#it's all wins for maeve no losses in sight

[msommers]

i know that i created them both and that's why it's like this but it's funny how perfect of a popstar aphrodite is for maeve to obsess over in modern aus

[hiatuswhore]

Phoenix

REQUESTED. HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON.

Warning: Assault Mentioned (Proceed with caution I do not want to trigger anyone)

Staring in the mirror, you were far from the super-suit you had begun in two years prior.  Your hair longer and filled in with extensions that were far from your natural hair color but complimented your skin nicely, though—the makeup on your face covering your acne scars from your adolescent years.  You had dreamed of who you wanted to be—who Phoenix was supposed to be, and yet here you were.  Not a single thing natural and looking far from the average person.  

Queen Maeve stood in the mirror to the right of you, paying you no mind; she stayed to herself just as you always had.  In between, you both was a free sink and mirror; to your left, a few steps back, you knew Translucent was there.  The only noise you could all hear is the sound of the newbie throwing up. When she first arrived, the girl was so starstruck, rambling nervously about you being her favorite, the girl had no clue what she was in for.  At first, you thought maybe she was just nervous, but the sound of her sobs covered you in a cold blanket of an awful memory.  Taking a deep inhale, you closed your eyes before breathing slowly and letting your shoulders fall in an exhausted defeat.  Watching Starlight leave her stall to the mirror, the mascara scattered under her eyes made you look down, wiping away at your hands as nothing was on them.  Staring forward as Starlight occupied the sink next to you on the other side of Starlight, Queen Maeve watched her without care as she washed her hands.

“Oh, for Chrissakes. Clean yourself up,” Maeve said without remorse; her face was stern as she looked at Starlight with an uninterested look. Holding out paper towels as Starlight took them, Maeve continued, “Never let them see you like this. Translucent, you’re a goddamn pervert.”

Watching Maeve storm out, the click of her heels was loud as Translucent revealed himself.  Rolling your eyes, you watched as Starlight turned away, “Oh, uh…”

“Translucent, get the hell out!” You yelled, grimacing at the sight of the bare body as he awkwardly walked off; you rolled your eyes once more.  Leaning on the counter, you returned your attention to the distressed blonde in front of you.

“Maeve said the same thing to me. It seems harsh, but it’s the best advice you’re going to get around here; shockingly, the kindest advice,” You said, chuckling to yourself as you shook your head.  Getting no response had it been earlier, the girl would have been ecstatic about your attention, but instead, she stared forward in disbelief.  Looking at her narrowing your eyes, her lips were looked slightly swelled, and her face kept contorting into a grimace.  At first, you did not want to think into it too far, and yet it was adding it up; you never understood deja-vu until this very moment.

“Let me guess he sold you on that he’s number two bullshit,” You said, turning toward you immediately; her eyes widened.  Shaking your head, your face fell as her reaction confirmed the worst.  Looking at her, you grabbed a paper towel, saying nothing; as you wet the paper towel, you could feel her watching you.  The poor thing looked lost as you turned to her and lightly dabbed her scattered mascara, “You’re not alone, not at all.  I thought I would be saving people.  I thought I was going to be a goddamn hero, but not here, Starlight.  Here you look like a hero, receive a check, and try to sleep at night with all you know.”

Getting most of the mascara off her right cheek, Starlight only stared at you with the same glossy look.  Starting on her left cheek, you became rigid as she suddenly pulled you into a hug.  Her body shaking as she sobbed, she held you tightly.  Bringing your arms around her, you gently rubbed her back as she cried into your collarbone. 

“You know, my Mom actually came up with my hero name.  I loved superhero movies growing up. I was more of a Wonder Woman fan, but my mom loved Jean Grey.  When we discovered my powers, she wanted me to be called Marvel Girl, but my Dad thought it was stupid. We all agreed on Phoenix, and my life dream was to join the Six and make it the Seven. Now you’re here, and it’s Eight,” Pausing for a second, you continued to rub Annie’s back; your story calmed her sobbing.  The glossy look that was in her eyes was now in your own, “After it happened, I locked myself up in my room. I wasn’t answering phone calls or attending meetings for several days.  Ashley called up and told me that I had no choice.  They would force me into my suit if they had to and make me read a script if that’s what it needed to be, but the public had to see me.”

“What’d you do?” Annie’s voice was so low—practically a whisper as her voice cracked.  An awful feeling settled in your stomach, a mixture of cramping and nausea.  Swallowing down the lump in your throat, the texture resembled sandpaper as it scratched your throat.  Pulling back from you, Annie looked up at you with puffy eyes, waiting for a story of triumph that you would not be able to give her.

“A couple hours after Ashley left, I flew home.  They have trackers in us, so they knew, but I didn’t care. I was in a tank top and shorts flying in the middle of pouring rain—a storm—an eighteen-year-old girl not even allowed to have a drink yet with the whole world on her shoulders.  When I got home, or at least the new home I had bought them with the first check, I stood outside the window.  They had our weekly game night. The first game night I had ever missed,” Pausing for a second, your eyes were stinging with tears.  The feeling of your clothes sticking to you and the goosebumps on your skin, it was all so vivid in your memory, “I stood there holding myself watching them in the window.  I felt foolish, wanting nothing more than to go home, and there I was, just watching them from the window. It was a long time before I realized I wasn’t foolish.  Had I gone in there, I would have been making a choice to leave Vought and to let him win.  Had I fought, maybe I would have been proud of my choice, but I didn’t. I came back.  I collected every check, and I read every line they told me to.  My family will never worry about money again, but that was my choice.  Look at where I am here; I’m above that piece of shit.  I made peace with myself, but my choices don’t have to be your own.  Say you make the choices I did, you need to ask yourself right now will you be able to sleep at night knowing you let him get away with what he did?”

Looking down at the floor, Annie was at a loss for words.  Wiping away your own stray tears, you pulled yourself together in seconds as you watched the young girl in front of you.

“I didn’t think I could look up to you any more than I did, but I do,” Annie said, breaking the silence before pulling you into another hug.  Muttering a thank you, she left you standing there. Taking a moment, you realized what you had just done; she was the first person you ever told that story to.  Exiting the bathroom, you felt proud of yourself, but with it came a deep shame.  Annie was a prime example that when it came to The Deep, there would always be another girl.  Walking down the hall as the familiar green suit came into view, anger built in your chest. 

“Hey Phoenix—” Deep began to mock; he always loved to act like the two of you were friends. Lifting your head, you watched as his body raised up off the ground, “What the hell!”

Hearing him gasp as you focused the energy around his neck to slowly start constricting, he struggled to breathe.  Watching him struggle further and further until his face began to turn blue, you then released him.  Hitting the floor with a thud, you watched as he choked in between his labored breaths.

“Take another girl’s choice away, and I promise I’ll kill you myself,” You said, kicking him onto his back; he was panting heavily.

“Homelander would never allow it,” He choked, but you offered a laugh at his rebuttal.  Your fame rose much faster than most of the seven; your powers were nothing less of an A list superhero.

“Whether he wants to admit it or not, we all know who would win that fight.” You whispered as you crouched down, looking at him; your eyes glowed like hot lava.  Constricted every cell in his body, you watched as he seized up, keeping your gaze on him the fear in his eyes brought you no solace.  Releasing him, you stood back up.

“Stay the hell away from Starlight.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

A Taste of Fae and Croquet || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: the recent past

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: An innocent game in the yard is crashed by a Stymphalian bird. The world cannot always be kind.

CONTAINS: animal death, soft gays

“The last croquet game I remember seeing was in Alice in Wonderland. And I felt so bad for the flamingos, with their heads bashed into the balls every turn, all those cartoon stars over their heads and how much they fought Alice because they didn’t want to play. I never wanted to look into the real thing because it looked so mean. But this is nice!” Morgan beamed at Deirdre across the lawn. She poised her foot over her ball, nestled adorably next to Deirdre’s, and took a big swing. Deirdre’s ball flew, bounced off the fence, and rolled somewhere back to one of the starting arches. With the extra swings she’d earned, Morgan got her ball into one more wicket and in good position to take the last two later. Smug, she skipped over to her girlfriend and gave her the requisite kiss Deirdre had insisted was customary when fae played the game.

