#these are also unedited except to darken the red a bit. finally got to try out tower lighting

[kukurubean]

nexus

[starlight-starwrites]

EZRA as a gold miner in the 1870s

okay honey. you asked for it. (ps i love red dead so much that is all) ((can i just say how much i love this au?? at first i was like ‘what’ and now i am YEARNING and i love the wild west, so yeah i went a bit feral with these))

also fair warning: unedited 4.3k. and there is public kissing omg.

-your family moved from the state of georgia to the state of california just before the war had started. you were too young to remember what it was like at the time, or the reason why. but you remember the hushed conversations of your parents, the way your older siblings shooed you away when you asked.

-you remember your mother packing up your many things, loading them into too many wagons, herding your four older brothers and two sisters before you. your father had smiled at you, handing over your doll and saying “it’ll be an adventure darling. we’ll go so many places, and we’ll get to see mountains. you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

-you had beamed back, showing off your teeth that had yet to fully grow in, and promised your father that you would be the best of his seven children and would follow him anywhere.

-you held true to your word, even as the youngest. you had weathered the trip with a positive attitude, and when a trunk of your things, including your favorite doll, had been lost, you still smiled and said you’d find better things in california. “all i need is the mountains and our family, papa”

-california had been every bit of the dream to your young eyes. as you traveled through open fields, watched the sun set to paint the country in a summer orange, even as it autumn ended, and the mountains stood tall on the horizon, you loved it. and as you grew, you loved it no less.

-when the war had ended, and your oldest brother returned, victorious and with his bride from chicago, your family was complete again. but as happy as you were, your heart still yearned for more.

-your father, a clever investor and a friend of the banks (or scheming businessman to your sour neighbors), had always been wealthy. your family lived well, you always had your pick of dresses, each of your siblings married to well-to-do connections, even with the move. except you.

-you enjoyed the benefits of wealth, but even at 21, you ran barefoot through the dirt of your father’s land, rode your proud stallion through town with a wide brimmed hat, and managed to wheedle your way into the hearts of every gentleman, gambler, and cowboy in new hanover.

-you were greeted with a ‘good day, miss’ and a tip of a hat everywhere you passed. the town’s people knew you by name, called you ‘young man holder’s daughter’ (your father had bought the land you lived on now from old man holder. now slowly advancing toward 60, your father was very pleased to ever be considered ‘young man’ anything, even if his name was not holder). in return, you knew the town’s people by name, greeted each as you rode in for another pack of gum, the shiny riding boots just come in from the factories, or for a drink you wouldn’t tell your father about.

-so when one day you pass by a man, maybe a few years your senior, and you don’t recognize him, a part of you feels obligated to introduce yourself. he wears faded overalls, a dirtied tan union suit underneath, and large brown boots that looked as though he had walked the entire transcontinental railroad in them. his cap covered his eyes as he leaned against the general store, but you could follow the curve of his nose to the pout of his lips as he held up a book.

-the cover was worn but you made out the word ‘poems’ along the binding. he certainly doesn’t look like the type to read poetry, perhaps not even the type to read at all, but he seems so invested that after you hitch Friday to the post, you walk past without greeting him, and enter the store

-when you leave, a parcel of things on your arm, he’s still there, reading the book, now much further along. you may have glanced at him already, but thinking it impolite to stare, you search through your bag to pull out a stick of gum, walking to where Friday waits patiently for you. when you reach him, placing your things in the saddle bag and popping the gum in your mouth, you accidentally glance over at the man again, only to find him staring right at you

-you notice first the warm brown of his eyes, and just the very fact that that he’s looking at you starts a flutter in your stomach. his mouth is quick to curve into a smile as he lowers the book, nodding to you

-“well good day, ma’am. don’t you look like right sunshine on a cool evenin’. a warmth i couldn’t turn away even in death valley itself”

-he says it so assuredly that you think that he practiced it, maybe he’s quoting directly from his book of poems. sure, you were wearing your plain yellow dress--it came above your ankles, showing off your new riding boots, already muddy, and the hem had been darkened with dirt--and you thought your light brown hat complimented it nicely, but no one had truly ever said something like that while you were dressed like this.

-you really didn’t know how to respond. so you laughed.

-he smiled back, smirk pulling back his lips to reveal straight teeth. he pulled off his cap and pushed back his hair with it, revealing a patch of blonde among the dark brown of his hair. he didn’t seem put off by your response in the slightest.

-“ain’t you something?” you finally said. wishing the heat on your cheeks was only due to the high noon sun. “i don’t believe i’ve ever seen you before, mister.”

-you were happy you were able to come up with that at all.

-“of that, i am sure, my lady. for i would never forget a face as enchanting as yours, and i could never go on living without speaking to you even if only once”

-christ alive, he’s cheesy.

