my last concert with Queen as their opening act and the following day, I met with my new manager Stan Singer and together we went over the rules of my contract.

By the end of the 1970’s into the 1980’s my name had flown to the top of the charts in country artists.  So far in the 3 years of my growing career I had toured America twice for my 2 albums I had released under Sony records.

As I expected I was mostly popular in the southern states where country music reigned supreme on the radio.  But I did have some fans in the northern, Mid-west and western countries but I mostly toured around the South.

I was now performing back in my home state of Oklahoma to an arena of 20,000 people.  I had just gotten done preforming my biggest hit “Jesus take the wheel” and everyone went crazy for it.

“Thank you!” I turned and saw one of my roadies hand me a stool and I thanked him before setting it down right at the edge of the stage.  I adjusted the mic stand as I sat down. “This is a new song that I wanted to do especially for you my home sweet home. So you guys will be the first to hear this song coming up on my next album.” The crowd cheered. “But this song is also dedicated to four special men in my life. Without them—I wouldn’t even be up on this stage before all of you. It’s called Ready now.”

Then with just me on the guitar I began to sing my newly finished song “Ready now”.  As I sang the song, during the long instrumental breaks, I thought back to the guys.

All the fun memories I had with them while on the road with them.  Being there with them during their recordings, getting to do a song on their albums, or hanging out at the bars together after the shows.

Play video

You saw through me All this time I'd forgotten People are kind

I was hurting And you knew So you showed me What to do

You said, "I will listen Tell it all When you're finished We'll talk more"

But I didn't know how So we took it in turns And to my surprise We found my words

Feet firm on the ground We stood hand in hand The world seemed to tell me That I have a plan

Together we sang I'm ready now

Something new Something strange Ten feet taller I had changed

I believe you I'm not wrong Oh it suits me To feel strong

You said, "I will listen Tell me it all You don't like the ending Then we'll find on that's yours"

Oh, how did you know That's all we need A promise of hope Is enough to feel free

Feet firm on the ground We stood hand in hand And I told the world That I have a plan

Together we sang I'm ready now

By the end of the song, I heard the crowd cheer and as I looked up at the ceiling I did a silent thank you to the boys.  Even though we would never see each other in our career’s again, I would always keep their memories alive in my heart and mind.

Without them, I would never have been ready to even get to this point.  And I will always be grateful to Queen.

[quicksilversquared]

The Fiercest Ones Wear Pink

Years before Hawkmoth's appearance in Paris, Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng took their daughter to the Paris Renaissance Festival. They weren't surprised when she wanted to get a fluffy princess dress, but they weren't expecting her interest in the fighting games....or her prowess.

links in the reblog

                                             -------------

Marinette squealed with glee as her papa paid for their tickets and finally, finally, they got to enter the festival.

She. Was. So. Excited.

"All right, what should we do first?" Mr. Dupain asked, turning back and forth so Marinette could see everything from her vantage point from atop his shoulders. "Games? Food? Explore ye olde stores? Plays?"

"I want to see the horsies!" Marinette decided after a moment's thought. "The ones that are all dressed up!"

Her dad grinned, and set off through the crowds. "All right, then! Here we go!"

They walked and walked, and Marinette watched everything with barely contained glee. All of the workers were dressed up as old-fashioned people- as was to be expected from a renaissance fair- and it was so. cool. A couple knights wandered through the crowds, patrolling the streets and keeping the trolls away.

At least, that was what her papa had told her. Marinette had wanted to know who kept the trolls away for the rest of the year, because she hadn't ever seen any trolls in Paris, but he had told her that they only came out when there were old-fashioned foods around.

Which Marinette thought was weird. After all, there wasn't very much old-fashioned food cooked in Paris the rest of the year- or at least she didn't think so- so what did the trolls do then? And what if her mommy decided to experiment with some of the old recipes that she kept tucked at the back of her recipe box? Who kept the trolls away then?

She supposed that the adults took care of it somehow.

Marinette cheered as the horse barn came into sight. Her parents steered them towards the outdoors arena, and then they were seated, waiting for the next jousting match to start.

They didn't have long to wait.

Ten horses trotted out, each decked out in fluttering blankets. Knights sat on top, each carrying a long pole. There were two teams, red and blue, and the last member of each team carried a long, triangular banner in their team's color as they rode. More of those same banners were posted all around the arena, making it look all old-fashioned.

"Watch, they're going to try to knock each other off of their horses," her papa told Marinette, pointing to the knights. "They're all wearing padding so that it doesn't hurt, but they want to see who's more skilled."

"Or who gets in a lucky hit first," her momma added in with a bit of a laugh. "Sometimes one of them just happens to get off-balance and one little knock sends them tumbling."

Marinette nodded, already entranced, though not just with the horses and their riders in the arena. There were people in the audience that dressed up too, and some of them were wearing really pretty gowns and flowers in their hair. They were gorgeous, and Marinette's jaw hung open as she watched a whole group of the ladies pass.

She wanted to dress like that when she grew up. They looked way prettier than all of the people wandering around in t-shirts and dirty jeans.

The men of the group passed by next, and they were dressed up, too. Marinette giggled at the goofy pants- and they were wearing tights under the pants, which was funny but it didn't look bad, just different.

"Papa," Marinette said as a question came to mind. She tugged on her papa's hand. "Papa, why didn't we dress up?"

"Well, we don't own any clothes like that," her papa told her. "It would be hard to get the flour out of them!"

"But they are very pretty," her mama added. "We can look around at the shops later and see if they have anything in your size, if you want."

Marinette bounced with excitement. Did she want to look? Did she ever! A pretty dress would fit in much better here than her pink playsuit. "Yes, please!"

"All right, but for now, let's watch the jousting," her mama said, smiling. "Look at that horse! Isn't it pretty?"

Marinette looked. It was very pretty. Someone had braided blue ribbons into its mane, and they were bouncing with every step.

The jousting was very exciting, and then Marinette went back up on her papa's shoulders so that they could head over to another show. This one had birds- eagles and hawks and falcons, her mama told her- that flew around over their heads. Marinette watched, entranced, as all of the birds returned to their perches at the end of the show, preening and watching the audience members. Then they went and watched some jugglers and fire-breathers, and then they went and watched a couple knights battle each other.

They were very good, and Marinette knew that must have practiced fighting each other a lot to make sure that they could win against the trolls.

If the trolls actually existed, that was. Marinette still wasn't sure if she believed that. After all, why wouldn't trolls want any other kinds of food? That sounded like a fairy tale.

"I'm hungry now," Marinette announced after one knight was knocked down and the other was pronounced victorious. "Can we eat?"

Her papa grinned and scooped her up, back up onto his shoulders. "All right! Let's go off to find some troll food!"

Marinette cheered, completely missing her mom's exasperated "Tom, what have you been telling her?"

Laughing, her papa led the way to the food yard. There, all sorts of food stalls were set up, most of them with turrets or flags decorating the top. It smelled very, very good.

Marinette still didn't see any trolls. But there were knights here- a lot more than anywhere else- which, well, if there weren't trolls like her papa said, why else would there be so many of them here?

"Okay, we'll find something that you'll eat," her mama said, scanning the stalls. "Ah- not that one, I think. Or that. I think Marinette might eat some of the stuff on that menu, though."

Soon they were seated at a picnic table with their food, and Marinette dug into her meal, stew in a bread bowl. It was really good, but there was a lot, more than she could eat.

"Papa, I'm full," Marinette announced, pushing her bread-bowl away. She had eaten most of the stew and part of the bowl, too, and it was a lot. "Do I have to finish?"

Her papa chuckled. "I'll finish it up, darling. Just don't tell the trolls."

"Tom."

After lunch, they wandered through the streets, looking at all of the storefronts. There were people in front of some of the shops, showing off how they made their wares. They stopped to watch one lady spin wool while another one wove it into a blanket. A painter brushed a picture of the festival into being. A pair of people worked with red-hot glass to blow it and shape it into fancy designs.

It was interesting at first, but it took so long for things to be made and so Marinette sort of got distracted. Twisting around on her papa's shoulders, she peered at the other shops in the area. One had brown purses and bags and jackets, which were pretty but boring. Another had wood carvings, which were also pretty but were probably the sort of thing that Marinette wouldn't be allowed to touch. Another had clothes of the sort that Marinette had been admiring so much, and she craned her neck to try to see if there were any in her size.

After all, her mama had promised that they could look for a dress for Marinette, and what would the point of buying a dress be if she didn't get to wear it at the festival for more than a couple minutes?

"Can we go in there?" Marinette asked, pointing, once it seemed like her parents had finally lost interest in the glass people. "To look for a dress?"

"Sure!" Her papa lifted her up and let her back down on the ground so that he could take one of her hands and her mama could take the other. "Let's find a sparkly dress for you!"

The first store didn't have anything anywhere close to Marinette's size. She pouted, but one of the workers gave her parents a list of other clothing shops at the festival that would likely have kids' sizes.

In the third shop that they visited, Marinette found the dress. It was dark pink and had pretty silver beads and a floofy princess skirt.

And it fit perfectly.

"Is that the one you want?" her mama asked, and Marinette nodded eagerly, spinning around and watching the skirt poof out.

This dress was perfect.

Three minutes later, they left the shop, with Marinette's old outfit tucked into her mama's purse and with her in her pretty new dress.

They kept wandering, with Marinette skipping along between her parents. Before long, she spotted a face-painting stand, and she tugged on her mama's hand.

"Can I get my face painted?" Marinette wanted to know. She pointed. "Look at all of the pretty designs!"

"One painted face, coming right up!" her mama promised. "If we go fast, maybe the line won't be too bad."

The line wasn't bad at all- at least, that's what her papa said, but they still had to wait several minutes. Marinette spent the time looking over the designs that they offered, and by the time she reached the front she had decided.

"I want the flowers design," she announced, pointing to it. "The vine-y one!"

"What colors do you want it in?" the painter asked, swirling her brush in a glass of water to clean it. Marinette thought about it, looking at the colors that the painter had. She lit up and pointed to two.

"Pink and silver!" Marinette said, pointing. "Pretty pink flowers and silver vines!"

"Do you want any silver glitter paint?" The painter reached over and picked up a small pot to show to Marinette. Sure enough, it was glittery silver. Marinette perked up and nodded eagerly, and the painter smiled.

"All right. Sit right on down and close your eyes, and we'll make you into the prettiest princess on the streets."

Marinette sat down and closed her eyes, doing her best to stay still even as the paintbrush started tickling her face. The design started at one side of her forehead and worked across her face and even a little down her cheek, like some sort of mask. One flower-covered vine curled under her eye, and Marinette giggled as the brush hit a particularly ticklish spot.

"Almost done," the painter promised. "You're doing so well with sitting still. Just another minute and I'll be finished."

Marinette almost nodded in understanding, but caught herself at the last second.

The paintbrush kept tickling across her face, and then it stopped. "Okay, you can open your eyes. You're all ready."

Marinette opened her eyes, and gasped at her reflection in the mirror that the painter was holding up. "It's so pretty!"

"It turned out very well," the painter agreed. "Now off you go, and show it off to everyone!"

Beaming, Marinette hopped off of the chair and re-joined her parents. They headed off to look at more shops, and now Marinette started yawning, bored.

Sure, the stuff on the shelves was kinda cool, but there was only so much shopping she could stand before she started getting tired. It wasn't until they headed past a series of game stalls that she started perking up again.

And then one of the stalls caught her eye: People were throwing axes at the opposite wall of the stall, and on that wall were paintings of trolls.

"Papa, can I do that?" Marinette asked, tugging at her papa's hand. "I wanna take out trolls!"

Her papa looked at the stall, pausing mid-stride. "Uh."

"Please, papa? Please, mama?"

"Uh, maybe another year," her mama said, wincing. "Not this year."

"They don't have any kid-sized axes," her papa added. "So they would be too big for your little hands."

Marinette pouted. That was no fun! She wanted to practice taking out trolls, too. Just in case they were real and ever came sniffing around her mama's cooking.

They kept walking, and Marinette was about to start complaining about her feet hurting so that she could go ride on her papa's shoulders again when she spotted another arena. This one had several knights in it, and one of them was fighting with a visitor. Their swords crossed, and Marinette watched as they fought. After that person was defeated, a kid her age trotted in with a kid-sized sword to challenge the knight.

A kid-sized sword. Marinette was heading that way in a flash, running to join the short line before her parents could object.

"Marinette, where are you going?" her mama called after her. Marinette paused for long enough to point at the arena, grinning wildly.

"They have kid sized swords, mama!"

Marinette waited eagerly in line, watching as the people in front of her entered the arena, one by one. Some of them won against a knight or two, while others were disarmed early on. Marinette wanted to win at least one match. As she picked out a sword, though, she glanced over and saw how big the knights were. They weren't nearly as big as her papa, but they were way, way bigger than Marinette.

Hefting her sword, Marinette scowled. She wasn't going to let that stop her! People always underestimated her or said that she couldn't do stuff because she was too small and that was annoying.

"All right, your turn," the attendant told her, opening the gates. "Go forth, princess, and see if you can defeat the evil knights of Paris!"

Marinette nodded, then charged forward at the first knight with the loudest yell she could muster.

She was going to fight, and she was going to win.

                                              -------------

 Tom and Sabine watched their very pink, very sparkly daughter mow down all of the knights in the ring with equal parts amusement and alarm. Marinette seemed to know instinctively that at her height, she could and should be going for the knees to knock them down to her height before whacking their swords out of their hands and dealing a "killing blow", leaving a trail of downed knights in her wake.

"Hear ye, hear ye, Princess Marinette has defeated all of the evil knights!" the announcer at the far end called out, hitting a large bell to get the attention of everyone in the area. "Six evil knights all brought to their knees by her skills with the sword. Three cheers for the Princess Marinette!"

Neither of them could hold back their grins as all of the employees let out a loud "Hip, hip, hooray!". Marinette was grinning at the attention, looking pleased under her sparkly pink face paint.

"For your service, we award thee this crown of flowers!" the announcer continued, pausing to deliberate over what was no doubt a selection of flower crowns before pulling out a ring of pink and white flowers and arranging it on Marinette's head. "And we also award thee this medal!"

"Oh, I'm gonna need a picture of her in that get-up," Sabine said with a laugh as they headed over to join Marinette. Their daughter was admiring the medal that the announcer had looped over her head, beaming proudly.

Tom laughed. "You don't already have enough from the fights?"

"I don't know how many of those will actually turn out." Sabine patted her camera. "And with the flowers and the medal…"

"Would you like to try your hand at fighting the dragon and rescuing the princess from her tower?" the announcer was asking Marinette when they finally reached her. "It's a bit harder than the knights, but we haven't had a brave princess like you try it yet."

"Yes!" Marinette exclaimed immediately, bouncing up and down. "Where is it?"

"Right over there," the announcer told her, pointing to an arena that was partially hidden by the trees. Sure enough, a roar was just audible over the noise of the crowd. "They'll tell you the rules. Good luck!"

Beaming, Marinette charged off again, and Tom and Sabine hurried after her. The line over here was shorter, but more people were watching as the large "dragon" breathed fluttering fabric "flames" towards the current contestant. Marinette didn't look at all worried as she joined the line and the attendant explained the rules to her.

