#this is not The Masterpost this has just emerged along the way

[hazardous-waste-containment]

non-exhaustive list of sources that are imo especially interesting/thought-provoking, just really solid, or otherwise a personal favorite:

MISC

“Leaders and Martyrs: Codreanu, Mosley and José Antonio,” Stephen M. Cullen (1986)

“Bureaucratic Politics in Radical Military Regimes,” Gregory J. Kasza (1987)

A History of Fascism, 1914–1945, Stanley Payne (1996)

The Fascist Revolution: Toward a General Theory of Fascism, George L. Mosse (1999)

Fascism Outside Europe: The European Impulse against Domestic Conditions in the Diffusion of Global Fascism, ed. Stein U. Larsen (2001)

Ancient Religions, Modern Politics: The Islamic Case in Comparative Perspective, Michael Cook (2014)

MARXISM

“Crisis and the Way Out: The Rise of Fascism in Italy and Germany,” Mihály Vajda (1972)

“Austro-Marxist Interpretation of Fascism,” Gerhard Botz (1976)

“Fascism: some common misconceptions,” Noel Ignatin (1978)

“Gramsci’s Interpretation of Fascism,” Walter L. Adamson (1980)

ARGENTINA

“The Ideological Origins of Right and Left Nationalism in Argentina, 1930–43,” Alberto Spektorowski (1994)

“The Making of an Argentine Fascist. Leopoldo Lugones: From Revolutionary Left to Radical Nationalism,” Alberto Spektorowski (1996)

“Argentine Nacionalismo before Perón: The Case of the Alianza de la Juventud Nacionalista, 1937–c. 1943,” Marcus Klein (2001)

BRAZIL

“Tenentismo in the Brazilian Revolution of 1930,” John D. Wirth (1964)

“Ação Integralista Brasileira: Fascism in Brazil, 1932–1938,” Stanley E. Hilton (1972)

“Integralism and the Brazilian Catholic Church,” Margaret Todaro Williams (1974)

“Ideology and Diplomacy: Italian Fascism and Brazil (1935–1938),” Ricardo Silva Seitenfus (1984)

“The corporatist thought in Miguel Reale: readings of Italian fascism in Brazilian integralismo,” João Fábio Bertonha (2013)

CHILE

“Corporatism and Functionalism in Modern Chilean Politics,” Paul W. Drake (1978)

“Nationalist Movements and Fascist Ideology in Chile,” Jean Grugel (1985)

“A Case of Non-European Fascism: Chilean National Socialism in the 1930s,” Mario Sznajder (1993)

CHINA

Revolutionary Nativism: Fascism and Culture in China, 1925–1937, Maggie Clinton (2017)

CROATIA

“An Authoritarian Parliament: The Croatian State Sabor of 1942,” Yeshayahu Jelinek (1980)

“The End of “Historical-Ideological Bedazzlement”: Cold War Politics and Émigré Croatian Separatist Violence, 1950–1980,” Mate Nikola Tokić (2012)

EGYPT

“An Interpretation of Nasserism,” Willard Range (1959)

Egypt’s Young Rebels: “Young Egypt,” 1933–1952, James P. Jankowski (1975)

“The Use of the Pharaonic Past in Modern Egyptian Nationalism,” Michael Wood (1998)

FRANCE

“Mores, “The First National Socialist”,” Robert F. Byrnes (1950)

“The Political Transition of Jacques Doriot,” Gilbert D. Allardyce (1966)

“National Socialism and Antisemitism: The Case of Maurice Barrès,” Zeev Sternhell (1973)

“Georges Valois and the Faisceau: The Making and Breaking of a Fascist,” Jules Levey (1973)

“The Condottieri of the Collaboration: Mouvement Social Révolutionnaire,” Bertram M. Gordon (1975)

“Myth and Violence: The Fascism of Julius Evola and Alain de Benoist,” Thomas Sheehan (1981)

GERMANY

“A German Racial Revolution?” Milan L. Hauner (1984)

“Abortion and Eugenics in Nazi Germany,” Henry P. David, Jochen Fleischhacker, and Charlotte Höhn (1988)

“Nietzschean Socialism — Left and Right, 1890–1933,” Steven E. Aschheim (1988)

The Brown Plague: Travels in Late Weimar and Early Nazi Germany, Daniel Guérin, tr. Robert Schwartzwald (1994)

“Hitler and the Uniqueness of Nazism,” Ian Kershaw (2004)

HAITI

“Ideology and Political Protest in Haiti, 1930–1946,” David Nicholls (1974)

“Michel-Rolph Trouillot’s State Against Nation: A Critique of the Totalitarian Paradigm,” Robert Fatton, Jr. (2013)

IRAN

“Iran’s Islamic Revolution in Comparative Perspective,” Said Amir Arjomand (1986)

IRAQ

“Arab-Kurdish Rivalries in Iraq,” Lettie M. Wenner (1963)

“From Paper State to Caliphate: The Ideology of the Islamic State,” Cole Bunzel (2015)

“Iraqi Archives and the Failure of Saddam’s Worldview in 2003,” Samuel Helfont (2023)

ISRAEL

“The Emergence of the Israeli Radical Right,” Ehud Sprinzak (1989)

“Max Nordau, Liberalism and the New Jew,” George L. Mosse (1992)

The Stern Gang: Ideology, Politics and Terror, 1940–1949, Joseph Heller (1995)

““Hebrew” Culture: The Shared Foundations of Ratosh’s Ideology and Poetry,” Elliott Rabin (1999)

“Israel’s fascist sideshow takes center stage,” Natasha Roth-Rowland (2019)

“‘Frightening proportions’: On Meir Kahane’s assimilation doctrine,” Erik Magnusson (2021)

ITALY

“The Fascist Conception of Law,” H. Arthur Steiner (1936)

“The Goals of Italian Fascism,” Edward R. Tannenbaum (1969)

“Fascist Modernization in Italy: Traditional or Revolutionary?” Roland Sarti (1970)

“Fascism as Political Religion,” Emilio Gentile (1990)

“I redentori della vittoria: On Fiume’s Place in the Genealogy of Fascism,” Hans Ulrich Gumbrecht (1996)

JAPAN

“A New Look at the Problem of “Japanese Fascism”,” George M. Wilson (1968)

“Marxism and National Socialism in Taishō Japan: The Thought of Takabatake Motoyuki,” Germaine A. Hoston (1984)

“Fascism from Below? A Comparative Perspective on the Japanese Right, 1931–1936,” Gregory J. Kasza (1984)

“Japan’s Wartime Labor Policy: A Search for Method,” Ernest J. Notar (1985)

“Fascism from Above? Japan’s Kakushin Right in Comparative Perspective,” Gregory J. Kasza (2001)

PARAGUAY

“Political Aspects of the Paraguayan Revolution, 1936–1940,” Harris Gaylord Warren (1950)

“Toward a Weberian Characterization of the Stroessner Regime in Paraguay (1954–1989),” Marcial Antonio Riquelme (1994)

ROMANIA

“The Men of the Archangel,” Eugen Weber (1966)

“Breaking the Teeth of Time: Mythical Time and the “Terror of History” in the Rhetoric of the Legionary Movement in Interwar Romania,” Raul Carstocea (2015)

RUSSIA

“Was There a Russian Fascism? The Union of Russian People,” Hans Rogger (1964)

“The All-Russian Fascist Party,” Erwin Oberländer (1966)

“The Zhirinovsky Threat,” Jacob W. Kipp (1994)

Russian Fascism: Traditions, Tendencies, Movements, Stephen Shenfield (2000)

“Why fascists took over the Reichstag but have not captured the Kremlin: a comparison of Weimar Germany and post-Soviet Russia,” Steffen Kailitz and Andreas Umland (2017)

SLOVAKIA

“Storm-troopers in Slovakia: the Rodobrana and the Hlinka Guard,” Yeshayahu Jelinek (1971)

SPAIN

“The Forgotten Falangist: Ernesto Gimenez Cabellero,” Douglas W. Foard (1975)

Fascism in Spain, 1923–1977, Stanley Payne (1999)

“Spanish Fascism as a Political Religion (1931–1941),” Zira Box and Ismael Saz (2011)

SYRIA

The Ba‘th and the Creation of Modern Syria, David Roberts (1987)

TURKEY

“Kemalist Authoritarianism and fascist Trends in Turkey during the Interwar Period,” Fikret Adanïr (2001)

“The Other From Within: Pan-Turkist Mythmaking and the Expulsion of the Turkish Left,” Gregory A. Burris (2007)

“The Racist Critics of Atatürk and Kemalism, from the 1930s to the 1960s,” İlker Aytürk (2011)

UNITED KINGDOM

“Northern Ireland and British fascism in the inter-war years,” James Loughlin (1995)

“‘What’s the Big Idea?’: Oswald Mosley, the British Union of Fascists and Generic Fascism,” Gary Love (2007)

“Why Fascism? Sir Oswald Mosley and the Conception of the British Union of Fascists,” Matthew Worley (2011)

UNITED STATES

“Ezra Pound and American Fascism,” Victor C. Ferkiss (1955)

“Populist Influences on American Fascism,” Victor C. Ferkiss (1957)

“Vigilante Fascism: The Black Legion as an American Hybrid,” Peter H. Amann (1983)

“Silver Shirts in the Northwest: Politics, Personalities, and Prophecies in the 1930s,” Eckard V. Toy, Jr. (1989)

“Women in the 1920s’ Ku Klux Klan Movement,” Kathleen M. Blee (1991)

“‘Leaderless Resistance’,” Jeffrey Kaplan (1997)

“The post-war paths of occult national socialism: from Rockwell and Madole to Manson,” Jeffrey Kaplan (2001)

“The Upward Path: Palingenesis, Political Religion and the National Alliance,” Martin Durham (2004)

“The F Word: Is Donald Trump a fascist?” Dylan Matthews (2021)

“Castizo Futurism and the Contradictions of Multiracial White Nationalism,” Ben Lorber and Natalie Li (2022)

[fanonical]

Jamie's Mildly Pretentious Uquiz Adventures - A Masterpost

what is haunting you? you have been asked to rid a place of the thing that has been haunting it. tell me how you prepare, and i will tell you what you find.

which faerie will guide you? You have been invited to a gathering of the Fae, to meet the being who will become your mentor. It is an invitation you have both dreaded and anticipated. Make choices along the path, and I will tell you who waits at the end.

what thing is hunting you? there is something following you. it is time to run. gather what you can, take what roads call to you. there is something following you, and it will not stop until it catches you.

prepare a spell and i will tell you what sort of witch you are lightning strikes outside your door - the witching hour is close at hand. power swirls inside your form, magic strong at your command. enchantments thicken in the air, spells of word and clay and steel. but what is the charm that you shall cast; to help or harm, to hex or heal?

survive a journey through the post-apocalypse and i will tell you who you are long ago, the world came to an end. but you are still here, surviving amid the ruins. and you have a job to do. the road is long and harsh. there is little comfort here. but you will see it through to the bitter end, and discover your role in this strange new world.

try and save the world from the end and i will tell you what kind of hero you are the signs of the end time are nigh. the people flee, frantic, from the destruction that is to come. but there is a hero, one who will emerge in the last gasps of a dying world, to journey beneath the earth and bring forth an artifact that might, the sages say, avert the end times. and that hero is you.

Prepare to meet a vampire, and I will tell you what you find October has dawned crisp and cold. 'Tis the season of the macabre, of the blood-tinged, and you have been waiting for it a long time. This year, you are going to surpass every past Halloween. This year, you are going to find a vampire…and ensure they turn you into one of their kindred.

Travel out to sea and I will tell you your role on a pirate ship The bright sun beats down on the glistening azure waves. All around you, the docks are alive with sound - seamen and stevedores shouting, timber and rope creaking and groaning, the distant screech of a fiddle. You are a pirate, heading to your ship for a day's work. But what kind of pirate are you?

Which god chooses you? The Hall of the Gods has many idols. As an acolyte, you have become familiar with each of their faces. Now, you prepare for your initiation. One of them will accept you as their successor. Perform the rites, survive the trials, call the Divine, and see who answers.

death is coming for you. how will you escape? the end comes for all of us. some accept it, lay down and fade away. some are eager to find out what lies beyond. and some will kick and scream with every last breath. you just have days remaining, but you have a plan. you're going to cheat death. one way or another. you're going to win.

Create a monster, and I will show you your reflection Night has fallen. Lightning crackles in the sky above. It is time for you to create an abomination. But what manner of horror will spring from your hands?

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Hello Gallifreyan Institue!! So recently my time lord has started talking about this woman called Tecteun? Apparently they were important or something? Who exactly are they?

Who is Tecteun?

Now, we're about to stir up quite a few debates over tea in the Panopticon. If your Time Lord has started talking about Tecteun, you've stumbled into some of Gallifreyan history's deepest, most secretive, and confusing lore.

🪐 The Shobogan Explorer

Tecteun started out as a Shobogan, the original inhabitants of ancient Gallifrey. Tecteun was one of the first Shobogans to venture into outer space, driven by an insatiable curiosity to explore other planets.

Somewhere along the way, they say Tecteun discovered something extraordinary: a child with mysterious origins, who would later be known as the Timeless Child. And here's where things get less straightforward.

🧬 The Birth of Regeneration

Some say the Timeless Child had a unique ability—regeneration. Tecteun wasn't content with just observing this phenomenon—she wanted in on it. She adopted the Timeless Child and began a series of experiments that would certainly interest child protection services.

After countless attempts, Tecteun finally cracked the code, unlocking the secret of regeneration. But she didn't stop there—Tecteun spliced this ability into her own DNA, allegedly becoming the first Gallifreyan to regenerate.

👑 A Founding Figure of Gallifrey

In his next incarnation, Tecteun supposedly played a pivotal role in the rise of Gallifreyan civilisation. The Shobogans evolved, building the grand Capitol, and with Tecteun at the helm, alongside the more famous figures of Rassilon and Omega, Gallifrey began its transformation into the powerful society we know today. These three are often called the Founding Triumvirate of Gallifrey - Rassilon, Omega, and the Other. Here, it's assumed Tecteun was the Other.

🌌 Tecteun and the Division

In one of Tecteun's later female incarnations, she took on a new role as the leader of the Division, a shadowy organisation operating from the Void after Gallifrey's destruction. The Division's mission started well enough, but it eventually came to operate in more morally dubious ways.

The Division were behind the creation of the Flux, a destructive force meant to reset the universe as part of the Division's grand design. In quite a large misjudgment, Tecteun released a Ravager named Swarm from imprisonment to further her goals, who unsurprisingly eventually killed her.

🏫 So ...

Tecteun's life and legacy is complicated. In the best version of history, Tecteun was a pioneer, a scientist and a leader. In the worst version ... well, make your own mind up. But remember, the history of Gallifrey isn't as straightforward as it might seem ... 🤔

Related:

Who are Swarm and Azure?: Profiles of these two scallywags.

What was the Flux?: What is was and how it happened.

Why is Rassilon everywhere?: Who Rassilon is and why he’s so important.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[cowboydisaster]

The Fire In Your Eyes

part XII: Clemens Point i

pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem reader

word count: 12.2k

summary: Having had a few weeks to adjust to the new camp, you're itching to get out. The cure to your cabin fever ends up being a rather troublesome trip to Rhodes with Arthur and Sadie. You and arthur are interrupted when Hosea invites you to a fishing trip, and the trip itself proves to be more trouble than you had planned.

a/n: I'm back! Most of you know that my dog had an emergency vet visit last Wednesday, and he ended up going under. He's doing much better now, thank you to everyone for all your kind thoughts and wishes for him. Sorry for the delay in posting!

warnings: graphic violence, brief sexual themes

beta read by @margowritesthings

series extras

SERIES MASTERPOST

Water laps at the shoreline, running over your boots as you walk through the grassy sand. Arthur is by your side, leading you in the direction of camp. It’s been a busy week, and you find these little walks along the lake a perfect distraction from the madness of the new camp. It’s been nothing but chores, and you haven’t even gotten the chance to venture out into town yet. You're going stir crazy, and the lake seems to be your only escape. 

Arthur started joining you soon after he picked up on the habit, and now sometimes you’ll go out for hours, getting lost in conversation while sitting in the grass. He'd gone out with you early in the morning, and you're just making your way back now.

“Likin’ the new camp?” Arthur asks. Your eyes are on the sand, watching how it shifts under your boots with each step. 

“Yeah, actually, I do. It’s nice bein’ by the water.” You hum, watching the sun rise over the lake. 

“Ain’t the heat buggin’ you?” Arthur chuckles, and you smile, glancing over at him. Even in the early morning hour, beads of sweat cling to his forehead, soaking through some spots on his shirt. He’s always  warm, it’s no wonder this heat is miserable for him. 

“No, I enjoy it.” You admit, basking in the warm sun. You’ll take the warmth over the cold any day, especially after Colter.

The heat is not the only change that moving south has brought about. The dirt roads have an oddly orange-red hue, the trees have changed from oaks and pines to mangroves and bald cypresses, even the people have changed. From what you’ve heard, this is a more dangerous place to be. People are less understanding, and some are even stuck in their heads, acting like it’s the 40s. Stupid bastards. There are pros and cons, but really, you’re just glad to be away from the Pinkertons. 

“Don’t you like it?” You ask him, looking up at Arthur as the two of you walk the shore. He cocks his head in thought. 

“I don't know. It ain't the same, I guess.” Arthur hums, and you nod. You know he really enjoyed the nature in New Hanover. He was frequently sketching the wildlife and the cliffs. You reckon he’ll find that passion here too, he just hasn’t seen all the beauty Lemoyne has to offer yet.

“Lots of memories in Horseshoe.” Arthur sighs. 

“That there are.” You agree quietly. You walk side by side for a while, soaking in the sun, enjoying the sounds of Flat Iron Lake. It's a beautiful morning spent together, and you try to soak in as much as you can. 

“We outta go to the fence, cash in those gold bars.” Arthur says, and you perk up at the thought. Not only are you excited for the money, you want to get out of camp. 

“Is there one around here?” You ask, looking up at Arthur. The morning sun is casting him in a bright orange glow as he rubs at the stubble on his chin, thinking of any acquaintances that might know of a fence. 

“Probably. There’s a town nearby called Rhodes. I reckon there's a fence there. If not, Emerald Ranch ain’t too far.” 

You approach the outskirts of camp, and you can hear the stomping before you even see her. 

“You!” Grimshaw hisses, stomping from her bedroll. Arthur shoots you a pitiful look as Grimshaw grabs your arm tightly and drags you back into camp, “Quit lollygaggin! And Mr. Morgan, stop distractin’ her!” Ms. Grimshaw yells. 

“Sorry Ms. Grimshaw." You whisper, hurrying behind her as she pulls you along. 

“At least you have manners. Now there’s laundry to be done, so get to it.” Grimshaw yells, shoving you towards the bins of lye and water where the other girls are. You fight the urge to call her an old bitch, instead opting to curse under your breath. 

The girls are sitting on a blanket around the bins of water, lye and clothes., and you take a seat at the washing station. Looking up, you're met with a bittersweet glance from Arthur, before he parts and starts on his own daily tasks. 

"We've missed you!" Marybeth calls, smiling brightly as she sits beside you with her wash rack and pail. 

"Yeah, we never see you anymore! Too good for us now? A high society lady like Molly?" Karen chastises, and you glance across camp to the red-haired woman, filing her nails on Dutch's cot.

"What?" You ask, not understanding how they could possibly equate you to Molly. You listen on, taking one of Jack’s shirts from the pile and rinsing it in the lye mix. 

"We ain't stupid!" Karen laughs loudly. You still don't understand, and you shake your head, eyebrows pulled together. Marybeth leans forward, biting her lip with a juicy piece of gossip on her tongue. 

"We see him goin' in your tent at night." Marybeth whispers, pulling away to squeal excitedly. Karen laughs, winking at you. 

Immediately your face falls– this is exactly why it was meant to be kept quiet. 

"It ain't what it looks like." You bite. 

"What? So you're not laying with Dutch's right hand man?" Karen teases. 

"Karen." Tilly warns from beside you, speaking up to stop the girl from embarrassing you or herself. But unsurprisingly, Karen doesn't listen.

"It's not just– it ain't like that." You huff, shaking your head, "Sides, what business is it of yours?" You snap. 

Karen goes quiet for a moment, but you see the crack of a smile on her lips as you continue working dirt stains out of Jack's shirt. 

 "So… you are havin' a tiff with him!" Karen points out, "When can we expect little Morgans runnin' around?" She snorts, and Marybeth covers her mouth to stop herself from cracking up.

"Leave it." You hiss. Karen and Marybeth take the hint, backing away from your bite as their giggles die down. 

"I'm sorry. It's just… nothing ever happens in camp– nothin' good anyway, nothin like this." Marybeth explains. 

You understand, you do. But this is something new, good and intimate between you and Arthur and you don't want it gossiped over or turned into something it's not. 

"I never meant to upset you, Star, really… Here, let me do your hair. Grimshaw ain't lookin." Marybeth says. Her tone is back to hushed and sweet instead of teasing. 

You nod, placing down your things before sitting down on the ground. Marybeth sits behind you, intertwining her fingers into your hair. She starts a braid at the back of your head, leaving a few loose pieces hanging down to frame your face. 

"Do you love him?" Marybeth asks you quietly and you huff. 

"I feel like a lot of people been askin' me that." You sigh, "I– It's all new." You excuse, knowing that you absolutely do love him, more than anything. And that little fact terrifies you.

"Is he good in the sack?" Karen asks. 

"Now, come on, Karen. That's no question to ask." Tilly stands up for you, raising her eyebrows at Karen until she backs off, "And Marybeth, this isn't a romance novel. Both of you, leave the poor girl be." 

It grows quiet as Marybeth pulls your hair into a loose braid. You flick the rowel of your spur, watching it spin a few times as you think. 