“You aren’t making up the rules to go easy on me, are you?” She purred. “Because you should know by now, I like it when you give me a hard time just as much as I like to make you squirm.”

Deirdre laughed, both into the kiss and after, head tilted to the sky. “I am trying to give you a hard time, my love.” She grinned, staring at her purple ball in the grass. When she played the game with Maeve, she’d always won. And when she played with humans, she was more concerned about trying to hit the balls into as many of their heads as she could than she was with winning. Though Deirdre enjoyed winning as much as she did breathing, she was having fun with her loss now. It must have been something to do with the kisses, which she insisted occurred every time a ball passed through a wicket, or the fact that it was Morgan. “Besides, I don’t think there’s much else to the rules than ‘hit the ball through the wicket’ and then something else about bonus shots.”

She waved a hand in the air, uncaring for the propriety of croquet. There must have been a rule or something about making sure the ball stayed on the ground, but it was far more fun to send it sailing through the air, which she did. “Mind your head!” It went up and away and crashing into the wicket closest to Morgan. Deirdre jogged up to survey her work. “That counts, right?” she pointed at the wicket, bent out of shape and ripped from the ground, “I make the rules and I say that counts for two billion points, actually. Oh, and also—“ She leaned across, pressing her lips to Morgan’s. “—I just remembered actually you’re supposed to give these every time you hit a ball. Very important; can’t play the game without it.” She looked back down at their make-shift croquet field. “Oh, my love, you’re at the turning point now. You’re supposed to do something with that stake there...hit it, I suppose? And then start going back.” Deirdre took a look at her own ball, and her own standing in the game; she couldn’t remember what wickets she went through, and which she still needed to, and what order it was she was supposed to follow. Deirdre slung her purple mallet over her shoulder, maybe croquet just wasn’t the game for her.

Morgan jumped back to duck the flying ball. She wasn’t sure how Deirdre did it, and wondered if there was something innate in fae that made them do things as chaotically as possible. Clumsy with happiness, Morgan took a swing at the stake with her mallet, leaving her ball right in the choice place where it was. “You mean like this?” She teased. “And that means you kiss me again, right? I feel like  there was something you said earlier about having to give affection for other swings.” Deirdre had said no such thing, but with balls flying and wickets getting crushed, Morgan could tell that naming a winner wasn’t going to be a very important part of the day. She pulled her girlfriend close and kissed her neck, teasing her in the places that usually made her squeal. Then, flexing her body to its best advantage, she took her swing and guided her ball perfectly on course.

She backed away to steer clear of her girlfriend’s next shot when a shadow flew overhead. She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun and pointed. “Is that a gull? Aren’t they supposed to migrate?”

Deirdre hummed, delighted under the feeling of Morgan’s lips against her skin. A sound which quickly bubbled into laughter. “You’re distracting me from winning!” Not that she was winning, of course, but that was the joke. Deirdre sighed, pleased, and readied herself for her swing. “No, that’s a heron, my love. It’s got the long neck thing going on, and it’s far too big to be a gull,” she commented casually, sparing only a short glance up. She had a game to lose, and birds were of no concern to her. As the shadow grew larger and larger, Deirdre in turn became more irritated. It was hard to align her shot in the dark, and she grumbled as she adjusted herself. “You know those things are almost as tall as you.” She wound back, mallet swung far behind her. “On account of your being short and all. There were a couple of them in Ireland, but I’ve never met one that didn’t want to—” She swung her mallet forward, waiting for the collision of wood to plastic. When it never came, she stumbled back, staring wide-eyed at a mallet missing its head. At the end of the handle now was a steaming goop, falling off the wood in thick droplets, leaving nothing in its wake. She stared at the ground, steaming holes where perfect grass once reigned.

“—eat me.” Deirdre blinked, throwing the mallet aside. For all her lack of concern for birds, she didn’t notice that the heron had landed or that it had spread its wings wide. Nor that it had flapped its wings, setting free a volley of feathers, whistling through the air. If she’d cared a little more about birds, she might have remembered something about iron. Instead she stood there, waiting for her brain to catch up with her environment.

Morgan couldn’t stop staring at the mallet. There was supposed to be a hammer head at the end of it. A few seconds ago, it had been there. She’d seen it. It was the purple stripe one because it almost looked like Deirdre’s favorite shade of plum and purple went first. But the head was gone. Not broken, just gone. Something Morgan didn’t know the words for was dripping from the ends and this wasn’t part of the game, this wasn’t part of anything that made sense. Dimly, she heard Deirdre say something that sounded an awful lot like eat me, but Morgan couldn’t find the words to the question she wanted to ask about it. Her eyes had finally caught sight of the heron, red and bronze and so much bigger than any bird had a right to be. It opened its beak to squawk, bright and sharp. Was it yelling at them? Was this just how giant scary birds said hello?

The heron flapped its wings and rose over their heads, squawking again. Its feathers spread and then they were flying, red and purple and shining. Morgan raised her arms to shield her face and whimpered at the pattering sound they made as they went through her skin. The heron swooped down to peck them both and flew up again, circling with menace. And then, Morgan finally found her voice. “What the fuck? What do you mean eat you?”

Deirdre hissed in pain, erupting in quivering gasps just a moment later. Feathers stained red with Deirdre’s blood stuck out of the ground, leaving bubbling slashes where they’d hit her. She’d done what she could to protect her face and neck, but the only thing she could think to use was the rest of her body. She trembled, faltering, moving just in time to evade another feather. Her body was on fire. Deirdre opened her mouth to explain before she was caught by another whimper of pain. “This!” She hissed, gesturing to her red, blistering body, “this is what I mean!” Trembling, she could do nothing but wobble where she stood, finding a measure of fear in looking up and risking a feather finding her throat. And of all the fae to try and eat, Deirdre knew there was some amount of pride in knowing she was the worst kind, and some peace knowing Mina wasn’t around. “T-th-they–“ Deirdre watched as her hands dripped blood to the ground, pieces of her robe hanging loose around her. For a moment, she lifted her head up and let free a small shriek, just enough to send the heron tumbling to the ground. The rest, she wasn’t sure she could manage between the spasms of disorienting pain. “Y-you–“ Her footing slipped and she bumped into Morgan’s side. “They eat–they–” An explanation refused to find a home on Deirdre’s trembling voice. Her mother had trained her to withstand the sting of iron, but not so much at once, not in so many places, not while she was happy. “M-Morgan,” she pleaded, though for what, she wasn’t sure. “Morgan.”

The heron righted itself, angrier and hungrier than it had even been. Deirdre was panting at Morgan’s side, head lowered. If only she could have a second, if only she could have a moment. The cuts on Morgan, marked by where they tore into her sweater, were healed already. Deirdre smiled warmly at them. “Don’t...let it get your head…” She glanced at the heron; at best, the fall had injured its wing, at worst, it’d only served to make it more determined. She didn’t have the time to figure out what both of those things might mean.

“Deirdre!” Morgan caught her banshee in her arms, gaping at the blood and burns that streaked down her body. “I’ve got you. But, what do we do? How do we distract it or stop it or--fuck!” Her words curled off in a shriek as the heron dove for its prey again. Morgan threw them to the ground, covering Deirdre’s body and curling around her, but that didn’t stop the bird from releasing another rain of feathers and snapping at Morgan’s back in frustration.  “Me! What about you? I’m just in the way, it doesn’t want--!” This time when the bird dove, it pulled at her hair, trying to pry her off Deirdre. Morgan gasped, trying to keep still, but it was trying again, pulling and pecking at her scalp and neck. Her head snapped up and for one awful, dizzying second she could see the bird’s talons, the iron glinting in the feathers, the single-minded determination in its dark eyes.

Morgan panicked, this time into action. She shoved Deirdre the last few feet across the lawn and into the pool. Then she flattened herself on the ground and covered her head, praying she’d find a way to dive in too before she was bashed into fertilizer.