Her goal was to take down the dragon and free the princess from the tower. She would get a sword and a shield. If the flames touched her, she was out.

Straightforward enough, but apparently pretty hard, if the number of frustrated-looking people nearby was any indicator.

"Oh, I wish she had quit after the knights," Sabine said as Marinette moved up in line. "She could have ended on a high note then. She's going to be all upset when she loses."

"If she loses," Tom corrected. "I wouldn't be surprised if they go easier on kids. Besides, look at the shield she just grabbed. If she hides behind that, the flames won't hit her." He grinned. "I'd lose right away. Those shields wouldn't hide enough. Otherwise, I'd be in line right behind her."

Sabine sighed. "Yes, I know. I know exactly which side of the family she gets all this from."

Another adult left the arena defeated, looking a bit disgruntled as he did. Marinette was next, and Sabine took out her camera again to try to get some good shots. The dragon turned to face Marinette and she raised her shield and sword, determined look on her sparkly face.

The roar of the dragon practically shook the ground, and Marinette charged forward. It opened its mouth, and Sabine braced herself for a quick defeat.

It didn't happen. Marinette had hunkered down under the shield just in time, and the "flames" draped harmlessly over the top. The dragon got closer, and closer, its snout practically touching the shield when the flames receded.

Almost faster than they could blink, Marinette popped up shield-first, ramming it into the dragon's nose as hard as she could. It reeled back, startled, and Marinette took the opening to rush forward towards the legs.

"Take out the kneecaps!" Tom called gleefully. "Atta girl!"

"I hope those poor actors are wearing plenty of padding," Sabine said as the first leg crumpled under Marinette's frankly vicious attack. "She's not holding back one bit."

Partway to leg number two, the dragon recovered enough from the hit to the face to breathe more "fire". Marinette blocked it again, scampering in a half-crouch behind the shield as she headed for the next leg. As soon as the fire let up again, she battered the second leg into submission.

"Now take out the head!" Tom called. "Or the heart, if you can find it!"

Marinette was already on it. Shield up to protect herself, she charged towards the head, hitting the side hard. The head reeled back, but she followed it, stabbing at the eye just barely within her reach. There was another roar- how Marinette wasn't even flinching, Sabine didn't know- and then the eye squeezed shut as though injured. Marinette gave the head more whacks before running around the dragon and stabbing the other eye. When the dragon opened its mouth to roar in "pain", Marinette reached up as far as she could to stab the top of the dragon's mouth several times in quick succession.

"Aha," Tom said approvingly. "She went for the soft bit. Very good."

The dragon's last roar was weaker, and it swayed for a few moments before collapsing. A cheer went up, and even the previous contestants that were still hanging around were clapping. Marinette delivered one last hit, then finally lowered her shield as the announcer waved her over to get her medal, accompanied by the "saved" princess. She beamed and headed over, sparkly pink dress flouncing around her.

The difference between her and the large, dangerous-looking green and black dragon was pretty comical.

"Mom, did you see that?" a blond boy on Tom's other side asked, tugging at his mom's sleeve. "Did you see her take down the dragon? She's so cool!"

"Yes, I saw, dear," his mom assured him with a giggle. "It was very cool."

"She was just like- whoosh! And then she hit the dragon like-" The boy hopped around, wielding an imaginary sword. "That was awesome! Can we go meet her?"

"If you want."

The boy cheered, then paused before he could run off and hid behind his mom's leg. "Or maybe I could just wave instead?"

"Someone suddenly got shy," his mom said with a laugh, patting his head. "I think someone has a crush."

"You know, I thought I would dread the day that Marinette started getting attention from boys," Tom told Sabine as they left the fence and headed around to collect Marinette and her medals, leaving the blond boy and his mom behind. "But boys sitting up and taking notice when she's kicking butt is good. I can handle that."

Sabine laughed. "I think attention from boys can still stand to wait a few years."

"Yeah, but if it's gotta happen, then it had better happen for the right reasons. Now the bar is set for any boys in the future who might get crushes on Marinette."

Sabine sighed.

"Mama! Papa! Look at what I got! Did you see me defeat the dragon?"

"The sparkly berserker is yours, then, right?" the gate attendant asked as he let them in. He was grinning. "That was great."

"Yeah, you wouldn't expect it with all the pink and tulle and glitter, would you?" Sabine shook her head in amusement as Marinette flew up into her arms, sword and shield forgotten on the ground. "She's fierce."

"Actually, it's more common than you would think," the attendant told them, and both Tom and Sabine blinked in surprise. "It seems like the fiercest ones wear the most pink. We don't get a lot of little girls trying to fight the dragon, but the ones that do almost always end up winning. We tell the actors that there's a Code Pink to make sure that all of them have all of their padding on and haven't ditched anything because of the heat, because otherwise..."

"They could say good-bye to their kneecaps," Tom finished.

"Let's get a picture of you and all of your medals," Sabine suggested. "Here, by the fence- smile for the camera!"

Marinette beamed, and the shutter snapped once, twice, three times.

"I can take one of the three of you if you want," the attendant offered. "D'you want one with the dragon in the background?"

"That would be great," Sabine said at once, handing over the camera. "Marinette, you can sit on the fence, like so, and Tom can be here."

"All right, on three! One, two, three-"

"Cheese!"

                                              -------------

 Present-day Paris

The dragon had been rampaging all over Paris for the last half-hour. Buildings had been burned or torn apart, windows broken by the long talons as it clambered over buildings, breathing fire at anyone who ventured too close. Several cars in the streets below had been toasted.

Tom and Sabine watched the news feed on the bakery TV anxiously, keeping one eye on the screen and the other on the street, in case there were any stray pedestrians passing by in need of shelter. All of the on-the-ground news reporters had had the sense to take shelter, thankfully, and now a news helicopter was following the dragon, staying out of the reach of the licking flames as it recorded the fight below.

Or, well, the dragon below. Ladybug and Chat Noir had retreated a couple minutes back, no doubt to come up with a new plan of attack that would end the fight quickly.

"I'm glad Marinette wasn't fighting a dragon like this when we went to the Renaissance Festival," Tom said shakily as they watched another row of townhouses catch fire. It was starting to get a little close for comfort. "And I'm glad that she and her friends weren't going to the fair until tomorrow. I imagine that was where this akuma came from."

"I imagine," Sabine agreed. "Oh, look, there's Ladybug and Chat Noir!"

"And Ladybug has come up with a sword and shield," Tom added. "Oh, look at her go! Just like Marinette did!"

Sabine could only nod as they watched Ladybug charge in fearlessly, blocking the fire with her shield before taking advantage of a short opening in the flames to deliver a hard blow to the dragon's snout, and then the side of its head. It staggered, and Ladybug jumped down to go after the joints of its legs in a series of blows almost too fast to follow. While the dragon struggled under the new onslaught, Chat Noir circled the beast. presumably to try to locate the possessed object. By the look of it, he was coming up empty.

"I bet it was the costume itself that was possessed," Tom said suddenly. "If they slice it, maybe-"

"I'd bet that they'll have to hit a soft spot," Sabine said. "So the eyes or inside of the mouth. And considering that that's real fire…"

Onscreen, Ladybug seemed to have come to the same conclusion. She continued her relentless attack, making sure that she had disabled the front legs before cutting down the back legs as well. She dodged a blast of fire- and wasn't it nerve-wracking to watch her bob and weave so close to real, white-hot flames?- and jumped onto the dragon's back, racing towards the head and then using the shield to beat it into submission long enough for her to grab her sword and stab the inside of the mouth. The dragon promptly deflated, and the now-familiar shape of a corrupted akuma fluttered free for her to catch.

"She's certainly fierce," Tom said with a laugh as Ladybug's Miraculous Cure swept over Paris, setting everything right again and turning the dragon back into a costume. "And she used the shield just like Marinette did, as both protection and a hammer of sorts. Nice to know that that technique works in real life, too."

Sabine sent him a Look. "And when, pray tell, would you ever use that information?"

Tom laughed. "Never, probably. But it's interesting to watch. But Sabine, speaking of the fair…"

"Yes, Tom?"

He grinned. "Remember what that gate attendant told us after Marinette defeated their dragon? I'd bet anything that Ladybug likes pink."

                                              -------------

 The Renaissance Fair was really taking advantage of the fact that they had had a real, live dragon on the grounds, Alya noticed as she and Marinette made their way towards the main square. Pictures of the dragon clinging to the buildings and facing off with cowering "knights" had been posted all around the admission stands, adding a bit of flair to the stands.

"I wonder if the line to fight the dragon will be longer or shorter today," Alya commented, glancing over towards the fields where she knew those sort of events were held. "I mean, it's not likely that Hawkmoth would akumatize the same person two days in a row, but that was a super scary akuma." She grinned at Marinette. "Are you going to try your hand against the dragon again? Maybe add another couple of medals to your collection?"

"Maybe," Marinette said absently, shrugging a little as she smoothed down her skirt. She had decided to try her hand at designing a Rennesance-style dress for their trip to the fair, and she was really happy at how it had turned out. The scarlet-red dress didn't have quite as much body to it as her poofy pink princess dress had years ago, but it still had plenty of room in the skirt. "If people want to do that. I'd like to try the ax-throwing station myself. My papa never let me do it when I was younger."

Alya gave her friend an alarmed look. "The ax-throwing booth? Yeah, no kidding! I think I'll stand clear myself when you're there."

Marinette pouted.

It didn't take them long to find Nino and Adrien. Nino was laughing about something, and Adrien had a slight flush across his cheeks.

"Yo!" Nino called as Alya and Marinette joined them. "Adrien here was just telling me about the last time he came to the fair. Apparently he got his first-ever crush here."

"Oh?" Alya asked, perking up. "Do tell!"

Adrien just groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"And now he's gone all shy," Nino said with a laugh. "My dude was just telling me that he came here with his mom once when he was, like, six. He doesn't remember much of it, but apparently they spent a bit of time hanging out down by the knight and dragon rings, where he saw this vision in pink and sparkles and promptly fell in love."

"It was- she wasn't a vision," Adrien protested. "She was real. There was a girl around my age," he told Alya and Marinette. "Around my age at the time, I mean. And she completely trounced all of the 'evil' knights in that ring- she brought them to their knees, even- and then I followed her to the dragon ring, and she just charged in all fearlessly and brought it to its knees. I think my mom and I had been watching those rings for almost an hour, and she was the first one who won in both."

"While wearing a cloud of pink and sparkles with a equally sparkly pink mask on her face," Nino added. "That was really important, apparently."

"That's what I remember about her!"

"Funny you mention that, actually," Alya drawled, pulling her phone out of her pocket and pulling up one of the pictures that she had snapped a photo of earlier that morning while waiting for Marinette to get ready. She zoomed in on one side of the picture and held it up for them to see. "Is this you, Adrien?"

All three of her friends leaned in to see. On the screen, a blond six-year-old gazed at something off-screen, mouth open slightly and eyes wide in a clear look of adoration. Behind him, a younger Mrs. Agreste half-crouched next to her son.

"I- yeah, that's me," Adrien said, a small grin appearing on his face. "And my mom."

" And he's in love, all right," Nino added with a snort. "I recognize that dopey-eyed look. It hasn't changed a bit."

Adrien spluttered.

"And is this your dream girl?" Alya continued, zooming out so that they could see the girl in the foreground, black hair pulled back in pigtails and dressed from head to toe in pink. Pink flowers and sparkly silver vines formed a mask of sorts on her face, and the pink mid-shin princess dress sparkled in the light. She was beaming as she held up two medals.

"Yeah!" Adrien said at once, grinning as he leaned in to take a better look at the picture. "That's her! She's absolutely adorable. See, Nino, I wasn't exaggerating about the pink, was I? Or the sparkles?"

Nino laughed. "No, no you weren't. I can't believe you remembered that after so long."

Adrien gave the photo another fond glance. "Well, my mom liked reminding me about her. Apparently I talked about nothing else for a solid month after the fair. I did a couple drawings of her, too- I found one of them in a scrapbook that my mom did for me when I went looking yesterday after the akuma fight."

Nino grinned. "Were there hearts drawn all around her?"

Adrien's flaming cheeks were all the answer that they needed.

"Well, it's obvious that Adrien has a type," Nino added, clearly not done with teasing his friend. "Kick-ass, fierce, masked, with black hair and pigtails- he's just upgraded from pink to red."

"Nino," Adrien protested. "I do not have a type-"

"You totally have a type, dude." Nino was grinning. "Tell them the last bit!"

Alya's grin widened even more. "There's more?"

Adrien groaned, burying his face in his hands. His voice came out muffled as he talked. "I really, really wanted to go fight the knights and the dragon, too, so I could maybe impress her. My mom wouldn't let me, since she thought it would be too dangerous and that my father wouldn't approve. And then, a week later, I saw this ad about Mr. D'Argencourt's fencing school and, well…"

"You took up fencing just to impress a girl? At six years old? Man, Agreste, you were working to impress the ladies ages ago. You had game."

"One girl," Adrien muttered, as though that made any difference. He let out a huff. "But I didn't get to go back to the fair again until this year, so I didn't get to use my fencing skills at all for those contests. And fencing and swordfighting…. Well, fencing has a lot of rules. Swordfighting is more uninhibited." He glanced at Alya's picture again, and his eyes narrowed as another thought occurred to him. "Wait, Alya- where, exactly, did you find that picture?"

"Funny you ask!" Alya sent a delighted look at Marinette, who had been silent throughout the entire exchange and was turning steadily redder. "Do you by any chance recognize these people?"

With a practiced flick of her finger, Alya swiped to the next photo. On it, clear as day, Adrien's mystery crush sat between Mr. Dupain and Mrs. Cheng, defeated dragon slumped in the background. Her smile was huge as she clutched the heavy medals that sat in such contrast to the light pink.

"Oh, it's Marinette!" Nino exclaimed in delight. "I did not see that coming. Hey, Adrien, you've got another chance to impress your pink princess!"

Adrien looked stunned. "I- uh-"

"Marinette's parents were showing me their photo album from the fair while we waited for Marinette to get ready," Alya told them, impish grin spreading across her face. "I recognized Adrien's mom right away."

Marinette's face was starting to match her dress.

"And they were telling me about how Marinette took down the knights and the dragon," Alya continued. "She just mowed them down. Took out their kneecaps and then whacked them into submission."

"I still have the medals," Marinette admitted, her voice almost inaudible. "Mostly because they were cool."

"Okay, that settles it, bro," Nino said, the grin on his face mirroring Alya's as he nudged Adrien's shoulder with his own. "You gotta go try to do the fights. Just channel your inner Ladybug and go for it."

"I'm going to channel my inner superhero and try it," Alya chimed in. "Though I think I'll refrain from dressing up in a princess gown while I do it. I feel like it would get in the way."

Marinette managed a haughty sniff. "It only gets in the way if you let it get in the way."

"Yeah, well, pink and sparkles aren't my style."

Nino laughed. "Good, because if it were, you would be getting uncomfortably close to Adrien's type."

Adrien groaned. "Okay, seriously, I don't have a type."

"Are you sure, Agreste? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that you definitely do. Do we need to make a list listing everything that Little Marinette and Ladybug have in common?"