"This is the only reason I wanted to keep it quiet. Especially with Micah comin' back any day, and how some of the boys are. This is special, and I don't want it spoiled by the likes of the men in this camp. Usually I'd just start hittin 'em but I can't afford to be on Dutch's bad side right now." You admit. 

"My lips are sealed." Marybeth says at your back and you turn your head to the side, nodding. 

"Of course, we won't say anything." Karen adds, dipping a shirt into the soapy water. 

Marybeth ties the bottom of your braid off with a red ribbon, making a little bow with the fabric. 

"Flowers?" Marybeth asks hopefully, holding up a little woven basket of stemless flowers that she'd plucked from the new camp's surrounding woods. 

"Sure." You hum, looking back to sift through the basket. You're wearing a black shirt, and the red contrasts nicely, so you pull out a few crimson colored geranium petals and hand them to her. 

"Good choice." Tilly smiles, seeing the way you match perfectly. 

"We oughta get you some red lipstick!" Karen hoots, and you chuckle. 

"I don't need no damn lipstick." You smirk as Marybeth places the petals in between the woven hair of your braid.

"Yeah, cause it'll end up on Arthur's lips anyhow!" Marybeth snickers, and you reach behind you to smack her knee. 

"Hush up." You bite playfully, shaking your head at their banter. 

"Uh, what is goin' on over there?" Karen asks. You glance up from your lap, eyes scanning around the camp for the apparent disturbance. 

You lock onto the fight happening behind Pearson's table, eyes going wide. Marybeth's hands still in your hair as everyone watches on. Sadie and Pearson had been chopping vegetables for the night's stews but now their knives are up and pointed at each other. They're about to go at each other's throats, yelling at eachother with heated looks. Just as you're about to stand up and stop the apparent fight, Arthur stomps over, placing himself between the pair of fools. 

"What is wrong with you two?!" Arthur tells, shoving them apart. Sadie practically snarls, her knife still pointed in Pearson's direction. 

"I ain't choppin' vegetables for a livin'!" She yells from across camp, and Tilly huffs from behind you. 

"Get used to it." Karen bites quietly. 

Arthur nearly laughs at her statement, putting his hands on his belt. 

"Oh, I'm sorry madam, was there insufficient feathers in your pillow?" He asks sarcastically, taking a step towards Sadie so that she can see the annoyance playing out on his face. 

Marybeth puts a few more flowers into your braid before you turn and thank her quietly, standing up to help ease the situation. At least in Colter, Sadie trusted you. Though you haven't really seen her since then, she's been a shell, until now. 

“Look, I ain’t lazy, Mr. Morgan. I'll work, but not this.” Sadie says, her voice coming down a notch as you approach Arthur, standing by his side. 

“Well ain’t cookin work?” Arthur huffs, perplexed by the idea of Sadie picking and choosing what she does and doesn’t want to do. Sadie ignores Arthur’s question, and her eyes flicker to you as she scans you up and down. 

“She gets to run with the men.” Sadie points out in a hiss, her finger pointing at you before she looks back to Arthur with crossed arms, waiting for an explanation. 

“I want in.” She growls, “If you leave me here with this fat old coot for another second I’ll skin him and serve him.” Sadie hisses, raising her knife back up to Pearson. Pearson scowls as he steps forward, enraged.

“Watch your mouth, you crazy goddamn fishwife!!” Pearson roars, and Sadie lunges at him. You grab Sadie by the waist, pushing her back away from Pearson. Arthur puts his arm out, stopping Pearson. 

“Enough!” Arthur roars, putting an end to the childlike argument. 

“You want to run with the men?” You ask, stepping up to Sadie, “Then let’s go.” Your voice is irritated. Running out on jobs isn't fun. Sure, you have more freedom, but you’ve nearly died and lost the people you love more times than you can count. 

“Wait–” Arthur protests, but you raise your hand, stopping him. 

“No. If she wants to go out, let her. She wants to get shot at, she wants to kill? Let her. I ain’t stoppin’ her.” You say, irritation thick in your voice at the prospect of wanting to be an outlaw. 

“I don’t know.” Arthur shakes his head, worried that something might go wrong. Sadie rolls her eyes, pointing her knife towards you. It’s not a threat, just an extension of her hand as she addresses Arthur. 

“Did you ever question her this much? Jesus.” Sadie asks. Arthur rests his hands on his gun belt, leaning back. 

“No, I didn’t. But she was runnin’ from the law before I even knew her.” Arthur explains, and Sadie glances to you, seeing you in a new light. 

“Let's go then, prove yourself if that's what you wanna do.” You hum, looking up and down at Sadie. You know that she has what it takes, but regardless, you think she’s crazy for wanting to go out. Arthur cocks his head, going with your plan. 

“Alright then, Mr. Pearson, do you need anything while we’re out?” Arthur asks, and Pearson steps forward, pulling a folded up piece of paper from his dirty apron. He extends the paper out to Arthur before reaching back into his apron and bringing out a wad of cash and an envelope. 

“Here’s the grocery list, and could you mail this letter for me?” Pearson asks, and Arthur nods. 

“Sure.” Arthur says, gesturing towards the wagon on the outskirts of camp as he looks back at you both, “Ladies.” He invites you to go first. 

“I’ll take the back.” Sadie says, eagerly jogging towards the wagon as you fall into step with Arthur. Arthur puts all of Pearson’s items into his satchel as he walks towards the wagon with you. 

“She is somethin’ else.” You whisper, chuckling. 

Arthur holds his hand out to help you climb onto the wagon, and you take it as you step up. You take the front seat, sitting down just before Arthur climbs in beside you. 

Your head snaps up as you hear yelling from across the camp. It’s Dutch, hollering over to you three. 

“Arthur! No fighting in Rhodes. I don’t want a single weapon leaving its holster, understand? We are lying low!” Dutch yells, and you roll your eyes. 

“Like we laid low in Valentine?” You snap under your breath, and Sadie snorts. Arthur nods to Dutch, taking his instruction before glancing back at you.

“He’s– he’s tryin’, Star.” Arthur defends Dutch, flicking the reins over the horse backs as he drives you out of Clemen’s Point. You know it’s a sensitive subject for Arthur, so you gently place your hand on his knee for comfort, voice hushed to a whisper. 

“I know he is.” You say quietly, reassuring Arthur. It’s not an easy thing for Arthur to realize that Dutch is losing it, you’ll give him all the time he needs. 

Arthur looks over to you with a small smile. 

“You look real pretty with them flowers in your hair.” Arthur compliments quietly, and your hand moves to intertwine with his own on the wagon bench in between you both. 

“Thank you.” You hum. 

Sadie sits in the back of the wagon, trying not to eavesdrop. The conversation causes the constant ache in her chest to hurt a little more, and she finds herself looking for a distraction to numb the pain. 

“Where’s that letter?” Sadie asks, and Arthur huffs, shaking his head. The wagon breaks from the trees as you enter Scarlett Meadows, driving over the orange tinted roads towards town. 

“Oh, you’re reading his mail now?” Arthur chides. 

“What are you doin–?” Arthur huffs as you let go of his hand, reaching over him to dig through his satchel. 

“Star–” Arthur grumbles, amused and surprised as you pull the envelope from his satchel. 

“Read it out loud, I wanna hear this.” Sadie chuckles. You take the crisp white envelope, breaking the seal with your nail before pulling out the letter. Arthur shakes his head, chuckling as you clear your throat. 

“Dear aunt Cathy, I haven’t heard from you in some time… blah blah blah.” Your eyes scan over the page until you find a particularly interesting paragraph and you pause, reading it, “I am yet to take a wife, but it is not for a lack of suitors!”

Arthur laughs out loud, a hearty boisterous sound as you and Sadie chuckle. 

“Has he ever even talked  to a woman he ain’t paid for?” Sadie asks, lungs aching from her laughter. Your finger follows the line of words as you try to focus, ignoring the bumpy drive. 

“Oh– there’s more!” You chime, eyes focusing back on the letter, “The group that I travel with has picked up two women since I last wrote, and they both court me….”

You pause, eyebrows pulling together as you continue, “Both are too fierce-tempered for my tastes, but nothing that can’t be worked out…”

Sadie leans up behind you in the wagon, glancing over your shoulder at the pages to ensure she’s heard you correctly. Arthur is far too quiet for your liking. 

“Is he talking about us?” Sadie asks, eyes running over the letter.

“He has to be…” You whisper, feeling uneasy at the thought, “That’s… disgusting.” You admit, shivering at the thought of being courted by Pearson. 

“Put that away. I don’t wanna hear it no more.” Arthur grumbles, a dull rage bubbling up in his chest at the idea of someone else bragging about being courted by you. He knows it’s bullshit, and he knows that you’ll deal with Pearson if he doesn’t. 

“I reckon I don't either.” Sadie growls as Arthur takes the wagon over the train tracks. 

“I’ll deal with him later.” You shake your head. 

It grows quiet as you roll on, stuffing the letter back into the envelope. You place it down on the bench seat, intertwining your fingers back through Arthur’s. Instantly he relaxes, shoulders losing their tense state at your touch, and you can hear the breath that he releases. You have a way of calming him down. 

“So Rhodes, what’s it like?” Sadie asks, looking ahead to the buildings she can see. 

“It’s a decent town, I've only been here once or twice n’ that was years ago.” Arthur says, rounding the bend towards the saloon. 

“The people leave somethin’ to be desired.” Arthur grumbles, a sour taste in his mouth. 

The wagon rolls on, going past the saloon until Arthur pulls the horses alongside the general store. He grabs the letter from the bench and hops down from the wagon before stretching a hand up to help you down. 

“Alright, why don’t the two of you grab what we need from the store, I’ll go send this damn letter– and remember, no guns.” Arthur adds, handing you the list and money before grumpily storming off towards the post office. You and Sadie watch him go for a few moments before she turns to you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Well, he’s no fun.” She sighs, tapping her holster before walking towards the general store doors. 

“We can still have fun without guns. We’ll have them load up the wagon, and we’ll go drinkin’.” You hum. 

Sadie pushes the door open, stepping straight up to the shopkeeper. 

“Ladies, how can I help y’all?” He asks, a big blonde mustache hiding his smile from you. You follow Sadie, placing the list down on the counter. 

“We need all these items loaded into our wagon.” You chime, pointing through the window to your wagon. The shopkeep nods, picking up the list and giving it a onceover. 

“Sure thing, miss, shouldn’t be a problem.” 

Sadie looks you up and down, eyeing your outfit. Then without a word, she walks to the clothing section, sifting through the mens clothes until she finds small enough sizes. She picks out a plaid yellow shirt, a pair of jeans and cowboy boots before walking over and slamming them down on the counter. 

“Add these to the tab, where can I change?” Sadie hisses at the poor shopkeeper. He points behind him to the inventory room. 

“Well I got a room back here, but it ain’t for customers–” He begins, but Sadie is already behind the counter, striding into the room. You can hear the fabric of Sadie’s dress tearing, and when she comes back out, dressed in a similar style to you, the dress is left behind on the ground. 

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.” She chuckles, gesturing to the fact that both of you are wearing men’s clothes. They’re more comfortable, breathable and easy to wear… You hate the curious, and often rude, glares you get, but it’s worth it in the end. 

“This should be more than enough, just go ahead and load it all up, please.” You say, leaving the billfold down on the counter. 

“Thank you both!” The man says, sounding a little confused. He glances at the destroyed dress on the floor of his inventory room as you and Sadie exit through the front door. 

“To the saloon.” You smile, walking up the slope towards the Rhodes Parlor House. You can hear the music before you reach the doors. 

You place a hand on each door, pushing them open theatrically as you step inside. Sadie follows suit, walking up to the bar with you. The bartender is polishing glasses and setting them up on the bar. A few patrons line the bar, and you slide in beside a finely dressed man, leaving enough room for Sadie to stand beside you. A pianist plays music on the other end of the saloon, and you hum along before flagging down the bartender. 

“A whiskey.” You order, looking to Sadie for her preferred poison. 

“Make it two.” 

The bartender nods, reaching under the bar to pull out a sparkling bottle of Tennessee whiskey. He pours two shots before sliding them across the bar to you, and you toss a dollar onto the counter.

“Watch this, it’s how I met Arthur– a sort of specialty.” You smirk, downing your whiskey before turning to the man beside you. He’s dressed in an expensive outfit, with many pieces. 

“Excuse me mister?” You chime, and the man turns towards you. He’s clearly intoxicated, a drunken smile stretches across his face as his eyes fall onto you. 

“I'm new to these parts, sir. Do you happen to know where I can buy some sugar? They was out at the store, and I was planning on making my famous apple pie.” You smile sweetly, faking an innocent demeanor, but your fingers are slipping closer to the pocket of his jeans. You keep eye contact to distract him as your hand slides right into his pocket. 

“Oh! Well, miss, I don’t know–” he hiccups, “Maybe ask the store if there’s any in the back!” The man says, smiling brilliantly down at you. 

“Them flowers in your hair are real beautiful, miss.” The man smiles, and you bite back a remark as you smile, gripping onto something papery in his pocket and pulling it out. You shove it into your pocket, eyes scanning over the man. 

“Thank you.” You hum, seeing a lump in the pocket to his vest. The man turns back to the bar, but you grip his arm.

“This is such a nice vest! Where ever did you get it? My husband would suit one so well.” You smile, hand running over the front of his vest to feel the fine material, and a pocket watch right in his vest pocket. 

“The tailor in Saint Denis! He’s a great feller. He’ll have your husband lookin’ sharp.” You thank the man, waiting for him to turn away from you and face the bar again. Through your peripherals, you watch as he looks away, and you quickly snake your supple fingers into his vest pocket, pulling the chain until a huge platinum pocket watch slips out. He’s too drunk to notice, and you slide it into your satchel before turning back to Sadie. 

“Well, shit.” She chuckles, “You pickpocketed Arthur? That’s how you got wrapped up in this?” She whispers, just loud enough for you to hear. You nod, and Sadie shakes her head. 

“I like you.” She chuckles as you both make your way towards the saloon doors, escaping before the man realizes that you’ve stolen from him. 

Just as you approach the door, it swings open and a group of greasy, dirty men stomp through. One of them knocks right into your shoulder, and trips you. You fall to the floor with a gasp, knees and hands hitting the ground harshly. Pain shoots up through your limbs as you turn to glare at the bastard. Sadie reaches for her holster, but you stand up, gripping her arm to stop her.

“Watch where you walk, bitch.” The man spits out through only a handful of teeth. You glare daggers at him, breaking eye contact only as he steps up towards the bar.

“We’s the Lemoyne Raiders! And this fine establishment owes us a tax!” He yells, and all the men unholster their weapons. 

“Go, quickly, go.” You whisper to Sadie, shoving her out the door. You run down the slope towards the wagon, seeing Arthur leaning against it. 

“Where the hell have you two been?!” Arthur growls, but you ignore him, jumping into the wagon. 

“Drive!” You yell, and Arthur looks around before sighing and clambering into the driver's seat. Sadie jumps into the back of the wagon just as Arthur slaps the reins over the horses’ backs. 

“What did you two do?” Arthur growls, driving the horses quickly out of town. 

“It wasn’t us. A gang of fellas came in and started demanding a tax, knocked me to the damn ground.” You sigh. 

“We needed to get out of there before it got violent, I wasn’t about to go against Dutch’s orders on my first outing.” Sadie adds. Arthur looks over at you, scanning the dirt scuffed on your knees and the scrape on the palms of your hands. 

“They hurt you?” He asks, and you shake your head. 

“I'm alright.” You reassure him, mind wandering back, “They call themselves the Lemoyne Raiders, just make sure everyone knows to keep an eye out.” You say as Arthur pushes the horses closer to home. 

Wild boar squeal, running in all directions as Arthur speeds through the meadows, trying to get home. You reach into your pocket, pulling out the cash you’d stolen. You count the bills, eyebrows popping up. 

“We made fifty bucks." You hum, counting out twenty five and handing it back to her. Arthur does a double take, looking back to see you going through the money. 

“Aw, hell. What did you two do? How did you get that?” Arthur mumbles, sighing as you chuckle. 

“Star here has quite the talent when it comes to pickin’ unsuspecting pockets.” Sadie laughs as the wagon pulls through the trees. 

Arthur looks over at you sighing. 

"Dutch said no trouble." He huffs, and you dangle the platinum pocket watch from your hand, showing it to him. 

"He said no guns." You correct, "and I didn't use any guns." 

"Don't mention this to Dutch. We just get the supplies back and that's that." Arthur orders, softening his tongue as he looks over his shoulder, "You two handled yourselves well today." 

You glance back at Sadie with a smirk, proud of yourself and her. Your intuition was right, she can handle herself just fine, and she'll make a nice addition to the working members of the gang. You look forward to riding out with her in the future. 

"Don't you worry, our lips are sealed." Sadie huffs, rolling her eyes lightly. 

Arthur pulls the wagon through the trees towards Clemens Point, slowing down as he enters camp. He pulls the wagon near Pearson's table, and a few of the boys come to help unload it. 

“I’ll see you around.” You smile at Sadie, and she tips her hat to you before jumping down from the wagon.

"Star, take the horses." Arthur calls to you, untying them from the wagon before handing you their reins. You take the reins of the two bay Shires, noting the white sweat that clings to their fur and the hot, heavy breaths that they take. Arthur had really pushed them to get back quickly, leaving them tired and sore. The horses walk with you, whinnying and nudging your pockets for treats as you take them to the hitching posts. 

It doesn't take long for you to hitch them and grab two pails of water from the lake. You place the buckets down, glancing to where Arthur stands in the wagon, handing boxes down to Charles on the ground. You watch for a moment, distracted by the way his muscles flex under his shirt. He smiles, laughing at something one of the boys said and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You pick up the metal pail of water, pouring it over the stallions back. The water cascades down, washing away the sweat and cooling down the shire. You shake your head, pulling your eyes away from Arthur to focus on the horses. 

You're not sure what's gotten into you but he's so distracting, you can't take it. He pushes the sleeves of his shirt up, exposing his thick, muscular forearms as he wipes some sweat from his brow. You burn as your eyes watch his suspenders flex and move with his shoulders, and you curse yourself for being so filthy.

You can't help it. It's been a week since he's touched you. With the move and everything going on in camp, there's been no time for it. 

You quickly pour water over the second shire horse, making sure that her breathing has calmed back down. Her nostrils are no longer flared, and all the puffy white sweat has been washed from her sides. You double check that there is hay and water in their trough before patting both horses and walking back into camp. 

Arthur jumps down from the wagon as you approach, adjusting his hat with a smile. 

"Horses okay?" Arthur asks, hoping that he hadn't pushed them too hard. You nod, walking towards your tent, subconsciously leading him there. 

"Yeah, they're just fine. Gave them some water n' got them cooled down." You say, gripping Arthur’s  arm. 

“We have some time, right?” You ask, watching as Arthur’s eyebrows pull together and he pulls his pocket watch from his vest. He glances at the time before putting the fine watch back. 

“A little, why?” He asks, and you grip his arm impossibly tighter, pulling him through the canvas to your tent. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Arthur asks, worried until the canvas falls shut and you wrap your arms around his neck. Coyly, you pull him down to you, and his hands find your waist as you kiss him. A shiver runs down your spine, and you chase after the feelings he gives you as you moan into his mouth. 

“I’ve missed you, we’ve been so busy.” You explain, pulling away from his lips to speak. You’re breathless as you expose your neck, and he begins kissing the soft skin just under your jaw. 

“Missed you too.” He echoes, knowing exactly what you mean. It’s been too long since you’ve had each other like this.

"I'm supposed to be leavin' soon. I'm goin' fishin' with Hosea and Dutch." Arthur says, but his hands don't stop yours from unbuttoning his shirt, and his lips are still kissing your neck between words. 

"We'll be quick then." You murmur, tugging his shirt out of his jeans to reach the last few buttons. You pop them open, shoving his shirt to the ground before running your hands up the expanse of his chest.

And then his lips are on yours again, kissing you messily, quickly, as he rushes to pull your shirt off. You're short on time and it's been a week since he's touched you like this. You've both been too busy during the day, and exhausted during the night, but now you have a sliver of time and you'll be damned if it goes to waste. 

Arthur’s arms scoop under your thighs as he picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist. Your breaths turn to needy whimpers as he carries you towards the bed, lips never breaking contact on your skin. 

“What if someone hears?” You whisper as his lips kiss the fading dark spots on your collarbone. 

"No one will hear, we'll be quiet." He murmurs against your skin, nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck. You chuckle, feeling like a damn schoolgirl. 

Your smile falls quickly when three loud knocks sound out on the beam of your tent. 

"Star?" Hosea calls through the thin piece of canvas, just a step away from the scene you're making. 

Your skin turns pale as Arthur's lips pull away from your skin and immediately he loosens his grip on your thighs, letting you slide back down to the ground. Arthur quickly grabs his previously abandoned shirt from the ground, throwing it over his shoulders, unbuttoned, just as Hosea pulls the canvas to the side

"Dear girl, we're going fishing. I wanted to invite you–" Hosea starts, stopping in his tracks upon seeing Arthur in your tent. His eyes scan over the situation, and he sighs. 

"Arthur, get out." He calls to Arthur, "Get dressed and get out." 

Your cheeks burn red, feeling as if you're being scolded by a father for your carelessness. Arthur quickly starts dressing up the buttons to his shirt as you toy with your fingers. 

"You two are damn lucky it was just me coming in. There's things that need done, so save your foolin' around for later." Hosea bites, turning his attention to Arthur then, "Now, we are going fishing. Star, you can join us if you like, but you better be at the hitching posts in five minutes… and clean up, both of you." He snaps.

"Goddamn children." He whispers under his breath, shaking his head as he pulls the canvas shut behind him and heads off towards his own tent to grab his pole. You glance up to Arthur with a fierce blush on your face, still catching up from what's just happened

"Did we just… get caught?" You huff, not imagining that you'd ever be caught in the act at this point in your life. You're no teenager, but you sure as shit feel like one now.