The burning ceased, by miracle, it seemed. Her body was submerged in cold where it belonged. Deirdre opened her mouth to share the good news with her girlfriend, but the burning shifted suddenly to her lungs. Where there should have been air, there was water. She floundered, panicked, trapped in memories of her mother’s hand on the back of her neck. She kicked up and gasped when she reached the surface. Deirdre shook her head, wiping water away from her face. “Morgan!” She called out, surveying the scene. “Morg–“ Deirdre laid her hands on the pool’s edge, determined to climb out and help, but wherever she found hold, her grip quickly slipped. There was something to be said about water in freezing temperatures. “Morgan!” She tried again, slashing her hand on the cement. “My love–“ The bird turned to her, another volley of feathers for her pleasure alone. Deirdre sucked in breath and dove down, watching feathers cut harmlessly through the water. When she re-emerged, a plan became far more clear to her. “Morgan! Morgan, I can scream! I just need–“ She dove again, kicking back to the surface. “I just need it to not be–I can’t aim like this! Morgan–“ She dove again, this time swimming around in quick laps. It occurred to her then that heron weren’t birds that were shy of water, in fact, they excelled in it. What seemed like a good plan, might have served to make her a much more delightful target. Deirdre refused fear. Morgan was more than capable. Morgan would figure it out. The heron wouldn’t be a match for a woman that had come back from death.

Morgan would have rather the bird peck her down to stumps than sting Deirdre with another feather. That wasn’t good, or helpful, but in the awful silence when the heron stopped pecking and snapping at her body and swooped over the water for Deirdre, it was the only thing she knew. Not her. Anything but her.

“No!” She croaked, scrambling forwards to the pool. She tried to get her love’s hands, to make out the words and process anything but the one useless thought circling her head. Not her, anything but her, anything but her…

Scream. Right. She just needed to buy Deirdre time without being in brain liquifying distance. Morgan searched the ground nearby. Not much, but she hadn’t known that today would entail fighting for their lives. The heron swooped down to the water again, its beak skating the surface, searching for the right place to take aim.

“Hey!” Morgan shouted. The heron took no notice. She scrambled to the other side of the pool and lifted one of the rocks they’d put in to make the pool feel like more of a lake for Mina. She hefted it in her arms and threw it as hard as she could at the bird. The heron squaked and flapped into the air, dodging the blow. Now recognizing a persistent obstacle, it narrowed its eyes and shot out for her. But Morgan had already reached for her second weapon, her croquet mallet, and when the heron was close enough, she swung.

There was no mistaking the thunk of wood against bird-flesh, but the bird didn’t act phased. Instead it turned, plumes flared furious, and went again. Morgan swung and gasped as the bronze beak burned across her vision as it splintered the mallet in its grip. “Shit.” The heron flew back, circled, and there was nothing else at hand. She ran feet first into the pool and let herself sink as it came for her. They had seconds, at most, before it would start fishing the water for them. Morgan would think of something clever, a way to stay just out of reach of the sound, a way to put her panicked thoughts to good use. Sooner or later it would come to her. It had to.

As far as screaming went, it was a hard thing to do when flailing in the water. Deirdre laughed when she thought of how her mother hadn’t prepared her for this circumstance; the woman seemed to have thought of everything and yet, she’d never once been stoned by a mob of humans but she was in a pool trying to scream. When her wounds had become a manageable burn, she swung her arms over the pool’s edge, trying to get her angle. The heron flew wildly as it tried to fight Morgan, and as skilled as Deirdre knew she was, she couldn't manage a clean shot. There was the delay to account for, for one thing, and the worry of Morgan, for another. When she thought she had it, Morgan was running towards the pool, and before Deirdre could ask, she was jumping in. “Nice hit with the mallet,” she smiled, water splashing into her face. “Very good form. Have you done this before?” Concern did not exist in Deirdre’s features; a by-product of personality or upbringing or desire to soothe Morgan, perhaps. All that mattered to Deirdre now was the presence of her love beside her, and that the heron was over there. Deirdre swam up to Morgan, grinning even as the heron pecked at the edge of the water. “Do you come here often or…?”

The heron squawked, a deep gurgle of a sound; large wings spread wide and angry. It squawked again, pecking viciously where Morgan and Deirdre were just out of a beak’s range. And perhaps it was the fae in her, all along, that gave her such delight to see the creature struggle where she knew its life was over. And to prolong its death was just a treat, for her. It lifted one long, thin and spindly webbed foot into the air, squawked one last time, and released a final assault of feathers. Deirdre dove in time, pulling Morgan down with her, and in the blue water tainted by plumes of her red blood, surrounded by iron feathers leaving bubbles in their trails, she mouthed ‘you did good’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘I love you’ and then she winked. Deirdre kicked up and screamed, finally, watching the heron fall over like a lawn ornament in the wind, as though it had never been yelling and fighting. As though it had never lived at all, and certainly not as though it had once tried to kill them. The creature lay unconscious, not dead, and perhaps it was the fae in her that delighted in the promise of something more to be done.

Or, perhaps rather, despite her grinning and winking, her body burned even in the cool water, and rejected being pushed to scream any harder. Or, in spite of her calm appearance, her heart thrummed loud against her chest, and her mind swirled with terror for what screaming in water did to a zombie’s brain. The creature lay unconscious, not dead, because Deirdre feared to do more. She turned to Morgan, weathered and body-heavy; in truth, she might’ve liked to just sleep and let the pool carry her like a leaf in a river to a place that didn’t know the cycles of predator and prey. Perhaps it was the woman in her, the person, that closed her eyes and imagined just that.

Morgan could only stare wildly at her girlfriend as she mouthed her affection, grinning with wicked delight as only she could. Morgan couldn’t remember being more in awe of her, or more frightened of the loss of her. The only words in her head were no, be careful, and don’t go. What if the bird was faster? What if it took her neck in its beak? What if--but Morgan knew better than to say these things, or to imagine anything at all. She clung to the lilly reeds to keep herself down to keep herself from pulling Deirdre back and waited.

She didn’t have to wait for long.

The sound shook the water and struck through the depths, keening in fury, in pride. Distorted as it was by the water, the scream still shook something inside Morgan. When it was done, she rose slowly, half dazed, half frightened. “Deirdre?” She called. Her love was floating off into the cattails. The heron was on the ground, suspiciously in one piece.

“Hey--” She swam with her into the shallows and cupped her cheek. “Are you okay? Did it get you again?” She couldn’t tell one set of burns apart from another, and there were so many all over her. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come up with anything better. I kind of panicked. But we can get you dried off and inside, and I’ll get the burn salve and take care of everything…”

Later, when the memory of this day broke past her defenses and replayed itself in her mind, Morgan would not be able to tell if she trailed off because she heard the heron’s wheezing breath, or if her own innate sense of having come up short signaled that something was amiss, or if she simply ran out of things to say, and finally had enough quiet to hear. It trembled through the air, unmistakable, and Morgan stared at the bird’s chest with each shallow, rattling sound.

It was still alive.

“It’s going to wake up eventually, isn’t it?” She whispered, already knowing the answer. Of course it was. And when it did, it would release more feathers, or it would fly away to eat another fae. And what if it found Mina on campus? What if it found Jared on his farm? Morgan stared at the bird, trying to peek into another world where suffering only existed in nightmares, where life thrived in peace. Some place where no creature was put forth to be a menace, to be something that could only take or be taken. But if that place existed, she could not see it; it was not here. And what kind of an idiot was she to think otherwise? Who knew better about the turn of the wheel of life than a cursed witch? Who knew more about the grip of death than a zombie?

“You should get out of the pool before any of the feathers touch you,” she said, climbing up the steps.

She crossed over to the croquet set and picked up one of the mallets from the stand and dragged it over to the heron’s body. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I can’t let you hurt my friends and I’m sorry.” It felt like a long time before she could summon the will to swing the mallet, but when she did, fissures lightninged up the handle and the heron’s skull cracked beneath its poisoned feathers. Morgan swung again.