Marinette winced. "Okay, how about we don't?"

"Blue eyes, black hair, pigtails, a mask of sorts…" Nino started, and Alya nodded, picking up the list.

"Dressed in shades of pink-slash-red, pretty darn kickass, took down a dragon- that's a lot, isn't it?"

Adrien sighed as Nino and Alya stuck their heads together to keep brainstorming. Instead of arguing, Adrien offered an arm to Marinette.

"Should we start exploring and leave these two to scheme?" Adrien asked, sounding composed despite his red cheeks. "Did you have anywhere that you wanted to go?"

Marinette didn't even have to think about it. "The face-painting booth, for sure. And I was telling Alya that I wanted to do the ax-throwing booth earlier, but she laughed at me," she added, pouting in Alya's direction. "Some people have no faith in me."

Adrien grinned. "If want to try ax-throwing, then we'll try ax-throwing. Maybe you'll win another medal. And then d'you want to try the dragon again? I want to see how I measure up against the warrior princess."

Marinette beamed up at him. "Sure! I'm going to have to adjust my strategy, though. I'm not quite small enough to just hide behind my shield anymore."

"I want to do it in costume, too," Adrien decided "So we'll have to do a bit of shopping first. You look fabulous, by the way," he added, glancing over at Marinette's dress. "That's a gorgeous dress. Did you make it?"

Marinette flushed in pleasure. "Yeah! I really enjoyed getting to play with some elements that I don't get to use with normal, everyday designs. I'm really happy with how it turned out."

"It looks fantastic! I feel seriously underdressed next to you." Adrien flashed her a smile. "Maybe you can help me find a good outfit, too."

Marinette smiled, wrapping her hand more snugly around Adrien's arm. "I'd like that."

Fin

[keeperofhounds]

Lost & Found (Chapter Seven)

Special thanks to my beta reader @rachelbethhines and special thanks to Varian66 on Discord for their part in developing this story.

We all know how the original story started. We all know how it ended too. Let’s see an alternate take if Eugene were to have been adopted rather than being alone for most of his life.

As they traveled deeper into the tunnel it became harder and harder to see what’s in front of them. If Flynn were to lift his hand he wouldn’t be able to see any sign of his hands. Flynn cursed himself making them run off ahead, there could have been lanterns at the entrance. The simple fact there was a secret tunnel made it very obvious how often it might have been used. If only there was something to light the way.

Similar thoughts were in Rapunzel’s head as she used the wall to lead the way. That’s when Pascal poked her with his tail and pointed at Flynn. Rapunzel gasped at what she saw it was faint but the powder on the man was giving off a dull glow. Dull enough at least for Flynn to take no notice of the fact. 

“Flynn, your clothes,” Rapunzel whispered, unable to take her eyes off the faint glow.

“Don’t remind me why if I had a penny for eve-” Flynn cut himself off stretching his vest and squinting his eyes at the dull pink. That’s when he remembered the cloud of color bomb Rapunzel had used and where she got it from. If Varian had given them that then Flynn could only imagine what else the kid put in the bag. He always packed to impress.

Flynn turned to Rapunzel, “Hey can you shake that bag a bit?”

Rapunzel gave Flynn a confused look not that he could see it. She lifted the bag from her side and gave the bag a good shake. Flynn wasn’t too worried if Varian was confident enough to just give his stuff away, then it probably wouldn’t explode from a simple shake. Although he could be wrong.

Gently lifting the flap of the bag Flynn gave a whoop of victory, “Oow mama, kid you always know when to come through for me when I need it.”

Reaching a hand into the bag Flynn pulled out a glowing blue vial that illuminated the tunnel. On the other hand, Flynn held a pink vial towards Rapunzel who couldn’t take her eyes off the new discoveries. Rapunzel had never seen something like this before it was almost magical a light source that didn’t come from her hair, a candle, or the sun? Unheard of.

Pascal squeaked at the pretty lights also keeping his eyes on the new treasure. Rapunzel handed it over to the chameleon who grasped at the vial securely. Flynn motioned her to keep going forward and they walked in a comfortable silence despite the seemingly dire situation. Rapunzel couldn’t keep the light spring in her step, hugging her frying pan, unable to keep the smile off her face.

 Flynn saw this and he had to give credit to where it was due. “Well I’ve got to say didn’t know you had that in you, that was pretty impressive. Irresponsible yes, a little bit dumb absolutely, but overall impressive.”

“I know!” Rapunzel jumped, she didn’t like the other comments, but she let it go. The entire thing wasn’t her best moment even if it did turn out well. The blonde had to agree with Flynn. She honestly didn’t think she had it in her either or even the pub thugs. It was all a rush to her but she schooled her expression and shrugged her shoulders, “I know.”

Rapunzel had learned so much from this one trip even before she left the tower. She had learned that she could take care of herself after incapacitating Flynn. She learned that people aren’t always what they seem despite what others might claim after meeting Varian. She also learned that if given the chance that even people who look mean and scary have a sense of humanity with the pub thugs. The blonde looked towards Flynn was he really only a thief escaping the law or was there something more?

It was obvious he had been to many places. He knew different types of people if what she saw was anything to go by. The thief was friends with a young inventor, he was unpopular with guards, and the thugs tried to beat him up. Rapunzel was curious about the man who literally climbed into her life. Normally Mother wouldn’t appreciate any kind of probing questions but something about Flynn made her feel safe enough to ask. The worst he can do is say no. 

“So, Flynn where’re you from?”

Flynn straightened at the question, “Wo wo, sorry Blondie I don’t do backstories. All anyone needs to know is Flynn Rider dashing thief,” He flashed Rapunzel a winning smile, “no one wants to know about the man before the legend, and frankly I have a reputation to uphold. However, I am becoming very interested in yours. Now I know I’m not supposed to mention the hair-”

Rapunzel shook her head, “Nope.”

“Or the Mother,”

“Na ah,”

“Frankly I’m too scared to ask about the frog.”

“Chameleon.” Flynn turned to her with curiosity flashing through his eyes, “Here’s my question though if you want to see the lanterns so badly, why haven’t you gone before?”

To Flynn, this was a legitimate question even people who live the most remote of places take the time to travel to nearby villages or cities. This, however, was another level, there shouldn’t have been anything stopping her from seeing the lanterns. It wasn’t exclusive to royalty and anyone was welcome to participate, he had participated in his younger years. Why had this person never been to the festival when they lived so close to it?

Rapunzel laughed nervously, fidgeting with her frying pan and sharing a look with Pascal, “...Well.”

That’s when they saw the light at the end of the tunnel, seeing the chance to avoid Flynn’s question, Rapunzel raced towards the light. Outside of the tunnel, the sight of a canyon greeted her she couldn’t exactly place where she was but it looked like the wooden wall behind her was so sort of dam.

Flynn rushed after her, seemingly forgetting the unanswered question, “Slow down, there Blondie we still have no idea where we are.”

That’s when the echoes of a clearly angry horse were heard followed by the guard's voices. Flynn jumped into action he spotted a rope ladder which led down from the ledge they were on. It wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t like there were other options. He grabbed Rapunzel’s hand and pointed towards the rope, “Come on Blondie we got to lose them.”

By the time the guards had made it out Flynn and Rapunzel were halfway down the rope ladder.

Rapunzel looked up when the guards shouted to stop, “Who are they?”

Flynn kept climbing down, “They don’t like me.”

Looking over his shoulder Flynn saw the Stabbingtons break through a boarded-up exit.

“Oh, no,” Flynn whispered.

“Who are they?”

Before Flynn could answer the crazy horse appeared from the crowd of guards breathing heavily.

“Oh, come one, you know what just assume that everyone here doesn’t like me,” Flynn said in frustration looking for any way out of the increasingly bleak situation.

They were trapped plain and simple. If they went back up to escape the guards would get them. If they went down the Stabbingtons would get them. Not to mention if somehow they were able to avoid everyone the horse would just get them.

Flynn took a deep and looked towards Rapunzel, “Sorry Blondie looks like our little road trip is going to be cut short.”

Rapunzel’s eye widened at those words, she desperately looked everywhere for some way to escape, this couldn’t be how everything ended it just couldn’t. That’s when she looked towards the bag around her shoulders, it had been helpful so far, there was no telling what other surprises it had in store. Neither she or Flynn had any idea what the other colored spheres could do but anything would be better than getting caught at this point.

Clutching two spheres in hand Rapunzel passed them over to Pascal before turning towards Flynn, “Catch!” She threw an armful of spheres towards him.

Clumsily catching the falling objects Flynn looked at the spheres before smiling, “Blondie you’re a genius!”

The next moments were utter mayhem. The pair wildly threw the spheres at their pursuers trying to create an opportunity for escape. The spheres usually missed or hit their intended targets displaying a multitude of reactions and effects after each use. One sphere managed to hit a sword only to disintegrate the weapon, another caused another cloud of color. Flynn managed to get a direct hit on both the Stabbingtons freezing them in place just when they grabbed the rope ladder.

“Now’s our chance.” Flynn cried, hurryingly climbing down the ladder, who knows when the brothers would unfreeze.

As the duo rushed away from the ladder when their feet hit the dirt ground. Flynn turned to look back at the progress of their pursuers meeting the eyes of the crazy horse. The horse bellowed at the running thief before making his way down the ladder.

“Since when do horses climb down ladders?”

“Flynn!”

Turning towards the girl ahead of him, Rapunzel threw her frying pan towards the thief. Fumbling the catch, Flynn was able to have a secure hold on the object grasping it tightly to avoid dropping it. Gasping the final sphere in her hand Rapunzel threw it towards Flynn. Wasting no time Flynn holding pan as a makeshift bat, hit the sphere where it sailed towards the rapidly pursuing horse. When it hit the horse was engulfed in a bubble unable to escape as he floated away.

Flynn laughed, “Ha, take that fleabag!”

The horse glared at Flynn bashing itself against the slippery bubble wall. It was no use though somehow the bubble was just too strong. As the horse floated away all he could do was give off a loud whine as his target ran further and further away.

It looked like at this point they were going to be home free. The guards were still clumsily climbing down the rope ladder with considerably less grace than the horse. The Stabbingtons are frozen in their icy prison and now they were heading towards what appears to be an exit. Nothing can stop them now.

A loud crash was heard from behind the running duo. To Flynn it was a familiar sound, he had heard such sounds enough times to know that it spelled imminent doom. The thief had an idea of what could have happened to cause such a sound, but he wasn’t going to think about it because that would place blame on the person who gave them the spheres. A lot of things could have happened but considering the guards were holding torches it’s possible that one of the spheres mixed in with the fire. 

Trying to figure out what caused that sound, however, wasn’t the most important thing right now though. Acting fast Flynn sped up towards the blond ahead of him easily overtaking her, he grabbed her hand and led her towards the cave. As they were halfway to the cave the dam burst, releasing gallons upon gallons of water gushing through the canyon. The force of the water was so strong it destroyed a stone column, running faster the group managed to pass through the cave entrance just as the column blocked the entrance. No one could celebrate though because now they were trapped.

[flamehairedwritings]

The Fire In Your Eyes: Chapter Nine

Characters: Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Rating: The whole series will be E, 18+ ONLY for violence, gore, character deaths, animal deaths, parent deaths, swearing, grief, sexual themes and unprotected sex.

Summary: Saved by Arthur Morgan when her town is attacked, a young woman’s past comes back to haunt her when she has no choice but to join the Van der Linde Gang.

Read on AO3

The Fire In Your Eyes Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or re-post my work; credit does not count.

By The Light of the Silvery Moon

Arthur, John and Dutch were gone for the rest of the day. Nothing to usually be concerned about, but she’d overheard Hosea talking with Abigail, saying they’d gone to see Angelo Bronte to get Jack back.

Angelo fucking Bronte. To fucking get Jack back.

She couldn’t believe Arthur had gone with her. He should have left with John, he should have been running to help them get Jack, but instead he’d gone with her to do something they could’ve done when there were slightly less pressing matters to attend to. Why the hell had he gone with her? No matter what way she thought about it she couldn’t wrap her head around it. One minute she was incensed, the next she was touched, the next she was mortified, the next she was just plain confused. She’d considered that maybe it wasn’t that strong a lead, but immediately shot herself down, almost laughing, with the fact that none of those men would leave without Jack, no matter what.

Sadie found her, almost mumbling to herself, frowning at the water from where she sat on the jetty after dinner.

“Somethin’ on your mind, lady?” Sadie said, taking a seat beside her with a groan.

Ada exhaled a breath and shook her head. “No, just...”

Now hang on a minute...

This was something she could talk with Sadie about without divulging any information about herself.

Thank God because if I don’t talk to someone about it I will go insane.

Licking her lips, she looked at her. “Arthur came with me to visit Sean’s grave earlier.”

“... Yeah?” Sadie prompted when she just stared at her, arching an eyebrow.

Ada shook her head slightly, her hands palms up. “He came with me when he’d just told John that Dutch was in Saint Denis and they were planning on getting Jack, today, now.”

“Yeah?”

“Sadie,” she paused to let out an incredulous laugh, “... He came with me to Sean’s grave instead of going to rescue Jack. He prioritised coming with me rather than getting Jack, it’s insane, I don’t understand it.”

Sadie looked at her. Then she burst into laughter. Ada pulled her head back, staring at her.

Maybe I’m not the only one going insane.

“Excuse me, what the hell is so funny?” she demanded as Sadie grinned, a hand over her stomach.

“Dear Lord, my sweet summer child,” she laughed, rubbing her stomach. “You sweet thing...”

“What?” Ada demanded again.

Her chuckles subsiding, Sadie fixed her gaze on her, amusement dancing across her features. “Annie, that man likes you.”

Ada stared.

Now that was one option she hadn’t quite entertained, because...

“No. No. No.” She shook her head, pulling a slight face as she looked back at the water. “No, that’s... No, he can’t.”

“He ain’t that disgustin’, is he?” Sadie laughed.

“No, no, it’s not that...” Far fucking from it. “It’s just... He can’t.” She nearly implored Sadie as she said it, nearly begged. Because he couldn’t. Any way she thought about it, he just couldn’t. She had an undecided death wish against his adopted father, she was Michael O’Driscoll’s daughter, Colm O’Driscoll’s niece, she, well, she was her, she was just Ada, it didn’t make any sense.

And it completely complicated things.

“Whatever you say, honey,” Sadie chuckled. “But I know infatuation when I see it, so you’re either callin’ me dumb or you’re just in denial.”

“Infatuation...” she breathed the word, half-laughed again.

This wasn’t part of any plan. Not that she had a plan. But this certainly wasn’t part of it. Yes, he was kind to her and he was nice and considerate and he made her laugh and feel safe and respected but he only did that because... Well, there was no sane reason for it. Other than that he... Well, no, there was a sane reason; he was a good man.

Sadie just watched her, smiling. “You think any harder about it I think your brain’s gonna fall out. Just relax, woman. Just take a chance, if you like him, which I think you do. It ain’t no bad thing.”

Oh, but yes it is.

“Hang on, you think I like him?” she asked.

“Like I said, I know infatuation.” Sadie nudged her with her elbow. “Just relax. Live your life. Take all the good things that come, Annie, you know we ain’t been gettin’ many of ‘em.”