"Red handed, darlin'." Arthur chuckles, hands undoing his belt just enough to tuck his shirt back into his jeans. You watch as he gets dressed, fixing the little pieces of his outfit that you've just worked so hard to undo. 

"You coming then…? Fishing?" Arthur asks, and you nod. 

"Might as well." You sigh, disappointed that your moment has been taken from you. 

“Hey,” Arthur calls, seeing the downcast look on your face. He grips your hand, pulling you to his chest, “Later, okay?” 

“Mhm.” You hum, a smile stretching across your face as he leans down to kiss you one more time. You lean up into him, pressing your lips to his before giving him entrance to your mouth. Arthur groans, wishing he had more time with you.

“C’mon then.” Arthur grumbles, pulling away from you. It’s clear that he’s going to be in a sour mood for the rest of the day thanks to Hosea, but you’ll try and cheer him up. You adjust your gun belt, blushing as you step outside the tent. You’re sure that someone heard Hosea’s scolding, but no one acknowledges it as you step out of your tent with Arthur. Dutch steps out of his tent as well, falling into step in front of you and Arthur.

“Are you joining us on this fine evening of fishing?” Dutch asks, neck craning to the side to speak to you. You nod. 

"It seems I am, though I never actually fished before. I went along once but… that time didn't turn out so good." You sigh, remembering the fishing trip with Jack back before everything happened. The Pinkertons had shown up, threatened you all, the train had happened, the massacre in Valentine, and here you are. 

"Well Hosea is a fine fisherman. He taught me everything I know about sinking worms. Arthur here, well he lacks skill and finesse, but we'll talk more on that later– I've got plenty of stories." Dutch chuckles deeply, hands resting on his gun belt as he leads you towards the hitching posts. 

"Great." Arthur sarcastically grumbles, looking up to where Hosea mixes herbs for his cough. 

"Hey old girl! Why don't you show us this creek you've been pissin' in?" Dutch hollers up, smiling brightly at Hosea. Hosea looks up, coughing lightly before abandoning his mixture and standing to meet you all. 

"Were they always like this?" You ask, chuckling at Dutch's pet name for Hosea. 

"It's gettin worse with old age." Arthur mumbles under his breath, hand on the small of your back as he leads to you the horses. 

"You don't look too rosy, old friend." Dutch says to Hosea as he mounts onto his white Arabian. The skittish horse swishes his tail nervously as Dutch adjusts in his saddle, gripping the reins tightly. 

"I'm afraid my days of lookin' good are long over." Hosea chuckles, coughing. It's a raspy sound, deep in his chest. You frown as you approach Athena, looking into her blue, sparkling eyes. 

"Hey there, girl." You coo, petting her neck. Arthur watches your interaction fondly, hiding a smile from behind Balius. 

"I know a good spot, up north along the bank." Hosea explains, groaning as he mounts up onto Silver Dollar. You and Arthur both climb into your saddles, and you fall into the back of a square formation. Dutch and Hosea rode side by side ahead of you while you and Arthur ride together behind them. 

"Why don't we just fish here?" Arthur asks, "We got a whole lake of 'em."

"Because I need to get out for a bit." Dutch's booming voice hollers back to you. You know exactly how he feels, and you're glad to be back out after being stuck in camp for so long.

"Me too." You hum, squeezing Athena into a canter behind Dutch and Hosea. They veer out of the trees, following the orange tinted roads towards Hosea's spot. 

"It's good to have the old guard together." Dutch calls out, a smile on his lips, "Just the three of us, like the old days– except for the addition of the beautiful Ms. Star."

You can feel Arthur's grip tighten on his reins, seeing the way his shoulders tense, but he keeps quiet. Dutch knows he's crossed another boundary, but he enjoys the rush. You roll your eyes as everyone keeps riding on. 

"Does Molly know you're callin' other women beautiful?" You bite, getting sick and tired of Dutch's games. He has no problem admitting that you're attractive, and yet he has no faith in you, and believes you to be the reason that the Pinkertons are on your tail. He's a messed up bastard, and you watch as he laughs boisterously. 

"What Molly doesn't know won't hurt her." Dutch says, and you look to Arthur with a shocked expression. Arthur looks like he wants to say something, and he opens his mouth to make a comment, but Hosea changes the topic before the conversation can continue to deteriorate.

"You did good finding this place, Arthur." Hosea calls back, thankfully changing the subject.

"It was more Star than me." Arthur explains, reaching into his satchel to pull out an oatcake. He extends his hand down to Balius, giving the shire horse a little snack for his work.

“It’s a good spot. I feel like I can breathe again, thick and soupy as this air is.” Dutch calls back, “Might even do your whistling pipes some good, Hosea.”

Hosea glances up at the sky, sighing as a bittersweet look crosses his face. He seems to be lost in a memory, and you watch on curiously until he speaks up. 

“I was once in this country with Bessie… Oh, it feels like a lifetime ago, now.” Hosea says. Dutch ignores the older man’s hurt, moving the topic forward. It must be hurtful, you think, to be run over by someone who used to be so close to you.  You can only imagine what Hosea and Arthur must be going through, watching Dutch slowly descend. Arthur won’t even admit it to himself, still too caught up in the past. It’ll take time, and you pity Arthur for the day he realizes. 

“It was a lifetime ago. But what a life we have lived, how we have fought.” Dutch’s eyes grow dark as he canters on, getting lost in his head, “But now, when we are desperate… we must stick to the plan.”

You roll your eyes. All Dutch ever talks about is his goddamn plan, but you’ve never even heard  it. 

“What exactly is your plan, Dutch?” You snap. His shoulders tighten at your attitude, but he doesn’t turn around to look at you. After a few moments, he finally speaks up. 

“My plan is to make money, and then escape somewhere that nobody will find us.” Dutch grits through a clenched jaw. You want to ask how in the hell that’s a good plan. ‘Make money and leave’ is extremely vague, and you’re not so sure that making money is such a good idea right now with how the past jobs have gone. You open your mouth to question him further, but Arthur sidepasses Balius closer to you and touches your thigh. The brush from his fingers pulls you back, and startled, you glance over to him. Arthur shakes his head no, signaling you to drop it. You want to protest, but he mouths the word ‘no’, sternly. 

Your face falls into a scowl as you continue on. You have to merge into single file as a wagon passes by, and you fall into the back of the line. You make a note to ask Arthur about it later. It bugs you that he asked you to stop. You have every right to question Dutch’s decisions when they directly affect your life, and the lives of your family. 

“These goddamn fools.” You whisper to Athena, leaning down to pet her neck. She tosses her head, seemingly agreeing with you. As you continue, Dutch slows The Count down to a trot. You move back up beside Arthur, watching as a train passes by and blocks the road. You’ll have to wait for it to pass. There is one wagon waiting at the crossroads, and you squint at it, noticing the metal bars that form a cell on the back of it.

“Law up ahead, play it cool.” Dutch says back to you all, tone hushed compared to his earlier bravado. You pull Athena back to a walk as you approach the wagon. There's a few people in the back, and you squint to see as you get closer and closer. 

“Hello gentleman, miss.” A voice calls meekly from the wagon cell. It's a familiar, accented voice, and when you search the wagon again you see Josiah Trelawny handcuffed in the cell amongst a group of other men. Your eyes go wide, and you sidepass Athena to lightly smack Arthur’s arm and get his attention. 

Everyone realizes the predicament, and Dutch glances back to you all before walking The Count up to the front of the wagon. There's two lawmen sitting on the drivers bench, and Dutch tips his hat to them.

“How are you boys?” Dutch asks, playing up his charisma. The man in the driver's spot has bloodshot eyes and a massive mustache. His blonde hair matches his pale face, and he seems a bit shaky in his arms. The man next to him is a bit younger, clean shaven with dark brown hair and a bowlers hat.

“We’re fine.” The driver exchanges, not feeding into whatever he believes Dutch to be inquiring about. Dutch isn’t about to walk away, and he is not about to be ignored again. So, he plays up his charisma again, picking an angle. 

“Some beautiful country you folks have here.” Dutch compliments, and this time the driver glances over to Dutch. He eyes him up and down quickly before looking back to the train ahead.

“We like it well enough.” The man says, still partially ignoring Dutch. Dutch smiles brightly, holding his hand up to his chest as he introduces himself. 

“Hoagy Macintosh, at your service.” Dutch introduces himself. You hold your hand over your mouth to hide your smirk as you snort a laugh, and Arthur lightly chastises you with a glare. You can see the smirk on his lips though, and you know he’s trying to hold back laughter just as much as you are. Hoagy Macintosh finally gets the lawman to open up and introduce himself and his deputy. 

“Leigh Gray, and this is my deputy, Archibald McGregor.” The sheriff introduces. Dutch smiles ear to ear, extending his hand up to shake the sheriffs. You almost laugh at the situation. A crook, wanted in three states, shaking the hand of the sheriff. 

“You a Scot?” Sheriff Gray asks, and Dutch grins. You’re growing bored of their banter, wishing you could just shoot the lock and run off with Trelawny instead of all this dancing around. 

“Partly,” Dutch leans in as if he’s about to tell some inside joke, “the best part.”

Your eyes roll back into your head again as you wait for the damn theatrics to end. 

“Can’t we just shoot the lock?” You whisper over to Arthur. He readjusts in his saddle, looking over at your impatience. 

“No. Just a few more minutes. Dutch has this.” Arthur whispers back to you. You watch on as the show continues, foot tapping against your stirrup. Even Athena is getting tired of standing, pawing at the ground in annoyance. Finally the train begins to move, going east.

“Tell me, sir, what did that silly, fancy fop back there do?” Dutch asks, pointing back at Trelawny. 

The conversation continues on for a while as you watch the prisoners in the back. Josiah is pressed tightly up against the cell like a cornered cat as the other, much bigger, men work on unlocking the door. One of them is picking the lock with something, cursing lightly as he fumbles with his wrists outstretched from the bars. 

“Uh… Arthur? Hosea?” You whisper, nodding towards the wagon door just as it swings open. 

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” Trelawny yells, extending his hand out from the wagon before pulling it back. He makes no move to escape as the three blonde haired men file out, pushing past Josiah and running towards the train. Trelawny gets the attention of the sheriff, who turns around and realizes that his convicts are escaping. 

“Shit! The Anderson boys! I can’t have more scandal!” Sheriff Gray yells, jumping down from the wagon. He takes his hat off, squeezing the felt between his hands as he tries to figure out a plan, watching as the Anderson boys all leap onto the caboose one at a time, pulling each other up.

“Well, allow us to help! Arthur, Star, take Archibald and go on.” Dutch orders. 

Archibald leaps down from the wagon, running up towards Athena. 

“Go on his horse! She don’t like men!” You yell to Archibald as Athena pins her ears and rears up lightly. The deputy runs towards Balius as you push Athena forward after the train. She was bred to race, and it doesn’t take long for you to catch up with the train. Her strides are long as she stretches them out in a gallop. You turn in your saddle to see Arthur a ways behind you. Poor big Balius was not made to run. 

“Jump up there, miss! This man rides like my grandma!” Archibald yells up and you laugh over all the noise as Arthur bites some comeback.

The train goes over a small bridge, and you run through the valley as you chase alongside it. There's a man running over the top of the train that you keep your eye on. When you reach the plains, and have a straight shot to jump, you slip your feet out of your stirrups and stand up in your saddle. It's difficult to balance, and you focus on not looking down as you leap onto the train. You land on a flat car, rolling as you hit the wood. You barely have time to stand up before a man knocks you back to the ground. He hits you like a brick wall, knocking you flat on your back as the train pushes forwards. 

You cross your arms over your face, blocking his swings until you find an opening. He falters for just a moment, and you knee him straight in the groin. The man screams out in pain, grabbing at his jeans as he falls down. You scramble up, kicking the toe of your boot straight to the man's forehead and knocking him out. 

You spin around as Arthur leaps from Balius and lands on the same cart as you. 

“I need Anders Anderson, he’s in the back!” Archibald yells, sliding up into the saddle, “I’m gonna go stop the train!” And then he takes off, galloping forward.

You extend your hand down to Arthur, helping him stand up as much as you can. 

“You okay?” Arthur asks as he stands. 

“I’m fine, let's go get this bastard.” You remark.

Arthur leads the way, running down the moving train car. It makes you dizzy, and bile rises in your throat that you force back down. Arthur leaps, grabbing the top of the next train car and pulling himself up. It takes everything in you to jump and reach the top, and your hand just barely grips the roof of the rail car before Arthur grabs it.

“Thank y–” You begin, cutting yourself off with a gasp as a man jumps up from the other side of the train and grapples Arthur. The man knocks him to the ground on his back, and Arthur’s head dangles over the side of the accelerating train.  You’re left to pull yourself up, and your arms strain painfully as you struggle to reach the top. Arthur’s hat falls off, plummeting down to the ground as the bastard wraps his big hands around Arthur’s neck and begins to squeeze the oxygen from his lungs. The panic of seeing Arthur struggle gives you enough adrenaline to pull yourself up. As soon as you’re on your feet, you grab him by the backs of his cotton suspenders and pull him back as hard as you can with a growl. He falls backwards off of Arthur, and rolls right off of the train. 

“Jesus.” Arthur coughs, clearing his throat as he watches the criminal fall and hit the ground. You peer over the side of the train, a shocked look on your face. 

“He should be fine.” You hum, snickering before you start jogging down the length of the rail car. Arthur is quick behind you with a smile on his lips. 

“Besides the broken ribs, sure!” He chuckles, playing up that famous Arthur Morgan sarcasm that you’ve grown so fond of. 

There's only one more car between you and Anders, and you jump to it, landing on your feet with a grunt as you push yourself to keep running. You glance up to the engine car, finding Archibald as he jumps from Balius onto the platform. 

At the top of the train car is another man, the only thing separating you from their leader. 

“I got this bastard!” Arthur yells, running past you to tackle the dark haired jailbreaker. Arthur’s fists immediately dig into the man’s ribs. Blood spatters as Arthur gives hard hits and blocks his face. He does a lot more damage than he takes. You watch them brawl, focusing on anything but the train's movement until Arthur pulls the bastard to the side of the roof and you can run past. The last car is some sort of meat cooler, and you jump down from the roof, landing ungracefully with a curse. 

“They sent a goddamn lady after me!” Anders laughs out loud, and your blood boils as you look up at him. His long blonde hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and his crystal blue eyes are cold and emotionless. He reminds you of Micah, and you grind your teeth, readying your fists for the beating they’re about to give.

 “You best turn around little girl��� I ain’t goin’ back there without a fight.” Anders snarls. You take a few slow steps through the threshold, and then stumble slightly as the train screeches to a stop. Archibald must have gotten to the brakes. You hear Arthur’s blows landing behind you as you squint at the gang leader ahead of you. 

“Try me.” You bite. Anderson steps forward with every intention of knocking you out cold,  but he is too large and unagile for his own good. His movements are more sluggish than yours, and you have plenty of time to block his hit. He aims for a right hook to your cheek, but you pop your forearm up, blocking the hit as your right arm swings up into his gut. Anderson leans over with a groan, surprised by the force of your hit before he shakes it off. 

“Don’t kill him!” Archibald yells from outside. He distracts you, and Anderson lands a hard blow to your ribs. You hiss in pain, eyes flash dark at the man before you. 

“Why not?” You bark to Archibald, watching Anders sneer. Arthur is still fighting behind you, and when you hear a body fall from the train you instinctively panic and turn around. Relief floods your mind when you see Arthur wiping dirt on his jeans, spitting some blood down to the ground. He’s okay, and won the fight. 

“Star!” Arthur yells, eyes going wide. Your panic has completely sidetracked you and by the time you turn back around to Anders, it's nearly too late. “Star, he's got a knife!” Arthur yells, eyes wide as saucepans. 

Anders rams into you, knocking you flat on your back. He straddles your waist, shoving the knife down towards your throat as you fight against him. You yell out, fighting against his hands as the knife nearly knicks your throat. He's pushing it down with everything he can muster, just as you fight back. 

“Arthur!” You grit out through clenched teeth, begging for help as you fight for your life. Your legs kick out from under you as you attempt to get him off you. A big brown steel toed boot kicks directly into Anders’ head, knocking him out cold. 

“Goddamn bastard!” Arthur growls from above you as the knife clatters to the ground. You lay on the ground for a moment, catching your breath as you splay out. 

“You alright?” Arthur asks, kneeling to the ground beside you. His warm hands find your shoulders as he encourages you to sit up. 

“Fine. You?” You ask, wincing at the pain in your ribs. 

Arthur smiles. Even now, you’re always dismissing your own pain, too busy worrying about everyone else's. 

“Oh, I'm just fine, don’t you worry about me.” Arthur hums, taking your hands and looking at your bloodied knuckles. 

“I’ll patch these up as soon as we get home.” Arthur hums, more to himself than you. He knows that if he doesn’t, you won’t. He looks over your knuckles with a small frown, hoping that they don’t hurt as badly as they appear to. He saw you take a punch in the gut too, and he makes a note to check on it later. 

“You fought well.” He praises, and you smirk at the compliment. Then with a groan, he stands up, pulling you with him by your hand. Arthur leans down to pick up Anders, slinging him over his shoulder as if he’s only a sack of potatoes.

You exit the meat cart, walking down the two steps before jumping down into the dirt. Archibald is waiting there with your horses and a satisfied look on his face. 

“Go ahead and put him on your horse there and then we’ll head to Rhodes.” Archibald remarks, whistling for his own horse. 

“Great. Back to Rhodes.” You groan as Arthur throws Anders over Balius’s croup. 

“Hang on, I gotta go find my goddamn hat.” Arthur grumbles as everyone mounts up.

It’s not a long ride, but it sure as shit feels like one. Archibald doesn’t shut up the entire way there, and the only thing keeping you mildly entertained is Arthur’s thinning patience. The deputy explains some old feud that the entire town is wrapped up in– the Grays and the Braithwaites. One stole from the other, or something of the like, but it was so long ago that nobody really knows what happened. The hatred has been passed down through generations, and apparently everyone in Rhodes has picked a side. It makes your head hurt, thinking about the foolishness of the whole ordeal. By the time you arrive at the jail, you’re basically half slid out of your saddle, ready to hop down and get it over with. Dutch is waiting with Sheriff Gray outside the jailhouse, and Trelawny and Hosea are chatting. 

“There they are! I told you, these folks have a passion for justice. Dutch chuckles, patting Sheriff Gray on the back. Archibald takes Anders from Balius, parting through the group to take him into the jailhouse. 

“Thank you folks, your friend here is free to go.” Sheriff Gray responds, and now that you’re close, you can see the dark purple lines under his eyes. You can smell the alcohol on his lips and your lip turns up slightly. Sheriff Gray turns to Dutch, extending his hand out to shake. 

“Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.” Dutch smiles, playing up his charisma. You’re not sure what his angle is, but you know he's seeping through the cracks of Rhodes, slithering like a snake to find any tips he can get. 

“Mr. Macintosh, it has been a real pleasure.” The Sheriff says as the two shake hands. You place your hand over your mouth, hiding the smirk at his stupid fake name. Arthur smirks, unable to hide his smile from the way you struggle to contain your own. 

“Ah, ah, my friend, call me Hoagy.” Dutch corrects, and you turn around to hide your face as a small snort leaves your lips. Arthur would chastise anyone else for it, but he can’t bring himself to be mad at you, especially not when Dutch is making it so difficult.

“Rhodes welcomes you all. And thank you for getting Anders back.” Sheriff Gray addresses you, and you turn back to nod at him. He turns back around, walking towards a boy who is sitting outside. He shoos him in the jailhouse, and you watch for an extended moment as he chastises his son, you assume. 

“Beau, these better be ugly rumors! I heard you were seen with that wretched Braithewaite girl.” He calls, and your eyebrows pop up as you glance back at the group. Trelawny and Hosea regroup, and you all begin walking down the main road. 

“Where you been?” Arthur asks Trelawny, striking a match against his box before lighting a cigarette between his lips. A veteran without a leg, standing on a crutch, is begging for money outside the general store. Passing by, uninterested in the conversation ahead of you, you stop to place a few dollars into his hat. He thanks you, and you smile before rejoining the group.

“I've been renting a caravan behind the church. It's awful, but no one comes looking.” Trelawny chimes, and you snicker. 

“Apparently someone came looking, locked up as you were.” You point out as everyone begins escorting Trelawny back home. 

“I heard about your bounties… makes mine look like nothing but a penny.” Trelawny remarks back. Your anxiety picks up at the thought, and you look up to Arthur, holding your hand out in a silent question. He hands you his cigarette, and you take a drag from it before handing it back. Smoke fills your lungs, and when you release it, some of the anxiety floats away as well. 

“It’ll take them months to find us down here.” Dutch counters, confident in his leadership decisions. You’re not entirely sure if he's right on that account or not. 

“Well, they’re good bounties…” Trelawny adds, and you hear the trepidation in his voice, the nervousness hinting that they’re tighter on your tails than you’d originally thought, “And Miss Star, you’ve become quite the news topic. You’re a real point of conversation in the West.” 

Your blood runs cold as your stomach flips, and you try to comprehend what he’s said, and how he means. Even Arthur tenses at the admission. 

“A lady outlaw– they’ve conjectured quite the story about you.” He adds, and you take a few quick steps to catch up to him. 

“Where did you hear all this?” Dutch growls. Whether he’s mad at you, Trelawny, or the situation, you’re not sure. 

“A group of fellers near the state line. They said there was talk of it in bars five hundred miles to the west. There was talk of super agents.” 

Dutch laughs at that, and some of his bite falls away, “Super agents, huh? It’s just talk.”

You’re not so sure. After mixing with Cornwall back in Blackwater, robbing his trains and wagons ever since, and killing half his men in Valentine, you wouldn’t be surprised if he did hire some super agents. 