-he’s pushed off from where he leaned against the building, stepping down to stand opposite you, the hitching post the only thing separating the two of you. Friday stands steadfastly at your side, huffing as he comes closer. you fight the urge to tell him to hush.

-“what? you reading all that from your little book?” surely he doesn’t speak like this normally. you try and fight the way it makes your insides flutter.

-“this?” he hold it up, showing you the worn pages. “no, ma’am. i’m afraid this reading is of darker matters and the mortality of the human heart. and it sure ain’t what i’d like to discuss with you.” he grins at you, leaning forward a little more.

-there are so many things you could say back. and what would you like to discuss with me? is at the tip of your mind. and where did you learn to speak like that?

-“really? poetry?” is all you ask instead. you ask it while wrinkling your nose, and he sees you don’t believe poetry is worth all that. you wish you were better at this.

-“you don’t like poetry?” his eyebrow raises and his mouth pouts again.

-you shrug. “i don’t think i’ve ever really read it, is all.” you don’t want to disappoint him for some reason.

-at your words he smiles again, holding out the book to you. “then you should. take it, i’ve found hours of enjoyment in this little tome on its own. surely, you will too.”

-your eyes widen and you try to refuse, you couldn’t take what little this man had in the first place, but he insists, i’ve read it many times over sunshine, besides, i want to know what your opinion on my silly little pastime. read it over, i’ll be in town. tell me what you think.

-and now suddenly as your hand curls around the book, pulling it to your chest, you realize you’re going to see him again. it doesn’t seem like an unfair deal at all. you’re only borrowing the little book.

-he offers to help you mount and you refuse, deftly hoisting yourself up and hoping he’s impressed. he nods his approval, coming to your side as you turn Friday toward the road. come find me here again, sunshine. i’d hate to have too many dark days while i wait.

-you return home with a smile too big for your face, it falling only when you realize you never even got his name. you sit through dinner with a bouncing leg, decide that you’re going to read that book just so you can find him again to learn it. and that night you sit up, burning the oil lantern by your bedside to read the little book cover to cover. you find it’s not just poems, but his own little writings too, scrawled in the margins and gaps. and suddenly its not just his name you want to learn.

-you decide you love poetry, and you tell him so when you see him two days later. he walks with you, until you reach the end of town, and then you both turn around and walk back.

-his name is ezra you find, and when you give your name in return, you shiver at the way it sounds in his mouth. you talk about nothing and everything. to what you had for breakfast to the fleetingness of life and you like it. you like him.

-too soon you’re parting, you have to get home, he has to get to work...and as you ride away you realize you don’t know why he’s in town. i’ll still be in town little birdie, come see me again, he said when you mounted Friday.

-“birdie? what happened to sunshine?” you laugh at him.

-“well just look at your dress today. looks like you could fly away into the clouds, my birdie.”

-and you can’t believe that the only thing you can think about is the way he said “my”

-two meetings turn into three, and next thing you know, instead of riding to town two, three times a week, you ride in every day. you learn he’s a prospector, brought here by an ambitious man hunting gold that was never found. you want to laugh, but the way he believes in the possibility makes you pause.

-you have a drink in the saloon when you’re up for it, take lunch with him in the parlor (he feels like he shouldn't be in here but you looped your arm around his and dragged him through the door, and the hostess nearly dropped everything to serve you two. he knows you must be important, but he sees how everyone loves you the same as he does)

-and you go on rides--ezra wasn’t sure about this one, he doesn’t have experience just hopping on a horse to go wherever he wants--but Friday is big enough for the both of you, and you don’t take no for an answer. he laughs as he clings to your waist, feeling like he should be the one leading you, yet never happier to see you in your element, and have the privilege to touch you at all.

-days have bled into weeks, and your family takes notice. you never were one to stick to a schedule yet here you are. the excuse ‘picking up things from the store’ only runs so far. your father is on to you, you know, but it has never turned from lighthearted teasing.

-the next day he insists you take the wagon with him to town, picking up groceries for the cook for the rest of the week. you can’t say no.

-ezra’s waiting where he usually is, looking for the dark chestnut stallion to come trotting up, you in a new dress sitting proudly atop him. Friday has gotten rather fond of him, he’s proud to say, and he was hoping you’d take him on a ride again so he could steal you away.

-instead he looks up from the new poetry book you ‘lent’ him--the pages are pristine, and he is sure that he is the first to read it--and he meets the eye of an older gentleman, dressed in a fine suit and driving a painted wagon. he nods to him, before his eyes dart to the woman next to him.

-he can’t hide his surprise as he meets your eye, wearing the finest dress he’s ever seen you in, and his jaw drops. each one he thought was nicer than the last, and each time he sees he is wrong. your eyes are wide and you mouth something to him, but he isn’t paying enough attention to make it out.

