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say-hwaet · 2 months ago

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If I Had to Do it All Again

Chapter One: Find Your Place Previous: Prologue Next Chapter: II Summary: You try to adjust to your new life with Arthur's gang, and learn some information about his past. Meanwhile, Arthur opens up to the only one who will really listen. Word Count: ~7,300 Warnings: Mature Themes, sexual harassment, language

The steam envelops your face as you pour the hot water from a wooden pail into a wash basin. You hold your breath a minute, as the heat mists your face, and once the water is poured out, you set the pail onto the ground.

You then look at the pile of dishes beside you on the table and after swishing the suds around, you take a handful of stew plates and dip them in.

Kitchen duty, nothing that you aren't a stranger to. This used to be second nature. After all, a waitress doesn’t just wait on tables.

Wow. It’s been a long time since you’ve thought back that far. You were so very young, then. Eighteen. Working as a waitress since you were orphaned at 16. You had companions in Bethy, the sassy middle-aged woman who you looked up to, Clarence, the cook who you thought of as a brother, and Joe, the soft-hearted boss with a sand-paper exterior. They were like family in their own way.

Oh, it’s been years.

“Once you’re done with all those, I’ll have you wash the stew pot,” Pearson, the swashbuckling personal chef of the gang, tells you as he walks behind you. “It’s been due for a good cleanin’ and your fine work has got me inspired.”

He isn’t rude to you, by any means, and you’re grateful, but you still feel so out of place. It’s only been four days since you’ve, for lack of a better word, joined, the gang, but you feel more of a stranger now than when Arthur was telling you stories about all of them.

Arthur. You miss him. Every moment he’s out of your sight you long for him. He’s all you know.

He’s gone off with Hosea on a job. You question the pairing of people when Dutch sends his boys off. John and Bill, the rising stars, with their brazenness and energy as they run off and come back as they were bid. Arthur and Hosea, the two fading lights, who are suspected to take longer and to keep sounding off their hums of dissent or supposed doubt.

You can’t help but feel protective. Hosea stood up for you and already knowing enough about him, you trust him, just like Arthur does.

Whenever he comes back from a job or a hunting trip, you are the first to race out into the field, baby in your arms. You always find yourself stopping short of ramming into Boadicea and standing awkwardly while he dismounts and then takes Alice from you to hold her.

He has hardly touched you or even kissed you. It almost seems impolite, to dare in the presence of the other men and women. You’re back in that limbo again…just like you were years ago…just right after Isaac was born.

You lift your head to keep an eye on your son. He’s close by, on some flattened grass, keeping an eye on his baby sister as she soaks in some sunshine. You have her laying on her tummy and will soon put her back in the fabric carrier you had fashioned years ago for when you gardened with Isaac. You’ve always liked working with your hands free and have grown to be quite creative over the years.

“I knew a cook once,” you start to say, but then realize that Simon probably doesn’t want to hear your stories. You exhale sharply and rinse off the plate before setting it down on a nearby towel.

“Well, are you gonna keep me in suspense?” Pearson’s raspy chortle startles you and you stand straight and look over your shoulder. He brings down a meat cleaver on some deer leg, looking at you expectantly. “Was he a navy man?”

Still stunned, you softly shake your head. “No…” You swallow. “We worked together at a restaurant. Back in what is now Utah.”

His eyebrows lift, his forehead moving his balding scalp. “Utah, huh?” He points the blade of his cleaver in the direction of where Arthur and Hosea left four hours ago. “I thought here is where, uh, you and him met?”

He’s curious? You don’t know enough of the deeper dynamics of the gang to know if he’s a vocal piece for everyone else’s inner thoughts, but you don’t see any harm in answering his question. “It isn’t. He came to the restaurant one day.” You look down and smile, the memory painting a picture in your head. You were so captivated by the tall figure sitting at the table, his dark hat shading his eyes. Your small frame was frozen until Bethy shoved you in his direction. “Wanted some pie.”

Pearson chuckles. “Didn’t think him the type. Always seems to gnaw on jerky all the time.”

You manage a smile as you speak with a soft, but prideful tone. “Not my cooking. He’ll lick the plate clean.” Your eyes widen at your sudden openness as your face loses its color. “Erm…”

But Pearson doesn’t seem to mind, laughing heartily at the thought of Arthur actually doing that. “I find that hard to believe…!”

Not pushing your luck, you decide to drop it. “Anyway, Clarence, our cook, he always had better ideas and recipes than our boss did. He wanted to save enough to open his own restaurant someday.” You lift your eyes. “I hope he made it.”

Pearson sees the thoughtful look on your face. He knows that you are like a fish out of water here, or rather, a mermaid out of the sea. He studies your long, chestnut tresses, the sun-kissed face, and freckles that scatter across your cheeks. If you were resting on a rock near the cape, all bare and singing, he could very well mistake you for a siren. He shakes it out of his mind. While it is not crystal clear, there is something between you and the newly outcast enforcer. “Do you know any of his recipes?” He asks, hoping to remove his thoughts.

You nod, completely oblivious to his musings. “I remember how he cooked turkey and a couple of stew recipes. They were delicious.”

Pearson smiles. “Maybe you could write them down for me sometime.”

You turn to meet his gaze. “Maybe.”

You continue with the dishes in silence, listening to Pearson as he chops more of the deer leg and disposes of the bone. You hear Isaac giggle as he plays with his sister, talking nonsense to her as she tries to look around. She’s already starting to hold up her head, and her smile is one of the few things that bring joy to you, outside of Arthur’s homecoming each day.

After finishing the dishes and putting them back in the chuck wagon, you go over to your children before moving on to your next chore. Chores are something to help keep you busy when you aren’t reading to Isaac or feeding your daughter.

Isaac sees your shadow cast over him and his sister and he lifts his head as he lays on the grass. He smiles at you. “Hi, Mommy.”

You beam. “Hi, darling.”

He looks back at Alice. “I think she wants to talk.”

You decide to pause and enjoy this moment with them, so you motion to sit down. “She’s too young to say words, but she does try.”

Isaac doesn’t seem too concerned. “What was my first word?”

You pause to think about it. You had been much to busy to record every milestone. It wasn’t until two years ago that you started writing in a journal. You wish that you had done it much sooner.

“It was Mama, I think.”

He almost seems to frown, but it is clear that he tries to hide it. “Not Daddy?”

You aren’t sure how that would be possible. He was only ever around every few months. Isaac was too little to discern the difference between coming and going. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.” You reach a hand and card your fingers through Isaac’s hair. “Your hair is getting longer, I’ll have to get out the scissors and trim it.”

Isaac shakes his head. “No, I like it like this.” His hair sweeps over his eyes and he giggles. “See?”

“I think the problem is that you can’t.” You chuckle and reach over to pick up your baby. Alice squirms in your arms, batting her tiny hands at the air with a gurgle of delight. The sun in the sky, warm against your back, makes the red in your hair reveal itself, and in its light, you see it cast a similar shade in your daughter's fine wisps. “You have my hair,” you say softly and you bring her close to kiss the top of her head. You love the smell of her skin, her sweetness, and how she has hardly given you any grief.

Isaac gets up and leans against you, watching his little sister. “She likes it here.”

You can’t help but pinch your brow, do you really want to hear your son say that? “Is it because Daddy is here?”

He pauses before answering. “I don’t know.” The melancholy in his answer gives away a hint that that is the reason why and before you can ask him to clarify, he walks away, the distant call of a coyote mixing with the rustling of grass in each of his steps.

In the waves of the grass, you turn your head, scanning the horizon where the sky meets the earth in a line so thin it almost slices the world in two. You imagine yourself like a doe with her fawn, exposed to anything and anyone that could be hiding beneath the grassy waves. Your heart tightens with a pang of worry for Isaac. His small figure seems so vulnerable against the vast, untamed wilderness.

“Eliza?”

You nearly jump and notice the shadow over you. Looking up, you see the soft, round face of Annabelle. You feel yourself relax, but your hold on your baby doesn’t lessen.

She must sense your unease and so she crouches down to your level. “Isaac is following Susan around. She doesn’t mind.”

You look back at your daughter and she coos with a gummy smile. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Annabelle clicks her tongue. “No one's a burden here, Eliza. This is family, this is what we do. We look out for each other.” Her voice holds a firm conviction that soothes you momentarily. She looks over your shoulder, her eyes tracing the path Isaac took. “He’s just curious, and Susan loves the company.”

Your gaze doesn’t lift from your daughter, and you let her words sink in. “I thought this was a gang of outlaws. A family hardly seems to fit in around here.”

Annabelle could reply quickly to that, but what you need is a guiding hand. Patience. She has faith that you will come around, as she did when she met Dutch. She looks at your baby and wrestles with whether or not to share something in the hopes of removing some of your doubts. “I…I had a child…once.”

You lift your eyes and look at her, dumbfounded. “Was Dutch…?”

She shakes her head softly. “No. I was…in bad circumstances.” Annabelle looks away, eyeing Isaac as he tries to grip onto Susan’s skirt. She quickly turns around, chuckling, and gives chase as he tries to flee from her. Their laughter carries over to them. Annabelle continues, “I had lost my husband and baby to cholera. I was a widow, trying my best to make ends meet.” Her green eyes look back into yours. “When I met Dutch, I had hope again.”

You shake your head. “I wanted to come here, once, like in a fairytale storybook.” You chortle bitterly. “I guess I got what I wished for.”

Annabelle, unsure how you feel about her, takes the risk to put her hand on your shoulder. You don’t flinch and with a feeling of relief, she offers some thought-provoking words. “Is it truly all bad? Being with the one you love so dearly?” Your eyes widen and you feel your face grow hot. And she smiles. “It’s only been a few days, but I see the way you look at him.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of her words hanging heavily between you. You glance back at your daughter, her bright eyes oblivious to the complexities swirling around her. You swallow hard, the reality of your situation pressing in. "It's not him, Annabelle. It’s this life... this uncertainty.” You haven’t cried in days, and you wanted to make a habit of it, but now you feel them well up in your eyes. “I had a home. A place of my own.” You tuck your chin and let Alice grab your finger as she lays against your bent knees. “I’ve ruined things for Arthur, just being here.”

Annabelle’s lips flatten to a thin line. She can’t deny things are bad between Arthur and Dutch right now, even Hosea. But they are the dynamic trio, the old guard. About 15 years they’ve been together, surely things will work themselves out. She rubs your shoulder with her thumb in compassionate sweeps. “Don’t worry, Eliza. things have a way of resolving themselves. You’ve not ruined anything. Believe it or not, we are as close to family as Arthur has ever had, and families fight. They also face hardships, but they endure. It’s what makes them a family.” Her voice is soft yet firm, carrying a certainty that you desperately want to believe. And seeing her words sink in, she rises to her feet. “Let Isaac explore a little. He’s got more people to watch him, now.”

After what happened four days ago, you have been more cautious than ever, but you so desperately want to relax. You want to go a few minutes without looking over your shoulder. You nod at Annabelle with a feigned smile and she turns to leave you with your daughter.

***

Arthur pulls back on the reins and Boadicea skids to a stop on the top of the hill. He hears Hosea and Silver Dollar slide up beside them.

Down below into a grassy valley is a herd of antelope. Food. Another way to help his family not starve.

Dutch is being petty, bitter. Not letting him go on bigger jobs to bring in money, so he isn’t deserving of any praise at all. Sure, food keeps bellies full, but there’s nothing like the shine of coin to stir Dutch’s heart.

Arthur knows that it isn’t like the old days, when they took gold bars from banks and offered them to the poor and orphaned. Since that first clipping, the stakes have been higher and the money box needed to be kept full.

Even so, he knows that it isn’t Hosea’s way. Hosea has always taken on tasks that involve little to no violence. Just some good fun to keep things interesting. Arthur has begun to like those jobs more. It makes him use his brain, though he would never say that out loud.

“Just look at them,” Hosea sighs. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Arthur nods softly, his mind still somewhere else. “Shoah.”

“What’s say we take down a couple? If we get decent enough pelts, we could sell ‘em, or have Pearson craft something.”

Now, that is a thought. He could craft a gift. A gift for you, perhaps?

Hosea sees the soft smile on his son’s face and forms a glint in his own eye. “I see that look. You thinkin’ of something good?”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t begrudge an old man his pleasures, what is it?”

Arthur turns to look at his mentor and father figure, and leans back. “Old? I’d hardly think at your age you’d be callin’ yourself old.”