“I’m sure, but I had to tell you.” Trelawny defends, just as nervous as you. 

You approach the caravan in which he’s staying, and he walks on a few steps as you all stop. He turns to you, bowing for show. 

“Adieu.” He remarks, before walking back towards his rental. You and Arthur share a worried glance as Dutch and Hosea turn back, whistling for their horses. Stories aren’t good– talk isn’t good, and right now the attention seems to be on you. Arthur doesn’t like it one bit. 

“Arthur, Star, poke around the Braithewaite’s place. Hosea, see what you can find out about the Grays.” Dutch orders as your four horses trot towards you together.

“Sure.” You hum, watching as Arthur tosses his spent cigarette onto the grass. The sun is beginning to set, and it casts Rhodes in an orange light as you mount up onto Athena. 

“Some fishin’ trip.” Arthur mumbles, sore in the jaw from his earlier brawl.

Dutch, adjusting in his saddle, turns back to the three of you. 

“There’s still time. I’m up for it if you two aren’t burned out from your merry chase.” Dutch says, gripping his reins tightly as The Count paces. 

“Sure, why not?” You hum, knowing that Arthur’s been looking forward to the trip for a while, “Hosea take us to that spot you’re fond of.” 

“Let's see if we can avoid any more excitement.” Hosea chuckles before leading the way on Silver Dollar. You follow, leaning back in your saddle to prepare for the long ride. 

— — — —

Hosea's spot isn’t too far away, but it feels like it with the way your ribs ache. He leads you up north a ways, past Clemens Point up near the state line. 

“Just down here to the left.” Hosea says, leading you down the bank to the lakeshore. The sun casts a golden glow over the water as you approach a decent sized boat along the lapping water. 

“I’m sure no one will mind if we borrow one of these, c’mon.” Hosea hums, stretching after he dismounts his stallion. Everyone follows suit, walking towards the boat. 

“Madam.” Arthur hums, holding your hand as you step into the boat. You blush, still getting butterflies from the outlaw. 

He, Hosea and Dutch all push the boat into the water, jumping in one by one. Hosea rests at the front of the boat on the same bench as you the while Arthur sits in the middle and Dutch in the back. Arthur picks up the oars, watching you in the golden light as he begins to row. 

“I’ll row since you’re too old for real labor no more.” Arthur jokes. 

“And you’re too dumb for anything else.” Hosea quips, and Arthur laughs loudly as you smack Hosea lightly on the knee. 

“You’re still too quick for me, old man.” Arthur chuckles, rowing the boat out into the middle of the lake. 

“I enjoy picking on children.” Hosea hums, and Arthur huffs, pointing at you. 

“You don’t pick on her.” He points out. 

“No, I applaud her for putting up with you.” Hosea jokes, and Dutch laughs from the back of the boat. You shoot Arthur an apologetic look for the snicker that leaves your lips. The boys continue chuckling as Arthur rows the boat to a decent spot in the center of the lake. You remain seated as they stand, pulling out their fishing rods. 

“You don’t know how to fish, huh?” Arthur asks, and when you shake your head, he extends his hand out to you, “C’mere. I’ll show you.” 

You take his hand, soaking up the way it envelopes yours so wholly. He pulls you up, situating you in front of him with your back to his chest. Hosea watches on fondly, thinking of Bessie as Arthur places his fishing rod in front of you. His arms are around your shoulders, holding your hands over the rod. 

“Let’s hope for stupid fish and good luck.” Hosea hums, casting out as does Dutch. Arthur has some fancy lure attached to his rod. It’s colorful and you look at it curiously.

“Couldn’t we have just used a worm?” You ask as Arthur adjusts his feet at shoulders width apart behind you. 

“No, you’d have to be real lucky to catch a sturgeon or a bass with a worm.” Arthur hums, his chest rumbling at your back. 

If either Hosea or especially Dutch think anything odd of your position with Arthur, no one says anything. Hosea knows about your relationship. And Dutch? He suspects well enough.

“Alright, pull back just like this,” Arthur mumbles, helping you pull the rod back, “then release.” 

You let go of the string, sending the reel out a decent ways. Arthur smiles, letting you go so that you can hold it on your own.

“There you have it, now just wait for a bite.” 

It grows quiet save for the sound of sloshing water and the boat creaking. Dutch is the first to catch a fish, and when he unhooks the bass, a fond memory crosses his mind. 

“Star, you’ll like this story. Hosea, remember that time we sent Arthr out fishing? He brought back three beautiful bass.” Dutch remarks, and your attention flickers to him as you hold the rod steady. 

“Not this again.” Arthur sighs, and you turn around with your eyebrows pulled together and a smile on your lips. You know exactly what's about to happen– Dutch is going to pour out some good old fashioned embarrassment.

“I don’t remember.” Hosea hums, thinking back to where Dutch may be going with the story. 

“Oh yeah you do. He was younger, probably Star’s age, walked in all full of himself. We ate a big meal, toasted him all night.” Dutch continues with a smile as Hosea reels in a sturgeon. 

“This was fifteen years ago.” Arthur defends, watching as your line pulls tight. 

“Oh I remember now!” Hosea chuckles. Arthur comes forward, standing at your back again as he helps you reel in. The fish fights against you, and when you struggle to pull, Arthur’s hands line your and he assists. 

“The next week Arthur and I are at the market, the fishmonger calls out ‘So how’d you like those bass I sold you?’” 

Everyone except for Arthur laughs boisterously. You can picture it so clearly, him young and wanting to impress them. It's cute, though Arthur will never admit it.

“Listen. You can go fishin’, or you can go drinkin’ all day, rob someone and buy some fish.” He defends again as you both pull up a nice sized bass. Arthur unhooks the fish, tucking it into a bag in his satchel before helping you toss your line out again. 

“We might wanna swim to shore, darlin’.” Arthur jokes on account of being the source of entertainment. You chuckle, watching the ripples under the water as Hosea pulls up another fish. 

“No, I’m enjoyin’ this. Tell me more.” You smile. Though you hadn’t expected to, you’re having a good time. And Dutch seems to be on his best behavior as Hosea comes up with another story. 

“Remember when I caught those salmon? We had a banquet planned until Copper went and scoffed the lot.” Hosea scoffs, amused. 

“You never had control of that dog, Arthur.” Dutch chimes, hooking a fish

“Copper?” You ask, not remembering if you’ve heard the name before. Just as you ask, another fish bites, and Arthur helps you to start reeling it in. 

“Oh, my old dog. He was a good boy, had some spirit in him, that's for sure. Never lost the pup in him, not even in the end.” Arthur hums, a crestfallen look on his face. 

“I remember the day when we found you in the mud.” Dutch says, a smile on his lips at the old, fond memory, “Remember, Hosea?”

“How could I forget?” Hosea chimes. Arthur grows quiet, helping you reel in and unhook the fish. 

“You were so angry, full of rage and fear.” Dutch remarks, “You’ve grown, son.”

Arthur nods, hands tightening around your own. He's never been good at taking compliments, and that's not changing now. The four of you continue fishing as Hosea tells stories of old trips he’s gone on, and Dutch remarks about old steals. You learn a lot about Arthur, finding out that he’s always had a heart for animals, and that he used to be an awful shot. You also find out about how he tortured John upon his arrival, but would sneak him cigarettes and whiskey behind Dutch’s back. The boys tell you old stories until the sun sets and your bags are too full of fish to stuff them any more. You begin to drift off at Arthur’s chest , swaying back on your feet until his warm chest catches your back. 

"Easy there." He chuckles, low so that only you can hear. 

“I reckon it’s time we head back.” Arthur says, breaking down his fishing rod as you stir yourself back awake. 

"Already?" Dutch asks even though it's getting dark. 

"You ain't been chasin' outlaws." Arthur huffs as you sit down on the bench beside him. Dutch takes over rowing this time around, and you rest against Arthur's side as the lake air grows cold and the night falls to darkness. 

— — — —

They sing a song about mariners the whole trip back. You all opted to steal the boat, as it's quicker to row back to camp than it is to ride. And by the time you make it back, you're exhausted. Arthur helps you out of the boat, and you thank Dutch and Hosea before heading towards Pearson's table to drop off the fish with him. 

"You go on and get ready for bed, I'll meet you there." Arthur hums, holding his satchel in his hand. You nod, squeezing his free hand lightly before making your way to your tent. It takes you only moments to dress down, and the relief that fills you upon hitting the mattress is instant. You struggle to keep your eyes open, but you try your damndest to stay up for when Arthur comes in. The long day has left you tired, and even though Arthur promised you that he'd spend the night up with you, you both know you're too tired. 

Eventually, as your eyes flutter open and closed, Arthur parts the tent canvas and strides in. 

"Didn't have to stay up for me." Arthur coos, leaning down to press a kiss to your hair. 

"I wanted to." You counter, eyes slipping shut. 

"Scooch over, I'm comin' in." Arthur whispers, and you feel the bed dip as he slides in beside you. 

It was a good, busy, day. One filled with outlaws and robberies, theft and simple fishing. You look forward to working with Sadie again, and you worry over Micah's return alongside working with the Braithewaite's. 

But none of it matters now. Now you're safe, cuddled up to bed with Arthur, and everything seems like it's going to be okay. 

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

series taglist: @catnotbread @chxosangxl @globetrotter28 @justalittlerayofpitchblack @fruittiest-of-loops @randomidk-123 @heyworld-whatsup @btsiguess-kpop @how-the-heck-would-i-know @rratman @eyelovie @mykneeshurt

[julymarte]

  since my only real contribution to this fandom has been thedifferences analysis i did with my friends i think it’s time to separate it from the AU post and make it into a real masterpost, this is gonna be pretty long so be ready for it Disclaimer: models and art are fluctuating so i’m going to highlight only the recurrent stuff and the related evidence for the candy theory, so i’m not claiming this to be the indiscutible canon so take this evidence as you polease, just know it’s there but going forward....it’s time to begin with a few copy and paste from the previous posts with a few corrections along the way What is the candy theory? the Candy theory generates by the names of their alchemy lesson candies, according   to it, they highlight their strenghts/charm points so  Tail Fin Candy for floyd meaning legs and height and   Dorsal Fin Candy  for  jade focusing more on his torso/back i’ve seen many people comapring sprites to prove this theory on twitter so it’s time to show some examples, i tried to recreate them as best as i could (consider as i said art tend to be a lil less reliable than spites as it heavily depends on the lineart artist who’s assigned to the job)

this repeats in pretty much all the  versions aside the mermaid sprites that are copy/pasted  BUT on that someone call in the octavinelle trailer  to support the theory

some also link that to floyd possibly being a late bloomer as we clearly see baby floyd  was indeed shorter than baby jade in middle school even without the  aid of guiding lines

both the tweels are of course still growing, since despite being GIANTS  they are afterall still 17 but we heard a detail from  floyd unique from what we know about jade, In floyd’s starsending episode translated by Ekala  he states that

to adjust the mold of custom made shoes  he has probably gotten considerably taller within the year

According to some this means that floyd’s uniforms aren’t short on purpose  but are simply his first year ones and hedidn’t change them...but in that case jade wouldn’t have grown much  in height... according to these theories then floyd “just started” getting his growth spurt  while jade is pretty much settling his height and frame, but considering his apetite i wouldn’t be surprised to see himweighting more than floyd if we wver get an official weight for the boys(as we do know trey weights less than rook etc) but we are swimming too much in headcanon waters let’s proceed with the analysis in the previous posts these were the differences that emerged some of them are based on artwork so i’d take them with a lil caution especially on the topic of the hands that proved to be especially unreliable (floyd even got them changed in one of his sprites cause they looked too soft , sometimes jade has softer hands too) shoulders seem to be fluctuating as well

starting with some artwork analysis  in the  magic archives we get a view of the eels from the back, and  floyd  was the only one with sketch underline, this was the result considering jade and  azul wearing clothes properly (and even pretty tight in jade’s case as we saw before)

further update to support the  theory  comes  from the Union Birthday  model atlases starting with the   difference in rendering  of  their  vests that  being the  same  shape have  some pretty distinct  rendering on the  contrary of  the usual ( mermaid  copy/paste-very similar  halloween) as in jade  we  even find   back the  return of  the  button crying  for  help

another element is   the  belt as  all the models  come  with a   separate  belt  but  i  decided to merge  it with their  hips  to  give better context as there’s  no  variation in the  legs  and  as usual floyd’s  are  slightly  thicker but  something we  never  analized   surfaces here , and  i  think there’s  not even need to explain this

some relate this to their  first bday art too even if their  model don’t show significant difference

also in mer-form when having the  same  position  you can see another visible  difference  between jade  and  floyd  

in the masterchef ones we see pretty much we see a similar thing to the birthday boy vests even if shoulders and waist are pretty much the same they still keep a small but consistent difference

before jumping  to the “it’s just the clothes” bandwagon i remind you that once again jade wears skin tight clothing and floyd loose/oversized stuff

this pic actually leads us to the latest difference found aka the forearms always  from the masterchef models

i hope to update this masterpost next month with their proper leg difference with floyd’s basketball club wear coming out to compare with jade’s vargas camp leggies so yes apparently  jade’s the  titty twin and floyd the ass one, and you may wonder wasn’t jade the ass one? i am afraid to break it to you but his beansday backside is  fake af and all thanks to the  harness

in conclusion these are the predominant differences it’s also left to dind the  difference that rwas mentioned to riddle about the fact that  ears  are also different  but  the art is inconsistent on that matter and  we  didn’t come to a proper   solution and it might be  something only  perceived  by  the  characters

[daitranscripts]

Trespasser Pt. 17

The Darvaarad

Trespasser Masterpost Previous (optional): Unknown Ruin Previous: The Qunari Plot

The PC heads into the crossroads to get to the Darvaarad.

Party comments:

Varric: Nightingale told us what happened with your hand.

Cole: Your hand hurts. It’s pulling you apart.

Vivienne: Leliana told us what happened with your hand.

Iron Bull: Red told us what happened with your hand.

Blackwall: Leliana told us what happened with your hand.

Dorian: Leliana told us about your little pyrotechnic display during your last chat.

Sera: So what’s this about your hand getting worse? It isn’t, though, right?

Cassandra: Leliana told us what happened with your hand.

Dialogue options:

Flirt: I love you, [Cassandra/Bull/Thom/Sera/Dorian]. [1]

General: I’m glad to have known you. [2]

General: C’mon, one last adventure! [3]

General: Focus on the mission. [4]

[Say nothing.] [4]

1 - Flirt: I love you, [Cassandra/Bull/Thom/Sera/Dorian]. PC: Whatever happens, I wouldn’t trade the years we’ve had together for anything. I love you.

Party comments:

Cassandra: And I you. Always and forever, my love.

Iron Bull: Love you, too, kadan.

Blackwall: This isn’t over… but I love you, too.

Sera: Fucking words. We do, and we fight until… (Breathes.) I love you, and I get to keep something. You hear?

Dorian: I knew you would break my heart, you bloody bastard.

2 - General: I’m glad to have known you. PC: No matter what happens, it has been my honor to fight beside each of you. [5]

3 - General: C’mon, one last adventure! PC: We all knew this was probably our last time out together. Let’s make it a good one. [5]

4 - General: Focus on the mission./[Say nothing.] PC: All that matters now is stopping the Qunari. The rest, we worry about later. [5]

5 - Scene continues.

Party comments:

Varric: All right, Bianca. Let’s show all the tall people how it’s done, one last time.

Cole: We helped. All of us. I won’t forget.

Sera: Right. Last time to be legend. (Laughs.) Try to keep up.

Vivienne: Let us show all who would cross the Inquisition the price of their mistake.

Dorian: Enjoy me while you can. I expect you’ll all miss me terribly later.

Iron Bull: It’s been an honor to kick asses beside you all. Anaan.

Blackwall: One more fight, then. Let’s finish this.

Cassandra: Thank you… all of you.

They find the eluvian.

PC: The Darvaarad. All right, everyone. Get ready.

They pass through and emerge in a fortress.

PC: So this is the Darvaarad.

Party comments:

Iron Bull: Finally, a chance to get some answers and set this right. Thanks for bringing me along, boss.

Dorian: Look at this! It’s an eluvian graveyard.

Vivienne: We seem to be in a dumping ground for broken eluvians.

PC: Where did the Qunari get all these? How long have they been studying eluvians? The sooner we stop this invasion plan, the better.

They begin to fight their way forward.

The Anchor flares as they cross the bridge towards the main structure.

PC: (Cries out in pain.)

Party comments (romanced):

Cassandra: Are you all right?

Blackwall: Are you hurt? What just happened?

Sera: What? What happened?

Dorian: Are you all right?

Iron Bull: Kadan! You all right?

Varric: Oh, shit. That… can’t be good. You all right?

PC: We should hurry.

They continue.

Party comments:

Varric: So about this war… you know things didn’t end well for Kirkwall the last time the Qunari got angry. I really hope we settle this fast. I’ve seen all the burning cities I ever want to see.

Cassandra: Why are the Qunari calling this plan “Dragon’s Breath”? What do dragons have to do with assassinating heads of state? I don’t understand any of this.

Iron Bull (allied with Qunari): Whatever’s going on in here, I know we don’t have the full story. It can’t be as bad as it seems. My contacts would have said something. If an invasion were coming, I’d know about it.

Iron Bull (Tal-Vashoth): I wish I could say I’m surprised that Viddasala wants to murder everyone, but it makes sense. We tell stories about hoe corrupt the South is. Who wouldn’t want to kill the evil nobles and save the people?

They continue on, past some patrolling Qunari.

Party comments:

Iron Bull (allied with Qunari): They’ve got guards on watch. Not sure if we can sneak by.

Iron Bull (Tal-Vashoth): Watch the patrol. You want to take them out one at a time, fast, or we’ll have a mess on our hands.

Cassandra: Patrolling guards. We need to deal with them as quickly as possible.

Blackwall: Guards on patrol. If we take them out one at a time, we might avoid raising the alarm.

The PC enters a nearby research tower.

PC: Red lyrium… do the Qunari have any idea what they’re dealing with?

Party comments:

Sera: Of course. But they’re special and careful, and nothing bad will happen.

Varric: No. They might think they do, but they don’t.

Cole: the song is different, but the pieces fit together.

They drop into a room full or random magical artifacts.

PC: Is that… an astrarium? How did the Qunari move it here?

Party comments:

Vivienne: Do be careful not to touch the pyramid, darling.

Dorian: A word of advice: stay away from the glowing pyramid.

Iron Bull: And one of those weird keys you can only find with a Tranquil’s skull.

Cassandra: Perhaps we should keep our distance. Some of those artifacts are deadly.

Blackwall: Maker’s breath. Do they even know what half these things do?

They return to the main door, an elaborate vault with a puzzle lock.

PC: That’s quite the door.

They find the door to the controls is locked.

PC: Locked. One of the guards must have the key.

The PC finds the gatehouse key on one of the Qunari and begins to solve the puzzle.

Party comments:

Sera: That! Be tricksy with all of them, and we’re through!

Varric: That’s it! Get them all like that, and we’re in!

Cole: Yes! Do the thing to the other thing! Sorry. I’m not good with things that don’t have feelings.

The PC gets it open.

PC: It’s open! let’s go.

They head inside, fighting their way through more Qunari. After one of the fights, the Anchor flares.

PC: (Cry of pain.)

Party comments:

Varric: Hang in there. Someone back at the palace has to be able to help.

Blackwall: Cn you walk? We’d better move faster.

Cassandra: Stay with us!

Cole: It’s the Veil. It wants to be back, but it’s trapped on you. I don’t know how to help!

Dorian: That sounded bad. Hold on a little longer.

Iron Bull: Crap. Come one, we have to get you out of here.

Sera: Stop hurting! Please.

Vivienne: My dear, are you all right?

As they continue inside, they find a study with documents detailing the Dragon Breath plan.

This document appears to be written entirely in Qunlat, but contains a number of complicated diagrams, including detailed blueprints of Halamshiral and a number of other places and fortresses.

Dialogue options:

Arcane: They’re unlocking eluvians. PC: Morrigan said the key to an eluvian could be anything—including knowledge or power. So they’re stockpiling both. That’s how they got the keystone and opened so many of the eluvians we’ve seen. ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: Studying it all, maybe? PC: This almost looks like research. Are they trying to uncover the secrets of elven magic? ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: Looking for weapons? PC: Trying to find more things like eluvians. Anything to gain an advantage in their invasion, probably.

Party comments:

Iron Bull: Hopefully they don’t have any more ancient magic crap to throw at us. That dragon skull would make a wicked armchair, though. Maybe we could take it back to Skyhold after this?

Blackwall: So they could also have other artifacts? Magical traps or elven weapons?

Cassandra: They will have defenses in place. We must not stumble into anything blindly. Is that a copy of Swords and Shields?

PC: We need to put a stop to this, and fast.

Next: Ataashi

[the-whumpening]

The Pet Tiger, #6 [nsfwhump AU]

Prev | Masterpost | Next

CW: Dehumanization, treated as a pet, threats of/references to violence and/or noncon, forced nudity, humiliation, pet whump, pet training, mention of starvation, medical exam, restraints, emotional abuse, more of Ozmund's bullshit and mind games

————————————————————————————

6: Healthy

It takes a few days for Ash to return to full strength, and Ozmund is keen to remind him of this fact at every opportunity.

“If only you had just done as you were told,” he laments at dinner, feeding Ash scraps off his plate. “You could have a nice, hot plate all to yourself.”

“Poor, useless thing. Can’t even stand on your own,” he sighs as Ash stumbles behind him yet again, still unsteady on his sore legs.

“Don’t expect this level of patience for every infraction, pet.” he warns before locking Ash’s cage. His sneering smile glints in the candlelight. “It’s just no fun to break you if you can’t at least try to fight back. And the anticipation . . . ” He hooks Ash’s collar through the bars, pulling him till their lips nearly meet. “Ah! That’s the best part of all.”