It was a lake; shielded by thick forest, surrounded by ribbons of wildflowers. The stalks of cattails brushed Deirdre’s skin, balm to the burning that claimed her flesh. It must have been the countryside, the house in her head. It must have existed somewhere where the world would not touch them without permission. It was a lake, and when she opened her eyes, it was Morgan’s glistening face under the light of morning, where the fog that claimed the water had just begun to lift. There must have been a picnic set about in the grass; a book for them to come back to. And a house, cozy but not tiny; she liked to imagine it with red brick. “Did it get you again?” Deirdre blinked; nothing could get them here, didn’t Morgan know? She reached to brush wet strands of Morgan’s hair aside. That would puff out when it dried, surely. In their swampy lake, away from the world. Morgan apologized and Deirdre shook her head, smiling gently as the sun rose behind her. “You’re perfect.” It was a lake. Then it was a pool in the afternoon; their picnic was a croquet game, ruined. Their house was a clean white, and bigger than either of them knew what to do with. Her body was on fire. There was a Stymphalian bird.

Deirdre moved slowly, half in pain and half in mourning for a dream spurred by the fervor of pain. She hadn’t noticed the feathers at all until it occurred to her that the strange tickling cattails were too low to the water, and didn’t tickle so much as they burned--which only felt like tickling against the rest of the burning. Their lake--pool--was covered by an array of them, all having floated to the surface. She rose out of the water, picking a few out of her flesh; there was no imagining them as the hooked burs of her dream wildflowers now. Deirdre dripped blood and water where she moved. It was Morgan’s swinging that woke her up, just as it insured that the bird would never.

“Morgan--” Deirdre rushed to her side, hands on her shoulders; hands at her arms; hands clutching hers, mallet held still and fractured. By the time she got there, the bird was paste on the ground, like roadkill without the road. “You could have ate that.” She said, looking at it. Well, it wasn’t so soiled, maybe it was more like tenderized meat now, and Morgan did enjoy those gummy textures. “Hey,” her voice softened as she pulled the cracked mallet from Morgan’s grip. “It’s okay, my love. It’s okay. What are you thinking?”      

Morgan’s thoughts didn’t come in words, at first. Looking down at the bird, beautifully colored but lean in the chest, maybe malnourished, she could only see the unfairness. When her dad had explained that the universe wasn’t all one thing or another, it sounded like there was something soft or gentle in everything. The wasps that frightened her helped the flowers to grow, the lightning that reminded her of her mother’s yelling improved the atmosphere, the people who were cruel to her sometimes turned kind. She had put that thought away sometimes, when it made her stomach clench with guilt, but she had wanted to believe in it. But looking at this dead, beaten heron, she felt as though there were threads in the universe that were just cruel and when you tripped on them, you had no recourse but to touch some of that cruelty too.

“It only knew how to hurt people,” Morgan whispered. “Hurt fae. Even if I tied it in a sheet and dumped it at the town border, it was just going to eat another fae. And if it came back and hurt you…” She didn’t dare finish the thought and trusted her love to hold the missing piece. “I can take it to my studio to get the rest of the feathers out, so we can do something with the rest, so it doesn’t go to waste. And I’ll...c-clean the pool, before Mina gets back. I don’t want her to…” Morgan’s voice choked on the sorrow she was trying to drown with reason. “I’ve got this. I can take care of the rest.” Her throat filled with water and a sob cracked through her lips. “I just hate this world sometimes. I hate how we can’t just leave each other alone. I hate some of these choices…” She searched for Deirdre’s hand and gripped it tight. Hate them as she might, she didn’t regret any choice that protected Deirdre. She didn’t know if that was best of all or worst, but she  knew it was true.

“Oh, my love,” Deirdre held Morgan close, pulling her tight against her body. The truths of her world were known to her since birth, tales of the food chain were her mother’s idea of a bedtime story. “It’s just an animal, my love. It doesn’t know malice, or prejudice. It doesn’t hurt fae, it doesn’t know what a ‘fae’ is. There’s food and not-food and it can’t help what it was made to eat. Just as you know that it must…” Deirdre trailed off, remembering covers pulled up to her nose, questions she knew better than to voice as her mother held firm in her stories. The little bird ate the grasshopper, the snake ate the bird, an owl swooped down. Life was cyclical, and none immune to death. Deirdre shook her head, and laughed softly at herself. How many times had she heard and parroted the sentiment, how many times had she lived shackled by it? She didn’t care much for things and their places; she wanted Morgan and a lake, in the place where life could be more than its cycles. Deirdre pressed her lips to Morgan’s cheek once, then twice and a third as she held her head to her chest. “Thank you,” she said finally, “for keeping me and my people safe, even though it was hard. Thank you.”

She pressed another kiss to Morgan as she leaned down, using her blood for some good to write a message on the stone. ‘DON’T GO IN THE POOL’. Mina would recognize the bird and know better anyway, whenever she came home. Deirdre rose and kissed Morgan again, and again, trailing to her lips, where she lingered. “Just leave it now, it’s not going anywhere,” she said against them, breath tickling cold flesh. “Don’t you want to come inside with me now? Into our good world? You did what you had to, and that’s okay, come inside with me now. Rest.” She smiled, “and we can handle the rest later. Doesn’t that sound better?” Deirdre pressed closer, determined in her coaxing. “The world is unfair, isn’t it? It’s terrible and chaotic and filled with horrible, complicated choices.” She leaned in. “But it’s also the most wonderful thing, when I get to hold you. When we’re together.” She kissed her, firm and steady. “Let’s go in, my love,” Deirdre breathed, “tell me all about how much you hate the world, sometimes. How much it hurts to make the necessary choices. And love me, let me love you, and let us feel how good the world is too. How good these choices are. Come--” She pulled back, taking Morgan’s hands in hers. “We can experience the world as it is, bad and good; terrible present and hopeful future. And whatever it is you need to do, you can do later, when it all starts to feel a little easier to carry. Come inside, my love. Come with me.”

The heron’s ignorance didn’t make anything better, Morgan wanted to say. That only made the creature innocent and unteachable. It hadn’t been doing anything wrong. And how often did Morgan insist that you shouldn’t judge the way someone was made, the way they needed to survive? The heron’s mistake was flying over Morgan’s yard, in trying to devour Deirdre in front of her. If animals were worth screaming for, that moment must have sealed its fate. How could she do anything less to protect her love? How could she pass on that pain to another fae, knowing what they meant to each other, knowing the grief that would follow?

Morgan shut her eyes and squeezed out the tears that had gathered beneath her lashes. She wrapped her arms around Deirdre and pressed her face as hard as she could into her chest, not minding how it made her feet stumble on the grass and the porch steps. Like this, pressed close with her face mashed in, she could capture the softest whiff of Deirdre’s scent, sweet fruit and musky trees. Like this, the wood and tile beneath her feet transformed into the soft, giving earth of a dream, the sounds of distant cars became the song of a tide that burbled with good memories and longing wishes.

She burrowed into that place they’d first imagined in their letters between wet kisses and long silences. She had thought it abandoned, since she had almost no reason to think about it these days, but under a blanket, cradling herself against her love, she found her way to that shore as if summoned. She saw fear slip through their fingers like silt and sorrow drip away in the lake. Death had no sting and love and love alone colored their sky. Outside, in the true world, the sun sank, the snow melted, and the dead heron’s feathers flitted up and scattered like autumn leaves. But Morgan held fast to her love and stayed in their painless world as long as she could.

[myfairgunslinger]

Title: Red Dead Revenge: Kiss of Death  [Part 2]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC x John Marston

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Cursing

Summary:  After Arthur saves a woman's life he takes her back to the Vanderlinde Gang where she can get the help she needs.  Maeve recalls past events as she takes time to heal.

A/N: Hi guys! I’m back with a new chapter in this story. It took forever because I wanted it to be the best that I could make it. So hopefully it was worth the wait.  We’re gonna be looking at Maeve at a time prior to meeting Arthur, also Arthur isn’t really in this chapter...I promise to make up for that in the next chapter! Also note about John, this story is set before his scars, so there will be no mention of them.  Anyway, I hope you enjoy none the less.

 - Italics means the past

Chapter Two: I Know You

"No!  No!" Her neck sliced open to flood out with blood.  Cecilia's eyes were wide as they stared over at her daughter.  Blam! Everett's body fell to the floor as he held his stomach trying to hold in his red gore.  All she could hear was her own screaming only for it all to be silenced by the last gasps of life from her mother.