Well, she wasn’t wrong there. But a whole lot of catastrophic badness could come from this.

If there was ever a time to start drinking.

“Hey, do you think we—”

A woman screamed. Both of them were on their feet in seconds, staring towards the main path, three riders cantering down it.

Then they realised it was a delighted scream.

Glancing at each other, they ran for the house.

Dutch, John and Arthur came through the darkness, pulling their horses to an abrupt halt, and Susan gave another delighted cry, clapping her hands together, though Ada didn’t quite know why she was so—

“Hey, they’re back!” Uncle called out, rising from the log he’d been sitting on. “I... I think I see Jack!”

Ada’s heart stopped as she and Sadie slowed as the rest of the group convened. And he was right. There the sweet boy was, sat with his father.

“Abigail!” Dutch called out, a wide smile on his face. “Abigail! We got you your son, everything—”

“We got him!” John cut in with a grin as he saw Abigail. “He’s fine!”

“Mama!” Jack shouted, grinning and looking so like his father.

Abigail cried out as she ran through the group, tears falling down her cheeks as she beamed. John dismounted and lifted Jack out of the saddle, putting him on the ground as he continued, “I’m fine, Mama, they fed me good, Italian food. You ever eat that?”

“Come here, you silly boy,” she wept as she fell to her knees and pulled him into her arms.

Ada closed her eyes for a few moments as she listened to them.

Thank God. Thank God.

She didn’t even want to think about what would have happened had something happened to the boy.

“Now let’s celebrate!” Dutch cried, and for once she was happy to obey.

Dismounting, Arthur watched as Abigail cried and cried and held her son as he babbled on about what a great time he’d had while they’d all been pulling their hair out.

Meeting Bronte had been... Well, he was certainly a different kettle of fish. He was a new kind of criminal, one that operated in broad daylight, had a fancy home on a fancy street, everyone knew what he was doing and no one dared to stop him. He’d caught Dutch’s admiring gaze, at both the house and the man who owned it. Arthur didn’t like any of it.

He thought about what he’d written in his journal while he’d waited for them all to join him at Shady Belle.

‘I cannot decide which I like less, the swamps or the city. Both are full of parasites, reptiles and slime. We’re a long way east of land we know, and far from real open country.’

How he longed for fields and wide open spaces where you didn’t meet anyone for miles.

He also didn’t like how easily Bronte had got them to do his bidding, but, well... Then again he did have Jack. But, he was back now and that was all that mattered. For now. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he followed the rest of the group to the main camp fire. Ada, Sadie’s arm looped through her’s as they walked along, looked back at him and gave a wide smile. It warmed his chest as he smiled, inclining his head. He wanted to speak to her but Hosea appeared at his side, clapping him on the back and asking for every detail on Angelo Bronte.

Javier was already tuning his guitar and starting to strum out a tune as people opened crates and passed around beer and whisky bottles, taking seats on whatever they could or standing and swaying to the music. Dropping their arms, Sadie sat on the log as Ada stood, folding her arms and smiling as she watched the group. This was when they were at their best; singing, happy, sharing alcohol, not a care in the world because they had this win, despite what would face them once against tomorrow.

“For you.” Lifting her head, Lenny smiled at her as he offered her an open bottle of whisky.

She raised an eyebrow as she smiled. “You know I don’t drink.”

“Come on, girl,” Uncle chimed in from where he sat beside Sadie. “We’re celebratin’ ain’t we? One won’t hurt.”

Glancing at him, Sadie and Lenny, she sighed and accepted the bottle. “Fine, fine, if it’ll get you all off my back...”

Raising the bottle to her lips, she took a sip... and instantly nearly choked on it. She managed to swallow it down as they laughed, pulling a face and hissing through her teeth as the amber liquid burned down her throat.

“Oh, God... Oh my God, that’s awful...”

Sadie cackled as she took the bottle from her, shaking her head. “Well, hey, at least you tried it.”

“Yeah, and I’ll never try it again.” Ada coughed, still cringing at the taste. “Does anyone have any water?”

Charles handed her a skin of water, a smile tugging at his lips, as Sadie laughed again.

“You’re all awful,” Ada declared before taking a large sip of water, washing the taste out of her mouth.

“Awh, I’m proud of ya,” Sadie grinned, patting her leg as she handed the skin back to Charles.

“I absolutely despise you.”

Sadie’s cackle was soon drowned out by the sound of Javier striking up a new, rousing tune that they all around the fire began to sing with him. Ada watched them all, folding her arms as she coughed again. She couldn’t help but smile, though. At their very best.

Her gaze travelled them, going from person to person, until it reached Pearson’s wagon, Micah and Bill talking beside it, drinking, and a foot or so away, leaning against a table, Arthur.

“Ay, ay, ay, ay!” the group yelled out, raising their chosen drinks at the apparent chorus of the song, as she moved over to him, smiling lightly.

He raised his eyebrows as she approached, returning her smile.

“Well, that was entertainin’ to witness.”

She snorted. “I’m sure it was. I’m so grateful to have so many friends around for that rite of passage.”

“It grows on you.”

She wrinkled her freckled nose. “I don’t think I want it to.” She looked him over as he chuckled. “How was it, getting him back?” she asked, her voice lowered.

He shrugged, taking a breath. “Easy enough. We just had to sort out somethin’ for Bronte, nothin’ too bad. That was it.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly. “That’s extremely fortunate.”

“Yes, it was.”

She could sense that troubled and perplexed him as much as it did her and she opened her mouth to ask more when Karen’s voice suddenly cut across Javier’s ending song.

“Annie! Come ‘nd sit with me, Annie, c’mere.” Karen, who had started drinking even before Jack had returned home, gestured her over, patting the chair next to her that had just been vacated by Pearson.

Ada met Arthur’s gaze, a smile pulling at her lips. “Excuse me.”

He smiled as he watched her do as she was bade, sweeping her skirt out under herself as she sat. Like a proper lady.

 Karen slapped her hands onto her knees as Ada sat, squinting her eyes a little. “How come you ain’t married, Annie? You’re so pretty, I bet you’ve had suitors at least, you must’ve.”

Ada’s eyebrows rose slightly as she glanced between the women watching her intently and a few of the men taking the time to drink.

“Well, I did have a couple when I was younger, yes, but nothing came of them.”

“Awh, you didn’t love ‘em?”

Ada smiled lightly as she shook her head, her hands in her lap. “No, I didn’t.”

"Are you a romantic, Annie?” Mary-Beth asked with a smile, her lovely face slightly flushed from the alcohol.

“Not particularly.” She shrugged, playing with the material of her skirt. “I declined them more out of practicality, they had nothing to offer.”

Karen released a laugh, raising her bottle to her lips. “That’s my girl.”

“How’d they court you?” Mary-Beth leaned forward slightly.

“Ah,” Ada waved a hand. “The usual, flowers, mediocre poetry, asking to dance with me when we had town dances.”

“Oh, that’s so nice,” Mary-Beth beamed.

 “Not particularly.” She went on as Mary-Beth looked puzzled, “It just made me uncomfortable because I knew it wasn’t real, they didn’t mean it. It felt performative.”

Karen laughed again. “Jesus, God help the man who tries to charm you.”

“Amen to that.” Glancing up, Ada met Sadie’s twinkling gaze, raising her eyebrows.

Ada’s lips twitched as she shook her head, looking into the fire.

Hell... Yeah, God help him.

The conversation seemed to be over when Karen began to sing along with Javier, laughing at nearly every line. She wished she could join in. They always sang songs she’d never heard of, ones that Ada didn’t think anyone would dare write, ones that were gently sweet, and some she couldn’t understand because of the language they were in. But it was entertainment enough to see Karen, Tilly, Mary-Beth, Susan, Uncle and Lenny sing along, as drunk as they were. It was the only time Susan and Karen got along, too.

She laughed and clapped her hands along to the music, though, as Uncle and Mary-Beth danced together to the fast tune, laughing themselves. It tugged at her heart a little, the happiness.

God, I wish Sean was here.

Her throat suddenly dry, she stood and moved behind the chairs to Pearson’s wagon, needing a drink.

“You and I should go out for a drink in Saint Denis sometime, I promise not to lose you this time,” she heard Arthur say to Lenny, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Oh, God, Arthur, I think not,” the young man replied, laughing even as he pulled a face.

Arthur chuckled, patting him on the back before he saw her at the wagon. Moving back over to it, she lifted a skin of water.

“Can I offer you a water, too?”

“Sure.” As joyful as the night was, he just didn’t feel like drinking the hard stuff.

He took the skin from her as they both leaned back against the table, watching the revellers by the fire.

“You’re not going to ask anyone to dance?” she asked, a smile pulling at her lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “I ain’t much of a dancer.”

“Maybe I could teach you sometime.”

Glancing at her and her smirk, he arched an eyebrow as he took a sip of water, handing it back to her. “Oh, you’re that good are you?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“By one of your many suitors?”

Her smirk widened as she shrugged. “Yes. And many others.”

“How lucky we are to have you, Miss Sawyer.”

She laughed, and he looked at her, the little lines that appeared at the corners of her eyes as she did, the curves of her nose and lips, the curls that framed her face.

Ask her to dance.

She looked up at him and opened her mouth to say something when she suddenly looked beyond him, frowning slightly. Following her gaze, he saw Dutch striding out from behind the ladies’ wagon, Molly following close behind him. Neither looked happy.

“Oh, Christ...” he muttered as he straightened, already knowing what was about to come.

“You have ruined my life!” Molly yelled at Dutch, the music and singing luckily keeping the group occupied. Or they were just too polite to stare. Or used to it.

“I see things differently,” Dutch shot back, lighting himself a cigar.

“I’m sure ye do.” Molly sounded drunk, and close to tears. “Ye see everythin’ differently.” She sniffed then shook her head fiercely, halting. “Just leave me alone, ye bastard.”

Dutch just continued on, smiling and joining the group as if nothing was amiss.

"Are they all right?” Ada asked Arthur quietly.

“Nah,” Arthur sighed. “Haven’t been for some time.”

She followed him as he rounded the corner of the house, watching to make sure Molly actually made it inside. She did, tripping on the side-door step slightly, unaware of both of them watching. Shaking his head, Arthur continued to walk along the side of the house, Ada beside him.

“Why doesn’t she leave?” she asked, her voice lowered.

“Where would she go?” He gripped his belt, shaking his head. “She ain’t got nobody else. Like all of us.”

She frowned. “But to be this unhappy, though? Rather than free?”

His jaw moved slightly as he exhaled a breath. “You gotta have money to do that. Molly’s money is Dutch’s money and he don’t give her much if any ‘cause she don’t contribute. Better to be unhappy and secure, she probably thinks.”

“That’s so sad,” she murmured.

“I guess.”

She didn’t want to dwell on the tricky topic, though, not tonight, not when they’d just got Jack back safely. Clasping her hands behind her back as they wandered across the grass at the back of the house, her eyebrows rose a little.

“So, Saint Denis is an interesting place.”

Arthur chuckled, grateful for the change in topic. “Yeah. Could be some business to be made.”

“With street urchins?”

“Christ, don’t bring that up again,” he muttered.

She smiled broadly. “It’s not often I see you flustered, Arthur Morgan—”

“I was not flustered.”

“Rattled, then.”

“I was not rattled—”

“Shaken. Traumatised. Overcome.”

“I was none of those things,” he muttered. “I was just faintly surprised. The kids were a second or two quicker.”

“I think age is catching up to you.”

He snorted. They came to the small fishing shed that sat at the back of the property, Arthur slowing to let her move up the steps first. He followed her along the wooden walkway that wrapped around it and moved out onto the back landing. She exhaled a slow breath as she leaned back against the shed, her arms folding across her chest. The lights of Saint Denis shone in the distance, beckoning and welcoming.

“It’s so bright,” she murmured as Arthur leaned his hip against a barrel, raising his gaze to the lights.

“Yeah, and loud, and busy.”

She smiled. “You just don’t like people at all, do you?”

He glanced at her. “Not particularly.” She was certain he was mocking her earlier words.

“Another sign of age.”

“I am not gettin’ old, I just have my preferences.”

“That’s exactly what an old man would say.”

“Will you shut up? I’m tryin’ to enjoy this joyful night.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You are a bossy man, Mr Morgan.”

He looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “Am I?”

She lifted her chin, nodding. “Yes. Extremely. Been bossing me around since the moment we met.”

“Why’d you agree to come with me, then, in Strawberry?”

“Lesser of two evils.”

He chuckled, shaking his head.

Her gaze lingered on him as they fell silent, biting at her lower lip. She liked their silences, liked how comfortable they were but... It always gave an opportunity. An opportunity to ask one of the hundreds of questions she had, the comfort and ease they shared in each other’s company making it always seem like the right time to ask.

“Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

His gaze returned to hers. She shifted her position against the shed, her hands behind her back.

“Colm said you were going to leave me. That you tried to escape.”

He blinked, shifting his own stance slightly. Now how long had she been thinking about that? 

“I didn’t know what I was doin’. Half outta my mind, I think.” He inhaled a breath, shaking his head. “I thought I could hear Ophelia close by and I thought if I got to her then I could go to get help, but then I didn’t want to leave you with them.”

She was quiet again, and he could practically see the thoughts rolling around in her mind.

“Why did you come for me after, when we were at that farm, when you’d escaped from the cellar?"

“Ain’t we already talked about this?” He exhaled a laugh. “You really have such a hard time believin’ I can do the right thing sometimes?”

She smiled lightly. “It’s not that, I just... you barely knew me. We meant nothing to each other. You could have gotten yourself away with no trouble at all and not wasted the last of your energy. I would’ve no longer been your responsibility, then.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You either have a hard time believin’ I can do the right thing, or that someone would do somethin’ right for you.”

She scoffed, opening her mouth and closing it. Well... Now... Agreeing to either one of those... was just going to lead to complicated conversations that she certainly didn’t want to have.

He watched her, slightly flustered as she was. He decided to help her out, shrugging a shoulder as he looked out across the water. 

“Either way, I’d do it again.”

She looked at him, a slight fluttering in her chest. Lord, she needed answers.

“You went with me today, too.”

He glanced at her, pausing. “Yeah.”

She licked her lips. “You went with me instead of going to get Jack.”

She couldn’t read his features. “Yeah?”

God, is anyone sure he and Sadie aren’t related.

She lifted a hand, probably looking as helpless as she felt. “Well, I don’t understand why, Arthur.”

He studied her, silence stretching between them.

“You wanna know why I saved you and why I went with you?”

She nodded a few times, her gaze locked on his. “Yes.”

“Because you’re the most irritatin’ woman I’ve ever met.”

She blinked, her head pulling back slightly. “Excuse me?”

He pushed away from the barrel, beginning to move closer to her.

“You’re irritatin’ and stubborn, difficult to read and understand, sometimes a damn fool and I couldn’t bear the thought of leavin’ you behind. ”

She stared at him, her heart beginning to beat a little faster as he approached, his voice lowering.

“And I can’t stop thinkin’ about you. You make me feel somethin’, Ada. Most of the time it’s annoyance but sometimes it’s somethin’ else.”

She laughed, the sound short and breathy. “You really know how to charm a lady, don’t you?”