———————————————

Though his belly still aches from hunger pangs, Ash can tell his body has recovered. And while he’s grateful the muscle pains and dizziness have abated, he knows what his good health means for him: now, there’s no escaping Ozmund’s sadistic games.

Ozmund, too, must be able to see the difference—at Ash’s next bath, he’s subjected once again to the humiliating cleansing Ozmund requires of him. Faye decorates his skin just as beautifully as before, this time smearing a layer of tinted balm over his lips as well. She artfully arranges his hair so the black waves frame his face and delicately brush his cheekbones.

He hates it. Not his appearance—in fact, he appreciates the way the eyeliner sharpens his round, green eyes; the contrast of the gold shadow on his tan skin; the gentle fall of his hair in a style he’d never considered. No, he hates that Ozmund is the one to see it. He hates that Ozmund is the one who will enjoy it. Ozmund is the one who will streak mascara down his cheeks. Ozmund is the one who will taste the balm on his lips. He wants to be this beautiful, so much like a real human being, and he wants it to be for himself. He wants it to be for someone he loves . . . for Evius.

The clattering of the chain leash against his collar startles him back to reality. Evius isn’t here. And if he ever wants to see him again, he has to survive this. When all this is over, when he’s back home, he’ll paint his eyes even more beautifully, he’ll make himself more alluring than Ozmund will ever see, he’ll—

“Are you finished yet, Faye? We’ve got work to do.”

Faye spins around to meet Ozmund’s entrance. ��Nearly done, sir! Shall we meet you in the lab?”

He waves her off. “No need. I’ve got a few minutes to spare. I’ll wait here until you’re finished.” At that, he leans against the door frame as Faye continues her work, his arms crossed and eyes fixed on Ash. “You look well, little cat. I daresay Fay has outdone herself.”

“Thank you, sir!” From the mirror, Ash can see Faye’s cheeks offer a soft flush at the praise before she turns him around to show off her work. “I’d hoped I could make him presentable for you. And look—he almost looks like a human, don’t you think?” She pinches his ear and wiggles it playfully.

Ozmund steps closer, lifting Ash’s chin for a better view. “Quite.” His sharp teeth emerge from behind his glossy lips, the smile somehow both menacing and relieving. At least he’s not disappointed. Ash cringes internally at the thought. “Yes, this should do nicely. Come along, then.”

Ash is hoisted from the chair by his manacles and led through the winding halls. He’s become somewhat accustomed to this marching pattern, finding his footing more quickly than before as the three descend a narrow staircase. When they reach the bottom, Faye ushers him through the heavy, metal door.

This must be the lab, he realizes. Magic light illuminates the room as bright as daylight, despite the lack of windows; it gleams off the shiny stone and metal surfaces. Cabinets line the walls, filled with potions and tools, and a large slab table stands in the middle of the floor.

Another tug at his manacles, and Ash is pulled to the table. It’s only hip height—far too short to work on for a tall race like a human or an elf. If it’s not a workbench, then . . .

Ash freezes, his jaw clenched tight and his muscles solid ice. At each corner of the table, he notices sturdy metal rings and thick leather straps. A workbench wouldn’t need restraints. Nor would it need a channel that lines the perimeter, funneling into a drain in the floor. It almost reminds Ash of Krumgus’ cutting board.

This isn’t a workbench. It’s an operating table.

“Hop on up, sweetie,” Faye chirps behind him, pressing him forward. At the touch, his nerves jolt back to life—you’re not dead yet, he reminds himself. Stay alert.

He angles onto the cold stone table, his thighs sinking uncomfortably into the divot along the edge. Every inch he scoots back, his feet lift farther and farther from the ground—farther and farther from safety. Between the chill of the slab and the fear swelling in his gut, his muscles begin to shiver.

Ozmund’s shrewd gaze doesn’t miss the change. “Oh, pet,” he coos, his voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t be frightened. I’ve no intention to harm you right now—I simply want to make sure you’re healthy again. A check-up, if you will.” He pats Ash’s head, careful not to disturb the not-too-perfect coif Faye had made. “Besides, it wouldn’t do for my new pet to be bruised and marked so soon.”

So that’s what this is about, Ash thinks. Why does he care about my health, anyway—he’s the one who starved me and shoved me in a cage. Then again, what did he say before?

“It’s no fun if you can’t fight back . . . ”

Before another wave of shudders has a chance to roll through Ash’s body, hands are on him. A low growl forms in his chest, but he bites it down—it’s hard to protest when he’s so cold, and the hands are so warm. Warm on his belly, on his back, on his neck . . . For a moment, he’s lost in the sensation, his eyes unfocused and his thoughts numbed.

“Are you feeling well, dear?” Faye’s voice breaks his dreamlike state, snapping him back to the present. He stiffens his posture. “Any pains? Dizziness?”

He almost wants to laugh. Of course he’s not well—how could he be? He’s still dehydrated and hungry; he’s yet to have a full meal since he’s been captured. His head still aches off and on, and the twist of his empty gut disrupts his focus just as much.

But he’d never admit to any of it. Not to them, at least.

“I’m fine,” he mutters in response. He feels her fingertips brush his thigh and corrects himself. “I’m well, ma’am.”

At that, she pats his thigh instead and smiles. “Good. Shall we continue, then?”

Neither wait for Ash to answer—not that he expected his protests to matter, anyway.

Ozmund summons a wave of shimmering green magic. “Be still, now. This won’t be pleasant,” he warns Ash with the same casual detachment as always. But as he presses the magic forward to engulf Ash’s body, he smirks. “Don’t worry—it won’t leave any marks.”

The shimmering swirl consumes Ash’s vision. His skin buzzes; the vibration sinks deeper and deeper until it seems to jostle his bones. Unpleasant is an understatement—Ash is reminded of the warm tingle in the air before lightning strikes, when his hair would stand on end and his nerves overflowed with stimulation.

When it finally dissipates, his lungs desperately expand, and he sucks in panting breaths. His skin feels raw and inflamed as if he’s been sunburned, but—just like Ozmund said—he is perfectly unmarred.

“What the hell wa—?”

His breathy demand is cut short as Ozmund cups his cheek and lifts his face.

“As I told you, just a check-up.” Ozmund’s narrowed eyes betray his cool exterior, and Ash pulls against his grip to look away. “You can’t lie to me, you know. You don’t even have to say a word—I know you inside and out. I know your hunger, your pain, your panicked little thoughts. You can’t hide it from me, little cat.” Though his voice is soft—almost gentle—Ash can feel the threat lurking beneath.

“Don’t.” His throat is tight, his teeth gnashed together as he finally meets Ozmund’s eyes. A challenge. A plea.

Ozmund only smiles. “I know you don’t want me probing around your thoughts, pet. Your memories. All those special little moments you think you’ve locked up tight. Especially with—”

“No!” Ash snarls, low in his throat. “You don’t get to say his name.”

The shock on Faye’s face is satisfaction enough for Ash; he screws his eyes tight to brace for the inevitable strike he’ll receive.

Ozmund laughs.

Ash flinches at the sound, but no pain follows. What is he playing at?

“Good to see you have your fight back. You know, pet, while you’re under my charge, I should like to study you. I’m sure it could be . . . educational for us both.” He turns to Faye, ignoring the sneer forming on Ash’s lips. “Don’t you think so, Faye?”

Forced to keep his head help up, Ash can’t look away from the manic shine in Faye’s eyes. “Oh, absolutely, sir! So unique—so fascinating! Oh, we can, can’t we? Please?”

Ozmund chuckles. “Well, we’d need our subject’s cooperation, of course.” His hypnotic gaze falls back upon Ash, a nauseating grin playing at his lips. “What do you think, Ash?”

Ash’s stomach twists, his teeth grinding beneath the grip on his chin. “Fuck you,” he spits. “I’m not your science experiment.”

Faye’s excitement falters, but Ozmund’s grin mellows into something Ash assumes is meant to be comforting. “Don’t worry, Faye—I’m sure he’ll come around in time.” Like hell I will. “Besides, he’s not going anywhere; we can pick right up when he’s ready.” Ozmund pats his cheek dismissively.

“However,” he continues, “I do think he’s quite healthy enough to return to our scheduled activities. And just in time, too—we have guests tonight, pet.”

[2g-1k]

2G1K - Chapter 2 "Good Evans, Heavens! …Or is it the other way 'round?"

You met the first guy in the kingdom. Behold, the second guy!

Masterpost

Jonathan Evans’ first thought upon regaining consciousness were What the fuck? And to be fair, he has very good reasons to say so.

For one, he felt like someone had just played him like a basketball and slam dunked him headfirst into the ground. Which made sense, as the last memory he had was experiencing a plane crash.

Where then, is the rest of the plane that was supposed to crash along with him?

Evans was genuinely surprised to see his travel backpack lay beside him unscathed, as if God himself gently placed it carefully on the ground. Then he examined himself, and to no one’s surprise, with great pain comes great wounds. Minor cuts and scratches could be found all over his body, and his skin was decorated with various shades of reds, purples and blues. Fixing his glasses, he wished that fate treated him as well as his bag was, while totally not thinking about the fact that being alive - from a plane crash no less - without any major injuries was already a blessing by itself.

Nevertheless, remaining laid down on the ground was not helping him find wherever the hell the bloody plane flew off to crash without him. Evans had to fight a war with his aching muscles and stand up so he could actually see better. Born to lie down, forced to get up, I guess. Observing his surroundings, Evans guessed with no small amount of uncertainty, that he may be in a Christmas tree farm with the amount of pine saplings that occupied most of the land he saw. He wondered if he could ask the farm owner for help, but couldn’t see anything that resembled a building. Nor a person, for that matter.

No plane, no signs of life…yet, thought Evans. Survival mode activation?

It is of utmost misfortune that Mr. Jonathan Evans had spent most of his life in a city, and had spent little time touching grass and getting to know Mother Nature - he knew little to nothing about survival other than the most basic of basics!

A fresh change of clothes from his bag later, he thought about what to do next. Plane or not, it isn’t going to assist in his survival other than providing shelter, not to mention he wasn’t a fan of setting up camp in a place where the dead rested. Was he the only one alive, or are there others around, lost like he was? 

An idea that was in hindsight, so obvious that he felt stupid to have not thought about it earlier, hit his head as hard as he hit the ground. My phone! He definitely felt stupid now. Turning on his phone, he tried to call emergency services for help, but to no avail. Well, at least I tried? Not my fault there’s no signal, anyway.

Be that as it may, it is his problem if he wants to survive. Now he just needed to obtain water and food and he was set for life! Or set for as long as he had to stay here. Despite all the looking around he did since he woke up, he didn’t notice anything resembling water or food.

One thing he noticed, however, was that he felt weirdly out of place. Like he felt tall. Not sure of what to think of that, he tried to shrug it off, and in the name of survival - began his quest for water.

Dusk gradually approached, and Evans was getting a little agitated. During who knows how long, along his arduous trek across evergreen forests of pine saplings that barely reached his waist, he had not seen as much as a single drop of water. Seeing as he still hasn’t walked out of this endless greenery, he tried to walk faster, but found himself unable to as the little trees were scratching him with every step he took. He figured he could just knock them off with sheer force, though decided not to in the end.

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached the edge of the forest. Although the sun’s rays have sunken deep beneath the horizon, and the stars have emerged to greet the earth, he could vaguely see a large patch of grass dotted with random hues of what he supposed were flowers.

Next to the flower patch sat a tiny cottagehouse, so small that he figured if he stood next to it, its height would not even reach his knees. His jaw nearly dropped at the mere sight.

Am I hallucinating?

He blinked once.

Twice.

It was still there. 

He was about to step closer to take a better look, when a faint flickering light beneath him caught his attention. This time, his jaw definitely dropped.

Eyes wide open, mouth gaping in absolute disbelief, he watched as a tiny man no taller than his index finger, carrying an equally tiny lantern, pushing an equally tiny cart, walk along an equally tiny, narrow winding path.

It was by bearing witness to this sight that everything clicked for Evans in that moment.

The saplings were fully grown trees. They weren’t part of a farm, but an entire forest. He didn’t feel tall for no reason. He was tall the entire time.

Because this place is tiny.

His brain about to explode from the sudden revelation, all he could do was stare in wonder as the little man picked up his pace, and subsequently break into a sprint, making a beeline towards the little cottage he noticed moments earlier.

It wasn’t until the little man shut the door to the little cottage did he snap awake from his trance.

Evans had many thoughts flying around in his mind not unlike a hurricane. What the fuck, did I just see a tiny person? He was pushing a tiny cart! He lives in a tiny cottage! He’s tiny! Or am I huge? I’m not dreaming this up, right?

I could try talking to him.

One thought stood above the rest, and given that Evans had nothing to lose, why not give it a try?

What the little man took minutes to reach took him three steps, and soon he was standing in front of the miniscule building that felt more like a dollhouse rather than someone’s actual home.

He could hear the little person talking as he kneeled down to match the height of the cottage. He felt as if he was losing his mind this very instant, listening to a man the size of his finger talk! Evans couldn’t make out what he said, but knowing the little guy exists was more than enough to leave him questioning reality itself.

Now, what should he do to get his attention?

Evans tried to knock on the door, but found it too awkward a position to adjust to do so. Instead, he settled on knocking on the roof.

Knock, knock, knock. He paused, and resumed again. Knock, knock, knock.

He peeked into the window.

Both pairs of eyes were wide open at the sight of each other, one in wonder, and the other in horror. Evans watched as the little person froze up - no doubt in absolute terror - before thawing himself, scrambling out of Evans’ sight.

Evans wasn’t sure what else to expect. Obviously I would be fucking terrified of a person larger than a building too, he thought, but still, damn, am I that intimidating?

He gave the house another two knocks. Knock, knock.

“I know you’re in there, I just want to ask some questions.”

“...Please?”

A few minutes passed.

No reply came.

Evans wasn’t sure of what to make of this situation. He hadn’t expected the little guy to be cooperative, but he wasn’t exactly surprised that the little guy’s first reaction was to escape. He couldn’t know what exact reasons sent him running for his life like that either - ignoring the differences in size. Hell, maybe they don’t even speak the same language, which could be highly possible given that neither of their people have probably met each other at some point in history! Now Evans thought maybe he looked stupid. To appear as a dishevelled, towering brute whom for all Evans knew, made loud booming noises that might not even register as a language! If anyone could see him at that moment, they would be able to see his cheeks flush scarlet, drowning in the embarrassment he just thought up out of nowhere.

As the night lingered, Evans’ thought-up embarrassment was gradually replaced with fatigue. Feeling worn out from all the walking he did today, he was ready to drop and fall unconscious at any second. Still not receiving any form of response from the tiny man who inhabits the tiny house, he got up, walked to the flower patch, and decided to call that his bed and temporary home. Until he could finally return home, at least.

Using his bag as a pillow, he slept beside the house, and silently bid it goodnight.

Perhaps he will try his luck at communication tomorrow.

[humming-pokemon-helpers]

A Cross of Strange Colors Masterpost (OOC)

Hey guys, as you might have noticed we're into another arc here, so this here will serve as a little (not little) masterpost/FAQ for the arc!

What should I know going in?

This arc is higher-stakes than my usual fare, so posts will be tagged appropriately. General TWs for this arc include stalking, dehumanization, deception, general mental health instability, implications/discussions of Poképhilia (focused around hybrids, rather than specifics), and human/Pokémon experimentation. More serious posts may include body horror and/or related violent/disturbing themes. If these general themes bother you, I'd suggest blocking the mastertag, #a cross of strange colors. Any related troubling posts should also be tagged as #high stakes pokeblogging. And of course, individual trigger tags will be used!

[A note: PLEASE let me know if you want any extra TW tags on posts I make! I miss things at times, as much as I try to cover what I recognize could be triggering!]

Okay, this is a darker arc. Are you posting anything else to lighten the mood here?

Yes! I will be posting more regular content in between main arc posts! Gosh darn it, my foxperson is great at posting like nothing's going on when everything is going on.

How long is this plot going to be...?

Yeah, I wish I had a great idea. Likely two+ weeks spread out. Probably longer.

Can I interact with this? What about playing a larger role?

Yes! Interactions are highly appreciated along the way of this arc! Vanilla is not an island. Arc knows he'll need support along the way... or a little antagonism to push him along!

If you'd like to do something larger in the context of this arc, or just want to know what I'm up to (please, I could use help bouncing ideas), please feel free to DM me! Please. I'd love to hear what you have in mind!

Who is... ? (A character directory)

Aspear/Spear: Spear (27M) is a human geneticist and Cheri's serious, put-together twin brother. Though he has heard plenty of Vanilla from his twin, the two have yet to meet in-person. He is currently researching genetic differences between humans and Pokémon that might explain the large gap between the two that emerged many thousands of years ago. His partner Pokémon is Goop the Duosion.

Cheri: Cheri (27F) is a Pokémon geneticist, Aspear's twin sister, and Vanilla's current, highly energetic, girlfriend. The two met initially thirteen years prior, after Vanilla came hurtling through Cheri's window on the run from... someone. They have only recently reunited. She is researching the genetics of Pokémon to better understand what factors lead to better hybrid compatibility. Her partner Pokémon is Ribbon the Gothorita.

Cobalion: This universe's Cobalion (???, he/they) is something of a disgruntled leader of the Swords of Justice, serving as a sort of workplace "boss" to his subordinates Virizion and Terrakion. They all seem to get along, for the most part. Cobalion has Chosen Vanilla to receive several of his powers, including increased physical strength, durability, and the ability to use Secret Sword. Currently, Cobalion treats Vanilla as a trainee, rather than a subordinate taking on jobs.

Colress: Colress (38M) is a canon character. (For anybody who missed B2W2 and/or USUM, check out details here.) He is a scientist and the ex-"leader" of Team Plasma, focusing on how to strengthen Pokémon via the power of their bonds with humans... whatever means that research takes. He has recently developed an interest in Ultra Space, after spending several years in Alola on the run.

V: Vanilla's former name, given at birth. Though not quite a deadname given Wolfgang is still allowed to use it, anyone else referring to Vanilla as such would receive fierce resistance.

What's the plot so far?

(readmore for aforementioned potentially triggering content)

[. . .LOADING. . .]

Vanilla is discovered and contacted in-person by Colress, an ex-Plasma scientist researching the bonds between humans and Pokémon and [UNCLEAR]. The two have a battle that Vanilla wins, leading to Colress remarking on the potential strength of human-Pokémon hybrids before being chased off by Clay.

The next day, Colress contacts Vanilla to request a further meeting, revealing in a supposed show of goodwill that he is aware of a tracker used for [UNCLEAR] placed in Vanilla's right ear. Vanilla, upon learning this, challenges Colress to set up a meeting on his own, and sets about removing the tracker on her own terms.

Later that week, Vanilla gets a request from Cheri to meet at her lab, to meet Aspear and to give a talk on sensitivity towards hybrids. At first this visit goes well, though Aspear does catch up to Vanilla to talk about his sister briefly. Once the actual meeting starts, though, just about everything goes to shit. Colress walks into the lab room, and Aspear accidentally reveals Colress as his and Cheri's "boss" of sorts, leading up to a battle between Vanilla and Colress.

During this battle, Cross posts about something that concerns them--it is later shown that Colress directly attacked Vanilla with his Beheeyem's Lumina Crash to trigger Vanilla's instincts and bait them into attacking for the purpose of gathering data on the strength of "natural hybrids". Cheri tackles Vanilla to the ground to stop any harm from coming to anyone, and Vanilla is left shaken for several minutes. Soon after Vanilla comes to his senses, he confronts Cheri about the events of the day, leading to a breakup between the two. The footage of Vanilla attacking Colress is made public, but luckily, he has plenty of support from those around him. Even if there are still mysteries left unclear...

Several days of silence pass. Finally, after Vanilla expresses concern about what Colress is planning, they receive another message from him. This time, a veiled threat: seek him out, or else... what? Vanilla pretends to be unaffected, but secretly contacts Aspear. Their plan? Record Colress admitting to his own scientific misdeeds to reveal to the general public, generating enough outrage that the government is forced to finally take action against him.

The morning comes, and the two set things into motion. Vanilla takes the visage of Cheri so as to not arouse Colress's suspicion, and Cross is used to live-stream the entire event. However, as the talk continues on, Vanilla plays their hand a bit too early. They're caught by Colress, who destroys the lab & severely injures Aspear and Cross with a Discharge. At this point, the public view ends, as Cross is knocked out by the attack, and is only found by Tula hours later. Vanilla is taken down for a few seconds, Cobalion releasing itself from the Pokéball it entered to conceal itself, and Colress makes an attempt to escape with his Beheeyem's Teleport. Vanilla musters up just enough strength to jump after him, tagging along to his final destination. (A conflict ensues, in which Vanilla is captured.) Cobalion's attempt to charge Colress, likewise, ends in him accidentally injuring Cheri, who had seen the livestream and come to the site of the lab to ask questions. From here on out, Cheri takes the point of view.

Cheri, Rune, Tula, and Wyrdo form a search party for Vanilla. On Saturday, they search for clues, but are left empty-handed, save a heavy stack of papers found by Tula when she recovers Cross and a list of possible locations from Lo. With these hints, they regroup Sunday, settling on the Dreamyard as the most likely location for Colress's laboratory. The four come across Chiru, Vanilla's Altaria, as they approach, and, with some harsh words from Wyrdo towards both Cheri and Tula, descend into the Dreamyard. There, they face four hybrid "experiments" of Colress's, and as Tula sneaks off to find Colress himself...

[Hey! If you're visiting this months later as a refresher, finally finished it!]

Suddenly, what appears to be a strange Ultra Beast--Necrozma, perhaps, though something about it's off--lashes out at the party. Wyrdo realizes the misunderstanding quickly, confirming their suspicion when they jolt an illusioned Vanilla with enough electricity to both paralyze him and reveal his true form. With the rest of the hybrids being taken care of quickly by the combination of Rune, Wyrdo, Cheri, Cobalion, and Wolfgang's efforts, focus shifts to Colress's lab.