"Ahhh!" She screamed herself awake followed by a pained groan remembering the gun shot.  Maeve went to sit up noticing she was not wearing her own shirt anymore.  This one was a faded maroon color that served as an under shirt. The cut on her skin where her collar bone was had a bandage over it. She lifted the foreign shirt to see her waist and stomach were tightly wrapped in medical cloth.

"Do not ruin that wrap," a German accented voice startled Maeve. It was here she realized they were in a large tent, "Who the hell are you?" her voice was horse, layered with rudeness.  The old man had pointed at her wound, "You had a gunshot.  Lucky for you it hit nothing and went through you. It was only a matter of stitching up the hole."

Maeve stared at him saying nothing.  He called her lucky when that was the last of what she was feeling, "I believe a thank you is what you say," the old man said to her shutting his book to stand up.  Maeve still didn't say thank you, but asked again, "Who are you?" 

He scoffed out, "Americans," then left the tent.  She was confused while being alone until an older woman came in.  Her dark, graying hair was piled on top of her head in a pompadour style, "Ah, you're awake, Miss Milley.  Gave us a fright there," she placed a hand on her hip.

"I'm sorry, who are you?  Where am I? How do you even know my name?" Maeve's head had so many thoughts running through it.

"Well, you have been unconscious for about a day and a half.  Mr. Morgan brought you here after you'd been shot--."

"Who?" Maeve winced her eyes never hearing that name before. The woman let out a frustrated sigh then said out slowly, "Arthur, you owl!  Said you gave him a bath?"

Maeve's cheeked reddened, letting out an, "Oh," his name was Arthur Morgan, "Where is he?"

"He's out on business.  Anyway, he brought you to us and Mr. Strauss, the German fella stitched you up, I cleaned ya," and that explained the man earlier, "My name's Susan Grimshaw, that's Mrs. Grimshaw around camp."

Maeve went to stand up, but stumbled a bit.  Mrs. Grimshaw caught her and helped her stance, "Easy now, what's the hurry?" Maeve took her steps outside the camp, "I have to see where I am," she pushed the flap back to be met with a scorching hot sun beaming down on her.  Maeve held a hand up to block out some of the light but it was a failure due to how much it flooded over her.  

"New Austin, just outside a town called Armadillo," Mrs. Grimshaw filled her in while passing her a white over-shirt to wear.  Maeve slipped it on looking over at the older woman then around the camp site, "Who are you people?" _______________________________________________________________

"Outlaws...every single one of you?" Maeve was walking with Mrs. Grimshaw along the outskirts.  She had filled the newcomer in on who Dutch Van Der Linde was, what he and Hosea believed in and along with a majority of the camp. 

 They were different than other gangs, sure they robbed people but at least they weren't going around murdering fine folk for the hell of it.  Mrs. Grimshaw named off who ever she saw passing by in the camp.  There weren't that many people, "That Irish bug, is Sean.  Stay clear of him, he thinks he's a womanizer."

Maeve made a face that could be read as, 'Don't have to tell me twice.' Maeve saw a small boy, toddler age, running by, "Children are here too?"

"Child, that's little Jack.  He stays with his mother, Abigail.  We all watch after him," Maeve was about to ask where his father was, but as her eyes followed the boy she saw him go embrace a woman.  The sight alone caused Maeve's eyes to well up and her throat swell.  Mrs. Grimshaw saw, "Miss Milley?" She couldn't take it or hold it in, Maeve walked off, out of the camp as her tears fell down her face.  She was so curious and wondering where she was that it distracted Maeve enough to forget why she was here in the first place.

She collapsed into the dirt, sobbing out from all her heart ache.  Maeve's hands gripped the hot sand between her fingers, screaming out from either the heat or grief, it didn't matter.  Mrs. Grimshaw came over to her, "Get out of the dirt or you'll reopen your stitches!"  Maeve was still crying, hunched over.  She didn't care.

"Maeve!  Maeve please," she tried again, "You gotta get up!"  Maeve's hand came up to cover her face, "They're gone..." she whined out, "Ma, Pa....gone!" The older woman placed a hand on the woman's back, "That may be, Miss Milley, that may be.  But you are still here.  And you need to get yourself out of the dirt." Maeve sniffled, tears dropping on the earth.

After a moment Maeve started to stand up with the aid of Mrs. Grimshaw, "There you go, let's get you back in the tent to get you cleaned up."  As the older lady started to lead her back, only Maeve had noticed that there were people staring over in her direction.  Her eyes glanced over the faces of these unfamiliar people until they met with a pair of dark eyes belonging to a man with long, stringy hair.  That wasn't a stranger. 'I Know You'

Mrs. Grimshaw had cleaned off Maeve as she sat there, telling the woman what happened to her family, "That's a nasty thing and you have my deepest of sympathies, Miss Milley," she threw the rag over her shoulder then said in a soft manner, "It's not easy dealing with loss, and it sure as hell never should be when it comes to loved ones.  But trust me when I say, your parents wouldn't want you to be like this.  They would want you to be strong.  And surviving all of that, a gunshot wound...well I think you might just be a fighter Miss Milley."

Maeve watched the woman leave the tent, thinking on what she had to say.  What a strange place she was in.  The flap was left open and she could see the only familiar face, peaking in but trying not to seem so obvious.  John Marston. _______________________________________________________________ Maeve pulled at the collar of her blue, frilled shirt trying to get air to vent through the silk.  She felt so confined in the outfit her mother put together for Blackwater's Tenth Annual Bird Shooting Contest.  It was the one day that a lot of the residents, including Maeve, looked forward to since the town was still growing.  The Winner gets one hundred dollars and a new bolt action rifle.

"Mama, do I really have to wear all this?" the young lady was fidgeting with her yellow skirt.  Her mother was standing to the side of her daughter and smacked her hand away, "Yes, yes you do.  I call it 'the Kimberly'.  Do you like it?"

"Who the hell is Kimberly?" Maeve kept looking over to outfit through the mirror, trying to breath through the corset that was rather tight, "It's too hot...not to mention hard to breath.  I might miss my shots."

Cecilia was picking dust off the shirt that had landed on Maeve between her putting on the new clothes and now modeling in front of the looking glass, "My daughter? Miss?" Cecilia let out an amused chuckle while taking out a riverboat hat to place on Maeve's head, "You've won the last four years--"

"Five, Mama," the daughter corrected while adjusting the hat, "Five.  Anyway, when all the fine citizens of Blackwater see who the winner is, I want them to see she dresses her best," Cecilia stared at her, holding such pride.

Maeve made a lop-sided smile at her, "And then come find you for pretty outfits for themselves," she said watching her mother open up a bottle of fine brandy.  Cecilia rises the bottle up for a moment, "What good is havin' a beautiful daughter if I can't use her for advertisement?" the woman took a swig from the bottle.  She escorted Maeve to the door who had a cheeky reply to that, "Next ya know, daddy is gonna have me ride horses around town... Oh wait!"

Cecilia rolled her eyes, "Go get shootin', smart mouth.  And don't get that outfit dirty!" she hollered.

"See you down there," Maeve started to walk down to where the contest was being held, rifle over her shoulder by the strap.  She waved at some of the people there, residents Maeve's grown to know, especially from the previous years of her attending the contest. Some of the men would grumble under their breath upon seeing the girl, the one that was a spectacular shot and taking the win year after year.

Maeve took out a cigarette, lighting it up then inhaling a drag while standing alone on the outskirts of the group of people. She recognized most of these people, all except one man.  Her eyes were drawn to this stranger, he had a dangerous look to his eye but it just intrigued her all the more.

He stared back at her, wondering what exactly was it that had this girl's eyes on him.  The man sauntered over towards her, eyeing the rifle on her shoulder, "Also 'ere for the contest?  Gotta say Miss, that corset won't make things easy."

"You must have a talent in observing the obvious, Mister..." Maeve tilted her head to him.  He caught on to what she wanted, "Sorry Miss, hadn't thought to introduce myself.  John Marston," he offered his hand to her.

Giving him a gentle smile, she took his hand to shake it, "Maeve Milley, Miss Milley if you're feelin' fancy," Maeve then raised her shoulders up, "Although I think you might be callin' me a 'son of a bitch' after today when I win.  I know the others do."