He smiled and placed his hand on the wood beside her head, and it made her heart stutter. “You prefer I was like one of your suitors? Bringin’ you flowers and writin’ pretty poetry?”

Her lips twitched at the thought. “I’d like to see you give it a try.”

He tilted his head. “You ain’t one of them girls, though, are you, Miss Adaline? You’re a practical woman, if I remember rightly."

Oh, God, his voice...

“What can you offer me, then, Mr Morgan?” she murmured, her head leaning back against the shed.

“Nothin’.”

She thought she saw his eyes, possibly, briefly, drop down her body.

“Good, because I don’t want anything from a scoundrel like you.”

“Yes, you do,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over one of her curls.

“What could I possibly—”

Dipping his head, he caught her lips in a kiss. Her words vanished with a soft sound as she paused, her eyes automatically falling shut. The sweetness of the kiss caught her more by surprise than the actual act. Maybe because she had wanted him to kiss her.

Just as she went to move her hand to his shoulder, it suddenly ended, and his head was drawing back as she blinked her eyes open.

Gone was the easy, arrogant manner he’d had only seconds before, now he looked entirely apologetic.

“I’m sorry, that—”

She exhaled a sharp breath.

“For Christ’s sake, Arthur...”

Her hand slid around to the back of his neck and she pulled him close again, claiming his lips this time in a firmer kiss. She had to rise up on her toes to actually meet his lips, and her other hand gripped his shoulder to steady herself. He wasn’t moving.

Oh, Lord, had she now made the mistake?

Why—

His arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her tight against him, eliciting a faint sound from the back of her throat that had him pressing his fingers into her side. As his lips moved against hers, he lowered his head and pressed her against the wood, their bodies flush. Her lips parted wider with a gasp when his tongue swept across her lower lip.

Nobody had ever kissed her like this before. Her previous kisses had been, well, like the previous kiss, gentle and sweet, but she didn’t want gentle and sweet.

She wanted this.

She could faintly taste whisky on his tongue as it stroked against hers, he had possibly had one drink earlier when she hadn’t seen, and he was right... she could grow used to the taste. His grip around her was firm, and his other hand had moved to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. And the way he kissed... how did anybody ever learn how to kiss like this? Oh, Christ, she didn’t want to think about that right now.

She just hoped she wasn’t terrible.

What if I am?

Why was she so in her head?

Stop it—

Another gasp was suddenly pulled from her when she felt his hands on the outsides of her thighs, and he lifted her, her skirt rising to her knees, stepping between her parted legs and holding her against the wooden wall. The kiss had broken with the action, and she couldn’t stop the breathless smile that broke across her lips as she gazed down at him, one arm wrapped around his neck, the other hand on his chest. One corner of his mouth lifted higher than the other as he held her gaze.

There was his fire. Blazing brightly, joyfully.

“I told you that smart mouth was gonna get you in trouble, Miss Ada,” he drawled, his voice rougher, lower, and it sent the most delicious of feelings through her.

“You really are a dumb man if you think it was unintentional,” she answered, in barely above a whisper, not quite knowing where her voice had gone.

“Still won’t shut up, huh?”

“I think you made a valiant effort but—”

She was made to break off, once again, when his lips touched her neck. Her breathing halted for a moment as he began to press slow, open-mouthed kisses to her skin, her mouth remaining open as her eyes closed.

Oh, sweet Lord...

Warmth began to pool between her legs and her fingers itched to soothe the slow throbbing that accompanied it.

What would Arthur’s fingers feel like?

She moaned. It was quiet, but it was most definitely a moan; that they could have both agreed upon. They probably could have both agreed upon the fact that he growled in return.

His tongue swept over her skin, briefly, but it caused another moan.

What would his tongue feel like, too?

He shifted his stance slightly, pressing a little closer against her and... She could feel his erection pressing against her thigh.

Oh, my God...

What would his cock feel like?

“Finally got you quiet, huh,” he murmured, just under her jaw, and she inhaled sharply.

“Technically not quiet,” she breathed.

“And I don’t mind at all.”

Her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck as she tilted her head down, prompting him to lift his own.

“Kiss me,” she murmured.

And without another word he did. It was urgent and firm and all she could feel and taste was him. All she wanted was—

“Ring-dang do..."

He had her back on her feet in seconds. Smoothing her blouse down and hoping she didn’t look as flushed as she felt, she turned and moved away from him, before wrapping an arm around her waist as she pressed the fingers of her other hand against her lips.

And she had to fight very hard to stop a smile.

“... ringer-danger... Dang...”

Arthur cleared his throat from somewhere behind her. Not quite able to tear his gaze from her yet, he tugged his waistcoat down, and hoped his hard cock wasn’t showing too prominently through his trousers. Running his hand through his hair, he leaned back against the barrel once more and exhaled a breath, finally looking away.

Kieran rounded the corner, his feet heavy on the wooden boards, his shoulders slumped. Looking up, he stopped singing,

“Oh, hey... Hey, Arthur...” His drunken gaze drifted over to Ada. “... Oh, Annie, hey...”

Ada turned, her arms folded and a light smile on her lips. “Hello.”

“Sorry, I, I thought this was the other shed, I’ve been, I sleep in there, sometimes.”

Arthur pointed behind Kieran, gripping his gun belt. “That’s back that way, pal.”

“Oh, right, thank you...” He looked between them both, then laughed suddenly, and it was the first time she’d ever seen him smile. “I am really drunk,” he continued, grinning.

Arthur couldn’t stop a slightly bemused smile himself, his eyebrows raising. “That you are. Some sleep will do you right.”

Kieran nodded, still laughing even as he turned to head back the way he came. “Yeah... Ring, dang... Dang do~...”

Ada watched Kieran stagger off, hoping he wouldn’t fall down the steps and fall straight into the mud. Then, her gaze returned to Arthur. His eyes were already locked back on her. Her near-giddy smile from before returned.

“Don’t look so pleased with yourself, Arthur Morgan.”

“You bossin’ me about now?”

“Yeah, I think you like it.”

He chuckled. “I think I do.”

They looked at each other, the need and want still there, but the moment gone. She could feel the flush on her cheeks and the wetness between her thighs as she bit at her lower lip. He took a breath and cleared his throat.

“It’s getting late.”

“Yes, it is.”

He nodded towards the house.

“I’ll walk you to your stand.”

“How kind.”

“I heard there’s a scoundrel about.”

She laughed, the giddy, almost nervous energy still spreading through her as she moved across the planks to the stairs. She could practically feel his eyes on her back. A lesser or weaker man would have grabbed her again and just carried right on, but... It was almost more arousing that he didn’t. 

But why wasn’t he? Oh, stop, it’s the sensible thing to do, you idiot.

They walked in silence, Ada playing with her hands and feeling like a teenager, Arthur willing his erection to go away quicker as his hands gripped his belt, hoping that would aid in covering it somewhat should someone pass them. But no one did, all too busy still dancing and drinking and singing or sleeping.

He wanted to kiss her again, to feel her against him once more but he’d already pushed his luck and gotten gold. No, he’d be a damn gentleman and show some restraint.

They slowed as they neared her stand, and she turned to him, a pink flush on her cheeks and a warm twinkle of fire in her eyes, a smile on her lips.

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

“Goodnight, Miss Sawyer.”

He watched her walk the rest of the way to the stand.

God damn. Holy shit.

Running his hand down his mouth, he shook his head at himself, heading towards the house. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’d think about the consequences. Now, he’d think about what a damn lucky man he was.

Ada woke slowly, one arm wrapped around her pillow. She guessed it must either be 8 or 9 in the morning, though camp was still quiet, people either sleeping off the alcohol or taking advantage of the general good mood to have a lie-in. Turning onto her back, a smile was instantly tugging at her lips, as if the memory of the night before was just waiting for her to wake up so she could relive it all over again.

  She had never felt like that before. She’d been aroused before, sure, when she’d conjured images in her mind of the brave heroes in her books, but never had it been like last night. Last night had been... She couldn’t even begin to describe it. It had been something good, something that had felt right...

Get some breakfast and coffee in you before you become a giddy girl again.

Pushing her blanket off, she pushed herself up onto her knees and stretched with a gentle groan. To her right at the small camp fire was Charles and Lenny, the former having a cup of coffee, the latter fast asleep. John was stood guard at the front entrance, probably because he was the most sober person to take a watch, surprisingly. Then again, he’d gone straight upstairs with Abigail and Jack once they’d begun to celebrate. She smiled at the thought of their quiet, private reunion as a family. Casting her gaze further along to the main camp fire, she saw the girls were up, probably due to Susan not allowing them a lie-in despite everything. Sadie was there, too, sipping from a cup. Lifting her head, she met Ada’s gaze and waved. Ada waved back, her smile widening.

She’ll laugh so hard she’ll probably choke when I tell her about it. Can’t wait for the ‘I told you so’.

Rising to her feet, she pulled her boots on and made her way over.

Karen sat with her head in her hands, taking long, slow breaths. Mary-Beth looked a bit bedraggled, sipping her coffee every few seconds and staring at the fire. Tilly had her eyes closed, a bowl of uneaten porridge in her hands. Sadie was the only alive looking one, cleaning the rifle that lay across her lap.

“Good mornin’!” she greeted Ada cheerfully, making the other girls snap out of their dazes and look up, smiling weakly.

“Good morning,” Ada replied, just as cheerily.

“Coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Sadie handed her a full cup as she sat, wrapping her hands around it. “Mmh, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Catching Sadie’s eye, she just smiled as the older woman gave her a very knowing look.

“Where’s Arthur off to in a hurry?” Tilly croaked, her throat stripped dry by alcohol and singing.

Ada’s head whipped to the side and they all watched as he strode down the porch steps, past the fountain and to Ophelia, mounting quickly and urging her onto the road and down the main path. Ada frowned as Karen groaned.

“I hope it’s nothin’, I don’t wanna deal with anythin’ today.”

“Nah, he just got a letter from Mary,” Mary-Beth said, her voice almost as hoarse as Tilly’s.

Ada paused.

A relative?

"How do you know?” Tilly said.

Mary-Beth sniffed, massaging her temple. “Herr Strauss went out early this mornin’ to see if we had any mail. I asked who had mail, I’m expectin’ some nice writin’ paper, and he said Arthur and Pearson did. I recognised Mary’s handwritin’ on the letter.”

“You gotta stop bein’ such a stalker, Mary-Beth.”

“Who’s Mary?” Ada asked as nonchalantly as she could, having had to stop herself from cutting Tilly off.

Mary-Beth dropped her hand into her lap after shooting a look at Tilly. “He and Mary used to be an item years ago, they were engaged at one point. Then it just broke off.”

A coldness prickled down her spine.

“Why?”

“She doesn’t like all of this, wanted him to change, and her daddy didn’t like him. I think he still loves her, though.” Mary-Beth pulled a face. “I think she’s mean for usin’ that, though. Keepin’ pullin’ him back, givin’ him hope whenever she needs help with somethin’.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Karen mumbled, pushing herself up and stumbling towards the nearest tree.

Tilly and Mary-Beth were too busy turning away and tutting at Karen to notice Ada staring at her hands, still. Sadie looked at her, her lips pressed together a little.

“Don’t think anythin’ of it,” she murmured gently so only she could hear.

Ada just nodded, taking a sip of her coffee. It shouldn’t have irked her as much as it did. She didn’t want anything serious from him, that’s what she’d said the night before and that’s what she’d meant, but if she was interfering in something...

Arthur was gone most of the day.

It didn’t bother her.

She told herself that only until the third hour.

Having taken over Javier’s watch, she stood on the outer south edge of the property, slowing pacing up and down the thin dirt path. If she wasn’t thinking about someone’s happiness she could potentially be ruining then she was thinking about the kiss. Should she have allowed it?

Oh, hell, stop lying to yourself, woman, you wanted it.

He’d known it, he’d plain seen it and said it. And she had enjoyed it.

For a man who was often boorish and bad-tempered, his hands had been... gentle. His lips had felt wonderful. What was this man caging inside of himself? Why hadn’t she seen this side of him before? Why wasn’t he wandering off every other night to the nearest saloon like some of the men did? Was he saving himself for this Mary, hoping she’d change her mind, and she and the kiss last night had just been an error? Maybe he had had more whisky than she thought, maybe he’d had quite a few when she hadn’t been looking.

God, she missed Sean. She would have loved to talk with him, or even be distracted, and he would have wanted to distract. He would have made everything seem so simple and that it wasn’t serious and she was a fool for over-thinking it and Arthur was just a fool, besides she was getting ahead of herself, she didn’t even know why he’d gone to see this Mary, maybe it was nothing at all—

She turned and stopped abruptly. Arthur was approaching, his hands on his belt, smiling. It made her heart stop.

“Hello,” she greeted him lightly.

“Hey,” he answered, a knowing smile on his lips. 

God, why did that make her stomach clench in the most delicious of ways.

“You have a nice time in town?” she said swiftly, needing to distract herself.

Arthur blinked slightly in surprise. Shit, she wasn’t really meant to know he was in town.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said after a moment. “I saw an old friend.”

Now that surprised her. She hadn’t expected him to be so open about it. Most men would keep past loves a secret, especially if they’d just been to see them. Especially if they were talking to a woman they’d kissed the night before.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, but I got a feelin’ you already knew that.”

“Oh?” was all she could think to say.

He nodded, tilting his head. “Yeah.”

She licked her lips then exhaled. “Fine, I do know who you were seeing. Mary-Beth told me and the girls.”

He seemed to consider something. “... Are you jealous?”

She scoffed slightly, looking down at the ground then back to him, a faint smile on her lips. “No, Arthur, I’m not. I just don’t want to be in the middle of something.”

“You ain’t in the middle of anythin’,” he shook his head. “Mary and I, we had our time, and we lost it.”

He didn’t seem too broken about it but... there was definitely an air of sadness. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

He shrugged. “Nah, probably for the best.” He rubbed his jaw. “She asked me to run away with her. Then said she knew I wouldn’t. I said I wanted to. That I would, once we got our money but, now...” He let out a humourless laugh and looked away. She had stilled. “Hell, I don’t know what it is about her. When I’m not with her I can see what a terrible idea it would be, that we don’t work. But when I’m with her... it’s like I forget all that.”

Her faint smile returned. “I think that might be love.”

Arthur looked back to her, arching an eyebrow with a faint air of amusement. “Ain’t practical, though, is it.”

Her smile just lingered. “I don’t think love is.”

Arthur just hummed.

 Ada licked her lips and continued, “Maybe you like the idea of being with Mary more than actually being with her.”

His eyebrows rose for a moment as he shrugged. “You might be righ’.”

She was quiet for a moment, watching him. “I guess part of you wants to be free from all this, then.”

His gaze flicked to her. “’Free’... You used that same word when talkin’ about Molly. We ain’t bein’ kept here against our will, Ada.”

"I know, but... all this running constantly, don’t you get tired?”