Inside, several minutes before, Tula had confronted Colress, taking a swipe from his Klinklang's Giga Impact. In return, Tula nearly takes him out of commission permanently, an intended stab to the heart hitting his shoulder. The two fall to the ground, crushing a Master Ball Vanilla was apparently confined in. However, the approach of Wyrdo's Misdreavus gives Colress just enough time to recollect his bearings, and he uses some strange machine to escape to somewhere unspecified.

Rune enters the space, and as Tula lashes out the two realize Colress left his Klinklang behind in his attempt to flee. Finally, Cheri and Cobalion enter to share that Vanilla's come to, and the group regathers around the hybrid as Rune's Cosmog, Connie, helps bring the injured to the Driftveil Hospital.

In the aftermath, Vanilla recovers quite well. In the hospital, Cross (reunited with Vanilla at last) and Motom arrange a meeting between Tula and Vanilla that leads to an agreement: the two will travel together for Vanilla's gym challenge. A pragmatic agreement with absolutely no romantic feelings behind it, certainly.

Tula also reveals they have Colress's laptop, which is later unlocked by Tula's close friend Callisto. Vanilla keeps the information on there notably quiet. Tula cares for Klinklang for some time, before passing custody of the Pokémon to Rune. Other miscellaneous information includes the fact that both Cheri and Aspear recover, and decide jointly to begin their own Gym Challenge at around the same time as Vanilla.

The group also tries to press Colress's subordinates for further information on the hybridization project he was testing, but receive little in the way of new information. And so it continues, for well on nine months...

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Trevelyan visits the library, and makes a new acquaintance.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 3,292. Rating: all audiences, apart from a few swears.)

Chapter 6: Hit the Books

Despite her situation with the Commander seeming to worsen every time they met, Trevelyan greeted each new morning with a greater sense of purpose. As if every sunrise was that little bit brighter.

Up she got, dressed with the assistance of Missy and Cara. A simple smock would serve today; she hadn’t any grand adventures in her schedule. Just one little visit to the library.

She left her room that morning to go about this purpose, fortunate that Lady Montilyet had already shown them where it was. But she was not, it seemed, to go about it right away—

“Oh, Lady Trevelyan!” came the cheery voice of Lady Erridge.

Trevelyan turned to see the Lady emerging from her room, located but a few paces down the corridor. To exactly no one’s surprise, her dress was a blush shade of pink.

“Lady Erridge, good morning.”

“Good morning, Lady Trevelyan! Sorry to disturb you so early—I wanted to speak to you, you see. And I simply couldn’t wait!”

Trevelyan clasped her hands together. “I am all ears.”

“Well,” Lady Erridge began, quickly succumbing to a conspiratorial tone, “it’s about the Commander. Obviously, I suppose. There is little else you could imagine I would wish to discuss! Anyway, I should out with it, really…”

Trevelyan could not help but—privately—agree.

“How did you find him, yesterday? I had just wondered—since I saw him first, I had no idea what to expect. I wondered if we might revel in the hindsight of it, together.”

“Oh!” Trevelyan blinked. “Hm. Well—how did you find him, first, Lady Erridge?”

Erridge picked at her skirts, swishing them slightly. “I thought him… quite quiet, I suppose…” The sweetness all but drained from her voice.

Yet she continued, with misplaced optimism, “Perhaps that is his way. For I will say he was a terribly good listener. I spoke about my dear friend Lady Orroat for almost our entire walk, and he bore the totality of it!”

Trevelyan might have given this as the reason he was so preferable to silence during their own walk, had he not already proven himself to be a surly and unsociable sort. At least Lady Erridge had found some use in it.

“I know I am villanously talkative sometimes,” she admitted, “so perhaps it would suit me well, for a man to be rare of tongue. Yes, quite! Time must tell if this is his proper demeanour or a temporary one—or, perhaps you could speak of your meeting with him!”

“My meeting…” In her mind, Trevelyan ran her fingers along the pages of her memories, and selected the right words. “Well, we went to the stables, and then to the mages’ tower, as I had expressed an interest.”

“A mage tower, how fascinating—and how generous of the Commander to give you a tour!”

“Well... it was not the Commander who did so,” Trevelyan admitted, to Erridge’s obvious dismay. “He had duties to attend to. I was introduced to one of the mages, instead.”

“Oh.”

There was an extreme guilt that came with disappointing such a kind face. Trevelyan resigned herself, and added:

“Perhaps that explains his restraint. Though a Commander, he appears to find comfort in quiet—because of it, even! The giving of orders all day may necessitate that one takes time away from speech. Or, perhaps it has made him a contemplative man, for a hard-working mind leads one to say very little, I think.”

Or perhaps he holds his would-be suitors in contempt.

“Oh, exactly!” said Lady Erridge, smiling once more—much to Trevelyan’s relief. Such a bright and shining soul deserved better than contempt. “You put it so well, Lady Trevelyan. Shall you join us? The Baroness and I are to meet for morning tea. We shall be theorising on what sort of an outing Lady Samient might have with the Commander. She found him unusually charming at the gala, so there is much to speculate upon!”

“Indeed, I do recall,” Trevelyan muttered. She had her theories. “Perhaps she likes reservation, in speech. Not all are charmed by the same attributes, after all.” She shook her head. “But I leave the speculation to yourself and the Baroness. My intentions this morning are to read in the library. Please, pass on my apologies.”

“Oh, naturally!” Erridge said. “If your reading calls to you, you must answer. But we must meet later, I do so enjoy speaking with you. You have such insights, and balance of mind!”

An accidental little laugh escaped Trevelyan, brought forth by her nerves. “I… thank you, Lady Erridge. Enjoy your tea.”

“And you your reading!”

They parted, Erridge returning to her room, and Trevelyan to her path.

How sweet of the Lady to express so honestly such kind thoughts. There truly seemed to be no artifice to Lady Erridge. She was entirely as she appeared, at all times. That would be worrying, were they in the midst of Orlais, and the Great Game. But this was Skyhold. It was as if one could be whomever they were, here.

Even if that was a total prick.

No. Trevelyan would not sully her mood by thinking of the Commander. She could not help but wonder if he had really listened to a word Lady Erridge had said to him, or if he’d let it all wash over him like so much sewage.

No, no! The library. The task at hand. That was to be her focus. Please.

Fortunate for her, the library was a mere connecting corridor from where she and the other guests stayed—and the library itself provided plentiful distraction.

It was situated within a grand rotunda, adjoining the Great Hall. One could just about see to the top, and the cawing rookery housed in the eaves—or to the bottom, and the work of a master painter there, who had ornamented the walls with a sprawling arcane mural.

The library floated, balcony-like, between the two. Against the curving wall, bookshelves had been stacked and filled with tomes and novels beyond number. Among them, huddled mages and scholars, who—despite Trevelyan’s early start—were already occupied with research of their own.

Sorted by subject, she browsed the bookshelves until she found a section titled, ‘Lyrium’. The selection was not scant, by any means—Of Lyrium and its Effects, by Mirrol Seether, The Use of Lyrium in Enchantment, by Rolan Bast, One Hundred and One Uses for Lyrium, by Elif Hax—but Trevelyan was unsure it would provide her the knowledge she needed.

With a sigh, she plonked onto the floor, and stared at the shelves, in thought.

“May I help you?”

Trevelyan scrambled to her feet. With no scholars in sight, the origin of the voice was much a mystery—until she found a pair of eyes, peering at her from betwixt the books. Then, they were gone.

Footsteps rounded the shelf, the stride of a confident man. Arms folded, hip cocked, he regarded her—just as she did him.

His face was familiar; brown skin, well-kept. Same could be said for his hair, too: rich black-brown locks, styled into a peak, while his moustache had been oiled and twirled into place.

The moustache—the gala! Of course. The amount of beltstraps on his clothes ought to have given it away; her mother had once informed her the style was something of a trend in Tevinter. He was the lone drinker Trevelyan had seen.

“I was searching for books on red lyrium,” she told him. “Are they perhaps in a different section?”

“Unfortunately, there aren’t any. Some initial scratchings based on the ramblings of those of us who’ve had the terrible luck to see the stuff, but no published works as of yet.” He shrugged. “Even if there were, I doubt they’d be out in public, for all the Inquisition to see. Not the sort of information you want every apprentice knowing.”

“I see.”

“Which obviously begs the question”—he tipped his head, and fixed her with a stare—“why are you looking into it?”

“I was hoping to help,” she answered, in earnest. “Well, while I’m here...”

His eyebrow flicked upward. “While you’re here? Are you not staying?”

“Ha, no. I’m here for the month only. I am—”

He gasped, cutting her off. “Oh, I know exactly who you are. You’re one of the Commander’s suitors, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

Grinning, he bowed to her, with practiced ease and a flourish of the hands. “A pleasure to meet you, then. I am Dorian Pavus, altus, formerly of the Imperium, now of the Inquisition—and friend, to Commander Cullen.”

Friend?

“I know, hardly believable, but strange things are happening all over these days.”

It was then that Trevelyan realised she had queried the word ‘friend’ aloud, and did her best to hide her panic. “Of course,” she said, “I mean no offence. I simply hadn’t met any of the Commander’s friends yet.” She did a little curtsy, as if to punctuate the sentence.

“We exist, I promise you. Now, since you haven’t yet revealed it, let me guess your name…” He regarded her for a moment, and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be Lady Trevelyan, would you?”

“Of Ostwick, yes.”

“Yes, you’re the one the Grand Enchanter was babbling about.”

“The Grand Enchanter was… ‘babbling’ about me?”

“Oh, yes. She’s quite the babbler! Babbling away constantly. Said you were a well-regarded mage of your Circle,” he revealed, “and that your First Enchanter believed you to be positively brimming with potential, something like that.”

“Oh.” Perhaps she had been, once. But that potential had been lost with the Circle.

Dorian must have noticed the dour look on her face, for he said: “Sorry to bring it up. Let’s just leave it at this: you are well-spoken of.”

“Thank you.” In a bid to change the subject, she asked, “I take it you are a mage as well?”

He spread his arms. “Am I not dripping with magical prowess? No? Well, I’ll have to work on that. But—to answer your question, I am indeed a mage.”

Trevelyan made certain to register the fact privately, this time. Friend of the Commander, a Tevinter mage. Interesting. Very interesting.

“You said you’ve seen red lyrium yourself?” she continued.

“That I have. Can’t recommend it. However, to save you trotting off to find some, I may be able to tell you some of what I know, if it is such a curiosity to you.”

Her eyes widened. “Please, if you would! I hope to spend my time here researching it, to aid the Inquisition.”

“Noble goals. We could always use more boffins on the subject. It is a rather complex one.”

He glanced over to and indicated a small desk beneath the nearby window. Trevelyan took the cue. She hurried to sit at it, and waited, as Dorian vanished to find another chair.

In his absence, she looked out. Through the glass, there was a rippled view of the courtyard, far below. The image shifted as people moved and went about their days; it reminded her of seeing the workings of Ostwick, from the windows of the Circle. Odd, for her to miss it.

A chair scraped against the stone, and tore her back to the present.

“So,” Dorian said, taking a seat. “I’ll tell you what little of it I know from experience, and what other scholars have said—though you’ll forgive me for not giving you the juiciest details yet. I don’t think the Inquisition would like me spouting all their secrets to every mage who turns up with a studious look in their eye.”

“Naturally. I just need a starting point. I’d like to know its properties—what differentiates it from lyrium?”

“Other than colour? It’s… aggressive, is the best way I can describe it. Nasty substance, really. Can hardly believe the Red Templars have the stomach to get it down them. Then again, I suppose many of them are Fereldan. It’s likely nothing worse than any food they’ve eaten.”

Trevelyan smiled. “I’m not sure knowing how it tastes is going to do much for my research.”

“You never know. But I see your point.” He leant in conspiratorially. “So, not only is it red and disgusting, but if you’d been near it, you’d know it’s very… hot. Noticeably so. It seems to give it off.”

“I see.”

“Though I wouldn’t go trying to test it for yourself—just being close by can make you lose your senses, if you hang around long enough.”

Trevelyan began to wish she had brought with her some vellum, perhaps an ink pot and quill. She had expected to be able to find a book and take it away with her. Dorian was rather more difficult to fit into a satchel.

“The most curious part,” he continued, “is that where lyrium amplifies magic, red lyrium seems to quash it. Odd, isn’t it? Whatever’s happened to it to make it red—if indeed something has happened to it, and it hasn’t just sprouted up of its own accord—has seemingly reversed its attributes.”

“You don’t know if it’s naturally-occurring, or not?” Trevelyan wondered.

“Well, there’s some debate. Some believe it to have been naturally occurring and laying dormant and undiscovered for some time. Others believe it has been manufactured—possibly by the bastard who started all of this.”

No one here had sworn in front of her yet. She was beginning to like the attitude of this Pavus fellow. “And I suppose all of this makes it harder to research?” she asked.

“Oh, not at all! In fact, should you want to know more about red lyrium, all you have to do is go up and ask it a question. I’m sure it would be happy to answer. Perhaps it would provide it in the form of a sonnet.”

Trevelyan tipped her head. “You’re quite verbose, aren’t you?”

“Why, thank you.”

The mocking sincerity made her chuckle. Oh, he was fun. And that only added further to the mystery of why he was friends with the Commander. Perhaps it was like with Lady Erridge: one did all the talking, and the other all the listening.

“Heat, anti-magic, proximity-based effects,” Trevelyan repeated. “That’s all the differences?”

“And the greater strength it confers upon you. But I took it you wanted to know most about the differences in its raw form.”

“Thank you, Ser Pavus.”

Dorian’s eyebrows went flying upward. “Oh, please do not call me that. Not ‘Ser’, not ‘Messere’, and especially not ‘Lord’. Dorian is my name, therefore ‘Dorian’ is how I like to be addressed.”

“Dorian, then.”

“Perfect, just like that! You learn quickly.”

“Well, Dorian, I—”

She stopped herself, as he looked askance. Following his line of sight, she saw a dwarven man pass by their row of bookshelves. He noticed their stares.

But he was not perturbed. The man paused and turned to wave—toward Dorian in particular, who smiled and beckoned him over.

“Varric! Excellent timing!”

Of course, Varric Teth… Theras? Tethras! That was the name the Baroness had used for him. From the prominent chest alone Trevelyan could tell it was the same man from the gala—but he had the same blond ponytail and same square jaw to boot, with the same sun-tanned skin of a surfacer.

“Dorian,” Varric greeted, making his way over. He tucked an envelope into his jacket. “I was just on my way to send another death threat to my publisher.”

Trevelyan hoped that was one of his storytelling exaggerations. The deadpan delivery suggested otherwise.

“Stow that for a moment,” Dorian told him, “I was wondering if you could answer some questions, regarding your books.”

Varric narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said all my books were trite and ridiculous?”

“They are. But it’s not I who has the questions.” Dorian nodded towards Trevelyan. “This is Lady Trevelyan of Ostwick. Lady Trevelyan, this is the one man with published works mentioning that thing you were asking about.”

She considered pointing out that, as with him, just ‘Trevelyan’ would do, but her mind was drawn more towards the knowledge Varric could potentially provide. He bowed respectfully.

“Nice to meet you, Lady Trevelyan. Always good to see another Marcher.” As he straightened, he asked, “So, what is it I can do for you?”

She smiled. “I’m hoping to help the Inquisition, but I need to know more about red lyrium.”

The practiced, welcoming grin Varric had adopted was almost immediately dropped. He shrugged, and Trevelyan’s heart sank. “I’d… rather not talk about that.”

“That’s… quite all right.” In an attempt to inject some levity, she said, “I’m becoming used to that response from Kirkwallers. I’m beginning to think it’s perhaps not the best destination for my next holiday.”

“Yeah,” he said, once again deadpan. Definitely not exaggeration this time. “Who else have you been speaking to from there?”

“The Commander. I’m—”

Varric gasped, and tapped his head. “You’re one of the suitors Ruffles invited.”

“I am,” Trevelyan replied, assuming ‘Ruffles’ was Lady Montilyet. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

“It’s an interesting reputation—but hey, good luck with it. And I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. They have copies of ‘The Tale of the Champion’ around here—it should give you an idea of what red lyrium can do.”

“Thank you, Master Tethras. Best of luck with your publisher.”

He pulled the envelope from his jacket. “Yeah. He’ll need it.” He waved—“See ya!”—and was off.

The moment he was gone, Dorian sighed. “Well, at least you came away from this whole meeting with one book recommendation. I’m sorry it wasn’t quite what you were hoping for.”

“It’s a start. Thank you for all of your help, Dorian. I should get to reading, I suppose. And let you return to your work.”

“Oh, yes. Very difficult work—I’m to sit here all day and look devastatingly handsome.”

Trevelyan laughed, and rose from her seat. “Then I should certainly not disturb you. I hope to see you again, another time.”

“Of course. Do let me know how it goes. I’m invested, now.”

Trevelyan nodded, smiling all the while. She turned to leave—but made it only a few steps before he said:

“The Commander…”

She whirled. Dorian stood.

“Commander Cullen is… well, he’s terribly grumpy and awfully stubborn. There’s a non-zero chance you’ve already discovered that for yourself. But, underneath all of it, he is a good man. And a charming one, too, when he tries.”

“So people keep telling me,” Trevelyan muttered. “I have heard nothing but praise for him—from the other Ladies, from Lady Montilyet, from the Grand Enchanter, the mages...”

“And you’ve yet to see the evidence yourself?”

Trevelyan stared at him.

“Give him time.”

She laughed to herself. “How long am I supposed to wait?”

“I understand. Not really ideal, sitting around and waiting for a man to get better. But some things are worth the wait. He may be one of those things.”

Trevelyan shrugged. She had a month to pass either way. “We shall see. Though I’m unsure as to why you’re telling me this.”

“I’m assuming he’s managed to bore you, if you’re already so desperate you’ll read one of Varric’s books.” Dorian smiled, but a sigh caused it to drop. “Cullen is my friend,” he said, sounding the most candid he had all conversation. “I mean that. I’d like for him to be happy, if he’d ever allow himself to be. And, to tell you the truth…”

Trevelyan raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Well, I haven’t met any of your competitors, yet, so this may be a little rash, but”—he leant in, and whispered—“I think I like you best.”

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Don't Blame Me || John 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem!OC

Chapter 1: I Knew You Were Trouble

Ao3 Link | Masterpost

John 'Soap' Mactavish wasn't thrilled to be given an escort mission to bring a young woman halfway across the world to a secret safe house especially when he has to pretend to be her husband. At least she's pretty.

Tags: Fake Marriage, Eventual Romance, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Build, Canon-Typical Violence

CW: N/A for this chapter

Words: 1.9k

“So, what’s the brief?” Soap strutted into the meeting room, stopping in his tracks realizing it was just Kate Laswell and Cpt. Price waiting for him. They both looked severe, even more so than usual.

Gaz and Ghost were missing which was odd. There were no papers, files, or even a laptop on the table. Just the three of them.

“Sit,” Laswell said. The meeting room was slightly larger than a broom closet with a square fold-out table and chairs. He sat opposite Price with Laswell in the middle. “After consideration of all 141 members, Cpt. Price and I have chosen you for an escort mission.”

“Babysitting?” He couldn’t hide his annoyance.

“It’s more important than that. I need you to get a witness to a safe house up in British Columbia.”

‘Jesus bleeding christ’ he thought ‘do I have to hold their hand on the plane?’ “This is completely off the books. This is a personal safe house, it’s not affiliated with any agency. This person does not exist outside this room, do you understand?”

Off the books? That piqued his interest. He looked towards Price, unreadable as ever. Laswell looked antsy almost. Her eyes darted towards the door a lot, even for CIA.

“I have taken a girl into my personal protection. I need you to take her from London to Canada using only civilian means. You will pick her up tomorrow morning from a hotel and escort her the entire way. There will be a drop in New York that will have a gun, emergency radio, and a couple of other things you might need. You’ll rent a car at the airport. You are to drive the rest of the way.”

“A girl? Like a kid?”

“She’s a kid to me. She’s your age, maybe older maturity-wise.”

“Why not fly her all the way there?”

“This is witness protection. She’s lucky she made it this far already.” She lowered her voice. “The two of you are the only ones I am trusting with knowledge of this. I can’t trust anyone from the CIA, DOD, MI6, or MOD.”

“Why me?” “Ghost won’t take off the mask so she would never trust him.” Soap imagined a fully geared Ghost sitting in a classic American diner booth across from a frightened little lass and had to stop himself from chuckling.

“Soap, this is extremely important to me. I promised her I would keep her safe. She’s already had one attempt on her life when Price moved her the last time.”

“She can handle herself well but no one can take a bullet to the head.” Price said. Soap noticed the fresh bandage on his left arm, it was already bleeding through the gauze.

“Who’s trying to kill ‘er?”

“That’s classified.”

“But how can I protect her if I don’t know what to look for.” He countered but she looked unamused.

“We’ve already lost someone getting her to this point." Price said.

“MacTavish, once you step into that hotel you will become George McIntosh, a newlywed software engineer taking his wife on their cross-country honeymoon road trip.”

“Newlywed?” He looked at her in disbelief.

“It’s easiest to explain why two young people are taking the scenic route across the country.”

“Listen, I’m a soldier, not an actor.”

“You never did a school play?”

“Aye, I was the best tree they could have had.”

“You’ll be given a packet to study along with a passport, $5,000 in USD. There will be a pickup location in New York where you will get a standard-issued pistol. I can get you past security and customs but once you leave you are on your own. Once she is secure, you will drive back over the border and be exfild back to London. You will check in every 48 hours with Captain Price using a satellite phone. He and I are putting our full trust in you to get this girl somewhere safe.” “I can do that.” It wasn’t ideal. He much rather something more exciting than babysitting but the severeness of Laswell’s tone showed there was something else going on. He could do it. Get from point A to point B. He wondered about what it was that she did that reasoned for this much secrecy. “You can count on me, ma’am.” It was decided that he and Price would drive to the hotel before dawn the next morning.