Hosea shakes his head. “Never stick with flattery when you do con work, son,” he chuckles. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Arthur lets out a low laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders as they both look down at the valley again. The antelope graze peacefully, unaware of the hungry eyes scrutinizing them from above.

"Alright," Arthur finally says, his voice firm yet still carrying a hint of warmth from the exchange. "Let's do this.” and he readies himself to spur Boadicea on.

But Hosea stops him. “No, not just yet!” And he takes Arthur’s wrist. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

This has been the most conversant Arthur has seen of Hosea since Bessie died. Something has changed, or healed, for him to want to talk at all. There isn’t a bottle in his hand and he is actually smiling for once. He didn’t quite feel as guilty for wanting to leave the gang and go to you and Isaac, but now, he feels the pang of it. What would Hosea have done if he wasn’t there to support him? It seems that nobody cares about Bessie anymore, or they’re so quick to pack up and go, that they have begun to do that with their feelings, too.

Hosea can feel his eyes intensely looking at him. “What is it?”

Arthur shrugs. “How do I begin?”

Hosea grins. “From the beginning, of course.”

Arthur chuckles. “That could take forever.”

Hosea pats Arthur’s wrist before letting it go. “So, get started.” But he then decides to offer a little help. “Tell me about Eliza.”

Oh, that. That’s what he wants to know. But if he were to tell anyone, it would be Hosea. Arthur swallows. “Well, she’s a waitress I met.”

And Hosea seems to be ready with questions, he isn’t about to let Arthur leave out any details. “Where?”

“A settlement in Utah.”

Hosea thinks on this, and remembers that they had been out that way. He thinks of you, your face, your hair, and suddenly he remembers.

That thin, young lady with the pencil and tablet, taking down orders of flapjacks and coffee. Dutch sat beside him.

“Ah,” Hosea sighs. “I remember now.” And he smiles. “She was a young thing, wasn’t she?”

Arthur nods. “She was eighteen when I met her.”

Hosea nudges Arthur’s arm. “And a strapping buck like you somehow swept her off her feet?”

Arthur feels his face grow hot. “Not exactly.”

“What, got too fresh?” Hosea teases.

Arthur leans back. “No!”

“What then?”

Arthur begins to feel embarrassed talking about this. He only ever had written thoughts like these in his journal. He pauses, searching for the right words. "It... it weren’t like that. She was different, Hosea. Sweet, but curious about everythin’. She always talked about Rome and her eyes always…just…” He runs a hand over his face to cloak his bashfulness. “Not just a girl to pass the time with. She... she mattered."

Hosea's teasing smile softens into something more understanding. "I can see that," he says gently. "Tell me when you knew she did.”

He blinks, thinking it through. “When…when someone else saw it, too.”

Hosea furrows his brow. “Who?”

The memories begin to flood back to that time. When he had heard a ruckus at the edge of town. It was dark, and he was going to scope out new leads, as usually all towns have their dark crevices to look into. That’s when he heard the low tones, the sheepish threats.

It was trouble.

With each calculated step, Arthur closes in on the source of the commotion, carefully avoiding the bright lights and staying hidden in the shadows. He sees you, the waitress from earlier today, pressed against the bank wall with a man looming over you like a predator ready to strike. The man's back is turned towards Arthur, but his expression is unmistakable - one of sadistic pleasure.

"Why do you always try to run from me?" The man taunts, his hand reaching out towards your face. But before he can touch you, you slap it away with a fierce strength that even surprises you.

The man, now revealed as Willy, takes a step closer and snarls,"Oh, the little doe fights back, huh?" He then leans in close to your trembling form.

"Leave me alone, Willy," you manage to choke out in a feeble attempt at defiance.

Willy tilts his head and leers,"And why would I do that?" His eyes gleam with malice as he prepares to unleash his full intent on you.

Arthur's patience snaps like a brittle twig. Without hesitation, his hand instinctively reaches for his gleaming revolver, fingers wrapping tightly around the grip as he takes determined steps toward the glowing light on the ground.

You desperately try to scare off Willy with another empty threat, but your voice quivers with fear. "If you lay a finger on me, I-I'll scream."

Willy's response is slick and slimy, dripping with wicked intentions. "That's what I was hoping for." His hand inches closer to your face, leering at you as his mind continues to wander, his eyes traveling your body with hunger.

But before he can touch you, Arthur's gun is out and aimed at him, his arm extending into the light while his face remains shrouded in darkness. He speaks through gritted teeth, a low growl of warning. "Touch her and you're dead." The tension in the air is palpable as both men stare each other down, ready for a deadly showdown.

As you turn your head, you catch a glimpse of him and your eyes narrow with suspicion. But when you try to follow your gaze, all you see is darkness. Willy slowly lowers his hands, a sly smirk spreading across his face. "We were just having a little fun," he says with a shrug, his tone dripping with suggestions. “Heck, you could’ve—”

But Arthur takes a step closer, staying hidden in the shadows cast by the street lantern. "How about I end you before you finish that sentence?" he growls, his voice low and dangerous.

Willy's expression turns from smug to contemptuous. It is clear to Arthur that this chump doesn't understand the meaning of no. "You wouldn't dare," he spits out defiantly, but there is a hint of fear in his eyes.

With a cold, calculated movement, Arthur closes the distance between them until the barrel of his revolver is pressed firmly against Willy's temple. He relishes in the sound of the hammer being pulled back, a satisfying click that echoes through the tense air.

"Try me," he challenges with a deadly calmness.

Like a coward, Willy raises his hands in surrender. But as he begins to back away, he makes one last desperate move, reaching for your face. You instinctively turn your head just in time to narrowly avoid his grasping fingers. With a smirk of false bravado, Willy taunts, "Catch you later, doe." But there's a hint of fear in his voice that betrays his false confidence.

You quickly avert your gaze, feeling your chest tighten as you inhale sharply. Willy doesn't even acknowledge the shadowy figure who saved you, instead disappearing into the darkness behind the partially constructed bank.

Silence envelopes the two of you for a moment, broken only by your heavy panting and the frantic beating of Arthur's heart. He slowly holsters his gun and approaches you, his voice gentle and concerned. "Are you alright?"

You nod, still in shock from the adrenaline rush. Your eyes flicker with recognition, but it’s clear to him that you try to play it cool.

But Arthur can see through your facade and he steps into the light, revealing those piercing marine eyes that seem to hold all the secrets of the ocean. As soon as you see him fully, your breath catches in your throat. "It's you!" you gasp.

A soft smile spreads across his face as he takes in the sight of you. "Hi, brown eyes."

“And so I walked her home,” Arthur's voice carries on the gentle breeze as he finishes his story. The graceful antelope have moved on, but both men remain seated, still captivated by the conversation unfolding between them.

Hosea nods, content with the tale he has just heard. He knows it a privilege to hear much more than he ever would have gotten if he wasn’t sitting here on his mount beside Arthur. "And the rest is simply history?" he asks inquisitively.

Arthur's boisterous laughter echoes through the open plain. Far from it, but he’ll keep that to himself for now. “I guess so.”

***

It won’t be long before you have to put Alice down for bed. She will be awake in the middle of the night for a feeding, and the sooner that gets started, the more sleep later into the night you and Arthur will get.

Alice is in the wrap you fashioned as you feed the four chickens that the gang appears to own. You’re grateful for a little piece that reminds you of home. Aside from Farm Boy, you didn’t get the opportunity to take Little Maid, your dairy cow, with you. You miss her, as cumbersome and stubborn as she was. If anything, she got you to get outside when you didn’t feel up to it. Lord knows, you needed fresh air.

“It’s nice having someone who knows how to work.”

You turn your body to see Susan Grimshaw approach you. She hasn’t spoken much to you, but you can tell she has some holding power on the gang. When Dutch and the leading men aren’t around, most seem to respect and listen to her. Arthur hasn’t spoken to you much on her history, and it really isn’t your business.

But by golly, if you aren’t curious.

“Yes,” you say, then remembering what she was just talking about. “I mean, I am certainly trying.”

Susan crosses her arms and studies you. “Arthur said you had a homestead?”

“Yes, we did.” You rarely have ever included Arthur in that topic, given that you are the one who had done all the work yourself, but it only seems fit and proper to include him for the sake of showing his worth and accomplishments. Maybe, eventually, they will reach Dutch’s ear just like everything else around here. “He’s good at building things.”

Susan doesn’t seem too enthralled, as she crosses her arms. “Uh-huh.” And she goes quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Does…uh…Isaac take after his daddy?”

You narrow your eyes, your brown eyes piercing. “Of course, he does.” You only hope that she asked out of curiosity, not in the spirit of the Spanish Inquisition. Arthur is the only man you’ve had, or ever will have, and you aren’t about to encourage rumors being spread about anything otherwise. "Alice does, too. I don’t doubt that she has his eyes.”

Susan looks at you long and hard, almost sizing you up. You remain still, your expression unflinching as you toss out another handful of corn. Her gaze lingers a bit longer before she nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement. Then, just as quickly as the moment of tension had arrived, it dissipates as she turns her attention to the chickens pecking at the ground.

"Well," Susan starts, shifting her stance slightly, "it's good to have young ones around again. Keeps everyone on their toes, and gives us all something to fight for." Her voice softens just a touch, a rare hint of warmth in the typically stern woman.

“Again?” you ask.

Susan actually lets out a smile. “Well, Arthur and John weren’t as young as your little ones, but they could sure keep me, Dutch, and Hosea on our toes.” She looks at Alice, contently pressed to your breast in her wrap. “Like yours do, no doubt.”

You nod, feeling the tightness in your shoulders loosen slightly. "They certainly do."

The moment of understanding between you and Susan is cut short by a distant thunder of hooves. Susan's head snaps up, her eyes narrowing as she peers into the distance. “Riders,” she mutters, her voice hardening.

You feel your heart skip a beat. Riders could mean trouble—bandits, lawmen, or…

Instinctively, you set the pail of feed on a lone tree branch, and hoist your skirts as you break into a jog, careful not to jostle your baby too much.

You hear Isaac calling out to you, clearly aware of the oncoming sound. “Mommy…!”

Your curiosity lets you stick your neck out most times, and with this chance, you are rewarded.

It’s Arthur, riding in with Hosea.

They have several ducks tied to their saddles, the corpses dangling near Boadicea and Silver Dollar’s legs.

Your heart beats even faster, and not for the short jog. Arthur stops his horse near the others that are grazing, and they seem unperturbed. He dismounts, leaving the ducks tied to the saddle, and walks in your direction.

You stand there motionless, your eyes never leaving his as he draws closer and closer to you.

Suddenly, something brushes up past your skirt and you look down to see Isaac running in the space between you and his father, arms outstretched. “Daddy…!”

He wears a warm smile at his son, and that makes you happy. Arthur sweeps Isaac into his arms, lifting him high above his head before setting him down with a gentle roughness that only a father possesses. He then looks over at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "Miss me?" he asks, a playful tilt to his voice that you hadn't realized how much you'd missed until now. His presence, strong and reassuring, washes over you like the first rains after a long drought.

"Yes," you reply, your own voice a mix of relief and nervousness. "But what about those ducks? Looks like trouble followed you home."

Arthur's smile grows at your tease and he nods toward Hosea. “Ask him.”

Hosea dismounts and waggles a finger. “Don’t you go blaming me, son. We would have had those antelope if you didn’t stop to chat.”

Arthur whips around, scoffing. “Me? You talked my ear off the whole ride.”

You haven’t seen Arthur this happy in a good while.

The light-hearted banter fades as the dust settles behind the returned riders. Hosea slaps Arthur on the back, then walks over to join you. His eyebrows knit together under the brim of his hat, casting his eyes in shadow. "We need to talk," he says quietly, just loud enough for you to hear.

Hosea? Talk to you? Why on earth for? You look for Arthur to return his gaze at you once he sets Isaac down. He does and seeing your confused gaze, he only shrugs his shoulders.

Well, that isn’t much help.

“Keep an eye on Isaac. Dinner will be done soon.” You turn and follow Hosea as he walks to a more secluded spot on the other side of camp. You fold your arms and feel the silence unbearable. Is he going to bear the bad news? Dutch has finally decided to kick you and your children out?

You need to prepare yourself for the worst.

So, you give yourself the opportunity to say something first. “Hosea, before you say anything, I just want to—”

“Please, Eliza, I don’t mean to interrupt, but I have something very important to say.”