Her mouthy answer startled a chuckle from him, she may have looked like little lady, but she had a roughness to her that he liked, "Nah wouldn't dream of it.  Ain't that much of a sore loser."

Maeve smiled at him, wincing her eyes as the sun shined down on them, cigarette between her two fingers.  Her posture was that of confidence, willing to take on anything.  She was on top of her world, "Seein' as you're new to these parts; welcome Mister Marston." She brought the cigarette to her mouth to take a couple puffs before tossing it on the ground to step on it, "So you in town just for the contest?"

"Looks that way unless there's any other reason to stick around," his eyes stayed on her face, "Anything of note that would make passin' through worth wild?"  Maeve moved to where they could face Blackwater and she pointed at some of the buildings, "Still a growin' town and in a few days they'll be another contest of sorts but I find them boring.  No gun, no fun," she shrugged.

"I'll have to remember that saying," he half grinned at her, "What else?" John took out a cigarette of his own to light. Maeve raised her arm up to point down the main street, "Town Hall is up if you're the political type.  A ferry is up 'n' runnin' that takes you all the way across Flat Iron Lake. Never been on it though." Her father had requested she never venture off too far from home or town for that matter. Her finger pointed to her work, "Then for a decent stay there's always the saloon. Decent is the key word to describe that place.  Decent rooms, decent baths, and not very decent breakfast," her voice joked.  John chuckled at her review, "Doesn't sound too bad."

There was a trumpet that notified all of the crowd that it was time to start the contest. Maeve turned her head to look over then back to John, "Well, nice meetin' you, Mister Marston.  May the best shooter win," she gave a gentle wave to him.

"Yeah, good luck," he watched her go off to find a decent spot.  Everyone lines up, firing off their rifles as soon as birds were released to fly out. Some of the contestants got at least one or two shots in.  But all of the contestants paled in comparison to Maeve's score, all except the stranger John Marston.  "Not bad!" Maeve would comment on his shots, "Not too bad yourself," he would say back.

By the third round the score had tied  twelve to twelve, Maeve was reloading her gun while John was looking over at her, "Tell you what, you win this and I'll buy you a drink, if I win you buy me a drink?"

"Hmm tempting, but you don't need to win a contest to get my company," Maeve suggested as John smirked, "Okay what did you have in mind?"

"Blackwater Saloon at six o'clock.  Win or lose," she cocked the gun, "What do ya say?"

John nodded, "Win or Lose? I say that sounds perfect."

"Okay, just be ready to lose," Maeve grinned getting ready to fire her gun.  The final birds were released and the two shooters started to unload their rifles into the air.  The winged creatures fell to the earth along with their feathers.  Just as John had five more birds to his name, Maeve would get six, capping off the final score of eighteen, making her the winner once more.

"Our winner, for the sixth time in a row, Miss Maeve Milley!" the announcer belted out then gave Maeve a blue ribbon with the money and rifle.  She had taken a picture, smiling brightly as the flash bulb went off.  Maeve saw her parents cheering and yelling out which made her blush.  Her eyes then looked over to see John, clapping for her too while some of the others were grumbling to themselves.

Maeve went over to John as he said, "Well, I'll never bet against a lady in a corset again.  Especially one that even told me I was gonna lose."

"I'm usually right, Mister.  It's a gift and curse," she gave him the money. He looked down confused, "What's this?"

"You shot just as good as me, and trust me when I say I have not had any competition like you in years.  Maybe when I was bad at shootin', but now? Not one man comes close," she explained, "And if my feeling about you is right, then you need the money more."

"What's your feelin'?" he asked, curious to know her theory.

"Passin' through, so you're a little lost...don't know where to go."

He stared at her, "GO on."  Maeve shrugged, "You're a wanderer.  Nothing wrong with that in the slightest, just need a break now and again."

John still had the money, "I still can't accept this.  You won it fair 'n' square." Maeve shrugged, not taking it back, "And I can do with it as I want.  And I want to give it to a man that needs it. Winning the contest, it never was about the money," Maeve said to him, "I just like rubbin' this pretty ribbon in a man's face, that and the rifle.  Fine gun this is," she said admiring the one on her shoulder. 

John barked out a laugh, then put the money in his pocket, "All I can offer is my thanks then, Miss Milley."

"Thank you..." she then glanced back at her parents who wanted to talk to their daughter.  "I gotta get, but I'll see you tonight?"

"You sure will," John took out a cigarette from his pocket, "Six o'clock." Maeve stepped back, with a grin, "Six o'clock.

______________________________________________________________

Maeve had spent most of her time in the tent, laying down on the cot rethinking the stormy night.  She wasn't frightened so much, just becoming angry at the events, at herself for not doing more.  It just kept eating at her, all the while she wondered when Arthur was coming back from his 'business'.  The last thing Maeve remembers is Arthur trying to help her while she rejected him, yelling in his face hysterically.  She had to apologize for not being in the right state of mind.

She got up to go check outside, to see if he had come back yet.  The girl had to talk to someone about what she was going through.  Maeve's eyes observed the camp before landing on John who was looking at her.  Him.  He knew who she was, or close enough.  Why hasn't he said anything to her yet? It was time to settle this, Maeve started to walk over to John wanting some answers to how he's here. He was an outlaw that ran with this gang, it had her wondering how long he’s been on the run. When she really thought about it, Maeve didn’t know much about John at all.

When she was close enough, Maeve cleared her throat to get his attention. John had turned his head up to her, "Yeah?"  Her heart started to skip a beat when he spoke, "Um...hi.  It's been a while."  He said nothing, making the silence unbearable enough for Maeve to keep going, "I know things didn't exactly end well for us...I said some things, you left," her voice was descending it's volume as it recalled old times, "I just wanted to say things have been looking down for me right now, but I am glad to see a face that I recognize." 

Maeve's brown orbs stared at him, begging for him to talk to her. Or acknowledge he was here with her instead the crippling isolation that was overwhelming her. No, he didn’t do any of that.  Instead John still was silent as he reached for his gun holster to put on around his waist.

Waiting impatiently, Maeve broke out saying, "Can you please say something to me? I’m wanna talk and frankly all I feel is crazy."

Taking in a deep breath, the man glanced at her face with his dark eyes, "Afraid you are."

Maeve's breath was still.  He just told her she was crazy? "What?"

John shrugged his shoulder, "Never met you before in my life," he then started to walk off back towards the stew pot to get a bowl.  Maeve stood there with watery eyes hoping she could have at least had someone to talk to, someone that knew her before the great loss Maeve suffered.  He just brushed her off. Maeve felt her heart sink.

______________________________________________________________

Maeve came in to the saloon with a blue ribbon pinned to her frilled shirt.  She was still wearing the outfit her mother dressed her in.  Cecilia got a lot of orders  for ‘the Kimberly’ after the contest that she had to go to the shop with some customers. Mrs. McCourt only wanted the best for her own daughter.  Everett wanted to keep his wife company so he went with her to the tailor's.  Maeve approached the bar, Lou noticing the ribbon said, "Again?  Ya won again? I'm not surprised," he gave her a glass of fine brandy.  She downed it then set the glass on the counter, "You betcha!  Not without a challenger this year.  Meetin' him in a bit."

"You mean tall, dark and standin' in the corner?" Lou pointed with his thumb.  Maeve saw John with his hat tipped down over his eyes and she said to Lou, "That's him!  How do I look?"

"Ridiculous."

"As opposed to always!" Maeve twisted the corner of her lips down. Lou shrugged, "Ehhh," the girl took off her riverboat hat, "Hide that for me.  Also two whiskeys," then made her way over to John.  He looked up at her and smirked, "Howdy, winner."

"Howdy...number two...That doesn't sound great either," They chuckled as Maeve gave him his whiskey, "Cheers," he said when they drank.  Using the same hand that was holding the small glass, John wiped the side of his lip.

"So, Mister Marston, since you are a wanderer, where you from originally?" Maeve asked him rolling her glass between her fingers.

"Oh you know, here and there."

She tilted her head, "Here and There?  Never heard of it. Tell me more," her voice was sarcastic. John couldn't helped but be humored by her wit, "You're sharp."

"And you're an enigma.  I think I like that," she went to lean against the wall.  John got closer to her placing a hand by her head to lean on, "Really now?  Not many people would."