Soap felt like a twat and a tourist. He was dressed in jeans and a plain tv show. Price and he rode the elevator up from the parking garage up to her floor. He was given a rolling suitcase and backpack. No kit allowed. Going to work in civilian clothes felt unnatural. He’d read his packet in the car. It wasn’t anything difficult to remember. He was from Glasglow, went to Edinburgh University, worked as a software engineer, and had just married his long-time sweetheart, Grace. Grace and George, he said a silent prayer for any future children Laswell might have with her naming conventions.

Price stopped him in the hallway, placing a hand on his shoulder. They’d gone over the mission several times but this felt more serious.

“She’s been through a lot, Soap. I know you’re probably curious but don’t ask her about anything.”

“Yes, Sir.” He nodded.

“And please don’t sleep with her.” He squeezed his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t think of it.”

Price knocked on the door. Three sets of two. He stepped back so he could be seen by the peephole.

“You ready?” he asked through the door. He heard the chain come down and he sucked in a breath when the door opened. Price’s last request made a bit more sense now. She was pretty with big brown eyes and her blonde hair pinned back. She was wearing all black with a long jacket. He felt underdressed now. She smiled weakly at Price and gave him a side hug.

“As I’ll ever be.” She had a matching rolling case and had slung her backpack over the handle. He should have thought of that. She looked him over and held out a hand.

“So you’re my new husband.” Her delivery was decidedly neutral with pursed lips. She didn’t look angry but she wasn’t jumping for joy about him either.

“Yeah, Sergent John Mactavish.” He shook her hand as Price whacked his arm.

“You are George McIntosh. She is Grace McIntosh. Nothing else.” He warned. Soap nodded, remembering his role. He took her bag and they headed back down. He tried to act like a good husband, opening any doors for her and refusing to let her carry her own bags.

“Before I forget.” Price said, opening up the center console. “These are for you two.”

He gave Grace a red velvet bag. She pulled out three rings. She slid on the smaller wedding band and the engagement ring and gave him the wider band.

“Guess it’s official now.” He said, putting it on.

Check-in and security went smoothly. She was good at this, taking any and all comments in stride. Talking in line to an older woman about how excited she was to be going to New York with her husband, showing off the rings. She had a posh accent with a twinge of something he didn’t recognize. She talked like an old person, too. Using words he only heard his parents or higher-ups use.

It wasn’t until they sat by the windows, waiting for boarding that she noticed she was shaking, her eyes filling with tears.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” He whispered. He knew it was a lie but he would do his damndest to keep that promise. “We’ll get there okay.”

“You’re not the first to say that.” She said, turning away from him.

“Any refreshments?” the flight attendant asked. They’d finally taken off after 2 hours of sitting on the tarmac. The delays had made him anxious. Off the books, witness protection was what Laswell said. Get her to a safe house on the other side of the world. That was the mission.

“What do you have alcohol-wise?” She asked, leaning over him. She, Grace or whatever her real name was, was to be his new wife for the next couple of days.

“It’s a bit early.” He said. He didn’t want to babysit a drunk and shepherd her through JFK in a couple of hours.

“It’s our honeymoon, love. I want to celebrate.” She squeezed his shoulder, it wasn’t a completely affectionate move.

“Oh, congrats you two! I’ll actually get you something special. Give me a couple of minutes.”

“That’s so sweet. Thank you.” She was a good actress, he thought. As soon as the attendant walked away Grace turned to glare at him.

“Maybe don’t jump on the overbearing husband bit quite yet.” It was the most she’d said to him since they met a couple hours ago.

“It’s 9 am.”

“I’m jetlagged.” He chuckled at that, at least she was funny on occasion. He wasn’t allowed a full brief on why she needed protection. He was thinking of a retort when she looked at his hand and frowned.

“You’re wearing yours wrong.” She said. “What?” He looked at her confused.

“Give me your hand.” She didn’t wait for a reply. She took his right hand and slid the ring off.

“It’s a ring. How do I wear it wrong?”

“You’re wearing it on the wrong hand. It goes on your left.”

“Does it matter?”He asked, trying to pull away. She grabbed his wrist tightly though. She was stronger than she looked.

“It’s closest to your heart.” She said, placing it back on his left hand. “We’re married. Act like it.”

“If we were actually married I’d like to think we’d be doing something a bit more enjoyable than sitting here.” She kicked him in the side of the leg at that.

“Bleedin Christ, woman.” He kicked her back. She slapped his shoulder in retaliation and he grabbed her wrist before she could fully recoil. She grabbed his forearm and soon they were struggling against each other. They couldn’t afford to get kicked off this plane and soon came to a standstill, holding on to each other in tense silence.

“On the count of three, we’ll both let go. Okay?” He said. She nodded, glaring at him. She sucked on her teeth when she was angry. She was kind of cute when she was angry. “1,2,3.”

They both let go, turning away from each other.

“I’m sorry.” She was the first to say it which surprised him, he wasn’t going to apologize. “It’s been a rough fucking week.”

She was staring out the window now. She kept drifting like that. He could see in her eyes she was somewhere else entirely. He knew the look, she was constantly running away from her own memories. He wanted to ask. He wished he’d asked Price. Why her? What did she do? What happened to her? Was it something she heard or saw? Something she did?

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to be a better husband.” He wanted to make her laugh again, he was glad it worked even if it was a small one.

The flight attendant came back with a tiny bottle of champagne. “Cheers?” He asked, holding out a plastic cup to her. She took it and knocked it into his, sloshing a bit. “To our wonderful honeymoon.” She rolled her eyes but drank.

She knocked out soon after, pulling the collar of her coat up over her face. He pulled the window shade down and let her sleep. It was an eight-hour flight and she looked like she could use the rest. He’d wake her up when they landed. He turned his body to face the aisle and fell asleep shortly after her.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! This is my first fic in years and my first time posting on AO3. S/O to my friends who both beta read and have pointed out the MW2 display every time we go to Target. You can also find me on Tumblr under the same username. I post headcanons and other things there. I'm really excited for this story. I hope to post chapter 3 later this week and do 2+ chapters a week depending on work and school. Thank you again so much for giving this a try. P.S. There will be smut later, I promise.

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

Fantasy AU lore masterpost:

It is finally here. The worldbuilding. The lore. This one is a long one, but there will be more posts to come. Buckle up friendos, this is a comfort au and I'm very enthusiastic about it. /lh

(oh. and another thing. if its not obvious for my comfort aus: my pirate au is heavily inspired by PotC, and this au is heavily inspired by LotR. They're both my comfort films/books so most of my worldbuilding has that vibe)

-

World:

There are many kingdoms for each type of being.

Mountains, rivers, fields and flatlands, marshes, forests.

Giant castles and mighty vast kingdoms, and small villages and close safe kingdoms.

There are quite a few realms of the elves, many elven rulers in their respective kingdoms. Some are close, some are quite the distance from the next.

The same can be said for men and dwarves, but the humans have the least, simply because they make their kingdoms bigger (and also do not live as long-)

Fae folk have much smaller kingdoms and are usually quite hidden in forests or sheltered areas, there aren’t many kingdoms left.

Star fae no longer have any known standing kingdoms remaining.

There is a special mountain that has a beacon of light, which ensures peace, harmony, light and life throughout the lands.

This beacon is formed by a fallen star that- well- Fell. from the sky. And landed on the mountain.

One day this star started to crack because of the different lands and beings starting to fight with each other, the imbalance of harmony and such tore the star apart and it shattered into pieces.

(there is still a chunk of the star in the mountain, but without all of the pieces it cannot shine)

These pieces got taken or lost over time, kingdoms -both good and evil- snatching the magic for themselves.

Many hundreds of years pass and many folks have forgotten about the star crystals or pass them off as something that will never be found or returned.

Everything was okay until darkness started to emerge and take over the lands more rapidly.

That's when the main plot takes place!!

-

Certain kingdoms are at war/don’t get along:

Elves vs fae - elves constantly try to hunt and capture fae for their magic.

Elves are the reason for the star fae “going extinct”, as they would kill them for their magic as they thought it would bring them closer to the stars.

Dwarves vs dragon shifters - dwarves typically only care for gold and resources. So do dragons and dragon shifters. They saw competition and try to wipe out and capture dragon shifters.

Humans have various quarrels with different beings and kingdoms just because they often fight over land.

Some kingdoms just don’t get along.

-

Some are allies/protected by others:

Dwarves and elves are allies very recently trying to make amends with each other.

Dwarves swore to protect fae, by taking them in if need be and providing shelter.

Different beings:

Humans - beings that wield little to no magic. Often quarrel with other species, starting war over land and wanting more power and control.

Elves - (quite a lot more problematic than thought at first) Ethereal beings that -usually- wield a strong amount of magic. They worship light and stars, however will start fights to get what they want, especially wanting more magic (despite having a lot already)

Dwarves - beings that wield small amounts of magic and are known for their attraction to gold and their craftsmanship. All they really care about is finding good resources and gold, so they've started a few quarrels over that.

Fae - beings made up of magic, drawing their magic from their soul and utilising it in a way that is unique to them and the type of fae they are. They simply want peaceful lives but always seem to be at the receiving end of attacks and wars for their magic.

Shifters - a type of fae, whose magic allows them to shift into different types of animals, creatures, etc. typically stay out of the way of other beings and most others don't pick fights with them.

Dragon Shifters - a type of shifter who gets a separate category because of the sheer power they hold. Beings with incredible magic, the ability to sense others magical abilities and an intense attraction to gold and light. They utilise parts of both light and dark magic and have the ability to fix broken objects and things and seek out magic. Usually very respected by other beings.

Dragons - not the same as a shifter, these are purely just dragons. And they are seen as powerful and regal creatures who no one messes with. They are either respected or feared and it's usually both. Though, having a dragon on your side, shifter or non-shifter, is a very good thing.

Star fae - A stronger type of fae being, made up of magic and light drawn directly from the stars. They have the most powerful light magic. Almost entirely wiped out, there are a few left but most other beings think that they're extinct. Sought after for their magic, and a belief that drawing magic from a star fae will bring the person closer to the stars.

Wraiths - Shadow beings that wield dark magic and are born from the shadows. They only wish to spread more shadow and darkness, that is all they live for.

“Shadow elves/dwarves/men/etc” - beings that were taken over by shadow and darkness, often killed by wraiths and reborn as an empty shadow of themselves.

Dark elves/dwarves/fae - not to be confused with the above, this is just a term that some use to refer to a being that uses dark magic instead of light. In the timespan of the plot, dark magic users are seen as dangerous and not liked, but they're not always bad.

Wizards exist. they just exist.

“Soul watcher” - a being that passes as a type of wizard, and is relatively unknown. Has the ability to see into prophecies and communicate/heal the dead. They wield dark magic. Not much is known, but it’s said that when the time is right, they choose their successor to take over them and gain their powers. Can be any type of being :)

Magic:

Light Magic - magic drawn from light, usually the stars. Typically this spans over flowers and branches and leaves, warmth and wind, rushing rivers and water. Soil, healing, growth.

Dark Magic - magic drawn from the shadows and darkness. Typically this spans over the roots of plants deep underground, storm clouds, blizzards and deep bodies of water. Deep deep down in the earth. Also has the ability to heal, just in a different manner. 

Shadows - the strongest source for dark magic

Stars - the strongest source for light magic

And that is all for now!!!

Don't worry, I have a story lore post coming up and also a design post, so please look forward to that <3

[papillon82fluttersby]

Famous Five Art Nostalgia #05 – Part 1

Introductory post

Masterpost

🎪🐵👑 Five Go Off in a Caravan – Le Club des Cinq et les saltimbanques / Le Club de Cinq et le cirque de l’Etoile

Original publication date: 1946 (UK), 1965 (France)

(Original cover art by Jeanne Hives, 1965)

The French translations of the Famous Five books have been edited, they evolved, and they have even been remade along the years – for better or for worse. This book in particular suffered from a lot of excisions in more recent editions, softening the cultural aspects related to the circus folks, as well as Tiger Dan’s violence towards his nephew – but also losing small character moments along the way. A major change, obviously, was removing the word ‘saltimbanques’ from the title (which has come to hold some xenophobic connotations in modern days) and changing it to a more neutral ‘cirque de l’Etoile.’ Here’s a link to a detailed article about the changes made in the latest translation if you’re curious.

~~~~~~

Plot summary (adapted from Wikipedia):

The Famous Five are holidaying at the family house of Julian, Dick and Anne [set in Grenoble in the French version]. They befriend an orphaned circus boy, Nobby [renamed ‘Ned’ in later editions, and ‘Pancho’ in French], who is in a procession of horse-drawn circus caravans. This inspires George to suggest a caravanning holiday. Julian's parents assent and hire two caravans for the children.

(Dick is delighted to see the two horses that will pull the children’s caravans getting acquainted – the white one is Dobby [Nestor] and belongs to the Kirrins; the black one is Trotter [Annibal] and has been lent by a neighbour)

The Five travel to Merran Lake [le lac Vert, or 'the Green Lake'], where they are reacquainted with Nobby and meet various animals. The Five camp on a hillside, much to the annoyance of Nobby's guardian, Tiger Dan [simply known as ‘Carlos’ in French], and an acrobat named Lou [Lou], who want them to leave.

(While visiting the circus, Timmy takes a dislike to Lou the acrobat, a very unsavoury character)

The Five and Nobby agree to a signalling system whereby Nobby can let the Five know when the coast is clear (i.e. when Tiger Dan and Lou are away) and that they can come down to the circus or to a nearby lake where they all have fun together.

(A lovely hike from the children’s camping place down to the lake)

Tiger Dan and Lou keep prowling around the children’s caravans, much to their annoyance. Suspecting foul play, they have their own look-around but find nothing. Ultimately they devise a plan in which the Five make it seem like they’re all going shopping to a nearby village, whereas Julian doubles back covertly to see what Tiger Dan and Lou are plotting. Julian discovers that one of the caravans is directly above the entrance to an underground passage, from which Tiger Dan and Lou emerge with two sacks of presumably stolen valuables.

On the next day, Julian, Anne, George and Timmy go to the next town to buy torches in order to explore the tunnels, while Dick, Nobby and the latter’s pet chimpanzee Pongo [Bimbo] are left behind to guard the caravans. Unfortunately, Tiger Dan and Lou come back, determined to bully their way in, but the boys and Pongo (mostly Pongo) manage to fend them off.

(Nobby hugs Pongo, who just saved him from his abusive uncle)

The children explore the tunnel and follow it to a cache of stolen items and jewelry.

(A surprising discovery underground! ‘Princess’ Anne preens in front of an admirative Nobby)

But on their way back, they find that the entrance has been closed up with planks! They try to find another way out, following an underground stream, with no luck. At night, the villains come back to pick up their loot. Dick manages to sneak out and goes to a nearby farm to call the police.

(The villains are locked up underground!]

After the villains are arrested, Nobby leaves the circus to live with a local farming couple and look after their horses, which was his dream job.

~~~~~~

Cover art through the ages:

(Disclaimer: This is not an exhaustive list; sometimes the dates are difficult to pinpoint; and I have purposefully not included editions that re-used similar cover art, with differences only in layout and font style.)

(Original cover art by Jeanne Hives, Hachette, 1965 – these caravans look like they’re going fast! Zoom-zoom!!)

(Investigating at the circus with Jean Sidobre, Hachette, 1976)

(Fun at the circus with Umberto Nonna, Edito Service, 1982)

(The Five kind of look like they’re fleeing from a stampede in this one! Yves Beaujard, Hachette, 1988)

(More fun at the circus with Paul Gillon, Hachette, 1995)

(A ‘behind-the-scene’ look at the circus folk. Everyone is looking so dour – I honestly love the contrast between the stony expression and the heavy clown make-up! Munch and Prunier, Hachette, 1999)

(A serious discussion at the circus, featuring Nobby and Pongo – Frédéric Rébéna, Hachette, 2010)

(Mysterious dealings at the circus – Auren, Hachette, 2019)

Thank you for reading and see you next time!

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Who is the meddling monk?

Who is the Meddling Monk?

Have you ever thought, 'what would the Master be like if they were a bit more stupid, a lot more childish, and even more hilarious'? Enter the Meddling Monk, a renegade Time Lord with a sitcom coming out soon, I'm sure.

Mortimus, better known as "the Monk" or "the Nun", is a renegade Time Lord who loves to interfere with history just for kicks.

🪐 Origin and Early Life

Along with all the other Academy initiates, the Monk stared into the Untempered Schism as a child, which some say drove them slightly mad. The Monk and the Doctor were part of the same crew, known as the Deca, at the Time Lord Academy. However, the Monk found the Academy and Gallifrey very boring, so got a Mark IV TARDIS and decided that meddling in history was way more fun than following the rules.

💥 The Meddling

The Monk’s idea of fun is changing historical events, often without thinking about the consequences. Picture someone who thinks it's a great idea to prevent the Battle of Hastings or to give advanced technology to medieval peasants just to see what happens.

🤔 Personality and Motivations

The Monk meddles with history purely for good-time vibes, like a frat boy looking for a good party. They change their look frequently with various identities and 'cosplays' and have been everything from a nun to Henry VIII. They can also be very petulant and childish when things don't go their way.

Despite their slightly villainous tendencies, the Monk genuinely believes that their meddling might improve history. Unfortunately, the Monk doesn't think about the implications of their actions, which usually results in chronological chaos that the Doctor has to clean up.

🏫 So ...

If the Master is the final boss, the Meddling Monk is an amusing side quest miniboss. Pick your dialogue options right and you might be able to avoid the fight altogether. Despite all the chaos they cause, it’s hard not to see the Monk as a bit of a wannabe. They dream big but often fail spectacularly, like trying to be the Doctor but without all that pesky moral responsibility. They're the Time Lord equivalent of a kid with a magnifying glass, burning ants for fun and then wondering why everyone’s so upset.

Here, we also have an audio extract from an encounter:

(Link to Big Finish Page)

Related:

Why is Rassilon everywhere?: Who Rassilon is and why he’s so important.

Who/What is Lord Burner?: Looking at the entirely fictional role of the entirely fictional Lord Burner.

What does the Web of Time look like?: Overview on the Web of Time and its relevance.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

[takonei]

Bastards of Ethuline - Masterpost

Aka something for you (and me) to navigate through the posts about this original story of mine.

-

A little introduction to the events of this story.

In the near future, the state of the world is not that different from today. The technologies stagnate, the woes of this world haven’t faded away, as humans are still corrupted by their own greed.

Around 25 years ago, the Earth and the Underworld merged together in some parts of the world. Underworld beasts and humans are forced to coexist, but the humans are more often than not the prey of these gigantic monsters. Of course, the inevitable happened — relationships between human and monster, and bastard children emerging from these unions.

In Lyon, France, the underworld has merged with the city's underground. A certain half-beast, who felt like she did not belong anywhere, settled a camp on the boundary between the worlds, in the deepest parts of the subways. A camp where half-beasts, rejected by both worlds, can fight for their survival. A refuge where stolen supplies and brave guardians keep the bastards and outcasts alive. A settlement named Ethuline.

After seven years of acting as Ethuline’s lone guardian, the half-beast was joined by other brave souls — a genius with an iron fist, wielding self-made weapons filled with hatred, and another half-beast, one who brings light in this dark place.

Each has their own reasons to fight. Different ideas, different beliefs, different motivations fueling their will to push back against the beasts that plague humanity — and yet, a shared resolve and similar end goals allow these differences to be put aside. Perhaps together, they can make a dent in the waves of beasts crawling their way towards the surface.

Along their journey, they may find allies and enemies alike, discover parts of themselves they would have never thought twice about before, and stumble upon truths that their minds might have been better off not knowing. A world where beasts exist is not a peaceful one, by far — and humanity is cruel to what it deems as “other” — but perhaps, by some miracle carved with their own blood and sweat, the bastards of Ethuline will find a way to not just survive, but thrive, in this future of endless danger and life between worlds.

-

Character introductions:

Ethuline (Lyon, France)

Nora Mukadiri ~ Beastly exorcist from deep below

Valti Svaronic ~ Brawn and brains of wicked justice

Kadelio Nossane ~ Candid oracle of never-seen colors

Yobaii ~ Lawless and isolated beast physician

------- --------- ~ Considerate craftswoman seeking the truth

----- & ---- -------- ~ Eyeless yet seeing forsaken morticians

----- ~ First human member of the underground clan

_____ ______ (???, ______)

_______ ~ Omniscient ear of the rejected masses

________ ~ Vessel for all of nature's driving forces

______ ~ Fallen seraph trapped in delusion

_______ ~ Sinful martyr of bone and blood

____ ~ Three-faced rotten fruit

-

More to come, someday. Gimme a minute. In the meantime, feel free to ask anything!

[scribbling-dragon]

Adaptive Nature

Chapter 4

Summary:

Pixl is at the settlement when he stumbles out of his tent the next morning, squinting and holding a hand up to block the sun out. He stands just beyond the group of tents, on the outskirts of the settlement. Pixl looks up as he emerges, raising a hand and waving it, just slightly.

He makes his way over, trying to ignore the pulsing pain in his head. He really needs to start drinking more water, apparently. The sun isn't helping either, in its state of fiery abomination hanging low in the sky. It’s just low enough to be shining in his eyes at all times, no matter where he looks.

(AO3 Link)

(Masterpost)

(4,779 words)

(reminder! reblogs help so much more than likes do! thank you :D)

Pixl is at the settlement when he stumbles out of his tent the next morning, squinting and holding a hand up to block the sun out. He stands just beyond the group of tents, on the outskirts of the settlement. Pixl looks up as he emerges, raising a hand and waving it, just slightly.