Arthur sighed. “Ada, you don’t know this life, you don’t—”

She frowned. “I know what this life can do to people, Arthur—”

“So do I,” he cut her off, his voice lowering slightly despite how far from the camp they were. “You think I don’t just want to give it all up? Think I just don’t want a quiet life? That’s what everyone wants but it ain’t real—”

"Running away to Tahiti isn’t real, Arthur,” she implored, ”It’s a fantasy cooked up by a man who fancies himself a king and you all blindly follow him—”

"We don’t blindly follow him, Ada, that ain’t true. He’s saved all those people, he’s cared for us all—”

She scoffed. “Oh, so he’s been kind to you so that means you have to do as he says?”

Arthur hissed out a breath, frowning. “No, of course it don’t, it’s about loyalty—”

 “Loyalty or following out of an obligation, or fear?” she shot back.

“Ada—”

“Help me understand, Arthur,” she implored again, holding her hand out. “Help me to understand why you all adore him. Because he’s good to you all? Because you all have nothing else? Because you all genuinely love him? Are you all just unwilling to see the man that he really is?”

Arthur’s gaze was cold. “He’s the greatest man I’ve ever met.”

She tutted, almost pulling a face as she shook her head. “He has such a hold on you, it’s—”

“You don’t know anythin’. You don’t know shit.”

“I know a bad man and an ignorant follower.”

He pointed a finger at her, his jaw moving. “You need to watch what you’re sayin’—”

"I told you that I saw him standing there,” she hissed. “I told you I saw him kill my father for no reason, a man who was living that quiet life you don’t believe in, he killed him. He took my family’s happiness, he ruined us. I told you all that and you still defend him.”

Arthur’s gaze softened, though only a fraction. “I ain’t sayin’ Dutch ain’t done some bad things but—”

“Always with an excuse—” she started to mutter.

“What he did was wrong,” he cut her off, his tone having risen slightly. “All righ’, that I know, but he’s done some good, too.”

"Good doesn’t negate from bad,” she spat without thinking.

He arched an eyebrow. “Don’t it? We all deserve a chance to make up for our sins, don’t we?”

She looked at him, her jaw clenched. She couldn’t disagree with that. She didn’t, couldn’t back down though.

“So that’s what he’s doing now, is it? Atoning for his sins by stealing from people still?”

"He just wants a better life for all of us.”

She shook her head. "I wish I could see things the way you do, I really wish I could. I wish you could see it my way, too.”

Arthur took a step closer, his tone quiet again. “Ada, I’m tellin’ you this as a friend... You either got to resolve all this in your head or you might have to start thinkin’ about movin’ on.”

A humourless smile pulled briefly at her lips as her heart quietly shattered. “Submit or flee, is that it?”

He pressed his lips together. “Resolve this, or think about movin’ on. You ain’t got any other choice.”

“Don’t I?”

He stared at her, her features blank, her eyes cold.

His jaw moving slightly, he lowered his voice. “Ada... I would stop you.”

She just looked at him.

“It ain’t worth it,” he murmured.

Her gaze shifted to over his shoulder, as if he wasn’t even there.

“My shift is over,” was all she said as she passed him.

He didn’t turn, but he heard her greet Lenny as he approached to take over. Closing his eyes, his head bowed slightly as he placed his hands on his hips.

Dear God, what a damn fuckin’ mess.

—

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[jordswriteswords]

Clextober19: Fall Festivities

Back to school was the favourite time of year for most. Parents were overjoyed that their children would be supervised while they were working; children were overjoyed the see their friends again; teachers were overjoyed to… well, they were overjoyed for the weekends.

Madi, on the other hand, hated back to school. Being a half witch meant she had half the human antibodies, and half the witch antibodies, therefore, she was in for a whole dose of unrelenting colds during the first two months. She would get sick at least twice in that short amount of time, causing her to miss a lot of school and a lot of the time that children spent making and solidifying their friendships.

But, she couldn't go to school. Not when her nose was stuffy and running and she was sniffling and sneezing and turning her mother into an elephant, blowing her Aunt Raven up like fireworks, and sending her mama into the desert and back again in a wiggle of her nose.

But Ms. Indra insisted that she be present for the first field trip of the year. The kids were going to the apple farm, after all, and Lexa had volunteered as the class chaperone.

In hindsight, Madi should have known that her class would have been more interested in Lexa and her superstar status than the actual field trip. Even as the ten year old curled up in her mama’s shoulder, she was still having to deal with boys and girls interrupting to get a picture with her mama or ask for her autograph.

Madi sucked down the hot tea that her mama had packed in her travel mug, a blend of echinacea and magical herbs to fight off both sides of the cold virus. It relieved the aches and pains, and most importantly, stopped the sniffles for the time being.

The class wandered through the apple farm for a majority of the day, getting lost in corn mazes, learning how to bale hay for the animals, petting tiny lambs in the petting zoo, and drinking warm cups of apple cider and eating apple pie.

Madi had made it throughout most of the day without mishap aside from sneezing and blowing her mom across the corn field. Lexa snapped her fingers and fixed the holes that were created before anyone had noticed, though.

The last part of the trip was the horse rides around the farm. Each child in the class took a turn on one of the ten horses for a tour of the entire farm.

Madi brushed her hand along the nose of a chocolate pony. “Hey. Your name is Ryder. It’s cute.”

The horse stomped it's foot in the mud and shook it's head up and down. “I think my handler was a punny guy.”

Madi chuckled. “That’s actually funny.”

The horse took a step back. “No way you can understand me.”

Madi smiled up at the big nose, lifting her hands in deference like her mama had taught her to approach animals. “Duh. You speak English. You just have a weird accent.”

The horse neighed, catching Lexa’s attention. and she took a quick picture of her daughter smiling up at the giant and sent it off to her wife.

Ryder bowed his head and said, “Well I’ll be, aren't you just a smart lil cookie. Hey Cleatus! Lookie o’er here! We got us our own Dr. Doohickey!”

“Dr. Doolittle,” Madi corrected, and Ryder huffed at her.

A black stallion galloped over towards them and sniffed Madi’s neck. “She smells like apples. I love apples!”

She giggled at the contact, and pulled an apple out of her pocket, holding it out for Cleatus.

“You can hear us?” Cleatus asked.

Madi nodded and giggled more when he stepped right into her space, his giant eyeball looking into hers.

A white mare saddled up to Madi shortly after, nudging her bum with her nose.

“Ponyelope,” Ryder scolded. “She’s a good one.”

They were interrupted by the sounds of her classmate yelling. “Look at this weirdo!” Josephine Lightborne pointed at Madi, who was surrounded by horses. “She can’t make real friends so she hangs out with animals!”

Madi’s classmates pointed and laughed, and Lexa had to squeeze her hands together to stop them from snapping and giving all the ten year olds wedgies. But, if Josephine ended up stepping in a suddenly appearing cow-pie, Lexa was none the wiser.

“Don’t mind them, darlin’” Ryder consoled. “Let’s just go on a good ol’ fashioned ride. That’ll cheer ya’up, I promise,” he neighed.

Madi sighed, but smiled when Ryder rubbed his nose against her cheek. Ryder took off at a slow cadence once Madi climbed aboard, describing all the parts of the farm to her. He wandered as far away from the rest of the group as he could without drawing suspicion to point out the magical flowers in the fields and the magical animals that could only be seen by those with abilities.

The path wound around and through the pumpkin fields, and Madi tensed. "I'm allergic to pumpkins!" She hissed to the horse.

Ryder slowed his trot, but the cowboy handler that was leading the group circled around and forced him to carry on.

Her nose tickled, and she looked over to Lexa with fear in her eyes. She clutched at Ryder’s fur, and her heels dug into his sides.

"I'm trying, I'm trying," Ryder said, trying to console his rider. He tried to move faster, but his handler wasn't letting him, tired of his antics.

Madi sneezed and all hell broke loose.

She had turned the pumpkin patch into a giant, living creatures that scared Josephine's horse into bucking with her still on. She fell off the back of the horse and straight into the mud with a scream.

The rest of the horses followed suit, kicking and bucking their riders off so they could free themselves.

"Whoa, whoa!" The handlers tried, but the terrified animals wouldn't heed. The animals kicked and whined, and started to run off.

"What did I do?" Madi questioned, her voice shaky with sadness.

Ryder didn’t buck his rider off; however. He took off with Madi on his back, straight to the rest of the now free horses. All the horses had run about a hundred yards from the scare and we're circling the ground, huffing angrily.

"What was that?"

"I'll kill it!"

"I hate pumpkins!"

"Fight back!"

Madi jumped off the horse and approached the pack with her hands up. "Whoa, whoa," The horses were frazzled and frightened. "I know you're all scared. It's okay, it's my fault."

"Kill the girl!" One horse yelled, neighing and rearing back on its hind legs. Ryder moved in front of her. "Calm down, Otis, she's just a girl!"

"It was an accident!" Madi pleaded. "It was an accident. I can't control my powers."

"She scared us!"

"But we're fine!" Ryder said.

"Let's just all calm down," Madi said. "I'm sorry I scared you. I won't let it happen again."

The horses huffed and sneezed, but Madi wouldn’t move from the middle of the pack.

"Madi, no!" Her teacher called.

"Wait, wait," Lexa said, grabbing the teacher and stopping them from interfering. “They’re calming down.”

“Please, just come back to your owners. I promise, no more magic. No more pumpkins.”

Ponyelope looked around, her ears twitching with nerves.

“Please,” Madi breathed.

Ponyelope took one step, then two, then moved right past Madi and headed towards the handlers. The rest of the horses followed, and Ryder pressed his big head into Madi’s chest. She laughed and hugged his nose.

The class looked on as Madi corralled the horses and got them to follow her back to the handlers.

"How did you do that?" Aden asked when she got back.

Madi just shrugged.

"It's because - it's because she's a weirdo!" Josephine said, covered from head to toe in mud. "She doesn't have any friends so she talks to animals, and even they don't listen to her!"

A few of her classmates laughed at Madi, whose cheeks became warm with embarrassment. She ran back to the bus, and Lexa trailed after her.

"Hey, shut up!" Aden Forrest, they typically shy and well mannered boy, yelled. "She saved your life, Josephine! She saved all of us from getting really hurt!"

***

"Mads?" Lexa asked, slowly sitting next to her daughter on the large seat of the deserted bus.

The only sound was a sniffle, and then Lexa felt the soft flutter of snowflakes cascading onto her head.

"I hate this," Madi whispered. "I hate having magic! I hate being human! I hate that I'm just a weird half-thing!" The sound of her voice grew louder until she shouted at her mama. She turned and punched the seat in front of them as tears poured from her eyes.

"I'm sorry you feel that way Madi," Lexa said, dusting the snow off her shoulder and then wrapping her daughter in a warm hug.

Madi sniffed again as the tears fell and Lexa was pelted with sand and dirt.

Lexa snapped and created an umbrella to hover above her and her daughter to stop the onslaught.

"You have so many special gifts, Madi, but the best one is that you're kind. Don't let someone like Josephine take that away from you. What you did today made me more proud than you learning your first spell. You're a great person, and kids are just dumb. It'll get better, I promise. If you want to be sad right now, or if you can't help it, that's okay. I'm right here. But, never hate who you are. You’re the best parts of me and the best parts of your mom. You’re an incredible kid, Madi."

Madi leaned into her mama and hugged her tightly around her neck. "I love you, mama."

"Love you too, Mads."

Aden was the first student to enter the bus since the incident, and his heavy, awkward footsteps sounded until he was standing directly in front of Madi and Lexa’s seat. "Hey, sorry, Hi, Mrs. Griffin-Woods. I'm sorry to interrupt, but uhh," Aden said, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. He had a piece of paper in his hand that he folded and unfolded methodically.

Madi hid her face in Lexa's collar, and it took everything inside of the brunette not to snap at the boy. "Yes, Aden?" She asked, already pulling her pen out of her pocket to sign his paper.

"Sorry, um, thank you for offering, but I don’t want your autograph.” He ran his hand through his shaggy blonde hair, “but can you give this to Madi for me? I just want her to know that she's the coolest person ever and say thank you for saving us." His earnest blue eyes pleaded with Lexa and he thrust the paper into her face. She gracefully retrieved it from his fingers and opened it only after he scurried away and off the bus.

Lexa’s heart melted at what she saw.

Aden had written a big 'thank you' on the cover of the card. Inside, all the students in the class signed the left side of the page. On the right side, he had drawn a picture of Madi with a cape and a horse. And on the back, he scrawled, 'Madi, thank you for saving us. You're a superhero. Can I sit with you at lunch tomorrow? - your friend, Aden'

[yeet-or-be-hawed]

“Lost and Found” Arthur Morgan x Reader

Fluff

This was another request for @shewalksinanotherworld! Thank you guys for being so patient with me, I’ve had major writer’s block the last few days but now I’m back full swing! 

After getting separated from the gang, the reader has to learn to fend for themselves and survive on their own. Arthur thought you had died in a shootout, so boy was he in for a surprise when he sees a familiar horse in Rhodes!

You cursed the sun as you rode into Rhodes, the air was dry and hot and the dust caked your lungs. You were used to living it rough, but you were used to living it rough with others. Since you got separated from your gang, it’s been nothing but hardships one after the other. You tried so hard not to blame the others. You tried not to let it harden your heart. You tried to tell yourself there was a good reason they didn’t come back for you, or even attempt to send you a letter. Unfortunately you could only try for so long and being left alone with your own thoughts only made it easier for you to abandon hope and replace with with anger. How dare they just leave you behind like that? How dare they never even try to let you know their location? Something always nagged at you in the back of your head, told you you weren’t special and no one cared. It’s why your mama and daddy left you in the streets to starve. It’s why the orphanage was more than willing to throw you out on the streets when they became too overpopulated. And it’s why the people you came to call family picked up and left you without a trace. It didn’t bother you though, you told yourself. You came to terms with the fact you would be alone forever long ago. 

You dismounted your horse in front of the butcher. 

“Ah, hello young lady. You must be new to these parts, I ain’t seen you before!”

You had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. “I been sellin’ to you the last three months, Eddie.”

the man became flustered and cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it.” You said flatly as you u loaded your hunt onto the butcher’s table.

An awkward silence fell between you as he handed you your cash. After you collected, you headed over to the saloon. It didn’t take you long to spend the money you had just received on whiskey and fried catfish.

“...suspicious lookin’ group down by the lake.”

“Saw one of em ridin’ through town yesterday, looked like a mean son of a bitch. Best leave em be till they move on.” 

The conversation faded out as the two men left the saloon. You made a mental note to keep your eyes peeled, just in case they were bounty hunters. There seemed to be more and more damned flesh hunters every year. You waved to the bartender, “One more down here good sir.”

“Comin’ right up!”

He placed the shot in front of you and you knocked it back easily. “You reckon that group them men was talkin’ bout were bounty hunters?”

The bartender raised an eyebrow at you suspiciously. “Nah, I don’t reckon so. The men and some of the women like to come into town every now and again. One of ‘em actually asked me about bounty hunters the first time he came in though. Seem like a nice crowd, said the factory they all worked for up North shut down. ”

You nodded. “Thanks.” You placed a tip on the table and turned out the door. As you headed towards the sheriff’s office, you lowered your hat over your face and pulled your hair out of its normal braid. “Afternoon.” You said plainly to the man sitting in behind the desk. 

“Mornin’.” The man slurred. You rolled your eyes, this sheriff was no more a threat than the hound dog sniffing around the saloon.