You blink, caught off guard by his forwardness. But if you thought about it longer, it wouldn’t really be that surprising. “Oh.”

He takes off his hat, his blonde turning silver hair shining like wheat in the fall, and he looks softly in your eyes. “I know who you are.”

Your brows pinch, trying to read his calm expression. “I wasn’t hiding anything.”

Hosea then lets out a smile. “Of course not, but I know where I’ve seen you before.” He lets there be a pause before saying it, “The restaurant. Joe’s Place.”

You let out an exhale and nod. “Yes. You and Dutch came for breakfast.”

Hosea nods, letting out a chuckle. “Did you buy into our stories? No doubt Arthur told you we were gold prospectors.”

You nod. “Yes, but he acted like he was alone.”

Hosea’s smile falls. “I could see why. He wanted you all to himself.”

This untoward comment shocks you. “What?!”

Hosea quickly raises his hands. “Oh! Please don’t mistake me, Eliza. I only mean that he didn’t want anyone to know you. It is clear to me that he did that for good reason…on account of Mary and all.”

Your eyes widen and you feel your heart plummets to your stomach. Mary? You’ve never heard that name before. Ever.

As you struggle to process this new information, Hosea sees the fear in your widened eyes and senses the tightening of your chest. He realizes his grave error, but it's too late to take back his words now. His voice trembles as he speaks again, "He never told you about her, did he?"

Your response is sharp and cold, laced with betrayal, "No."

He tries to reassure you, his voice hesitant and filled with longing. But deep down, he hopes that Arthur will be the one to tell you. It isn't his place to speak of something so personal and heartbreaking from his past. “It was a long time ago, before he met you. We…we knew it wouldn’t end well.”

Now your curiosity is piqued. You can't help but wonder why this news has suddenly come to light. If you had been with another man, you would have told Arthur without hesitation. You were always open and honest with him about everything that mattered, at least in your mind.

You fold your arms, hoping to shield yourself from the feelings welling up inside you. “Oh…”

Hosea touches your arm. “Let him tell you. I’m sure he has healed by now.”

Was it all a convenient coincidence? Had he been pining for Mary while out at camp, only to return to you when it was convenient? Were you just a temporary escape for him when you first met years ago? Just a naive young girl, easily charmed by a knight in shining armor? The thought makes your brow furrow and your breaths come sharp with anger and hurt.

“Eliza?” Hosea asks, concern in his voice. Your gaze hardens, steeling against the churn of betrayal and confusion. "I’m fine," you say, your voice barely above a whisper but slicing through the tense air like a knife.

Hosea hesitates before speaking again, his eyes darting left and right as if searching for a way to salvage this moment. "He told me how you met.” And then his eyes return to yours. “Back in Utah.”

You snort. “I’m sure he did.” It seems he will tell everyone about himself except you. Most of it you had to figure out on your own.

He shakes his head. “It was also what he thought of you.”

You find the intensity in your eyes lessening, and your desire to know daring to push out your hurt, if but for just a moment. “What did he say?”

Hosea smiles again, sensing his chance to make things better again. “He said that you mattered.”

You feel conflicted at this. Love was what you were looking for, and while you normally would have settled for such vague, empty words, you aren’t sure you’re willing to buy into it this time. “I’ve mattered for the last five years.” And you motion to walk away. “But that isn’t good enough anymore.”

You begin to head back into camp and Hosea calls out to you. “Eliza!” You stop, looking over your shoulder. “He’s only a man and you’re only a woman. You both have a place with each other, even if you don’t see that.”

You feel your heart soaking in his words. You feel yourself leaning into them, but just as quickly as the feeling appears, it leaves, the bitterness cloaking it all.

You walk away.

***

After dishes are cleaned and put back into the chuck wagon once again, everyone beside those on guard duty retires for the night. Dutch had been quiet all evening, and only chose to talk to those who were in his good graces for the time being. The charismatic savior that Arthur praised in his stories looks less than the heroes in the fables you read to your son. Fictional, unreal. You can't make sense of him, and you aren’t sure you want to.

You finish tucking in Alice after feeding and changing her and you begin to hum the melody of the Scout’s Lament. You used it with Isaac when he was fussy of has had a nightmare, and it still seems to work on her.

You hear the tent flap open, and turning, you see Arthur come in. For the past four days, he has continued to sleep on the ground beside the cot, and now, after what Hosea told you, you aren’t sure how you feel about it. On one hand, you still desire him, need him, his presence a mere symbol of safety and care. On the other, you want to push him back, resist the temptations that you have wrestled with, and snuff out the flames for good. Your focus should be on your son and daughter. If anything, you can keep the peace for them.

Arthur regards your position as you kneel beside the cradle. You’re in your nightgown, your figure hidden beneath the straight cotton and ruffled cuffs. Your hair is in a loose braid, and it drapes over your right shoulder like a long rope. He wants to touch it, maybe lure you closer to him.

The look in your eyes when he came home, it brought a heat into his belly. Maybe he can tell you now, now that some things have settled. He can tell you the reason why he had come back that day, and why he’s carried a small box in his pocket for the last month.

He smiles at you. “Hey.”

You don’t look up at him as you reply. “Hi.”

Instantly he feels something is wrong. Your words, the sound that came from your lips, was a dullness without any feeling at all. Your hand is in the cradle, Alice clutching onto your forefinger. He swallows and decides to try to lighten your mood. “Pearson said you helped cook the supper tonight. Shoulda known, it was too good.”

You don’t smile.

Then, he decides to not beat around it. “What’s wrong?”

And you, still looking at Alice, speak three words that cause him to freeze. “Who is Mary?”

His eyes search you, his heart beginning to thrum. “Who told you?”

“Why shouldn’t I know?”

His voice tenses up. He doesn’t want you to be concerned over something that has nothing to do with you. “‘Cause it was a long time ago. It don’t matter no more.”

That’s when you turn to look at him. From the lantern hanging, he can see the shine in your eyes. “It matters to me.”

His nose wrinkles and his brow pinches. “Why? She ain’t here now, is she?”

“Would she have been?”

His breath hitches. Would Mary have been here if things went how he had planned? If she did agree to marry him and run away with the gang? Would her lavish ways and upstanding manners have lasted, or would she have adapted and grown to love the wind in her hair, and the sound of a firing gun? How does he answer that?

And since he doesn’t answer, you ask another hard question. “Did you love her?” You blink. “Be honest.”

Hell, you had to ask that question.

He shifts on his feet, the dead grass crunching under the weight of his hesitation. His gaze drifts away from yours, out toward the flickering shadows cast by the small lantern. "Yeah," he admits, the word barely more than a whisper. "Yeah, I did. Once."

Your eyes narrow slightly, and he can see the hurt flicker across your face, quick as a prairie storm. "And now?" you ask, your voice steady but low, carrying a weight that makes his stomach twist.

He turns back to you, sees Alice's small hand in yours, and feels the crushing weight of his past decisions.

But I love you, he thinks. Say it, you fool!

But he can’t find the words. Just like last time. Like a fool. How long can this go on? “I don’t anymore. Mary…Mary’s just a ghost from my past.”

The room goes quiet aside from the steady breathing of your two children. Two living examples of something that was more real to you than anything else. And now, a stranger, a name, has entered in it, and Arthur’s answer has only made it more concrete. You look away. “Okay.”

What? That’s it? The tears? The quivering lips? And all you can say is okay?

Arthur doesn’t want it to be like this. If you are mad, say it. Do it. Tell him why.

“That ain’t just it.”

Your voice is still calm and you rock the cradle absentmindedly. “It is.”

“Eliza—”

“It’s fine, Arthur.” And you won’t let him say anything more. Not tonight. “We should get to bed.”

Like this? No.

Hastily, Arthur bends over, reaching below his cot to grab his sleeping roll. He makes his way out of the tent. “I have guard duty in a couple hours. Don’t wanna wake you.”

And he leaves you alone with the children.

The wind picks up outside, howling like a lone wolf on the prairie, shivering its way through the canvas of the tent. Arthur quickly glances back to make sure the flap is secure, and satisfied that you’re safe, he continues on, tucking the roll under his arm.

He makes his way to the edge of camp, to one of the few scattered trees. Standing a few feet away from the tree is John, gun ready and eyes watching.

“My turn, Marston,” Arthur states, holding out his hand for the gun. “Go now.”

John, not realizing who was behind him, whips around. “Arthur?” And in the moonlight, he sees the gloomy expression on his brother’s face. “What’s eatin’ you?”

Arthur takes the gun right out of John’s hands and points back to camp with the barrel. “Go now.”

John knows things are uneasy right now, and while they haven’t always gotten along, they always seem to be there for each other. John has never admitted it, but he’s looked up to Arthur, the closest to a brother he’s ever known. He’s never made above-and-beyond attempts to get sentimental, but knowing now that Arthur has the capacity to father and love children, he’s been questioning what else is Arthur holding out on?

“Arthur,” John begins, unable to remove the raspiness from his voice, but managing a softness that shows compassion. “What’s wrong?”

Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Except I found out a heart can be broken twice.

But that isn’t what he says. He lowers his head to where the brim of his hat covers his eyes. “Go to sleep, John.”

John, realizing that his attempt to be open is futile, quietly leaves Arthur to the howling wind and moon.

Alone, you sit in the tent, the weight of the conversation anchoring your heart to the cold ground. Alice stirs slightly in her sleep, and you gently rub her tummy, soothing her into sleep.

If only Arthur's presence could soothe the turmoil churning inside you as easily. But even if he were next to you, you know it wouldn’t be so. It’s better this way, he’s out there now, under the vast expanse of starlit sky, wrestling his own demons in the silence of the night.

You don’t know his thoughts, and he doesn’t know yours. That’s the trouble. If only you both could just get over the fear of losing one another and speak what you ought to have said, maybe things would be better.

But just like Hosea said, you both have a place with one another, even though you don’t see it.

Thank you so much for reading! Leave a like if you want the next chapter!

Tag Requests:

@photo1030

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #arthur morgan #fanfiction #ao3 writer #arthur x eliza #rdr2 #you are Eliza in this story #Isaac is a sweetheart #Annabelle takes you under her wing #Motherhood #parenting #angst #return to love #Simon Pearson #you try to find your place in the gang #Arthur's past #flashbacks #Arthur rescues you from a creep

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reginaphalangelobster125 · 28 days ago

Text

Dandelions Part 3

fem!reader x avengers

Warnings: Danger, pain, fire, worrying, fluff, slightly flirtatious banter if you read it that way.

Summary: You get trapped in a fire. Will you make it out?

Word Count: 2,786

Parts 1 & 2:

You were in bed a few weeks later when you felt a rumble shake the tower and no doubt, wake the rest of the team. You ran out your door, to the stairs and you rushed through the stairwell door avoiding falling debris. You started to make your way down the stairs when you were met with a raging fire. You turned around to go back up but some debris had fallen down and blocked your path, trapping you with the fire.

You looked around the stairwell, trying to find a fire extinguisher or anything really, but you couldn't find a single thing. You panicked, you knew you shouldn't but you couldn't help it. You started screaming for help at the top of your lungs but no one could hear you.

The rest of the team had evacuated their rooms and were all downstairs, regrouping. They looked around, waiting for you to come out of your room but there was no sign of you.

'Where the hell is she?' Tony muttered, more to himself than anything.

'We can't panic, I'm sure she's fine, she is a very capable girl' Steve tried to reassure everyone, unsuccessfully.

'I can't just wait here when she could be stuck somewhere. She could be trying to get out or call for help while we're down here, doing nothing' Tony said, walking out of the room.

You started to cough, the heavy, black, smoke invading your lungs. You got low on the ground and tried to find any sort of way out, to no avail.

Tony could hear your cries for help and tried to open the door to the stairwell but it wouldn't budge. Normally he would just call his Iron Man suit over and bust the door down, but the two of you were making some tweaks to it and it was non-operational. He brought Steve over who was able to ram into the door enough times to open it just enough for Nat to fit through. She got inside and immediately started to cough as the whole stairwell was filled with smoke. She pushed through the debris until she was met with fire.

You were laying on the floor, getting hotter and hotter and you could do nothing but think back to your dandelions. You remembered one day when you were a little girl and you were walking through a huge field. The yellow grass was so high that you could barely see above it. You walked through the grass playing and having fun, and picking dandelions. You knelt down in front of one and watched as it swayed in the breeze, a single pappus lifted off the flower and into the wind. You were mesmerised by the plant and forever attached to it.