"Only cause every other folk 'round these parts is borin' as all hell.  'Cept Lou," her voice raised a bit so the bartender can hear.  He raised up the glass he was cleaning to acknowledge her.

John made a subtle frown, but kept meeting her stare, "You don't like a quite, borin' life?"

"You do?" Maeve countered. John made a face that read as not minding the idea, then nodded, "I could use one." The girl smiled with amusement then pushed herself off the wall, "Have mine then." John reached out to grab her wrist to stop her from going too far.  He was gentle though as he said, "You got a good thing, Miss Milley.  I wish I had it."

"What's yours like?" she asked noticing that John was still holding on to her.  He shook his head, "You wouldn't like it."

"You better not be some rancher's son that I've never met before.  I will shoot you," he grinned at that, thinking of how pretty she was when saying it. He leaned in to peck her lips and to Maeve's surprise had her eyes open.  As he pulled away, John gazed, hoping Maeve wouldn't slap him.  

She was looking down at her boots, her cheeks reddening at his eyes, "You definitely like to live dangerously," Maeve tried to not look at him again while biting her bottom lip, "Look it's not that I don't like you...I do.  But you did say you were passin' through."

John leaned in a bit, "I haven't passed yet, have I?"

Maeve rolled her brown orbs, "But you will.  That's my point," John loosened his hand so she can have her arm back, then Maeve started to walk away, "Have safe travels, Mister Marston.  It was a pleasure meetin' you."

John watched her leave the saloon then went over to lean on the bar.  Just as Lou came over to give him another whiskey, the bartender said, "She works here, ya know."

"Why you tellin' me?"

"Oh no reason.  She's pretty, ain't she?" John stared at the man listening to what he was saying.  Lou glanced at John, "You look like you can use a bath too."

"Excuse me?" 

"Get one in the mornin', will ya?" he nodded his head towards the direction Maeve walked off.  John then understood what he was trying to tell him.

______________________________________________________________

Mrs. Grimshaw had given Maeve a bed roll, "You can sleep next to all the other ladies we have here.  Should be some space by Miss Jackson and Miss Jones."  Maeve unrolled it on the ground then went to lay down on it. It was not very comfortable down there, rather lumpy beneath the fabric.  The sun was starting to go down when she saw a couple men ride in, one of them covered in mud, and Maeve looked over to see if one of them was Arthur.  Neither were, "When is Arthur coming back?" she asked the woman.

"Hm? Oh he usually runs off and does his own thing sometimes.  Don't worry, he always comes back.  Excuse me.  Mister Williamson?  Why are you covered up in filth like a pig?" Mrs. Grimshaw then stormed off to go talk to Mr. Williamson. Maeve watched the interaction, Mrs. Grimshaw was that maternal figure in the camp that had an order to things. With a smack of her hand upside the larger man's head he went over to wash up in the barrel of water.  Susan rolled her eyes and shouted, "Don't ever come in to my camp like that again or I'll have you thrown into the closest river or lake!" This was a woman that ruled her world.  Maeve admired that. 

"She's a pleasure, ain't she?" a blonde, busty woman said while smoking a cigarette.  Maeve nodded, "Been helpin' me get settled, so yes.  I'd say so." The woman chuckled softly as if she knew what was to come. She flicked ash off her burning ember, "Just wait.  She'll get real lovely in a matter of days.  Name's Karen Jones."

Another woman that had been quiet while folding some clothes raised her hand, "Tilly Jackson," Maeve glanced at them both, "Maeve Milley." "You're that girl Arthur rescued.  Gotta say, that's something. Gettin' shot I mean,  Never been," Karen said, "Was it a robber?"

Maeve placed a hand over her bandaged wound.  She did not wanna start crying again, so she kept her answers short, "Yeah..." Karen took a final drag of her cigarette, noticing her expression.  She stole a glance from Tilly who was still folding her laundry, Tilly's eyebrows rose up, as a warning for Karen to tread carefully.

"The bullet went through you, so that makes you lucky," Karen said just as Maeve got up feeling overwhelmed.  There was that word again, the one that was supposed to make her feel better but did no such thing, "I'm not lucky.  Stop callin' me lucky because I certainly don't feel lucky!" Maeve shouted then had stormed off to get out of there.  Karen threw her hands up to Tilly in a frustrated manner, "What's her deal?" "She watched her parents die in front of her," Tilly hissed out in a whisper. Karen whispered back, "No one told me!  How was I supposed to know?"

Maeve was walking towards the edge of camp where the horses were kept, looking over them all she saw Liability among them eating some hay. Maeve went up to old bay mare to pet her white mane, "Hey girl...you seem to be gettin' along with these guys."  The horse exhaled loudly then pressed her nose to the girl's hand. "I know...it's just us now," Maeve spoke softly before reaching into her saddle bag to take out a brush.  Her horse should have been much dirtier than it was, being out here in the desert could make anyone dusty, "Who's been takin' care of you, girl?" Maeve asked as if she was gonna get an answer.

"Me," Maeve turned around to see John standing there with a bundle of hay.  He tossed it down and stepped closer to Maeve while she continued to groom the mare, "That's funny...Liability doesn't really let strangers near her."

"I'm-."

"You're what?  A stranger?" Maeve lashed out in questions, "Do I know you?  Can't recall your name, Mister," her eyes were burning a hole into him.  John's gaze at her was not amused, but he said, "You done?  I was hoping we could have a word."

"Why?  What was wrong with earlier that you had to call me crazy?" Maeve stopped brushing Liability, "What your friends here wouldn't think highly of me?  Make fun of you for talking to me?  Was I such a bad person to you that you have to lie about knowin' me?"

"No--It's--," he took a breath to step closer, "Look...I wasn't the most open when we were--"

"You sure as hell weren't.  Made me pry for any information on you," Maeve interrupted.  John glanced over to look to the camp, "I didn't tell you somethings because I just...at the time I was lookin' for a new start and I met you--."

Maeve watched John find difficulty in forming his sentence, but he was taking so long, "What are you tryin' to tell me, John?  What didn't I know when we were--."

"I'm married...unofficially?"  Maeve's mouth dropped as he continued, "And I have a kid, I think?"  Maeve shook her head in confusion, "Are you married or not? Do you have a kid or not?  It's not that hard to know!" As she was shouting, John tried to quiet her by placing his hands on her shoulder, "It's... complicated."

She winced her eyes at him, "It's always complicated with you.  Jesus, you were runnin' away from them then weren't you?" John sighed out, "It's a long story if you wanna hear."

"I don't!" Maeve hitched Liability to a stable post, "I'd rather throw myself off a cliff instead of listenin’ to you try and explain all your shitty lies, John!"

"Not tellin' isn't lying!" John defended.

"It ain't any better, neither!  Christ John!  The entire time you were with me, you had a wife and kid at-- out here?"  She stared at him expecting him to try and defend that, only he didn't.  John simply said, "Yes."

"You're horrible."

John gave a single nod, "I know...I wasn't expecting to ever see you again," he admitted to her.  Maeve scoffed out, "Excuse me for being a giant inconvenience for you and your marriage or whatever you have."

"Maeve, please...just," his hand was on her wrist, not in a rough way, "I need you to understand that what I had with you...It was-- I shouldn't have used you like that when you were nice to me," Maeve watched him closely, wondering what all of their time was. He then said, "I need you to not tell anyone about me and you...at least until I've told my-- until I've told Abigail."

"You want me to lie for you now?" Maeve said to him.  John nodded, "I know it's askin' a lot, but please."

She glared at him with those big brown eyes, "Not like it will be hard...I never knew you at all," Maeve pulled away from him, "Mae..." he said with a breath.  The girl shook her head, "You wanna be strangers?  Fine...let's be strangers.  Just stay the hell away from me."

Maeve walked back to camp as John watched her.  It was better for her if they lied like this.  It was better that John let her go.  Still, it hurt him having to do this due to the fact he was still fond of her. _____________________________________________________________

She threw her hair in a bun while walking into the saloon, "Mornin' Lou," she greeted the bartender as he was moving stools around, "Mornin' Miss Milley.  Got someone waitin' on ya."