Your eyes studied the board of bounty posters. Your own was there and you grabbed it quickly. You’d have to remember to burn it later. When you removed it, something grabbed your eye. There were layers of bounty posters on the cork board, and sticking out two layers behind you could see AR for the first name and M for the last name. 

“Well, I’ll be damned.” You whispered as you pulled out the wanted poster. There he was, a ghost from your past. “WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. ARTHUR MORGAN, LAST SEEN IN VALENTINE. ASSOCIATES ALSO WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE: DUTCH VAN DER LINDE, HOSEA MATTHEWS, JOHN MARSTON, MICAH BELL. ANY ACCOMPANYING PERSONS WILL BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR AIDING AND ABETTING.”

He looked handsome as ever, even in some shitty drawing. Your first thought was, Arthur could’ve drawn himself so much better. Your second thought was, burn in hell, Morgan. You crumpled up the wanted poster in your hand and stuffed it in your bag. You had half a mind to leave it up, fuck all of them, they could rot for all you cared. They left you, he left you. 

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, Arthur’s betrayal (or what you considered betrayal) cut you deeper than any of the rest. He was your closest friend in the Van Der Linde Gang, and even though you would never say it, you were hoping to make things more intimate between you two, and sometimes you felt like Arthur wanted the same. But that was a long time ago, before they up and left you in Blackwater. No food, no shelter, they even took your tent. All you had was the clothes on your body and the supplies you had on your horse. Arthur never once sent you a letter; you went to the post office every day, sometimes multiple times a day, hoping for a letter from Tacitus Killgore but it never came. You kept your old alias at the post just in case. That was what burned you the deepest. There were so many opportunities to reach out, and none of them did, not even Arthur. 

You decided you would burn his bounty poster along with yours. If any of the others had bounty posters, they could deal with it on their own. Maybe one day Arthur will know your pain of having hisfamily uprooted and left on his own without a trace. You decided that would be a worse fate than being found by bountymen.

You felt tired as you mounted your horse, as if your body was being dragged down by weights. You sighed heavily and gave him a pat. “Come on boy, lets get back home.” With a dig of spurs, the horse sped down the trail. 

Arthur cackled as Sadie read off Pearon’s letter in her best impersonation of him as they pulled off the slim trail from Clemen’s Point onto the main road leading into Rhodes. As he pulled out, a horse flew by them like a bullet. Long hair trailed behind the rider’s head and time stood still. He was almost certain that was who he thought it was, but that was impossible. Dutch said she died in the shootout at Blackwater. His eyes followed horse until it disappeared. All in all no more than ten seconds had passed but to Arthur it seemed like he watched that horse for hours. 

“Well, come on then let’s go!” Sadie said impatiently. 

Arthur sighed and gave the reins a pull. He was in a daze of his own thoughts the rest of the day and for the first time in months, your ghost returned to him in his dreams that night.

Arthur brought the brim of his hat farther over his eyes as he walked down the steps of the gun shop. He could tolerate most anything, but this dry dusty air was getting real old real quick. He gave his horse a good pat and a carrot, she deserved it. The horses around camp deserved more praise than what they got, or atleast Arthur seemed to think so. It must be just as hard on them all this moving as it is for everyone else. “Yer a good ol girl.” He cooed softly. He mounted effortlessly and took a slow pace down the main street of Rhodes. He wanted to whip the reins and tear through the middle of the street like a hell on a horse, but as a badged deputy, he had to maintain a low profile. Hosea and Dutch thought it was silly how serious he took it, he figured he was just doing his best to keep cover.

The horse caught his attention, an Appaloosa with a Leopard coat. It was so dirty, he could hardly distinguish the spots from the mud. Your hair was the next thing he saw. Big and poofy, no doubt from the humidity. When you turned, his heart stopped. “It’s you.” He said breathlessly.

You didn’t even hear anyone approach. When you turned to mount your horse, there he was. He was standing so the afternoon sun sent sunbeams dancing around him making him look like a blessing, but it felt like a curse. He looked too well, a new olive colored vest with golden accents hugged his chest and a crisp white shirt, so new it hadn’t developed sweat stains. His sleeves were rolled up as usual, you remembered him mentioning he hated how restricting full sleeves felt. You remembered secretly admiring the muscular arms he would leave exposed. He seemed a little beefier than you remembered and his beard was longer. You hated him for looking so good.

“I can’t believe it’s really you.” He said softly before pulling himself off his horse. He approached with a big grin, that bastard. He was met with a swift slap to the face.

The shock from your slap rippled throughout his entire body. Of all the reactions, this was the last one he expected. He rubbed the spot where you hit him. “What the hell was that for?” He hissed.

“That was for leaving me!” You half yelled. A couple people were already staring but you didn’t care. “I go hunting for a day and I come back to nothing. No letter, no explanation, no tent! You took my tent for Christ’s sake! I gave my all to you, to everyone and that’s how I’m repaid. Left for dead with nothing but the clothes on my back.” Arthur blinked. You were seething with anger, but your eyes were welling with tears. “You left me behind.” Your voice was suddenly soft and you looked at the ground. Arthur saw the tears fall into the dust. “You left me to die and didn’t even care.”

Arthur stammered, he had no idea what to say. “Dutch said-“

“What did Dutch say? I’m sure it sounded very heroic and made the decision very easy.”

“Dutch said you were dead!” Arthur finally snapped. “He told me you died in that shootout. I grieved over you, I cried for you.” His voice shook with emotion. He grabbed your wrist tight and when you looked him in the eyes, the raw intensity behind them scared you. “Had I thought there would’ve been the slimmest chance you were still alive, I would’ve fought to my last breath to find you.”

Arthur said more than he meant to say in a rush of overwhelming emotions and it took him aback when you looked at him with confusion. “What shootout?”

“Scuse me?”

“What shootout? Why did Dutch say I died?” You looked him dead in the eye and a pit formed in his stomach.

“I...I don’t know.” His grip around your wrists loosened as his eyes darted to and from your face. “Me and Hosea was plannin’ a job, but Micah and Dutch swore by this ferry job they was stakin’ out. I wasn’t with them, but somethin’ went south and the law showed up quick. We had to move out so fast we left everything expect the caravans and the horses. All that money, all my things, and I ain’t sure we can ever get back.”

You sighed. “I understand, that’s a lot to go through, but you didn’t think to try to reach out to me, even once? I been at the post office damn near every day waiting for something, anything from you!”

Arthur gave you a thin glare, “well I don’t remember gettin’ a letter from you, what’s yer excuse?”

You sputtered, it honestly hadn’t occurred to you. “I...well I was- you always tell us to be so careful! How was I supposed to know if Tacitus Killgore was still safe?”

He crossed his arms, he knew you well enough to know when you had been had. “And how was I supposed to know Marisol Fletcher was still safe?”

You huffed in frustration and refused to look him in the eye. “Yeah well, fair enough. That still don’t change the question: why did Dutch say I died in a gun fight I wasn’t even involved in?”

Arthur went quiet. There had to be some sort of misunderstanding. Dutch would never leave a gang member behind if he could help it. And what was the point in lying? To keep Arthur from returning to Blackwater for you? There had to be some reason for lying.

You took Arthur’s silence as an answer. It was apparent to you that even though you were alive, Dutch made it clear you weren’t apart of the gang any more. You cleared your throat and grabbed your horse’s reins. “It’s gettin’ late, I need to get back to camp.”

Arthur straightened up and whistled for his horse, she had a bad habit of wandering away. “C’mon, you can follow me. We ain’t too far from here.”

You shook your head as you mounted. “I mean my camp. I ain’t goin’ back, Arthur. I am very... happy to know you’re alive and okay, but Dutch has made up his mind. I’m dead to the gang now, I’m on my own.”

“That’s not-“

“But it is.” You looked over the horizon. “Come with me.”

“What?”

You were certain he heard you. You sighed, “never mind. That was a silly request, you’re as loyal as they come Arthur Morgan. Write me when you can, and I’ll always respond. Until then, Mr. Morgan.” With a snap of the reins, heavy hooves sent up a cloud of dust.

Arthur couldn’t decide if he was relieved or frightened by the sight of you today. His thoughts were in a whirlwind as he rode back to camp. Nothing about this made sense, nothing at all.

“Who’s there?” Bill called.

“Arthur, dumbass.” He rolled his eyes, who the hell else would it be? He didn’t even hitch his Arabian before jumping off and making a beeline for Dutch’s tent.

Dutch was sat on a crate just outside his tent puffing a cigar. He lifted a brow in Arthur’s direction as he approached. Dutch let out a thick puff of smoke and smiled, “Good afternoon, Arthur.”

Arthur tipped his hat, “Dutch.” He took a seat beside the older man and cleared his throat. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Ditched eyed Arthur uneasily, “sure son, what’s on your mind.”

“You remember the shootout in Blackwater?”

“Course I do.”

“Who all died? In the shootout I mean.”

“Ahhh...let’s see.” Dutch sat back and tilted his head up, Arthur thought he looked a bit theatrical. “Ol Davey was shot, but he died up in the mountains. Jenny got caught in the fire, the Calander boys, and Y/N was there too.”

“I thought she went out huntin’ that day.”

Dutch cleared his throat. “She did, she did. Returned in the middle of the chaos, her and that pretty horse a hers got shot I believe.”

There was a false note in his voice it was very faint, so faint had Arthur not been face to face with you just a coupla hours ago, he may not have caught it. His eyes slowly came up and met Dutch’s. “That’s strange.” He said slowly. “Because I just ran into her in Rhodes.”

Dutch’s cigar nearly fell out of his mouth as he stuttered and stumbled on his words. “That- I-.... are ya sure it was her?” His voice was steady, but Arthur could see the quick flare of panic in Dutch’s eye.

He crossed his arms and nodded. “Sure as the sun is high. Stopped and talked to her. She seemed quite upset we left her behind.” He laughed nervously and rubbed his cheek. “My cheek still stings from where she slapped me.” He paused and his tone was serious. “Did you see her and her horse get shot?”

Arthur could see the cogs moving in Dutch’s head. “No, I... I didn’t.”

“Then why? Why leave her there? Damn it Dutch we took everything she had with us! She coulda died!”

“What’s important is she’s alive now!” Dutch said hastily. “Did she have the money from Blackwater?”

“No. She said all she had was the clothes on her back and the supplies on her horse.”

Dutch’s eyes went dark as he stared off in space. “We don’t know that.” He said slowly then rose to his feet. “She coulda snuck back and stole everything we had waiting for us. Does she know where we are now?”

The look in Dutch’s eye was fierce, Arthur averted his gaze. “No, I offered to bring her back but she wouldn’t come.”

“Good.” Dutch nodded and paced. “We don’t need her comin’ back here and stealin’ the rest of what we got.”

“Come on Dutch, she ain’t like that. We both known her for years before we got separated, surely you got a little more faith in us than that.”

Dutch shook his head in frustration. “Now why else would she follow us here? Arthur my boy don’t you see? She’s greedy, she wants to take everything from us.” He turned toward Arthur and his eyes focused. “No contact with her, you hear me? Not even through the mail, you can’t trust the mail service any more.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Dutch, I think yer gettin’ paranoid in your old age. Why don’t we just meet up and-“

“No!” Dutch bellowed. “I said no contact. No letters, and certainly no meeting up and that is final.” He sighed and softened his voice as he put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “I know I’m being harsh, but I just want what’s best for us, for everybody. I know you miss her, but we can’t trust her anymore. Take comfort in knowing she’s alive. It’s more than what most of us have gotten from this life.”

Arthur watched Dutch’s back as he walked away. Was Dutch descending into a new madness or was Arthur following so blindly that he hadn’t noticed until now? He did not know.

-

Arthur groaned in frustration as he ripped the page from his journal and balled it up. Identical wads of paper littered the booth he sat in at the saloon. Writing was always something that came easily to him, until now.

Y/N,

I spoke to Dutch and

Rip! Crinkle crinkle. Let’s not start with that.

Dearest Y/N,

Rip! Dearest? Arthur flushed. Maybe too much. Crinkle crinkle.

Y/N,

He paused and sighed, he knew what he had to say but putting it into words was proving easier said than done. This is the last shot, after spending an hour writing unfinished letters, this is the last one just say what you have to say. He laid the pencil back to paper and stopped thinking.

I’ve missed your company terribly, so I am quite happy to be writing you this letter. Mary-Beth told me to tell you hello and send you her warmest regards. She cried when I told her you were alive, by the way. Don’t you know it’s rude to make women cry? I guess I can’t say too much, I’m not much of a gentleman myself. We didn’t get a chance to catch up when we spoke, I am curious as to where you have traveled and how you’ve kept yourself. I hope you faired better than us. After the whole Blackwater mess, we retreated up North and stayed in an abandoned mining town called Colter. We about starved to death waiting on the thaw, Davey did die, but from a bullet wound. Ol’ John Marston got attacked by wolves, he’s okay unfortunately just a bit uglier. A lotta bit uglier. Once the thaw came, we hit a train owned by Leviticus Cornwall. We didn’t know who the hell he was at the time, and what a mistake it was. Apparently he’s some big oil tycoon, he’s hired the Pinkerton Protection Agency just for us, ain’t we special? So between Pinkerton’s, bounty hunters, lawmen, and O’Driscolls, we’ve managed to find ourselves farther east than I’m comfortable with. In my opinion, we’re too close to civilization and people. Hosea agrees, he thinks if we keep up in this direction we’re gonna end up right in the jaws of their trap and I couldn’t agree more. Dutch is... well, Dutch is Dutch. He swears he’s got a plan to get us outta here, but instead of the West, he wants to go to the Philippines. Or was it Tahiti? Or maybe the Philippines are in Tahiti? To be honest, Dutch isn’t making a lot of sense these days. The day I saw you in town I confronted him about Blackwater. Dutch is a lot of things and a liar isn’t one of them, but I swear I could see his brain ticking like he was searching for answers he didn’t know. Things are changing, Y/N and things aren’t as simple as they used to be. Remember out in Nevada, it seems like we were just kids then. The group was so small, we were all so young. We were the best team for scams, weren’t we? Even managed to impress Hosea. It isn’t like that no more, I’m sure you’ve noticed. I know you said you aren’t coming back to the gang and I understand, but I hope you would be willing to spend some time with an old friend. If you’re still around Rhodes, you should meet me at the saloon sometime for a drink. I look forward to your letter and hope to see you again soon, I miss your company more than I’d like to admit.

Yours, Arthur

Arthur cringed at the last line, it didn’t sound as foolish in his head as it read on paper. He debated crinkling it in a ball and restarting but that was a page and a half worth of writing! He sighed heavily and carefully ripped the pages from his journal and folded them neatly. He would need a new alias, one no one else in camp would know. After a moment of thought, he signed the envelope as Morgan Callahan.

-

The morning fog rolled over the lake and refracted the morning sunlight over the waves of the shore. The morning air was thick and soupy, you could already feel your hair sticking to the back of your neck. You wiped your brow as you put on your boots and began the day. This wouldn’t be such a terrible place to stay if it wasn’t so damn humid all the time. Iron Flat Lake was teeming with life, both underwater and around its shores. The woods surrounding the lake were flourishing with wildlife. In the three months you had been staying here, you were able to gain a few pounds and keep a low profile. You kept your head low after Blackwater, being part of a gang was the biggest advantage to evading the law and without it you were left vulnerable; you adapted in response. You were an outlaw turned outdoorsman, you traded in your repeater for a bow and replaced blood lust with the thrill of the hunt.