Now you began to feel lightheaded and your vision started to cloud. You were in a groggy haze, you barely even had the strength to cough. You were losing hope.

Just then, as your eyes were fluttering shut, you saw Natasha. She had a few scrapes and a cut just above her eye. She ran over to you and put one of your arms over her shoulder as she dragged you down the stairs. Then with a loud crash, a beam fell down onto her legs and she couldn't move. You saw your friend lying in pain and you saw the flames encircling you both. You grabbed Nat's hand and reached deep down inside yourself. You gathered together all of your strength and power and combined it with Nat's. With just the wave of your hand you were able to make the beam hover off of her legs. You helped her up and walked straight through the flames, not a single one touching you.

When you finally got through the door, Steve held a hand out to you, helping you both out. Once you were free of the stairwell Tony ran up to you and wrapped you in a giant hug, to everyone's surprise. You hugged him back and melted into him. You let your entire weight hang on him as your consciousness slipped away. Tony was still hugging you, overjoyed that you were okay until he felt your body go limp.

He panicked, thinking you may have just died in his arms. Bruce ran over to you and checked your vital signs.

'She has a pulse but it's faint, we need to get her to the med bay now' he said, trying to remain as calm as possible.

They got you to the med bay and Bruce set to work. Tony stayed by your side, never once letting go of your hand unless explicitly told to by Bruce.

You could hear a faint beeping, then your eyes fluttered open and you took in your surroundings. You stared up at a white ceiling with a bright light above your head. You looked to the left to see a monitor, the source of the previous beeping, and an IV sticking out of your arm. You turned to your right to see Tony, sleeping in a chair next to your bed. You could feel some kind of warmth wrapped around your hand and that's when you saw Tony holding it, even in his sleep he held your hand gently but firmly between his two.

You squeezed his hand back to let him know that you were alright. The second he felt your hand twitch in his grip his eyes shot open and he looked over to you.

"You're awake!' he exclaimed, feeling a huge weight being lifted off his chest.

'Yeah' you said groggily 'what happened?'

'There was a fire but you're okay now'

'Fire?'

'Yes, someone let off a bomb in the stairwell'

'Who?'

'We don't know yet but that doesn't matter, all that matters is you're okay'

'Nat! She was with me, is she okay?'

'She's fine, she has a little cut that she's been lording over us'

You let out a small chuckle. 'Course she is'

'She's glad you're okay, we all are'

'Awww, Tony, were you worried about me?' you teased.

'Pffft! 'Course not, I knew you'd be fine' he said, exaggeratedly.

'Then why were you sitting with me? And holding my hand?'

'Uh, no reason?'

'Sure then, no reason'

You smiled at Tony and in that moment you knew the arch reactor wasn't proof that he had a heart, this was.

Bruce told you to take it easy for the next few days, he wasn't quite sure what had happened to you. When you collapsed you barely had a pulse but after they took you to the med bay your pulse was a bit stronger. You remained unconscious for a day, Bruce had no clue what was happening to you but he thought a few days rest would do you some good.

Tony insisted on taking care of you while you regained your strength, even though he was kind of terrible at it. He wouldn't let you leave your room, you were lucky if you were allowed to get out of bed for any longer than a bathroom break. You told him you were fine and that you could take care of yourself but he wasn't buying it, and truth be told you were still a little sore. He waited on you hand and foot, he fluffed your pillows, got you blankets, put your favourite show on the TV and even tried making you some food. He tried making some soup and nearly burnt down the kitchen, so he ordered cheeseburgers and oh my god, were they just what you needed after the past few days.

In all honesty you were loving the attention. You never had anyone who gave a damn whether you lived or died, and now you had someone who cared so much he chose to take care of you. You were a bit sad when the few days had passed, thinking that now that Tony didn't have to take care of you, you wouldn't get to spend as much time with him but you were glad to find out you were wrong.

Tony invited you to the lab as soon as you were feeling better to show you a 'special surprise' as he put it. You walked down to the lab and as soon as you walked in you saw that Tony had made an extension.

'I know it's not much but you can be useful to have around, you know you don't have terrible ideas sometimes' he said guiding you around your new work station.

'Tony, this is.... perfect' you said, amazed 'I can't believe you did this for me'

'Well I love...uh....having you around' he nervously muttered.

'Well I love being around, Tony'

Nat stopped by your room to check on you and the moment she stepped through the door you gave her the biggest hug.

'Hey, how are you doing?' she asked

'I'm fine. I wanted to thank you for coming in to save me'

'Of course, I wasn't just going to leave you in there'

'Well thank you anyways'

'You're welcome, but what happened with your powers?'

'I don't know. When I held your hand I could feel your strength become mine and I just- I really don't know, I just... channelled you, I guess'

'Well I'm glad you found out you could do that before we got really hurt'

'Yeah so am I, are you okay by the way? I still don't remember much but Tony said you had a cut'

'Yeah, it's fine though, almost healed up'

'Can I try something, please?' you ask as you raise your hand parallel to her face.

'Is it too soon? Are you sure you won't hurt yourself?'

'I'm sure I've been building up my strength'

'Okay'

You closed your eyes and moved your hand so it hovered just above her cut, you focused all your power and gold particles streamed out of your hand and into Nat's cut. You could feel the magic rushing through your veins as you opened your mouth with a quick gasp. When you opened your eyes the cut was gone.

'Are you okay?' she asked noticing how it effected you.

'Yeah, yeah I'm fine' you started to laugh a little until a few years pricked at your eyes.

'That's not really the behaviour of someone who is fine'

'No it's just, I healed you, I never in a million years thought I'd be able to take away pain'

She grasped your hands in hers and looked into your eyes.

'You did, you helped me but I need you to promise me you'll take it easy, I can't have you hurting yourself while trying to fix me, okay?'

'Okay, I promise, thank you' you smiled.

'Why are you thanking me?'

'For caring'

You spent the next few days setting up your work station in Tony's lab.

'So... You like it?' Tony asked, staring down at the machinery he was tinkering with.

'I love it, thank you' you said, your head tilted down, barely concealing the huge grin on your face.

'Wanna race?'

'Sure, what are we doing?'

'I've been looking into better controlled blasters on my suit, I bet I can beat ya'

'You seem awfully confident there, Stark'

'Sure am, Y/l/n.'

'Care to make things interesting?'

'What did you have in mind?'

'If I win I get to come to one of those fancy dinner party gala things you're always getting invited to'

'You don't know what your getting yourself into'

'Maybe, but it looks like fun, the dressing up, the limo, all that'

'If that's what you want'

'Yep'

'Now, If I win, we go to Vegas and hit the slots'

'Ooh, now I don't know if I wanna win or not'

'Me neither' he said softly.

'Guess we'll have to start working and see who finishes first'

'Guess we will'

'Really? You're going to one of Stark's stupid charity parties?' Natasha questioned in disbelief.

'Yes, and it won't be stupid' you retorted.

'So, tell me again, why?'

'I don't know.... I never got to do 'fun' stuff, I was always in training'

'I get it, so was I, but why this? It seems so boring'

'Maybe if you've done this sort of thing before, but I've never felt-' you stopped, looking down and feeling silly for what you were about to say. 'I've never felt like I was anything more than a weapon, something people needed to use. And this party, however stupid and boring it may be, might make me feel like I'm more than that'

Natasha looked at you with sadness in her eyes, remembering how she felt that way in the past.

'You are more than a weapon, you are a sweet, caring, kind person who deserves better than her past. We all care about you and we know you are more than what they made you into.'

'Thank you, Nat, that means a lot to me, and I do know that you guys care, it's just-it's hard, it's hard to accept that sometimes, but thank you, for everything'

'You're welcome'

'Alright, enough of the sappy stuff, I came to you for a reason, let's go dress shopping'

With that you and Natasha headed downstairs where you took a car into the city centre. The two of you, equipped with Tony's credit card of course, started searching for the perfect dress.

After hours of scouring the best stores in New York you walked into some little boutique, you didn't remember the name as you'd been to so many already, and kept looking.

'God, who knew Manhattan would have so many terrible dresses' Natasha remarked while picking up a hot pink dress with huge bows all over it.

I've got to say, I'm surprised' you say also picking up a godawful dress. This one was toxic green with red and blue trimming.

'May I help you ladies with some- oh my god! You're Black Widow and Genesis! I can't believe you're in my store, do you think I could get a selfie?' the owner asks, surprising the two of you from behind.

'Sure' you say putting down the abomination that was in your hands.

You and Nat posed for the photo, you gave a small smile as you always did when you got recognised but Nat had a very dead look on her face. Her signature 'I'm done with your shit' look that she always had when she got recognised.

The woman thanked you and took you to a different section of the store. This was much better.

'I'm sorry about the dresses out there, they were all I had, the rest of my stock got destroyed in the invasion and I've just been getting some new dresses in' she said while pulling dresses out of boxes and bags.

'No, no that's fine, thank you for showing us these' you responded.

Then you saw it, the perfect dress.

'Y/n! Are you ready?' Tony called from outside your door.

'Almost!' you called back as you zipped up your dress and slipped on your heels.

'I still don't know why you wanted to come to this, these parties are always boring'

'I won the race, didn't I?'

'Yes, but I'll never understand how anyone could want to go to a cocktail party for monkeys'

You opened the door to see Tony adjusting the cuff links on his tuxedo. You'd never seen his this dressed up before, it suits him.

He turned to see you. Your dress was floor length and had two thin straps that went over shoulders. It was laced with small golden beads and pearls in intricate swirled designs. It had a thigh high slit on your right leg and it was bright red. You wore matching red heels with small details around the opening in gold. You wore the same gold ring you always did, paired with a matching gold and pearl necklace and bracelet. The necklace extenuated the neckline of your dress perfectly. Your hair was in a bun, high on top of your head. A few curled strands fell down, framing your face in an almost angelic way. You had a subtle smokey eye and red lipstick. You looked gorgeous and Tony knew it.

'Wow, you look, uh....'

'Is the dress bad? Is it too much? Should I change? I can change'

'Stunning' he paused 'You look stunning'

'Thank you' you said titling your head down, trying to hide your furiously blushing face.

Tony extended his arm and you took it. You walked to the elevator and out the door to the limo. You were sure this evening wasn't going to be stupid or boring.

To Be Continued....

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katz-chow · 1 year ago

Text

deranged reader my beloved, my daughter, me. back again in the spools of my brain.

warnings: exactly what the title is. fem! reader, pwp, blood, gore, manipulation (?), toxic reader (?), reverse harem w/ soap & ghost eventually the others, pnv, fingering, overstim (fem)

🏷️ | @warenai @reese-is-right

part 1

you came from a normal life before joining the military. your parents love you and so does your younger brother, he's a pain in the ass but aren't all siblings? cookie cutter houses lines the suburban streets, grasses cut, and christmas decorations find themselves on the houses as soon as december hits, no sooner to avoid hoa fines.

It's actually silly how you turned out this way, a small malicious brain in a body of a well cared for girl. in many ways it was like taming a wild animal; your nails were manicured on the regular, hair neat and put together, strands never where you hadn't meant for it to be, and your uniform was pristine, never stained, never wrinkled. on the outside, you truly where just the sweetest young lady that was meant to sing christmas carols at nursing homes and gain pinches on your cheeks as tips.

but you can't fully tame a wild animal though. in many cases, tigers eat their owners, monkeys maul them, and raccoons abandon home after trashing it. you, were simple. you don't bare your teeth to your owners or unsheathe your claws, you pin them. you pin them in a way that artists pin beetles and butterflies, perfect and spayed out for display and enjoyment.

and that's what you did to the 141. you made them yours. it came easy, natural- almost instinctive. everyone wants to be liked, right? so what if you're extra, extra good at that? you're just charming!

it started with soap. he was an easy target knowing how friendly he is. after finding out he's a demolitions expert, you stepped in asking him rather complex questions on the molecular composition of the explosives he found himself building. and he gladly explained it to you, not having a lot of people who know chemistry on such a level outside of an academic space.

the two of you spend lunches together relating his chemistry knowledge to your biology knowledge as an ex-medic. together you were Biochemistry, what a bunch of nerdy POS'.

quickly that lead to more chemistry in the comfort of your bed as well, having the two of you wrapped up in the sheets as he fucked you hard and fast, his name spilling out of your lips like an echo in the void that is your thoughts.

his dick rammed into, your ankles on his shoulders and his grip on the back of your knees as he bends you in half.

after that night, it became many more. soap was now just johnny. the two of you shared loving glances and plenty of playful touches, a slap on each other's ass when the other passed by, a ruffle of hair, and arms wrapped around the other's waist, cheek to the muscle of their back.

ghost, observant as ever, found this quite aggravating as he thought you were his to hold. while you and johnny fumbled with carbons and phosphorus, ghost had picked up more paperwork than normal, training more recruits than he normally would, just to go and ask you for help. which, being the nice person you were, happily agreed to help him empty his plate.

silence filled the air besides the occasional sound of paper shifting and being flipped, or tossed to the side. some pens scribbling on the paper and against the hardness of the wood also found its way into the comfortable silence and the absence of words. ghost's eyes dashed up to look at you, chewing on the flesh of your lip as you focus on the paperwork that he had asked for your help on. he sees the blankness of your face, how nothing else seems to move or show any signs of emotion besides the gnawing of your teeth.

he quirked an eyebrow at this, how unusual you are...how fascinating. almost as if in a trance, a stupor, a daze as your aura pulls him onto his feet and over to you. he hovers over you, only your wooden desk in between.