Maeve’s face made a pouted expression, "I just walked in!" she complained.  Lou smirking, shook his head, "And he just paid!  So get your pompous arse up there and scrub him clean!"  Maeve tossed her coat over the bar and stomped upstairs.  When getting to the door, Maeve knocked, "Need some help in there?"

"Yeah," Maeve rolled her eyes not paying attention to the voice then opened the door.  She was expecting to see a naked man in the tub but instead, Maeve saw a fully clothed one standing by the porcelain, "John?"

"Howdy," he greeted taking off his gloves.  Maeve shut the door behind her and was rather surprised he was still around, "Thought you were passin' through?" her head tilted to the side as she sauntered forward.  John gave her a small shrug, "I did mention I would stay if there's any reason to stick around."

The corners of her mouth raised a bit just as she was arms length away, "Am I a reason?" John took off his hat and nodded, "You are. Do you wanna be?" he moved closer being inches from her now.  Maeve bit the side of her bottom lip before standing on her toes to kiss John.  His arms wrapped around her waist to hold her up as they deepened the passionate kiss.  Maeve's hands were on the side of his face as he stopped kissing for a moment, "That a yes?"

Maeve laughed out in glee, "You're horrible!"

"I know," John, smiling brightly, pressed his lips to hers again.

[hellishmess]

5: Dragons and Death

  [June 20, 2017]

The air was thick with death. The ground burned with magic, stained with blood, and littered with bodies. Some of them burned with hell fire, illuminating the clearing like lanterns.

    The fight wasn't over though, something still hung around us. "Maeve." I said lowly, standing with my back to hers. Apprehension deepened my voice. “I don't like this..."

   The snapping of branches replied for her. I caught the sight of a figure just out of the clearing. It was tall, almost the height of the trees. However the firelight was enough to illuminate the small army moving towards us.

    "You've got to be kidding me." Maeve raised her hands, summoning more of her soldiers. They came to her, standing behind us in a mass of 3.

   I rolled my shoulders, feeling the ache of that first fight. Four huge berserkers carrying fae made battle axes stepped into the clearing, staring dead at us and our small army. "I still don't like these odds. We should leave."

   "We can't," Maeve growled. "We leave and the Elites* win Takoi*"

   I cast her a glance, "We don't and we might not win."

   She smirked as berserker took a step forward, starting the second fight. "Too late now." Maeve raises her hand and sends a long spike of bone cutting shadows* towards the first berserker, cutting him down to his knees.

    The other three ran towards us. Maeve summoned her own sword. I watched them come closer, trampling the dead. "This is when a gun would have come in handy."

   Maeve laughed and got ready, "Don't get lazy on me."

   My only reply was movement. Nine feet tall and probably 500 pounds heavy, I danced around a berserker, making small incisions along his legs all the while dodging head splitting blows.

   Metal screeched when our weapons clashes and I jumped back, scared my sword would break.

  The Berserker got angry when I gave his ass another crack, blood coated his whole bottom half but he still wasn't tiring.

  He drew back and slammed the ax down towards me. I stepped out of the way and swept  his wrists with my blade, cutting to the bone.

He took a knee, yelling in shock, and staring down at his wound dumbly. I took the time to step behind him and slit his throat.

  It was over in a matter of minuets. I straightened up just in time to see the next wave and then the next and then the next.

  A mass of creatures came for us. I blocked a wendigo just before it's claws emptied my stomach. It swiped and snapped at me, driving me back.

  I screamed when I felt jaws clamp down onto my shoulder, a three-clawed hand wrapped around my wrist.

   I stomped hard and threw my weight. With my free hand I drew the knife I kept on my thigh. I felt a relief when the creature squealed and let me go. The doveck* was in a confused tizzy, the pain from the blade mind breaking.

   I cut down the doveck after the wendigo.

   I was growing tired, but I saw the throng of monsters were surrounding Maeve and her creatures.

    God. Help us.

    I threw myself into the throng. Doveck after doveck, monster after monster, I fought.

     I was so drained, teleportation was almost a wish. I weakened as many as I could before killing them.

    A droveck swung at me and hit his buddy, entering him into the fight. I dodged a blow to my throat but caught one to the side.

   A boom shook the earth. "Maeve!" I yelled.

   "Aspen!"

   I looked towards her voice and there was still a group of monsters between us.

   I dismembered a droveck and managed a lucky slice to the second ones abdomen, taking it out of the fight.

  The deafening sound of trees crashing came from where the wave of creatures entered the clearing. A huge oak flew across the field, crashing and splintering at the other end.

  I couldn't believe what I saw. A dragon. The Elites managed to get a fucking dragon.

    A wending raced for me but I was already running. Dodging claws and fangs, I killed and maneuvered my way to Maeve's side. She looked frantic.

    She was down to 1 shadow creature and as many as 40 monsters faced us. None of them mattered anymore.

  "A dragon. A mother fucking dragon!" I screamed. My body was burning from fatigue and while mentally I was clear, my mind could barely work my power. I was exhausted and one look at Maeve told me she was too.

  "I know!" She yelled back. I could hear the panic in her voice.

   "What!—" I was cut off, having to block and swing at another droveck.

   I screamed a new scream. Filled with renewed pain, it ripped my voice from me and threw it out to the sky. The dragon opened its jaws and unleashed fire down at me.

I collapsed. The fire scorched my skin.

  Distantly I heard another scream. I couldn't make anything out anymore. Pain was the last thing I knew.

.

.

.

  I was dead. The thought filtered through the darkness. No that can’t be right.

  The presence of my body was gone. Replaced by another presence. The atmosphere around me curled around my consciousness, brushing against me like soft velvet.

   Is this death?

   It doesn't feel like death. I calm my mind, pushing the worry out of my head. I come to a realization. This feels like magic. Pure and gentle, raw energy.

    A foreign sense of calm protectiveness fills me.

    I blink— or do I?

    The darkness nudges the edges of my mind, soothing the rising confusion and panic. My mind stilled and light filtered in.

Only it wasn’t sunlight. It moved and shaded itself into pictures. Then those pictures started moving.

I remember the scene.

It was my first encounter with Maeve.

I watched myself kick Maeve’s ass. Her shadows fought...

Her shadows. Recognition flooded. The darkness, the energy. It’s Maeve’s magic.

Consciousness slammed into me, forcing me into a sitting position, vertigo tilted the room around me. I heard a chair scratch the floor as someone else startled and turned to look at them.

    I blinked. "Maeve."

     She stared back at me wide eyed. "Aspen!" She exclaimed, engulfing me in a tight hug.

    "How the fuck am I alive?" I remembered the  fire and the pain. There was no way I should be alive.

   Maeve wouldn't meet my eyes as she answered, "My magic kept you here. I saw you burn by the dragon and grabbed you and got us out of there." I didn't respond so she continued, "Shay came and healed your wounds."

    My eyes bore into the wall as I soaked in the information.

    A moment passed of silence. Slowly I became aware of Maeve. She still had her head bowed, her chest was barely rising as she sipped the air around her. She was probably thinking I'm hating her right now.

    I grabbed her hand, causing her eyes to meet mine. I hesitated, not out of doubt but out of a loss of thought. Maeve's eyes were intense and beautiful. I sucked in a breath and forced out the words I knew I needed to tell her. "I don't blame you. And I'm not angry with you."

    I could see the relief flood her body. She relaxed into me, pushing us both back on the bed.

    I almost expected to feel sore or some sense of fatigue, but vampire blood was all healing and all I felt was hungry.

   "Alright. You almost killed me. I think you owe me a nice breakfast."

   She looked at me with a smile. "You name it hun."

———————————————————————

Elites- A Void association that basically encompasses the most powerful void Otherwolders (otherworlders are citizens of the Otherworld). They’re rising to control the world.

Takoi- a Otherworld only village. There are only a few which is why having control over one is super significant.

Shadows- this is Maeve’s power. She can control darkness and control whether it’s tangible or not. She can also summon shadow creatures which do as she wishes. Her power is ancient and goes back to the root of the world and it’s creation. It’s as alive as anything else.

droveck- some lizard creature I dreamed up.

Lol I just felt like I should clarify. Anything else that sounds magical can be explained later or with a quite google.