He makes his way over, trying to ignore the pulsing pain in his head. He really needs to start drinking more water, apparently. The sun isn't helping either, in its state of fiery abomination hanging low in the sky. It’s just low enough to be shining in his eyes at all times, no matter where he looks.

“Still got a headache?” Pixl asks, smiling sympathetically. He has a map tucked under one arm.

“Yeah,” he grumbles, pulling his hat further down over his face, hoping to block the sunlight out with that. “I think I need to invest in a better water bottle.”

“What would a different water bottle help with?”

“I don't know,” he sighs, “Where are we headed today?” He holds a hand out for the map, and Pixl hands it over, circling around to peer over his shoulder as he unravels it. It might just be one of the messiest maps he’s ever seen, with lines drawn in various inks covering most of the various landmarks until it’s practically impossible to read it.

“We’re going there.” Pixl taps a point that’s been circled in glittery gold ink. It shimmers as he tilts the map from side to side, trying to figure out how far that is from where they are. Pixl has helpfully labelled their settlement with ‘Sheriff’ in a dark green ink.

“Why do you have so many coloured pens?” He asks, and Pixl pauses with his explanation, finger pressing into one location on the map.

“One of my friends, he’s more of an annoyance really, likes to help when I’m planning routes. Most of this mess is from him.” Pixl shakes his head, “Honestly, I'm not sure how he got to be on the exploration team sometimes.”

“You have an exploration team?”

“Well, yes, any half-decent research guild has one. Even if that team is just made up of two people.” Pixl nods along, finger still pressed into that location on the map. He thinks it might be part of their route, but it’s hard to tell with all the criss-crossing lines that make his head hurt just looking at them. His head already hurts, but it’s the thought that counts, or something.

“Then why am I going with you?” He doesn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it does, but his head hurts and he can't think of a better way to ask it. Pixl looks faintly hurt, hand drawing back from the map.

“I enjoy your company, though, I can head back if you don't wish to accompany me anymore.” He reaches for the map, to take it from him. He jerks it out of Pixl’s reach, staring at Pixl as he stares back at him.

“I wasn't saying I didn't want to come.” He frowns, “I was just wondering.”

“Ah, well, I doubt some of the explorers in the guild would be very eager to let me go where I want to. And it’s a whole process, it takes days sometimes to get a properly sanctioned trip out, and I really don't have the time to waste on that.”

“But you have the time to waste on walking everywhere?” He raises an eyebrow, and Pixl rolls his eyes.

“I'm a rather swift walker, thanks.” He bites out, “And I do things on the move. It’s not a waste of time if I use it efficiently.”

“And today we’re going to be riding,” he slowly lowers the map back down, allowing Pixl to take it back, smoothing out the wrinkles he’d accidentally creased into it. “I'm not walking,” he says, when Pixl looks at him, horrified. “I'm not going to force you to ride Arrow again, because we’re going on separate horses.” He pauses, “You do know how to ride a horse, right?”

“The basics.” Pixl rolls the map up, tucking it into the bottomless pit that is his messenger bag. “It can't be that hard, right?”

“Let's see if you can even get in the saddle first.” They've put up a shelter for the horses in the past few days, casting a shadow over where they're tied. He goes straight to Arrow, rubbing a hand along her neck and murmuring apologies as dust comes away where he rubs, swirling away into the air.

He brushes along her back as Pixl retrieves the map again, looking over it. “What kind of terrain are we going to be moving on?” He asks, brushing the dust from Arrow’s side, trying not to get any of it in his eyes. He shakes his head to dislodge the bits that have landed in his hair, almost immediately regretting it as his head pulses with the action.

“Mostly grassy plains, but there’s a bit of mountainous terrain. Our goal is in the mountains, we’ve got reason to believe there’s some kind of shrine there.”

“Oh?” He retrieves Arrow’s saddle from its hook, easing it onto her back, “Is it anything to do with the Mountain Empire we were talking about?” He spares Pixl a glance to find him watching Arrow nervously as he tightens the girth.

“Possibly, it could also be something to do with the Crystal Cliffs.”

“The Crystal Cliffs?” He finishes with the saddle, checking it one last time before moving onto the headpiece, “What’s that?”

“It was a kingdom, or it might have been a smaller part of a larger kingdom - we’re unsure on the details, that specialised in the study of magic.” Arrow only protests slightly at the bit, and he leaves her to get settled and moves over to where Bullseye is standing. “There were many ancient texts that were lost when it collapsed, many of which were magical rituals we’re only just rediscovering.”

“That’s cool.” Bullseye is significantly less dusty than Arrow was, meaning a quick brush over is enough to rid him of most of the dust that had just collected while he was in here.

“I suppose.” Pixl sighs. “It’s a shame that we don't even know how much we lost.”

“Who knows, maybe we’ll discover an ancient library that contains the secrets to the universe. Something fun, or whatever.” He jokes, adjusting the stirrups on Bullseye’s saddle. Pixl’s a bit shorter than him, meaning the stirrups probably need to be a bit shorter too. He adjusts them as Pixl talks, only half-listening as he allows the white noise to wash over him. It dampens his headache slightly as he thinks of nothing in particular. He focuses on the motions of saddling Bullseye up instead, stepping back once he’s finished.

“Do you reckon you’ll be able to get up there without a boost?” He asks, interrupting Pixl, “Sorry.” He apologises.

Pixl steps up beside Bullseye, lifting his foot to try and get it into the stirrup from the ground. Bullseye is slightly shorter than Arrow, so maybe it’s a good thing Pixl didn't like her. Bullseye is probably just slightly too tall for him already. “Ah,” he takes a step back, “Probably not.”

“Okay, that’s fine.” He steps closer to Bullseye again, “Just put your foot in the stirrup and I’ll boost you from there.”

“I don't think I can.” Pixl looks at him warily, then back at Bullseye.

“Don't be scared, Bullseye’s a sweetheart, aren't you?” He directs the last part at the horse, patting him on the neck. Bullseye snorts. “Just give it a try, yeah?”

Pixl does manage to get his foot in the stirrup, after handing his bag off to him to hold while he mounts. “Just bend your other leg, and I'm gonna boost you up with it okay?” He instructs, hands grabbing just beneath Pixl’s knee.

He boosts him, and Pixl lands a little too heavily in the saddle, causing Bullseye to shift slightly back and forth. “You've gotta have your stirrups on the balls of your feet,” he says, moving Pixl’s foot slightly back, “And dig your heel down, it keeps your foot in the stirrup or something. And hold the reins- yeah, like that. Maybe a bit further up though, Bullseye’s quite strong.”

“I'm not sure about this.” Pixl says, accepting his bag back from him when he hands it over, slipping it over his head and around his shoulders.

“Nonsense, you're a natural.” He waves Pixl’s concerns off, moving towards Arrow. He bounces up and down in preparation of jumping up into the saddle and mounts her much more gracefully than Pixl did, settling into the seat lightly. She shifts slightly, adjusting to the weight on his back as he turns her towards the exit. “You don't want to kick him, alright? Just give them a small nudge, a gentle squeeze or something.” He does just that, and Arrow starts walking.

The sound of her hooves are muffled by the sand, but soon another pair joins the sound and Pixl follows him out from beneath the shelter. The sun hitting his face again makes his head ache, pulsing slightly as he turns away from it, tipping his hat back down to try and cast some shade over his face.

“Which direction are we headed in?” He asks, and Pixl pulls a compass from his pocket, turning Bullseye in only a slightly wonky circle, facing north.

“North-west.” He decides on, facing away from the sun. Pixl nudges Bullseye into movement, and he follows on Arrow, allowing them to stay at a nice and relaxed walk until they're a fair distance away from the camp.

He glances back, checking their distance from the tents and the people beginning their work for the day. They're a good distance away. He turns back around. “How do you feel about speeding this up?” He asks, ignoring when Pixl gives him a worried look, instead easing Arrow into a nice trot.

Bullseye follows Arrow without Pixl having to do anything. “Bullseye will probably just copy Arrow,” he assures Pixl, “Horses are pack animals, they want to stick together. Meaning,” he nudges Arrow just a little faster, allowing himself this slight amusement, “If I get Arrow to canter then Bullseye will as well.”

“Sheriff!” Pixl yells as he speeds up, only going at a fast-paced trot currently. He settles into the seat and she speeds up, gait changing to the more steady one of a canter. He can hear hooves behind him, pounding over the dry mesa. He leans forward in his seat, laughing to himself at the not-so quiet mutterings of Pixl behind him.

He glances back, grinning, and for a moment he almost expects to see them, both of them, riding after him and grinning. But he’s the one on Arrow this time, not his brother. He swallows and turns back around, rising in the saddle a little as he urges Arrow faster.

It was a stupid thought anyway.

Pixl rides up beside him, jolting back and forth in the saddle in a way that tells him he’s not quite adjusted to the rocking motion of the horse yet. Still, he smiles a little when Jimmy looks at him, hair blowing in the breeze they've created.

Just looking at him makes his head pound a little with the jolting movements, and he almost winces in sympathy for the other. Pixl seems to be enjoying himself though, turning to face ahead of them again, grinning a little more this time.

He urges Arrow on a little faster, not quite a gallop but just barely bordering on it. Bullseye speeds up too, Pixl ducking his head against the wind that blows into their faces. His own eyes water slightly with it, and he slows down after a minute or so of it, easing back into a slower canter.

Pixl tugs on the reins slightly, slowing Bullseye too when he attempts to continue on without Arrow, falling into step beside him. The cracked terracotta of the mesa has turned into the dry grasses of the savannah, at some point in the last while, and he can hear it rustling beneath them as they charge through it.

“How much further until we hit the mountains?” He asks, raising his voice a little to be heard over the wind in his ears.

“Fifteen minutes?” Pixl guesses, “If we keep going at this pace. We need to hit a grassy plains before the mountains though.”

He nods, a sharp motion that sends a short lance of pain through his skull. It’s gone a moment later, and he almost wonders if he imagined it. Maybe he’s just convinced himself he has a headache and he actually doesn't.

Pixl speeds up a little, and he looks up, pushing Arrow after him. There’s green ahead, and he has to duck a little closer to Arrow’s neck as they ride below a tree. He prefers not to be dismounted by a branch, personally.

The grass here makes less of a sound. Probably because it’s slightly more alive, springing beneath the horses’ hooves as they race over the sloping land. Arrow jumps a log, and he has to cling slightly to her reins as she does so, praying that he’s not flung from the saddle by her overeager movement.

His head is aching properly by the time they reach the base of the mountain. Pixl pulls Bullseye to a full halt, and he copies, watching as he pulls the map out. He’s still not sure how he can actually read the map, but he doesn't question it, simply allowing Pixl to direct them towards a small gap between the two mountains.

He’s not sure he would have spotted the gap himself if he was just riding past, and it’s barely wide enough to fit the horses through. They manage though.

The walls around them are sheer, stretching up and up as they follow the winding path between the two mountains. Arrow stumbles on a loose bit of rock once, and his heart leapt into his throat, threatening to choke him as he steadied her again.

It’s slightly colder than what he’s used to, as well. An icy wind steals over both of them, but Pixl seems entirely unbothered by it. Either that or he’s better at hiding his shivering that he is. Still, it’s a lot colder than the mesa, the chill seeming to settle deeper within his bones the longer they spend here.

It’s a surprise, then, when the winding path opens up into a hollow rather like the fishbowl, the sheer sides of the mountain turning to a slightly more gentle slope. You still wouldn't be able to climb them without fear of death, but they're a little easier.

“The interesting thing about this,” Pixl says, and his voice echoes around them, even at a whisper, “Is that I've been here before, probably about two or three months ago. Because there were records of something being here. But I went over every single wall, and it was nothing but pure rock.”

He watches Pixl dismount, staring at him in something that’s not quite anger but also isn't incredibly far off of it. “So you're telling me we came here for nothing?” He could be asleep right now, trying to get rid of whatever persistent headache he’s currently suffering from.

“I didn't say that.”

“But you did say there’s nothing here.” He dismounts too, knees aching a little as he hits the ground, leaving Arrow stood where she is to stalk up to Pixl. His anger is slightly ruined by his vision swimming and him listing slightly to the side as a wave of dizziness washes over him.

“I said there was nothing here two or three months ago.” Pixl corrects, steadying him with a hand to the shoulder that makes him a little more frustrated than it probably should. “But, there is something here now.” He uses the same hand on his shoulder to turn him around, pointing to a curtain of lichen, draped over the rock.

“That’s just lichen, Pix,” he sighs, “It grows on rock, if you didn't know.”

“That much?” He asks, “In two or three months?” He steps closer to it, pulling Bullseye with him. He collects Arrow and follows after him with a sigh. Maybe they can get back a bit quicker than he first thought. The sun is hardly to the halfway point in the sky, he can easily get back to the town in that time and still have enough daylight left to get in an extra bit of sleep.

“It’s possible.” He says, despite not knowing a single thing about lichen. It grows quite quickly, probably. And it’s not like you see very much of it in hot places. Which, incidentally, are the only kind of places he’s lived in. Still, he follows behind Pixl as he approaches the lichen.

Unfortunately for him, the universe apparently hates him, and as Pixl brushes a hand through the lichen, it parts, revealing a gaping hole behind it. He turns a smug grin in his direction, puffing up a little.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves him off, “Got it, don't doubt you in the future.” He steps up beside Pixl, peering inside. It’s far too small for either of the horses to fit down, and there’s not exactly anything to tie them to and leave them outside.

“I wouldn't say never doubt me,” Pixl laughs, “But if I say something about history, you best believe me, Sheriff.”

“Whatever. Are we going to dawdle or are we going to explore?”

“Uh,” Pixl hesitates, “What about the horses?”

“Surely there’s somewhere we can tie them,” he looks around. “Right?”

“Does a slightly pointed bit of rock count?” Pixl asks, pointing over his shoulder. He turns, finding exactly what Pixl described.

“Could probably be better, but it’ll do. We’re not planning on staying in there for hours, are we?” Pixl remains silent. “Are we?”

He sighs, sounding incredibly put upon. “We’re not.”

“One hour maximum.” He holds up a hand to interrupt Pixl’s protests, “Nope. One hour. That’s it.”

“One hour.” Pixl repeats, “Best make it count then.” He leaves him to tie the horses up, marching towards the cave entrance and peering inside. For all either of them know the information he’s received was false, and they're about to go marching into some ancient mine, riddled with spiders. Or whatever else you find in mines.

He ties the last knot, gives Arrow a pat on the neck and Bullseye a scratch behind the ears, before turning to follow Pixl and resigning himself to his fate.

Pixl is almost bouncing in place when he arrives, clutching a torch that he’s apparently had on him the whole time. The flame flickers over the cavern’s walls as they enter, casting deep shadows that seem to slink across the floors as they walk further in.

His headache makes itself known again in the silence, pounding with a renewed intensity as they descend further into the gaping maw of the cave.

The darkness seems to become only more persistent as they delve deeper, the walls widening around them until he can hardly see them, walking down the centre of the path. They could have brought the horses with them if they wanted to.

He’s glad they didn't though. He’s feeling a little skittish, so he doesn't want to imagine what Arrow would do if she got scared. Probably kill one of them by accident. He’d prefer for that to not happen, honestly.

He’s not sure when the tunnel opened up into an actual cave, but he does hear Pixl gasp, turning to watch him as he stares up, craning his head backwards. He follows his gaze, finding a massive statue, the shape of it indiscernible.  Pixl steps closer, and the pool of light moves with him.

He keeps carefully inside the ring of orange, cautious of stepping out of it and into the shadows. Like if he stays in the light the monsters can't get him. It’s not true- it wouldn't work, obviously. He stays inside the wavering pool anyway.

“What is it?” He asks, once the silence has grown to be too much to bear, weighing heavily on his mind, pressing down on his headache and only making it worse. He has to blink back the grey at the corners of his vision as he stares at the statue.

He thinks it’s a statue. There’s no proper shape to it, and even Pixl seems unsure of what it is. It’s something, that’s for certain, though it's cracked and broken, chunks of rock laying around the base of it, swarmed by shadows.

Pixl moves towards one of these chunks, and he follows, keeping very carefully inside the warmth and light that makes him feel safer, if only slightly. The shadows on the statue don't disappear as they approach. They seem to remain solid, even though they should be evaporating in the presence of light.

Pixl steps closer, and he doesn't, frozen in place. The darkness glimmers slightly, winking at him. It’s dotted with bright blue pinpricks, like tiny stars swirling through an endless void of nothingness. He stares at it, and he gets the feeling that it’s staring back. Watching. It watches in the same way that man’s eyes- Sausage’s eyes had watched him.

An echoing emptiness.

He grabs Pixl’s arm, yanking him back. Pixl stumbles, twisting. He drops the torch, and the flame spreads, licking across the impenetrable darkness, burning it.

Something screams, and it seems to echo inside his skull, making his ears ring and his head ache.

He clutches at his ears, swallowing down a gasp as his head seems to pound as something just keeps wailing. It claws at the inside of his brain, as though desperate to be let out. He can feel it, scraping its claws along the inside of his brain, dragging them across the bone and digging into it, carving chunks out of his skull as it forces its way out.

He cries, and there’s something wet on his face, dripping down his chin. There’s something cold under his knees, and it hurts. His head hurts. He can't think of anything but his head hurting. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt before and he begs for the headaches from earlier to return and relieve him of whatever torture this is meant to be.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and he jerks away from it, chest hitching with a sob as he continues to grip at his head, clawing at his ears. Anything to make the wailing stop. His skin burns where the hand had touched him, and it only makes him cry harder.

“Sheriff,” a voice makes itself known, muffled beneath the screeching and wailing and clawing and carving, “Sheriff, I need you to let me help you. Otherwise we’re not going to get out of here.”

He can't find it in himself to reply, his throat bubbling with sobs that feel like they're going to spill out if he opens his mouth. He keeps his eyes shut tight, not wanting to see that echoing emptiness staring back at him again, threatening to invade him and carve out everything that he is.

He can hardly nod his head, the sobs spilling over when he does, a white hot pain flashing through his head, blinding him. His eyes are still closed, but his vision turns a blisteringly hot white anyway.

The hands touch him again, burning through to his skin, setting him alight. But he doesn't flinch away, even as the hands drag him to his feet in a way that makes his head throb, pulsing oddly and sending him swaying. He keeps his eyes firmly shut throughout it, even as it feels like the ground is inches from his nose, swaying dangerously close with each dragging step they take.

He can hear quick, panicked breaths beside his ear, loud. He can hear them over the wailing, which seems to have dimmed a little. The shrieking has deceased too, but the echoes of the sound continue to chip away at his head, carving their way though so their cries can be heard by everyone.

He stumbles to a stop with Pixl - it’s just Pixl, no one else, just Pixl - and crashes to the ground. He can feel grass beneath his knees, and he curls his hands into it, pressing his forehead into the ground. 

He can't hear the wailing anymore, but the phantom pains continue to rattle around his skull, reverberating in the silence.

The hands aren't on him anymore, but he can sense him lingering nearby, crouched over him and waiting. He’s not sure what he’s waiting for.

He pries an eye open, and it feels like a monumental effort as he stares upwards. The sky is dark, spotted with little pinpricks of light. These ones are a brilliant white rather than an electric blue, and something inside him settles at the sight.

The mountains have fallen away, replaced with great obsidian monoliths. There’s something moving around them, a great shadow that blocks the stars out completely. He watches as it turns, catching its eyes.

They focus on him, burning a bright purple.

He gasps, twisting to the side and rolling. The stone beneath him turns to grass, and there’s someone else there again, grabbing at him and pulling him to a halt. He pants, breaths fast and shaky as he stares at the mountains surrounding him again, sheer-but-not walls rising around them.

The tops are capped by snow, and his chest continues to heave as he breathes. It’s like something inside his lungs is rattling around, and they can't absorb enough oxygen. He sucks in another breath, dipping forward a little as he goes lightheaded again, vision fading away slightly.

The too-hot hands are there again to catch him, pushing him back upright, holding him up until he can sit on his own again. When he looks up, Pixl is watching him worriedly, peering closely at his face.

He feels oddly warm, head aching, but not in the pulsing pounding way he’d become so used to. Pixl continues to watch him, face twisted into something unreadable that he doesn't quite understand as he stares at him.

The sun is still high over them as he raises a hand to his head, pressing it against his forehead.

His hand comes away wet, and when he pulls it back down it's sticky. And red. His fingers are tinted a faint red when he observes them, blinking several times to ensure it's not just another illusion.

“Are you alright?” Pixl asks. And he laughs, hunching in on himself slightly.

“Am I alright?” He gasps out, “What kind of question is that? Of course I'm not alright!” he flings his arms out, tilting back with the dizzy sensation that washes over him. He steadies himself this time, brushing Pixl’s worried hands off. “Of course I'm not alright,” he repeats, “I don't even know what happened.”

“Ah, well,” Pixl watches him as he feels around the rest of his head, checking for whatever wound is bleeding so much. Head wounds bleed a lot, he thinks. “If it makes you feel any better I don't know what happened either?”

He rubs a hand on the side of his head, where the pain is the worst, hoping the pressure might relieve some of the aching. He feels his hand catch on something, and Pixl goes silent, clamping his mouth shut as he stares at him.

He pulls his hand back, staring at the shallow cut that’s opened in his hand, blood beginning to bead in it as he stares at it. He doesn't look up at Pixl, eyes remaining fixed on his hand and the blood that slowly wells up, then spills over.

“Pixl,” he says, watching the red spread, “What’s happened?” He ignores the tremor in his voice as he raises his eyes to meet Pixl’s.

“I,” the man is lost for words, fumbling, “I don't know, Sheriff.”

He doesn't move for a long while after that, staring at the cut in his hand. Pixl sits with him too, and the horses watch from a distance. When he does stand, his legs ache, and he pulls his hat down lower over his head.

He doesn't say anything as he walks away, returning to the horses. Because there is nothing to be spoken about.

He can feel Pixl’s gaze burning into his back. 

He ignores it.