"you and soap..." he started and as quickly as the daze came, it left him to fumble for the right words. you look up at him, the same bored expression on your face before you wide your eyes just a tiny bit in surprise and realization.

your head tilts to the side, deciding on letting him grumble with his own choked words. and he, in fear of such situation, opted to shut his mouth and walk back to his desk, picking up from what he left off.

a giggle escapes your mouth, "you can ask him." you say playfully, going back to your own sentence to write and finish up.

the two of them were a pair, always have been- and easy to hook both with the same, sweet bait of your kindness. sooner or later, you got what you wanted, two playful dogs that tend to your every need, whether to pick up some food for you, run to your room to get a file you forgot, knock someone's teeth out for your collection, or to pull orgasm after orgasm out of you until you’re a panting mess. that last one was your favorite.

you sat in simon's lap, knee bent with your leg thrown over it, spreading and keeping your thighs from closing. johnny's fingers thrust into your sweet heat as your sharp nails continue to dig into the back of simon's hand, holding onto the flesh of your waist tightly. behind you, you could feel simon's dick twitched as more of your slick dribble down onto his own trousers. his hot breathe against your ear grounded you just a bit as johnny's thumb grazed over your swollen clit. "that's it lovie...one more for us yeah?" johnny snickers from his place, crouched right in front of your pussy, all wet and puffy from the many orgasms that the two of them have taken from you. you whined as he continue to tease you, fingers languidly pulling in and out of your cunt as his thumb swipes over the top edge of your bud. you cry out. even his feather-light touches on your wet clit draws you closer to the edge until your mind goes numb, your pleasure boiling over the edge once again. your body convulses as simon's grasp on you tighten. "good girl, come on now. i kent you could do it..." johnny praises as his fingers pumps in and out of you quicker, pulling every last drop of your pleasure into his palm.

now two of them were playful with you, you were theirs and they knew how to share. their sweet little play thing that was always too good to them, so obedient.

simon now wishes that you were as obedient in the field as you were in bed as he sweeps through the building in search of you. he curses to himself for letting you slip past his field of vision and his attention, going off on your own with a simple "be right back".

he believed it but that was almost an hour ago, and this building is not big. however, the concrete walls and fluorescent lights rendered this place a labyrinth. rifle in his hand, held close and alert, he quickly tip toes up the stairs, observing the twisting quiet hallways, its greenish lights making him feel sick.

he continued on, careful in the thickness of the silence, making his heart thunder and his steps heavy, like forcing through gelatinous air. a wail rung through the concrete walls, not yours, but a shriek of agony, the only sound being made in the longest minutes in his life.

he jogged on, gun tight in his grip, ready to shoot the poor bastard that stood in between his darling and him.

your voice got louder as he got closer, he turned the corner, meeting you and a man in an empty room, door swung open. the man knelt on your feet in front of you. crimson pipes and frayed pieces of his bicep dripped down thick, molten blood onto a pile of rumble from the collapsed wall. simon froze, his own blood flowed thunderously in his ears as he felt his chest shook.

your face showed the same picture as it did when he made you take over his paperwork all those weeks ago. a plain, empty, broken face stared back down at the man on his knees. he mumbles something in russian quickly, petrified in his spot as you held the saw onto the top of his head. his pleas faded into nothing as his voice grew raw from overuse. a simple, broken, "please" breathed out of his exhausted lungs.

simon saw the way his unsteady back raised as he took a quick breath and how it shakily exited his body. blood continued to drip from his exposed bone and muscle. the man's body swayed, weakened from the lack of such plasma flowing through him. a man on the brink of death didn't scare simon, he has been where you are now. he has seen death like an old friend from school, bumping into it every so often.

the dread that filled his body and weighed on his shoulders was your reaction- or lack thereof. you didn't care about his pleas, or how the light in his dull eyes extinguished from tight-lining in between life and death. you didn't care that his arm was discarded behind you. you didn't care about the severed arm, laying in a dark pool, drenched in blackness, just a foot away from your backside. you didn't care.

the man's hand grabs onto your leg, begging, pleading for mercy, even as death was eager to take him. simon sees his breathing becoming staggered, shallow, knowing death is standing over your shoulder, staring on, waiting for you to make the final blow, to end his life.

but you don't. a satiated hum of approval rumbled out of your throat as you dug the jagged blade of the hand saw into his skull. the man pulled from the well of his energy, enough to let out a sluggish, hoarse sob. he bent over more, trying to escape the digging of the steel into his scalp, failing.

you pull back the blade, making you cut deeper and the man choked on his anguished cries. satisfied, you yanked the blade out, leaving the man to hiccup one last plea as you kicked him off your leg. he falls to the ground on his side, his chest rising ever so slightly. you step over him, throwing the saw to the other side of the room, it's weight hits the concrete with a 'thump'. simon doesn't speak, and neither do you. he walks behind you, rifle still drawn. and you know why.

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helpmeimblorboing · 6 months ago

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This new world was strange. Caelus had never seen anything like it before

It looked… dead. And yet, clearly not. The buildings stood empty, but clearly well-loved. Almost like someone had been caring for them, in the absence of their inhabitants

It was big, sprawling and vast, from the frozen wastes to the North, where the earth shone silver with permafrost, to the oddly charged winds of the South, the electrified water sparking an odd purpley hue, the grass bright and saturated

He dragged his fingers along the ridges of the statue he had found near the beach where the Astral Express had touched down. It was set in the middle of a dried-out lake, the edges of it oddly sharp and clifflike, almost like it had been made by a comet of some kind.

A little ways away stood an overgrown forest, its mossy floor littered with odd, lamplike flowers, wild apples and orange, pearlike fruits growing in abundance on its trees. A haven for wildlife, but, judging by the way the boars reacted to his presence – namely, immediately trying to ram him – not so much for humans

Animals darted through the underbrush, boars that seemed too small for their species and dogs that bore signs of being tamed, once upon a time.

The earth was oddly yellowish here, more like sand than anything else, light and airy. More to the point, the grass surrounded the dried husk of a lake on all sides was overgrown and wild, save for one path that wound through the jungles, where the grass was cropped low and trim, forming an impromptu trail for the Trailblazers to follow

The impromptu path led them straight to a lake, the waters murky and greenish, littered with the broken remnants of a footbridge. Pigeons perched on the bits of rock that poked through the near-opaque waters, idly pecking at the scuffed stone

And in the center, on a vast hunk of barren rock, stood the ruins of a city, bounded with walls that may have once stood proud, but were now broken and crumbled, the tattered remnants of faded red pennants hanging from their towering ruins

It was small, was the first thing Caelus noticed - certainly smaller than the dockside city they had found in the far east, buildings made in the Xianzhou style, part of it clearly having sunken into the yellowy waters centuries ago

And definitely much smaller than the ruins they had found to the east of THAT, consumed by the green jungle that surrounded it, populated only by the odd-looking tigers and colorful birds that clearly named that region of this continent their home

But it had been the one to yield the greatest results. The buildings had been overgrown, covered in creepers and vines and plants of all manners, but still mostly intact

And inside one of them, a small tavern nearer to the towering statue that marked the centre of the statue, features too eroded to be recognisable, they had found their prize

A photo, lying on the tavern’s dust-coated floors, clearly having fallen out of the pocket of someone paying the place a visit, for it was clearly far newer than the building itself

It depicted an odd pair - a young boy with shining blonde hair, tied into a rat’s tail, his bronze eyes sparkling, his arm wrapped around the man that stood beside him- a rather disgruntled-looking individual, hair an oddly-bright red.

The blonde boy’s other hand had been brought up in a peace symbol, and a wide smile decorate his admittedly-cute features, the expression clearly for the benefit of whoever had taken the picture

A hand was stretching into the photo, dressed in an oddly puffy-looking white sleeve, a frill encircling its wrist, a blurred face poking out just above its shoulder - clearly someone who had tried to make it into the photo and failed

On the back of the photo had been scrawled, in a coarse, chickenscratch script - “Do you remember where we first met ? Starfall Lake ? I do. I don’t think I can ever forget”

A pause, and Caelus angled his eyes up towards the statue’s face, features having long-since eroded into a featureless mass of rock

God, he hoped this was the right place. If it wasn’t, March would never let him hear the end of it

A pause, and then he heard rustling behind, followed by the rhythmic thump-thump of feet on grass

He swirled around, arm already moving towards the handle of his trusty baseball bat, before another hand grabbed him by the wrist, fingers rough and calloused – the hands of a warrior

“What are you doing here ? Who are you ?”, a rough voice demanded, sounding oddly disbelieving, like he was shocked at finding life here - which was fair, given how abandoned this world seemed

Caelus drew in a sharp breath . Peace first, he reminded himself, and then you can cave their heads in

He cleared his throat in a vain attempt at sounding somewhat professional, looking up into the intruder’s face, features drawn and shocked-looking, bronze eyes wild, blonde hair cut to brush against his shoulders. Half his face was scarred, the tissue an odd blackish hue, veins of brilliant blue webbing their way across it

“Greetings, sir”, he tried his best to bow, but the man simply refused to let go - which made sense. As far as he knew, he was the only other sentient life form this poor man had seen in years, “I’m …”, the urge to introduce himself as the Galactic Baseballer resurfaced, before being overridden by the thought of Dan Heng’s disappointed face, “… Caelus. From the… Astral Express ?”

“Who ?”

“Ah, right”, Caelus mentally berated himself- he lived on a dead world. Of course he wouldn’t know who they were !! , “We… explore worlds. For the accumulation of knowledge”

“Oh”, slowly, the man let go, nodding slightly, “I see. I see”

“Um…”, Caelus looked around, but no other viable life form offered to show itself, so he turned back to the man, who was clearly on the verge of some kind of breakdown, “Would you happen to know this planet’s name ? And would you care to serve as a guide ? We would pay you”

He grinned. The man, eyes glassy and unfocused, didn’t seem to care much

“Sir ?”

“I…”, the man began again, his eyes snapping back to focus, his voice hoarse, “Of course”, he laughed humorlessly, “Yeah. I’ll show you around”

“Right”, Caelus’ grin widened, “Um… so, where are we ?”

“Right”, the man swallowed thickly, “Right. This… I don’t actually know the world’s name, but… but… this continent. It is… or at least, was, once named…”

He pressed his eyes shut, seeming pained, “Teyvat”

#genshin impact #honkai star rail #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #caelus #aether #teyvat #astral express #hsr #gi #angst #pov outsider #bad ending #drabble #one shot #dark fic

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happyfoxx-art · 1 year ago

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An untitled oneshot featuring my dragon oc and his princess uwu

TW/ Blood, injury. uhh i think that's all that you should know.

this was a lil thing I wrote to shake off the rust! It's been a LONG time since i wrote anything with ocs. Let me know if you enjoy!

Alphonse was in trouble.

That much was clear, from the cluster of knights scuttling around the perimeter of the barn, yelling that they would be in soon. Blood spattered the dirt at Theo’s feet, painting the grass crimson. “We’ve got it cornered men- it’s hurt, we’ll be able to get rid of it for good this time!” the captain called. A log had been brought to try and break down the door. “Steel yourselves! It’s killed it’s last-”

“STOP!” Theo finally shouted, striding forward with a confidence that was almost entirely a fabrication. The Captain, to his credit, only looked startled for half a second.