After pulling on your day clothes and your boots, you began your daily routine. First, you check your nets that you had set the night before. You frowned down at the single bass flopping in the tangle of nets. Usually the yield was higher, but one fish is enough for breakfast so it was all you needed. After breakfast, it’s time to kill the fire and take down the tent. Your spot was safe, but paranoia isn’t always a bad thing when you’re on the run, never such thing as too safe. The next step of the day is one that you almost cut out completely- checking the mail. The mid morning sun was warming the thick air as you came into Rhodes.

“Got anything for Marisol Fletcher?”

“Yes actually,” you looked up in surprise, you hadn’t had anything in weeks. You had to close your slack jaw when the postman turned back to you and handed you an envelope. “Here you are.”

You gave him a bright smile and a nod. “Thank you very much!”

You sat at the bench in the shade as you inspected the parcel. You didn’t recognize the name, Morgan Callahan? But you recognized the handwriting immediately. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread over your face as you read over Arthur’s beautiful handwriting. You forgot how eloquently he wrote, you could almost hear his voice reading you the words. The pages had a slight leather scent, they must’ve came from his journal. A memory of him sitting against his caravan lost in his drawings came into your mind. As you finished the letter, you reread the last sentence over and over. I miss your company more than I’d like to admit.

How just like Arthur, it brought back so many confusing memories. Late night conversations where you could swear you saw his eyes linger on your lips, small moments in saloons after he’s had too many drinks and he’d get a little handsy but never in a disrespectful manor. But with all these little things came awkward next mornings where he wouldn’t look at you, claim to drink too much to remember what had happened the night before, and don’t even get started with the whole Mary situation. This man confuses you to no end with his wishy washy behavior. You sighed, was he wishy washy or were you just desperate to read into things? Maybe you just imagined his eyes lingering on your lips, maybe you took his touches too seriously. Maybe you wanted more from your relationship with him than he wanted. There was no maybe on that one, but you shook your head to yourself. You saw how Arthur loves a woman first hand, you were there every step of the way from the time he first met Mary until she rejected his proposal. That was the one night you had seen Arthur cry, and it was the most heartbreaking thing you’d ever seen in your life. So yes, you knew how Arthur loved and no, it was not intended for you.

You pushed yourself off the bench and into the crowded saloon. Your eyes searched for Arthur, but he wasn’t there. You were a little relieved, after so long you had forgotten how to hide how flustered he made you. You pulled the stolen stationary paper from your satchel and began to write.

Dear Arthur,

I have missed you also, as well as everyone else in the gang. Tell Mary-Beth I was elated to hear from her and hope all is well for her. Honestly Arthur, who hasn’t heard of Leviticus Cornwall these days? That surely was a mistake. I stayed in Blackwater for a couple of weeks in case you all came back but not only did you have wanted posters everywhere, the place was also crawling with bounty hunters. I heard some of them got Sean, I tried tracking him down but the trail went cold after a few days. After that, I was everywhere and nowhere. I survived off the land, really survived. I thought what we was doing as a gang was surviving but boy was I wrong. Having a group that size is a privilege you don’t know you have until it’s gone. With more and more bounty hunters popping up, I had to lay low. You’d be proud, Arthur I haven’t committed a crime worse than pickpocketing since we were separated. I’ve mostly just made money by hunting and fishing, I’ll pick up odd jobs where I can. For the most part it’s just been me and Ol’ Cow. He’s still fit as a fiddle, still wouldn’t trade him in for the world. Tell Marston I’m sorry to hear about his unfortunate face, maybe it will humble him up a bit. As far as Dutch goes, well maybe I shouldn’t go there as to keep conversation friendly. Don’t trust him Arthur, that man is a snake. I know he and Hosea raised you, raised us, but people change and not always for the best. Keep that in mind in your travels, and get the hell out of there the moment you notice anything fishy. You’re right, the world has changed and it isn’t so simple anymore. Civilization isn’t the cause of corruption, it’s the spawn of it. At the end of the day, there’s only one cause of corruption and that’s people. As for me, I’m currently camping out on Iron Bed Lake so I’m not far from Rhodes at all. I usually stop in the saloon in the evenings for a drink and some supper, that would be the easiest time to catch me. Maybe I’ll show you where camp is, your company is welcome anytime. I look forward to your company as always.

Yours, Y/N

You frowned at the ‘yours’. You always just signed, but it felt natural to mirror Arthur’s closing. As you folded the letter, you wondered when you would get to see him again. You pushed down the blossoming hope that it would be soon.

-

Arthur read the parcel just outside the post office, he told himself he didn’t want to risk getting caught but that didn’t explain the excitement he felt as he tore open the envelope. His heart felt heavy as he read your letter, you had lived so hard on your own and he had no idea you were even out there. It was hard for him to remember what it was like to be on his own before he met Dutch and Hosea. It had been so long, he honestly couldn’t recall. But, to live roughly you looked good, he thought. He smiled at the pages, he had forgotten the silly name you gave to your horse. It brought back the memory of the day you bought him from the stables. He spent two days trying to give you better names, what kind of name is Cow for a horse? He would ask. You would shrug as you patted his pink nose and say that it was a good name for a good horse and that was that. If anyone was more stubborn than him, it was you. He looked up at the sky as he finished the letter, the sun was already behind the trees. Perfect timing, he thought to himself as he whistled for his horse. The saloon wasn’t far at all, but Arthur wasn’t a patient man.

When he entered the saloon, his eyes darted across every face until they landed on a familiar black hat at the bar. He straightened himself and tugged at his vest self consciously, he wished he would’ve taken a bath first. He cleared his throat. “Ma’am.”

When you turned, Arthur was able to get a good look at you. Even through the humidity, your hair was still shiny and vibrant, the color hadn’t dulled a day since Blackwater. You had had a bath recently, your skin was clean and he could clearly see the freckles that dotted your cheeks. The sun had spotted new freckles since he had last seen you, now sitting around your lips and chin. Your sleeves were rolled up to reveal arms that were much more muscular than they were before. Even through the thin material of your shirt he could see the muscles in your back and shoulders. He tried to recall a more beautiful sight and was lost for words. When your lips curled into a smile, he felt a familiar heat in his cheeks. “Hello Arthur, have a seat.”

He nodded and obliged. Why was he so damn nervous all of a sudden? He started to speak and his mouth was terribly dry. He cleared his throat and waved over the bar tender. “So,” he stared at the ground as he spoke. “What kinda work you been doin’ in a run down town like this?”

You took a sip of your beer. “Mostly just handy work. Helped a feller patch his roof this mornin’.”

He smiled and his eyes flickered back to your muscular shoulders. “Well, ain’t you just a gentleman.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hey, gotta do whatcha can to survive.” You smiled and let out a breathy laugh. “Plus, I kinda like helpin’ people now.”

Arthur raised a brow towards you, “so you went from robbin’ and killin’ folks go helpin’ em around the house, huh?” He laughed. “Good on ya, ya got out.”

“Huh?”

He looked at you. “Ya got out, out of the outlaw game. Look at you now, a regular citizen.”

You frowned into your mug. “It weren’t my choice.”

“I’m sorry that wasn’t-“ he stuttered.

You sighed and gave him a smile. To him it looked terribly sad. “It’s okay, really. I know it ain’t your fault. I do miss it, more often than I don’t.”

“Why?”

“I guess I just miss havin’ a family. And people who care.”

“You can have a family outside the gang, ya know.” The bartender sat a beer in front of Arthur and he took a swig. “Hosea tried it for a few years.”

You barked a short laugh. “And who would have me? Look at me, I’m a beat up, rough nobody. Ain’t no man gonna want me.”

Arthur’s heart lurched, he fought the urge to put his hand on yours. Is this what he sounded like when he put himself down? It all sounded so ridiculous to him. “You don’t know that.” He said softly.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and he looked at you. Your eyes were far away and a small smile was on your face. “I do, but thank you anyways.”

As evening shifted into night, one beer turned to two, which turned to five. The saloon was in full swing, every booth full of patrons and the saloon girls were fliting around like fireflies in July. A jolly tune was coming from the piano and the chaotic noise of drunk men but all you could hear was Arthur’s bubbling laughter. His cheeks were a bright red from the booze and he wore a lazy smile. He said something, but it was so slurred together in an incoherent mumble.

“What’d you say?”

He leaned in close to your ear and you felt his beard hair prickle against your skin. “I said, let’s get outta here.” His Breath was hot and you were glad he didn’t feel you tremble. You nodded and he took your hand and led you out into the street. The saloon was the only building with lights still on and the chaotic noise was muffled in the night. The crickets chirped as the two of you stumbled down Main Street.

Arthur still had your hand in his big palm, half dragging you along as you sang obnoxiously into the night. Arthur was carefully paying attention to the ground under him, but you were not. You stumbled over a rock and began to fall forward, but you were caught by two heavy hands on your waist. “Careful.” He laughed.

You giggled drunkenly and when you lifted your head to look at him, his face was inches from yours. Even with your vision spinning, you could Arthur’s eyes on your lips, when he met your eyes, there was something behind them you had never seen. After a moment, he cleared his throat and helped you to your feet. His hand lingered on your waist and you leaned into his shoulder as you smiled up to him, “thanks Artie.”

Arthur spurted and laughed heartily. “Artie?” He wipes a tear from his eye and laughed again. “Is that what yer callin’ me now?”

You laughed with him, the movement caused the two of you to sway. “Naw, I just thought it was cute.” Your finger came up and bopped him on the nose.

“You’re cute.” Arthur blurted. As soon as it left his lips he could’ve smacked himself. What a fool he was.

You wrapped your arms around his waist tightly, “not as cute as you.”

Arthur’s vision was blurry but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. He swallowed hard, this was too much. He cleared his throat. “Where’s your camp?” He looked around and almost lost his balance. “Wheres the horses?” He slurred.

You laughed and slumped against a near by bench. “Who knows?” You fell into a fit of drunken giddy giggles.

Arthur plopped down beside you and slunk an arm around your shoulders. He smiled to himself as you curled up against his chest. “I’ve missed you.” You mumbled.

Arthur couldn’t tell if the heat in his cheeks was from the booze anymore. “I...I missed you too.”

When you looked up at him with those big doe eyes, he swore he could see whole worlds reflecting back at him. “Wanna know a secret?” You whispered.

He gulped. “Sure.”

With the most straight face you could manage you said, “I’m going to throw up.”

And with the most grace and poise Arthur has ever seen in a drunk person, you stood up, turned away from him, and vomited. He rolled his eyes and stood shakily. He put a hand on your back-for your support and his- and pulled your hair back with the other. “S’okay,” he whispered. “I gotcha.”

You cleared your throat and wiped your mouth as you turned to Arthur. “I think” you slurred. “It’s time for night night.”

Arthur laughed and whistled for his horse. She must not have been far, she came around the corner immediately. Arthur used her as support as he helped you up and then pulled himself up clumsily. He almost pulled you down as he mounted and the two of you fell into another laughing fit after you helped him up. “Okay okay,” He said as he tried to contain his laughter. “Where you stayin’ at?”

You leaned back against him and pointed lazily. “Jus’ go that way for a minute, I’ll tell ya where to go.”

With your best attempts of directions, the two of you finally made it back to camp and there your loyal steed was, waiting at camp without you. “Son of a bitch.” You muttered. “I’m too drunk to set up a tent.”

Arthur pulled his bedroll from his horse. “Sky’s clear, it shouldn’t rain tonight. We should be fine sleepin’ under the stars.”

You hadn’t even unpacked your bedroll before tumbling to the ground and resting against an old log.

Arthur laughed, “you sure you don’t want somethin’ more comfortable than the ground?”

You didn’t hear him, you were out.

-

When you woke up the next morning, your head felt like it had been smashed against a rock. You groaned as you sat up and rubbed your eyes.

“Mornin’.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin and let out a small scream as you opened your eyes. When they focused on Arthur you groaned. “Jesus Arthur, you about gave me a heart attack. Ain’t used to havin’ other people around.”

He handed you a cup of coffee as you stretched. “Sorry bout that, didn’t want to wake ya.”

You scratched your head and closed your eyes as you sipped from your coffee. “Ugh, I feel like hell.”

Arthur chuckled. “Drink up, that should help. You should probably eat something too.”

You nodded and groaned in agreement as you stood up. “Christ,” You said as you walked over to check the nets. “How much did we drink last night? I lost count.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t count.”

As you pulled the net in, your arms ached in disagreement. Arthur stood up quickly, “need some help?”

You let go with one hand to do a shooing motion and went back to pulling it in. “I got it.”

The net was much more successful this morning, yielding three smallmouth bass and two largemouth bass. You smiled triumphantly. “Did someone say breakfast?”

You ate together in silence, Arthur contemplated bringing you back to camp, how mad could Dutch really get? You had something different on your mind. Through your hungover haze, little flashes were coming back. Arthur holding your hand, the way his lips brushed your ear, the way his beard felt against your skin, his arm around your waist. His presence was unearthing so many buried emotions it was starting to get overwhelming. He was the first to speak. “Do you plan on doin’ this forever?”

“Doin’ what?” You turned to look at him and he was staring at the ground.

He turned to you. “Doin’ this, livin’ on your own. Are you not lonely?”

You frowned. “Course I get lonely, but where else am I gonna go?”

“Come with me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He stood. “Come back to camp, come back to the gang! We all miss you like crazy, and Dutch, well Dutch can deal with it.” He took your hands in his and pulled you up from the ground so quickly you almost lost your balance. His gaze was so intense on you you had to look away.

“Arthur, Dutch ain’t gonna just let me waltz back in. And like I said, I don’t trust that man. I can’t trust him farther than I can throw him and as much as I-“ you caught yourself as sighed. “As much as I...care about you-about all of you, I can’t trust that man with my safety and well-being.”

“Trust me then.” You looked up at him and he caught your cheek in his hand. “Trust me with your safety and your well-being. Let me take care of you.”

Your chest seized and it was hard to breathe. “Arthur I...”

He suddenly looked sad and pulled away. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-“

You cut him off as he began to turn away by grabbing his face and pulling it down to yours. Your lips were on his and before he could react, they were gone. You couldn’t look up at his face, you couldn’t handle the rejection. “Arthur, I care about you entirely too much for my own good. I need to go.”

Arthur was frozen in shock, he could still feel the ghost of your lips on his. As you turned to your horse, he felt the panic slip in, he lost you once and he didn’t want to lose you again. He caught your wrist and when you turned to look at him he looked desperate, afraid, and devistatingly handsome. “Don’t go. Don’t make me go without you again, I ain’t strong enough. You don’t gotta come back with me, just stay with me.”

“I...oh Arthur, you know I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” He wrapped his big arms around your waist and it sent butterflies to your stomach. You wrapped your arms around him and sighed. “What are ya gonna tell Dutch?”

He buried his face into your neck and you felt him inhale. “I ain’t gotta tell him a thing.”

You rolled your eyes and relaxed in his embrace. “You silly, silly man.”