-he turns in place, eyes following you as who must be your father turns into the path beside the grocer, and pulls the wagon to a stop. he helps you down, and ezra can do nothing but watch. your father is talking to you, stepping to the door, but you’re staring at ezra, motioning behind your father’s back as though you want him to do something.

-he inches forward, hoping to catch you and not the ire of your old man. he knew your relationship with your family was good, that despite petty squabbles you loved all six of your siblings, and your parents too. but you had never talked about what they would think of him.

-ezra is a confident man, never concerned with being judged, never afraid to speak his mind. he knows he’s a charming man. somehow, you make all this different. he’s standing now beside the wall of the store, looking at the two horses of your wagon, disappointed neither are Friday.

-his heart beats faster when the side door opens, turning quickly, and only relaxes when he sees its you. you spot him quickly, lifting your skirts to rush down the stairs to meet him. he pushes off to grasp your hands when you reach for him.

-“ez, i am so, so sorry. i know i’m late but my father--”

-its not what he thought you’d say. he squeezes your hands to stop you, and then he’s teasing you. first that you’re embarrassed, then for how you’re dressed. “pretty as a sugar cream pie. you look like madam trelawny’s curtains suddenly breathed life and walked off on two legs”

-you hit him, but you’re laughing. of course he knows the best way to ease your panic. trelawny’s parlor was rather frilly. but you return to the matter at hand, worrying about your father and any ruined plans with the man in front of you.

-“it’s quite alright, flower. i suppose i was bound to meet your father at some point.” you look at him, nervous. “i gather from your contrite expression you have yet to mention me to him?”

-you fear how he would react, but he seems to accept it easily, as if he would be equally surprised if you did mention him. he’s disappointed you can tell, and you wish things were more different than they felt.

-your father emerges much sooner than you expect, and ezra tenses despite his brave words. he wishes he appeared different, had a suit of his own to wear. your father looks stately, crisp whites and pressed blacks, and ezra immediately pulls his hands from yours.

-or he tries to. one hand slips away, but you grip his other tighter, refusing to let go. it sets his heart going, that even if you had failed to tell your father about him before, you wouldn’t hide him.

-your father looks at the two of you with a smirk, and you know that means his only thought is i knew it. he comes to join you, saying “and you must be the reason my daughter has suddenly found such an interest in town.”

-he makes no remark otherwise, but gives his hand and a polite smile as he introduces himself properly. ezra relaxes slightly, releasing your hand for your father’s and giving his name. he’s back to his charming self, all yes, sir and intelligent humor. you can see how even your father is surprised by him, and you grin at the two of them as they talk, relieved at the turn of events. until your father asks what it is he does. at the word prospector, all your father can say is “ah.”

-the grocer has loaded the wagon while they talk, conversation pointedly ignoring the matters involving you. eventually your father insists you must be leaving, but you clear your throat, eyes darting between the two of them. “dad...ten minutes?” you hiss to him.

-ezra pretends to be distracted by something in the distance while you and your dad silently communicate.

-“five minutes, i don’t want the food to spoil sitting in the sun.” he relents easily, says his goodbye to ezra, and turns to walk to the wagon.

-you immediately take ezra’s arm and pull him in the opposite direction, walking quickly. ezra’s already prattling on about how that seemed to go well, and that your father was a good man, you’re lucky to have him, and he hopes that maybe--

-you finally get him behind the shop, out of sight from the road. you don’t hesitate to pull his face toward yours, planting a kiss on his lips. he’d only kissed you once before, it was sweet and gentle, an until-next-time-kiss you had dreamed about everyday since.

-never before had you kissed a man. but here, hiding in the shadow, with his lips on yours, nose against your cheek, hands coming to grip your waist, you knew you would be doing it again. it did seem the best way to shut him up, after all.

-too soon you’re back in the wagon, sitting in silence with your father. you want to know what he thinks, but with the feeling of ezra’s lips on yours still seared into your memory, you don’t trust yourself to start a conversation.

-your father does it for you. “so...he seems a decent fellow.”

-“yes.” what were you supposed to say? “he’s a good man.”

-“i’ll be honest, i would have expected him to ask to call on you.”

-you grit your teeth, trying not to die from embarrassment. “i suppose i’ve been more of the one to do the calling.”

-your father is amused at your discomfort, decides he’ll have this conversation now. and suddenly its how did you meet him, and where have you been going, and should i be worried?

-you sigh.

-but a couple days later you’re with ezra again, its been nice, he’s been to the house, your father does not seem to either approve nor disapprove, and you expect he’ll share his opinion soon. but you had expected it before ezra shares news of his own.

-the man he works for is ready for another job, undeterred by his lack of success, ready for bigger horizons. ezra intends to follow him. its a period of days of stiff conversation, sad goodbyes and even sadder hellos. you count the days until he leaves, unsure of what to do. he gives you promises, dreams of the future, and you’re not sure of what to make of it.