He put a hand up to quiet the contingent of men. “Princess Theodosia, what are you doing here? Where is your guard-”

“My guard is- is in trouble. A man- a group of men tried to assault me three streets over- Alphonse sent me to find help.” She pointed urgently back towards the town. “He’s going to be overwhelmed, please. If- If the dragon is hurt I’m sure it won’t go anywhere while you go and aid-”

“Of course, highness,” the Captain agreed easily. He gestured and the knights started to hustle off before Theo’s wide eyes. “I can leave some guards-”

“NO!” Theo startled herself with her own voice. Deep breath, Theo. Calm, cool, collected. “I- I mean. No. That- That is alright- there’s no one here. Just- go help Alphonse, please. I don’t know what I’ll do if something happens to him-”

The Captain looked at her for a long moment, then settled upon setting the bar across the barn doors. “Alright. Stay out of sight and do not touch this. This thing has brought enough misfortune upon the kingdom. We will be back shortly to take care of it.”

Theo nodded very convincingly, her puff pigtails bouncing with the rigorous movement , giving a polite bow to the Captain as he rallied his knights and rushed off. Once they were out of earshot she waited all of 30 seconds before hauling the bar off the barn door. Pulling at the door she found it gave- the dragon must have moved further inside now. She sidled the door open and slipped inside.

The barn was dark, the windows blessedly closed to prying eyes. Theo wasn’t sure who owned this barn exactly, it could very well be on her family's land for all she knew. She hoped so. Less chance of getting interrupted again.

The smell of blood was strong, metallic and sickening. Spatters of it stained the wood at her feet, painted the inside of the door, showing that he'd used his body to keep it shut for a time. “Alphonse,” Theo whispered, edging forward through the dark. “Alphonse, can you hear me?”

In response she got a frantic scrabbling sound from the back corner of the barn. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, the hulking form of the dragon- of Alphonse curled into pile of loose hay became clear. The soft lilac downy feathers that covered his body were stained red, hay sticking tp him where he was too wet with fresh blood. His eyes, probably much better adjusted to the dark than Theodosia’s, didn’t have that hint of intelligence she’d learned to watch for. No recognition crossed his face even as she edged closer, her hands outstretched to try and show she wasn’t a threat.

A feral snarl loud enough to shake Theo’s bones escaped from his throat when he decided she was getting too close. She froze, trying not to shake. He wouldn’t hurt her, right? Under all the fear and pain, that was still Alphonse. That still had to be Alphonse. She kept still as she looked him over. This was the longest she’d been able to get a look at him like this.

Golden orange eyes stared at her down a broad muzzle, one side of his face plastered in blood. A cut over his eyebrow. A pair of autumn colored rams horns, curled elegantly around the long deer like ears on the sides of his face. They flicked here an there. Wicked claws of the same color as his horns, digging at the soft dirt floor of the barn, leaving deep gouges in the earth. Long feathers, almost like fur trailed from the top of his head down his spine to his tail that whipped back and forth in agitation. Darker purple marks outlined the lilac saddle shaped marking, and his feet, the rest of him giving way to a near white shade of amethyst.

A couple arrows stuck awkwardly out of the side of his long neck, but they were only bleeding lazily so they must have missed anything too important. Another arrow stuck out of his front leg- arm? - and a myriad of shallow grazes trailed up his shoulder.

Theo allowed herself a quiet breath out. It wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t actively dying, not right now. “They’re gone,” she whispered. “They’re gone but they’re going to come back. We need to get you out of here, Alphonse.”

Lips pulled back to show sharp teeth, a long slow hiss. Theo didn’t move. After a few moments of a staring contest, Alphonse snorted at her and turned his attention back to himself. Teeth parted to try and grip the arrow planted in his leg.

“No wait- don’t-” Theo began, but before she could get far the arrow snapped between his jaws like a toothpick and a cry of pain escaped. His attention whipped back around to Theo, as she’d moved closer in her desire to prevent him from making things worse. He started to move to get up, all his body language screaming stay away.

They froze again, both of them this time. Alphonse, halfway to his feet again, his wings held out to appear larger. His feathers puffing up, his teeth bared. Theo, her hands out once again, her chest tight with anxiety. They stood there for what felt like an eternity.

Theodosia slowly, slowly, lowered her hands. “We do not have time for this,” she breathed out, then took a step forward. Alphonse clicked alarmedly, skittering backwards into the corner further. “You are hurt. We need to leave. Now, Alphonse. Please.”

Her shoes crunched hay beneath them and finally the dragon jerked forward and let out a scratchy, terrible roar right in her face. His breath was hot with threatened flames, sparks at the back of his throat. Theo scrunched up her face and gathered her courage.

When he began to quiet, she drew herself up. “Do not shout at me! If you’d have listened to me in the first place we wouldn’t be in this mess! Now pull yourself together so your friends don’t come back here and finish you off!” she yelled back, her fists balling up.

She waited for him to respond, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Waited for him to bite her head off or something equally horrible. But it never came. Instead, she felt the smallest nudge against her forehead, and warm breath ruffled her hair once again. Soft this time.

Theo opened her eyes and looked up. The darkness in his eyes had receded, thoughts overtaking instincts once again. He definitely looked confused, though.

Despite herself, tears welled up in Theo’s brown eyes and she grabbed hold of his muzzle, pulling his head close. “Idiot,” she murmured. “I’ll start by shouting next time.”

The journey back to the palace was simpler than Theo felt like it should have been. Clinging to Alphonse’s back, her fists wrapped around wads of the thick, long feathers along his spine, he’d ran through back alleys as fast as he could with his injuries. Finding a space in the orchards storehouse had been easy. No one was there this time of year.

Theo stood at the door once again, praying her dragon had not lost himself again in the time it had taken for her to slip into the infirmary and gather the needed materials. She had no idea what would happen when he turned back into himself. How would the injuries translate? The arrows piercing his neck concerned her the most- as a dragon he had a lot more muscle and space to have not hit anything important.

He didn’t have that luxury as a human. They needed to hurry.

The door creaked as it opened and warm light filtered into the small building. Alphonse barely fit into it, tucked carefully in on himself. She found him delicately licking at the snapped arrow in his arm, his head laid fully on the floor. He glanced up at her, and had the wherewithal to look sheepish at being caught in the act.

Okay, so not quite all there, but at least not going to bite at her for treating his wounds.

No longer backed into a corner, waiting for knights to execute him, the adrenaline seemed to be fading. He looked so tired.

Theo stepped inside, leaving the door open so she’d have enough light to work. She set the bag she’d brought before him, and kneeled in front of his large paws.

“Are you there?” she asked plainly. He clicked softly, and began to nod before stopping with a quiet whine. He closed his eyes and lulled his head to the side a bit, as if asking for her to get on with it. Theo let out a breath. “That hurts, doesn’t it,” she murmured, leaning forward slowly with gentle hands to probe about his neck.

He grumbled quietly, but didn’t move. She easily found his pulse, blessedly distant from the injuries. “They didn’t get your jugular,” she finally announced. “It’s just muscle.” A beat of silence, her hand pressed against his neck, feeling his pulse against her palm. “I.. I’ll do my best, Alphonse, but I’m not any sort of doctor or healer…”

A noise a bit like a hum. She pressed her lips together and went through the supplies she’d brought. A needle and thread, some alcohol, a knife. Bandages. Clothes for when he hopefully changed back soon but not too soon. They still hadn’t figured out what triggered the shift. In either direction.

“Alright, do you… want me to count? Or just get it over with?” she asked, holding up the bottle of alcohol. Alphonse clicked twice. Option two then. “Okay. Okay, okay…” Theo figured the ones in the neck would be the worst. In silence, she cut the arrows down to make them a bit easier to work on, worked herself around his long neck to get a better angle, realized she was stalling, and poured alcohol over her hands to hopefully keep everything clean.

The first arrow felt like an ordeal all on its own. Delicately using the knife and her fingers she worked to edge it out without the backwards facing bits catching, trying to ignore the way his skin twitched against her hands. Blood smeared across her fingers, painting her nails ruddy. More blood started to dribble out of the wound once she’d finally removed the head of the arrow, tossing it aside and pressing an alcohol soaked cloth against the puncture.

The sting, however, brought Alphonse out of whatever haze he’d been in, a sharp noise wheezing out of him as her jerked away, nearly causing Theo to topple off her feet. “Whoa, whoa whoa, stop moving! Alphonse- you’re bleeding-” she yelped, grabbing a fistful of ridge feathers near the base of his skull in an attempt to yank him back down.

To her surprise, he complied easily with the pull. He stopped moving almost altogether. She glanced up towards his head watching his ears flick in alarm, the feathers that weren’t slicked with blood fluffing up again. “Easy… It’s just me,” she whispered, replacing the wad of cloth over the wound to staunch the flow of blood and hopefully clean the wound. “It’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Alphonse let out a pitiful whimper in response. And if that didn’t tear at Theo’s heart. She released her grip on the ridge feathers, stroking her hand over the spot to try and smooth the ruffled feathers out again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He turned his head slowly, just enough to look at her with betrayal in his eyes. “I- I thought it was like a mane on a horse, don’t look at me like that! You’re just as new to this as me!”

Alphonse huffed, as if the comparison was absurd. Theo however, blinked a couple times. “A-Actually, hang on. I have an idea,” she said. She shucked her cloak as quickly as she could with one free hand, and held it out to Alphonse’s face. “You’ve seen the vets work on the horses, haven’t you? They- they cover their faces?” Alphonse blinked at her, his little dot brows pinching together. “It seems like it helps, you know?”

He quietly breathed out again, then shifted his head just a bit closer. “Is that okay?” Theo asked, moving to put the cloak over his eyes. He closed them in response and let her complete the action. Settling the fabric over his face like a blindfold, she gently pushed him away. “Stretch out again so I can work. I won’t do anything without saying.”

Alphonse made the quiet humming noise again, and seeming to have settled better (so it did help!), went still. Theo let out her own quiet breath of relief and got back to work. Uneven stitches that she talked both herself and Alphonse through went into the first wound. The second arrow, which seemed to stick worse than the first, finally removed. Another round of clumsy stitches, but the blood was stopped so Theo considered it a victory.

She cleaned the shallow wounds along his shoulder next. Informed him that she’d put bandages over them once he was human again- she hadn’t been able to nick enough to bandage him like this.

Finally, she moved to his leg. She looped a couple bandages around it above the injury to start a tourniquet. “This one I can do properly,” she muttered. “You’re doing great. We’re almost done. Lift your leg a bit?”

He complied through her instructions, breathing slowly but evenly now. When she loosed the tourniquet again, more stitches done (the best ones yet, by the way), she moved her hand up to one of his horns. “We’re nearly done,” she said gently. She didn’t get a response. “Alphonse?”

Picking herself off the ground, in her bloodstained dress, she stepped softly around to his face again. She pulled her cloak off his face to find he’d either fallen asleep or passed out at last. His face had relaxed, the markings under his eyes making him look permanently exhausted seeming to be more prominent now. Theo pressed her lips together and gently smoothed back the feathers that seemed to imitate hair along the top of his head. “Alright… alright, good," she whispered.

Kneeling at his face, she dabbed the blood off of his eyelid. Peppering the cleaning with gentle rubs of his head, she managed to clean the cut and most of the blood off his feathers without waking him.

Quietly, she pressed a tiny kiss to his brow. After setting his clothes where he’d see them and changing into a new, clean set of clothes herself, she sat down outside the storehouse. She settled in to wait.

The sun was down and Theo had lit a lantern by the time she heard the sound of human footsteps behind her. She didn't move from her curled up position, listening as he shuffled about. "Did the stitches stay put?" She asked, picking at a lose thread at her knee.

"They did," Alphonse replied. Relief poured through Theo at hearing his soft voice. "Though, I could admittedly use some assistance with the bandages, my lady. If that's alright."

Theo rocked forward and got to her feet. "I assume you're decent?"

"Of course."

So Theo turned and walked back into the shed, bringing the lantern with her. Alphonse was standing in the weak light, his tunic held in his hands. The injuries had shrank to remain proportional to his human form, much to Theo’s relief.

They got settled and Theo began wrapping his wounds in the weak light. "Do you remember? What happened?" She asked, winding the bandages round and around his shoulder and bicep.

Alphonse shook his head. His lips pressed into a thin line. "I remember… some guy trying to jump a woman in the alley," he murmured. His eyes were still the same bronze as his dragon form. The markings under his eyes remained as well as a couple trailing down his chest and shoulders. He took a shuddering breath. "Then… nothing for a while."

Theo tied the bandage off and then moved to inspect the puncture wounds. Just to be safe. "You don't remember… the knights?"

He jerked, looking to her with eyes blown wide. "They saw me like that?!"

Theo nodded weakly. "They tried to kill you. That's how you got hurt…" she trailed off. Alphonse buried his face in his hands, letting out a slow breath.

Fingers raked through his amethyst hair. "Did I hurt anyone?" he breathed out.

"Not that I know of. They said you killed someone but-"

"I killed someone?!"

"You wouldn't do that," Theo protested, taking his hand out of his hair. "You couldn't have. We'll get to the bottom of this. We'll figure out what causes this… you aren't a monster."

Alphonse stared at his feet.

Theo finished tying off the last of the wounds, light wrapping around his neck to cover the marks there. "Do you remember anything at all?"

"I remember you," he whispered. "I remember feeling safe with you." He pulled his tunic on and smoothed it out, being careful with his bad arm. "I mostly remember feelings, nothing clear. It's like waking up from a dream I can't quite remember. I know things have happened but I can't make sense of the flashes I do recall."

Theo set the supplies that were left back into her bag. Alphonse pulled his boots on, arranged his hair in a way to hide the bandages on his neck.

"How can you be sure I wouldn't hurt someone? How can you be sure I won't hurt you?"

Theo looked up, slinging her cloak back over her shoulders. "Because it's you," she answered plainly. "You'd never hurt me."

Alphonse did not look satisfied with this answer. "I don't think that thing is me." He protested, gesturing for her to start walking. They'd need to be home soon or people would ask more questions than they already were going to.

Theo hummed softly, knitting her fingers together. "It is though. I can tell. Its… you. But more open than you allow yourself to be as a man," she murmured. "I accidentally scruffed you and you looked at me like a kicked puppy."

Alphonse looked to go through the five stages of grief at great speed upon hearing this. His mouth opened and closed a couple times before he found words again. "You what?"

Okay, they weren't the most eloquent, but they were words.

Theo found a giggle bubbling out of her. "You weren't being a cooperative patient, it's not my fault," she defended. "It's you, Alphonse. A freer you, but it's still you."

Alphonse watched her back as she walked ahead of him. “A freer me?”

Theo nodded, glancing over her shoulder. “It reminds me of when we were kids, actually.”

#my ocs #the dragon knight #temp title #writing #oc writing #oc fiction #fantasy #blood #injury #dubious medical care #we doin our best

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jookumura · 1 year ago

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Just reached lvl 150 with Ram!!!

(I need to touch some grass)

#overwatch #Ramattra #jo gaming

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krsnaradhika · 1 year ago

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What do you think is the best quality of Indian Muslims? Do you think they are better?

I have had quite a few family friends who practice Islam, a few classmates and friends too. I'll be honest, I'm not very social— almost aloof at times because I believe starting a convo with someone you have not spoken to ever = annoying them. Even when we are talking, the discussion never gets political. It remains between casual family stuff and academics. So yeah, I'm not entirely sure what could be the best quality of an entire community because every single person is built different?

I think many of them have done significant contributions in the fields of Indian classical music, science, history, politics and all like literally every religion? There are many soldiers belonging to the Muslim community fighting for us on the borders so they deserve our deference and gratitude? I think in general they are very normal people? Common folks like you and me? See, as long as a person isn't prejudicial on the basis of another one's caste/ creed/ religion/ gender/ sexuality/ nationality/ literally anything that isn't in their control, doesn't impose their own beliefs, is not disrespectful and does not monger baseless hate for anyone, they're a good one. Our homies.

Better than whom, tho? Like- from Muslims of other countries or people of other communities? Again, can you stereotype? There are good and bad people in every faith. Saudi Arabia is an ally, so are many other Islamic states. Everyone is chill, anon, there are just a few pseudo-liberals with free net and no job here on Tumblr who like to project hindublr blogs as Islamophobic and casteist. I have problems with people who think all the secular logic only applies in the favor of minorites in India, Hindus live in an utopian world while launching hell on others and have been 100% unscathed since the beginning of time. As if our ancestors haven't suffered enough and crimes aren't happening against us still, to this date. You chant 'Jai Shri Ram' and you're a saffron terrorist. Please touch some grass y'all. Lol.

#hindublr #answered #hinduism #the ask and the anon were very confusing to me tbh #like what did you expect me to say?#is there any correct answer to these questions or something?

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intheclearblueskies · 9 months ago

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Accidentally Hurting You

| Masterlist |

Tanjiro:

Tanjiro and you were walking together through the woods, talking and laughing. You'd just finished a mission and were given a rare day off, so you booked a room at an inn and had been just chilling in the countryside.

Suddenly, he tripped over a rock and stumbled, and since you were hand-in-hand you went with him when he fell.

Tanjiro landed on you, knocking the wind from you and scratching up your legs on some rocks. When he realized what he'd done, he apologized, helping you up and carrying you back to the inn on piggyback.

Nezuko:

Nezuko was braiding your hair, humming happily. You'd washed it earlier, so now it was soft and clean and fluffy, exactly how she liked it. Her hands threaded gently through it, her nails ghosting across your scalp just hard enough to create pleasant friction. You leaned against her with a content sigh while she worked.

Without thinking, she pressed a little harder than she meant to, and when she heard you hiss softly in pain she retracted her hand. A bit of blood was on the tip of her nails, and she froze when she smelled it.

You touched your scalp in confusion, but your eyes widened in realization when you saw the small smudge of blood on your finger. You tried to reassure her that you were okay, but she ran off, dragging one of the boys to you and pointing tearfully.

She stayed far away until the bleeding stopped, and then she jumped into your arms and buried her face in your chest out of shame. It took a lot of cuddles and encouragement before she stopped sulking.

Zenitsu:

The two of you were exploring a town for a mission. You'd taken the east half and he'd taken the west. When you rounded a corner, though, you accidentally walked into him -- and painfully smacked your heads together.

Zenitsu fell back with a cry of surprise, tears springing up in his eyes from both the pain and seeing you collapse against the wall, hand clasped to your injury. "I- I'm sorryyyyy, (y/n)!"

You told him it wasn't anything to worry about (while fighting your own tears from the pain), helped him up, and took the both of you to get ice for your bumps.

Inosuke:

"(y/n)! FIGHT ME!" He shouted one morning, running at you. You'd embarrassed him the night before in training, and he wanted to secure a victory.

"Inosuke, wait--" you tried to protest, trying to find a secure spot to set the pot of hot soup down on. From his vantage point, he couldn't see it and rammed into your back, causing you to stumble and fall, the pot splashing all across your front. You screamed as the hot liquid burnt you, and it caused Tanjiro and Zenitsu to come running from the house in a panic.

Tanjiro got to work helping you inside while Zenitsu shouted at Inosuke. The boy shouted back, confused as to what had happened. When he got the gist of it, he ran off for a while to blow off steam out of guilt... and later came back with two pocketfuls of chestnuts as an apology.

You forgave him for the mistake, though you scolded him quite harshly over losing most of your morning's work.

Giyuu:

You and him were at a hot spring for a well-needed vacation, and after a long soak you'd both bathed and prepared for bed.

You were having a bit of trouble brushing out your hair, so when you asked him to help, he obliged, having helped his sister with hers when she was alive. He took the brush and hesitantly moved it through your hair. It caught on a particularly tight knot and pulled, and you yelped in pain.

Giyuu froze, letting go of the brush and apologizing. You just shook your head, replied with "It's fine, don't worry," and encouraged him to try again.

Kyojuro:

Today was going smoothly enough. To get Senjuro out of the house (his father was in one of his Moods again), you and Kyojuro took him out to 'get clothing' (a front for taking him to get some greasy street food and sit by the river).

The kiddo was having a blast, holding Kyojuro's hand tightly and his eyes sparkling when you sat down on the grass. He'd gotten ice cream instead, a rare luxury that he only got on special occasions, and was busy savoring the cold treat. You and Kyojuro had gotten some skewers to share and were busy giggling and watching the ducks.

Without thinking about it, you teasingly poked him with the clean end of your skewer. He rose an eyebrow playfully at you and poked you back.

After an intense poking battle between the two of you, he accidentally jabbed you a little too close to your eye and a little too hard, and at the sharp feeling on your face you hissed, pulling back.

His playful mood was gone in an instant, and he sat the skewer down and asked, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" You gave him a thumbs-up and a smile. "No harm done."

Muichiro:

The sparring match started off routine and had quickly derailed; Muichiro had been more tense than usual this week, and it showed when he fought. When he accidentally jabbed you a bit too hard in the stomach (causing you to keel over and vomit), he stared for a second before guilt set in and he apologized, asking if you were okay.

You wiped your mouth and gave a grimacing thumbs-up before vomiting again.

He ended up spending the day making sure you were really all right and making you rest. Despite your protests of "I'm fine now, I'm not gonna get sick!" he mother-henned you, both out of worry and guilt over hitting you so hard.

Shinobu:

"Oh dear," she tutted as she pressed the heat pack to your back again.

During your physical therapy session, she'd accidentally pushed you too far and had pulled some muscles in your back, making it incredibly painful for you to do much of anything. She'd already apologized for it, but to your chagrin she didn't allow you to get up from bed until your back healed.

Gyomei:

Gyomei was crying rivers as he helped you back to the house. Your shattered wrist was cradled to your chest, and although you were teary-eyed and in pain, you tried to soothe him.

He'd been walking with you when you tripped on a root, and out of reflex he took your wrist and gripped hard enough to break it.

Even after the thing was wrapped, he was still crying more than you did. It took a while to calm him down.

Sanemi:

Sanemi was already having a pretty rough day. He stormed into your shared room and curled underneath the covers, planning on taking an angry nap. You'd wandered in after him, hesitant to call out to him.

When you gently lay a hand on his head, his hand came up and slapped yours away, an angry face glaring up at you before he realized who it was. You just smiled at him, even if tears reflexively began to rise up due to the stinging pain. His scowl left his face for a moment before it returned to a frown, this time with a guilty edge to his eyes.

He mumbled out an apology and hid his face again, and you quietly left the room so that he could nap.

Akaza:

Akaza accidentally scratched you. Pretty deep, if the blood soaking through your kimono was anything to go by. The two of you had been out for a walk in the twilight when you'd been cornered by a drunk man, and Akaza could only restrain himself from murdering him by latching onto your arm and not letting go until you were safe. It was only when he felt wetness on his fingers that he realized what he'd done.

He stared at you in horror before rushing away to get the first aid kit, lest he be tempted with your blood. He ignored your calls to come back until he had enough bandages to wrap around your arm. He proceeded to scold you for not telling him sooner before sulking out of guilt.

Douma:

Douma had been feeding off of you when you felt a deeper pang of pain as his teeth went deeper. You hissed in pain, grabbing his hair and tugging. "Douma-- ack!"

He pulled away, confused. "What's wrong?"

"Not so rough!" You wiped your watering eyes.

"Ah, sorry, sorry~" He kissed your shoulder as an apology before going back to it, more careful of his teeth this time.

Kokushibo:

Kokushibo had been combing out your hair. The two of you had bathed together, and as you usually did, you sat before him while he ran one of your combs (a gift from him) through it. Usually he was pretty gentle with you, his hands careful never to prick your skin or tug too hard.

Tonight, though, your hair was more knotted than usual -- and when he ran the comb through a particular section, it pulled too harshly, and you made a small noise of pain.

He stopped for a moment, squeezing your shoulder.

You nodded, glancing back with a small smile. "Just... startled me, that's all."

He took that as a sign to continue, going more carefully through that area of your hair.

Muzan:

Muzan kissed you, enjoying the subtle sweetness of the chocolates you'd just eaten still lingering in your mouth. His hands held your head carefully, though moreso to show off his power over you. He licked your lip before biting. Usually he was pretty gentle with his teeth.

Well, this time he bit too hard. You pulled away, hissing in pain as your bottom lip began to bleed.

His eyes glittered in interest at the red welling up in them, and he caught your chin before kissing you again. "Sorry, love~"

Yoriichi:

Yoriichi was holding you to his chest in his lap, basking in your presence. Whenever he got clingy like this, he was super cute -- his whole body seemed to relax and he got this incredibly soft expression on his face.