-your father seems to know whats going on before you tell him. and he sits quietly and listens as you wail to him. only when you finish, he says to let ezra go, to send him away with affection. he was kind while you knew him, but don’t expect him to return. you’re too empty to argue with him.

-you go to bed, still read ezra’s little book, and wonder if he sits awake with yours. he leaves the next day and you give him a small kiss farewell. he’s all smiles and hope and promises. you’re quiet and acquiescent and kind. he doesn’t seem to notice, talking about his next adventure.

-you watch him leave with his group, wearing the same hat when you met him, but new boots, sturdy and factory built. you hope he remembers you, still torn between his words and your father’s.

-you wait for him. thinking you may receive a letter, like he said he would send you. you do. the first letter arrives after he’s arrived in a new town, Poker Flat, up in the mountains. a few more come each week. and then they slow. its not even been three months when they stop. you don’t know what to make of it.

-you still ride into town, pick flowers in the fields, play with your nieces and nephews in the dirt. it feels more hollow now, this life you live. his little book sits untouched in the drawer of your bedside table.

-you’re not sure if it’s anger or sadness, but you pull away, searching around you, inside yourself for something with meaning. you still smile, you greet people, as though a sliver of hope still waits inside you. you think it was a line from one of his poems.

-it’s been over two years when you see him again. you’ve taken to driving trelawny’s wagons, transporting supplies between her parlor and the next town over. you’ve got pants under a single skirt, a cropped jacket over your shoulders, and a shot gun propped on the seat next to you. Friday took a long time to get used to the harness, and he still refuses to behave sometimes, but you believe you make quite the team.

-you’ve hopped down from the driver’s perch, adjusting the back of the wagon, when you hear a voice greet your horse. “well, look at you old boy. never thought i’d see you like this.” and you can’t catch the rest of the words. you only focus on the voice, once so familiar to you.

-you walk forward, in disbelief. ezra stands there, petting Friday’s long nose. he seems happy to see ezra. you can’t say the same.

-it was anger you felt, you realize. he’s standing here like he never left, only now he wears a full black suit, a ribbon tie around his neck, a short top hat on his head, and the scruff on his face you so used to love is now neatly trimmed along his jaw.

-he looks ridiculous.

-when he sees you he stops, then smiles. he nearly skipping around to grasp you by your arms already chattering. “i did it, sunshine! you should have seen what we’ve found. Poker Flat was a bust, of course, but the sheer magnificence, and oh the adventure, flower, if only you knew the precariousness of...” and so he goes on to tell you where he’s been. you hear excuses. to his credit, he stops himself sooner than he might have, noticing your silence.

-“what is it, my birdie?” his smile drops, his hands now merely hover over you. “did i take too long? have i--have you...” for once he’s speechless.

-you can’t say anything, the lump in your throat growing. he can see you fighting back tears, and pulls his hands away but steps closer, hovering over you as if he wants to comfort you but unsure how, unsure if he had that right.

-you take a deep breath to steady yourself. and then you slap him.

-it knocks the silly hat from his head, revealing that blonde patch of hair you used to love running your fingers through. he’s stunned, head still to the side, mouth hanging open, hands raised between you. you wish you knew what to do with your anger.

-but he did keep his promise. maybe he didn’t write, maybe he made you think he abandoned you, but there’s a reason you’ve been missing him for almost three years, still haven’t gotten rid of that little book in your drawer.

-you take him by the lapels of his coat--you have to admit, it fits him well, and the leverage it gives you is incredibly handy--and you pull him back to you into a heated kiss. your hands move up from his chest to his face to his hair, and he responds quickly. separation has made you needy for each other, missing the days when stolen kisses were taken for granted. his tongue dives into your mouth and you moan, your hands take in the way his suit fits, appreciative of the snugness of his trousers compared to the baggy overalls.

-your back hits the wagon, his hand pulls up your leg, the other gripping the back of your neck as though he needs you close and can never lose you again. its needy and commanding and you love it. he had never kissed you like this before.

-the shouting and the whistles pull you from your bliss, reminding you of the fact you are in the middle of the street, and you are being incredibly inappropriate.

-he drops your leg quickly, pulling his mouth from yours but still touching his forehead to yours as he looks around, ready to cuss out anyone who dared say anything more. you realize you’ve wrinkled his vest and shirt in your fists.

-you both glance back at each other, still surprised by the turn of events. and then you both laugh, breathlessly, just relieved that maybe things will be okay. his arm is tight around your waist, and he kisses apologies to the side of your face.

-you both know you’re not done talking, but you’ll be damned if you don’t finally have him at your side. then he’s tugging you away from the wagon, keeping you close, staring at you with a dark look in his eyes. your stomach flips at what he says next.

-“come with me, my sunshine. there’s a conversation i need to have with your father.”