But tonight, as he sat with you, he got to thinking about the demons. Their activity had been ramping up lately, and he was beginning to grow worried that he would lose you. He was so lost in thought that he didn't realize that he was tightening his grip on you until you wheezed, "Yori-- too tight--"

He immediately loosened his grip, hiding his face in your neck with a murmured, "I'm sorry."

You just patted his head with a sympathetic smile. "It's okay."

#kny x reader #female reader #x female reader #kny scenarios #cw blood #cw injury #cw vomit

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rantceratops · 2 years ago

Text

(also fashionably late) Aroace Hunter Week 2023, Day Two: Griffin (Gryphon)

Title: Birds of a Feather, G-Rated

Word Count: 2,263

Summary: Hunter learns something about gryphons, Puddles, and himself while waiting for a gryphon Beast Track lesson to start with Viney.

Characters: Hunter, Viney, Puddles the gryphon, Willow

No Pairings

(This is the first thing I’ve written in ages, so please bear with me. I’m just happy for the inspiration and that I managed to finish a story without losing steam or interest, even if the flow might not be perfect. Enjoy!)

@sergeantsporks

Hunter felt like he was navigating a field full of traps. Long, wiggling traps that shifted dangerously around his feet as he tried to make his way over to a familiar face amongst all the feathers and shrieking. Viney waved him down as soon as she saw him, and Hunter offered a meek wave in return, nervously pointing down at the veritable sea of gryphon tails between the two of them.

Viney seemed to take a moment to realize his dilemma, then chuckled and patted Puddles’ shoulder, pointing over at the nervous boy. Puddles caught sight of Hunter and shrieked, bounding over like a predator for prey. Hunter yelled in alarm and tried to turn to run; how foolish had he been to think Puddles had finally forgiven him for stepping on her tail!

Fully prepared to teleport away to save himself, Hunter was surprised when Puddles rammed her head under his legs so that he slid down onto her back, nestled right between her large, fluffy wings. Puddles hissed and swiped the air threateningly at the other gryphons, whose tails she had trampled and disturbed as she went to rescue Hunter and whom were cawing and roaring in protest. Hunter grinned apologetically at the Beast Track students who were now having to calm their beasts down as Puddles took slightly to the air and glided them both over to Viney.

“Hi, Hunter. Thought you could use a little rescuing!” Viney chirped, patting Puddles’ flank. The large avian made a sound like a hacking cough and sat down, causing Hunter to spill onto the grass unceremoniously. He picked himself up and dusted off his pants.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I didn’t want to make “friends” the same way I did with Puddles,” Hunter said ruefully with air quotes, glancing back over at the still slightly chaotic corral of gryphons, some of whom were eyeing Puddles and Hunter with murder in their striking eyes. The grimwalker flinched, wondering if he still might be in for it, but just then Puddles stood and hissed back, fluffing her feathers out and stepping slightly in front of Hunter. The other gryphons growled but seemed to slowly quell. Puddles turned her head sideways to look at Hunter, her large eye blinking. “Uh... thanks?” he asked, then laughed lightly when she used her beak to preen his hair.

The gesture reminded him of Flapjack, sending both a pang of affection and sadness blooming in his chest as he stroked her with one scarred hand.

“Aww, look at that, I think Puddles really is coming around to you. It’s all over once she starts preening you. A friend for life,” Viney gravely informed him as she grabbed a small bag of dead dire rats and held it open to him, her expression dark. “You better feed her a snack to seal the deal or she might change her mind.”

Hunter looked into the sack of contents and contorted his face, blanching at the thought of touching something dead. Feeling Puddles still meticulously picking through his recently shortened hair, Hunter took the time to dig one of his gloves out of his bag and pulled it on, reasoning that he could wash it later. Or burn it altogether. He had a spare pair.

Sticking his tongue out, he grabbed one of the dire rats, glad that the material on his hands kept him from feeling how soft and squishy and dead it was, and turned to hold it up so that the gryphon could see it. He heard the sound of her sniffing, then suddenly she cawed and snatched it out of his hand fast as lightning, not so much as nipping any of his fingers in the process. She snapped her beak down on it once, twice, then swallowed it whole and began nudging Hunter’s hand roughly.

Viney laughed. “Whelp, you’re in it now! Better feed her the rest of this bag.”

Hunter smiled, despite how disgusting it was, and continued pulling out rats to feed to Puddles while his friend held the bag open.

“Wow. This is... kind of nice. I thought she would hate me forever,” Hunter confessed, averting his eyes each time Puddles devoured a rodent.

Viney tutted. “Nah, Puddles always liked you!”

Hunter shot her a look of disbelief. He very much begged to differ.

“Really! I mean, sure, you probably shouldn’t have stepped on her tail, but she enjoyed playing air chase with you! Those feinting moves of yours? Really something, it kept her on her toes. I’ve been trying to work on them myself to make things more interesting for her, but there’s a reason you’re one of our star players!” Viney praised him, looking sincere.

Hunter felt his cheeks and ears heat up at the commendation, a soft smile forming on his mouth. He hadn’t yet rejoined the Flyer Derby team, but it wasn’t for not wanting to. The Palistrom tree Willow had helped plant still had a lot of growing to do, but Eda had managed to procure another chunk of the precious material--from where, she wouldn’t share, though Luz had confessed the owl lady had looked even more scuffed up than when she’d brought her piece of Palistrom wood. Under the gentle tutelage of Dell Clawthorne, Hunter had been practicing his whittling skills, and thought he might soon be brave enough to bring a new friend into his life.

Not a replacement, he thought, placing a hand on his chest absently. Never a replacement. But a new friend he could bond with and cherish. Being back in the air again without Flap would be hard but... he just had to remind himself that his little buddy was still with him, always, and probably missed the Flyer Derby field just as much as he did.

“And you know,” Viney continued, interrupting his thoughts. “When you sat in on practice last week, I saw you lying against Puddles and reading. I don’t think I’ve seen her lie down for a nap so easy, she must really love your company! Or your voice. It looked like you were having a pretty good time reading out loud to her, or discussing plot details, whatever you were doing.” Viney waved a hand dismissively.

Hunter felt his face heat up again in embarrassment, not knowing anyone had noticed that, but she didn’t appear to be making fun of him. He was still getting used to the fact that his friends wanted to listen to him and encourage his interests.

“Oh, uh, it’s, it’s a habit,” Hunter said, grinning a little and touching the back of his neck (with the non-dire rat feeding hand). “Gus and Willow and Camila and I, we all like the same series of really awesome books, and we talk a lot about them, and I get kind of... passionate about this one character, you see. Chief O’Bai--”

A loud rumbling sound interrupted his explanation, his ears pricking up.

“Oh boy,” Viney mumbled, sighing and closing the bag of treats. “Here we go again.”

Before Hunter could ask, Viney stomped around him on the red grass, holding her hands up and wagging a finger at a new gryphon that had just trotted over behind him. It was eyeing Puddles, but not in a hostile way.

“Oh no, not this again! Puddles isn’t interested, do you want another scratch on your other eye?” Viney scolded, drawing attention to the two faint slashes running down and over the new gryphons left eye.

It seemed to ignore her and stepped toward Puddles, making a high trilling sound and puffing out it’s feathers in a show-off-y way. It spread its wings out above its head, seeming to make itself taller, and fanned them out. It made little steps in the dirt with its front legs, lightly clawing up dirt and looking like a strange little dance.

As soon as Puddles caught sight of it, she shrieked and raked her talons in the dirt, fluffing her own feathers out but in the same threatening display Hunter had seen her use at the angry gryphons earlier. She slashed at the air in front of it, but it seemed to not take heed, shuffling closer.

Viney put a hand on Hunter’s upper arm and moved him aside just as Puddles lunged forward and grabbed a beak full of feathers from the gryphons neck and yanked them all out in a savage tug. It let out a noise of pain and staggered back, a bald, angry red patch flaring up on its chest. Before it could recover Puddles struck again, pulling out more feathers before spitting them out with a loud hiss, wings puffed out the whole time as she advanced forward.

The new gryphon hesitated before backing down, lowering its body and then turning to run back to the other group of gryphons and their witches.

Hunter stared in confusion at the place where it had disappeared, then back to Puddles, who seemed to be instantly calmed down as if nothing had happened. She startled Hunter out of his dumbstruck state by nudging his hand for more rats.

“What... what was that?” Hunter asked, simply petting Puddles’ beak.

Viney brought her fingers to her forehead, the other hand on her hip, and sighed. “Gryphon romantic drama. Or lack thereof.” She added, eyeing Puddles.

Hunter felt his brows furrow. “That was... romance?”

Viney nodded. She picked the bag of rats back up and pulled one out bare-handed, much to Hunter’s disgust, and tossed it for Puddles to catch.

“Supposed to be. You see, the thing about gryphons is that they mate for life. Usually, anyway. Sometimes they form multiple mate bonds, it’s not always just two, but that’s not the point. The point is, they usually wind up in a pair of some sort. But, Puddles... well.” Viney patted her side. “Let’s just say she’s way past the age for it, and she reacts the same way every time.” She gestured to the spot the gryphon had just attempted to woo Puddles in.

“Oh.” Hunter said thoughtfully, looking down at the red grass. He felt suddenly reminded of the fact that he was seventeen, getting ever closer to eighteen, and had never once felt... anything like that toward anyone. One of the first things he’d learned about Hexside had been that everyone was romance obsessed, and that according to Luz and Amity, he’d already been quite the “hit” with several giggling students in the halls. He had a vague idea of what that meant, and it made him feel uncomfortable.

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure Puddles just isn’t interested. That’s probably the hundredth gryphon I’ve seen her reject, and I’ve never once seen her try to impress one herself.” Viney said, feeding Puddles the last two dire rats at once. Puddles trilled happily and actually seemed to chew them a little this time to relish the flavor. (Hunter’s face turned a bit green).

Hunter fidgeted, feeling self-conscious. “Is it... okay that Puddles doesn’t...feel like that? About other gryphons?” He asked offhandedly, gesturing at the gryphon that had finished with her rats and now came back over to nibble Hunter’s hair once more. He tried not to think about her still having rat bits in her beak.

Viney seemed to study him for a second, then smiled and nodded. “Absolutely! It’s not the first time I’ve heard of it. It’s actually fairly common in the beast world. And,” she added, smile widening. “Among witches and demons, too.”

Hunter perked up, ears lifting as he gazed at Viney. “It-it is?”

Viney nodded. “Absolutely. There’s no shame in it! Isn’t that right, girl?”

Puddles cawed loudly near Hunter’s ear and then started purring, nuzzling up against him. Hunter looked down at her as she gazed up at him with one big yellow eye, and felt like there was a strange level of understanding shining through it. Hunter smiled at her softly, petting the feathers near her beak.

“That’s... good to know.”

Viney tapped her chin. “If you’re interested in the subject, I think there might be a book or two on the subject somewhere in the library. Willow’s told me you like your research. You want to go look for it after class?”

Hunter nodded gratefully, soothed by Puddles soft feathers.

Later, when Hunter was tucked away in his room at the Clawthorne’s, he cracked the book open on lack of attraction and felt his chest tighten with each chapter, understanding washing over him.

Thank you, Puddles, Hunter thought, sniffing.

He felt even more understood when he hesitantly told the Flyer Derby team chat that he was sure he’d never felt sexual or romantic attraction for anyone and never could, and that he was happy he’d learned it was normal. Amongst the replies of “That’s great!” and “I’m so glad, dude!”, he noticed Willow typing.

Hello_Willow said: Oh! Hunter, that’s so amazing! I think you checked out the same book I did!

Hunter’s breath hitched.

RulerzReachF4n said: YoU... DID ReSearcH f0R SomeTHng?

Hello_Willow said: Yes! For myself. Luz told me the human realm term for it. Asexual, I think? I don’t feel sexual attraction, I never have. It sounds like you have that part in common with me! Wow, this is great, I wish I had known sooner!

The other Flyer Derby team members chimed in more while Hunter silently laid on his bed and took that information in. Eventually, when Willow grew concerned by his silence and asked if he was still there, Hunter grinned through water-y tears and told her he was just fine.

#ranty writes #ranty drabbles #aroace hunter week 2023 #aroace hunter #asexual willow park #hunter toh #willow park #viney toh #puddles toh #the owl house #fanfic #aromantic #asexual #emerald entrails #no ship tagging of Hunter and Viney this is PLATONIC #also Hunter is very real for not liking to touch gross dead things #as someone that has a big phobia of dead things I feel this

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