#was watching while drawing mare

[colourfulmes]

Me a few months ago: I highly doubt Nate is actually gonna be in the newer FNAF the musical stuff, maybe he was just on set to hang or something?

I WAS SO FUCKING WRONG. OH MY GOD. IM GOING INSANE. IM ACTUALLY SO HAPPY RN SHDHDHSHAH

[kr-yoongi]

Draw Merlin looking up challenge: FAILED

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Dryest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

-

I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

---

(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)

[biscuitdragonwithastick]

Minotaur Ranch

cw: cnc, dubious consent, monster fucking, bestiality(?)

Based on the Eggpregtober Fic 3

I keep imagining what it'd be like to work on a Minotaur Ranch.

The beasts mostly keep to themselves, grazing the fields and laying around in the shade. They can act real cute with you sometimes. Nuzzling into your palm when you scratch their head just right. Mooing impatiently to be let out after being cooped up at night. It's easy to forget they're running on primal instinct until one shoved you against a wall and rips through your pants.

That's when you remember the rules of the ranch: Don't pet the Minotaur, Don't feed the Minotaur, and Don't ever present your ass to a Minotaur.

You hadn't thought these rules were that important.

How could you have known that petting and rubbing their bodies with soothing touches would be seen as an act of submission. It never would have occurred to you that feeding them a bit of your lunch every once in a while would be seen as a sign of courtship.

And when you turned around to pick up some equipment off the floor, how could you foreseen that the bull behind you would take it as a sign you were in heat.

Muscular hands hold you off the ground. As your legs dangle below you, you feel the wet muzzle of your Minotaur lick into your neck. It's meant to be a soothing gestures as he lines his bovine cock against your opening, but all you feel is terror at the rough fucking about to take place.

You've seen the ways the Minotaur's fight each other in the fields. It's part of their DNA to show dominance to the weak. You've heard of monster "bitching" before, and you know it's supposed to be an act of ferocious claiming meant to humiliate a subservient other.

You close your eyes, waiting for the pain of being split on Minotaur cock, but instead yelp as they pull you up further off the ground and lick you. Their tongue is long, wet and thick, thicker than a human cock. You can't help but moan as it breaches your hole. That only seems to encourage it, roughly thrusting it's tongue into you as deep as it can go. You writhe in its grip. At the angle its holding you, you can look down and see its tongue pushing your skin taut.

Once it's satisfied you've been opened enough it moves you down, back over its cock and thrusts inside. It doesn't hurt. It's so gentle with you, fucking you like it knows you weren't built for the full force of a Minotaur's strength. You clench down as you cum from the treatment. It bellows loud and low at how good you feel.

It fucks you against the wall like that. Slowly rocking forward into your human frame You can't help but imagine if you had been any other Minotaur. Would it have fucked you harder? Or was Minotaur mating far softer than you gave them credit for? You'll have to answer those questions later. Right now, you just want to focus on your next orgasm.

You know its close when it starts to breathe heavier and thrust a little faster. Wet slapping sounds fill the air as its balls hit your thighs. In one final thrust, it groans and hot cum fills you. You can feel its balls draw up behind you. You didn't realize how long a Minotaur could cum until minutes passed and you were still being filled. Most of it has pooled between your legs and onto the floor, but your bulging tummy is aching from what little can fill it.

But you love it. You loved being bred by your bull. You wished you could be fucked over and over again just like this.

As it pulls out of you and holds you limp in its grasp, it hands you over to another Minotaur. The whole herd had watched you be claimed, now they think your a mare in heat. You can't blame them. As you spread your legs for the next bull, you think about how good it is to work on a Minotaur ranch.

[anna-proxx]

☆ evening in camp ☆

pairing: arthur morgan x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: 1882

a/n: my dear readers, this is my first attempt at a rdr2 oneshot here on tumblr, I started with something easy but will definitely add more action in the future. this right here broke my writer's block and for that i am grateful. hope this brings you some comfort whenever you need it.

It was a chilly evening, meek distant noise of nocturnal animals creating a peaceful ambience, along with the crackling fire nearby. The whole camp was already either asleep or holed up in their tents.

It has been a good day. Arthur and Javier successfully robbed a homestead, Micah was still locked up in jail and Bill brought a good catch from his hunting trip.

Javier sang and played the guitar by the campfire earlier and some people sang along. In general, this evening was one of those that made you feel warm inside.

The night sky was clear, stars peeking down at you as you wished your mare a good night, patting her neck and giving her a carrot before you'd leave her to sleep. That girl was dear to you and you showed her gratitude every day.

A small kiss on her nose and you finally turned around, admiring the full moon shining bright on the ink black sky. You walked across the quiet camp, careful not to make too much noise. You made your way straight towards the small light of an oil lamp in Arthur's tent.

He sat on his bed, slouched over his journal set on the table, writing with all focus. You smiled, feeling all the affection you felt for that man.

When you came close, he looked up from his journal, his gaze softening as he patted the place beside him. "C'm sit."

You sat right next to him, putting your hands in your lap as you gave Arthur a bright smile. He chuckled. "Ya done givin' that horse a g'night kiss?" he asked with a small grin on his face, returning his attention to the half-filled pages.

You slightly poked his arm with your elbow, a soft smile lingering on your lips. "She's like my family," you explained.

"I know. 'S cute."

You shuffled a bit closer, watching the pencil in Arthur's hand move swiftly. You enjoyed watching him write and draw, those idle moments always brought you comfort. And you had the honor to be allowed to watch. Arthur believed his drawings were nothing special but you knew better. His ability to draw details of an animal or scenery he saw just once from memory still blew your mind. You could barely recall such details, let alone draw them.

You quietly continued to watch, taking in every pretty letter he drew one after another. When he was done with the entry, he flipped the page and started sketching.

"What are you drawing?" you asked, watching the first lines of the sketch.

"A moose I saw t'day," Arthur answered, his voice calm and focused.

You continued to watch him and set your elbow on the table after a while, leaning your head against your hand. As always the drawing came out beautiful and you admired the authentic features of the animal that was looking up at you from the page. Arthur put the pencil aside and sighed, stretching his arms.

He then looked at you, a warm smile on his lips as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. You leaned back from the table and snuggled into the half-embrace, resting your head on Arthur's shoulder. His body was warm and so were his fingers that drew small circles on your arm.

"Ya tired yet, darlin'?"

You smiled at the pet name and slightly shook your head. "Not really."

"Do y'want me to draw s'mthing for ya?" Arthur offered, watching your face intently as you thought.

"Me," you eventually said with a small grin. He drew you all the time and you loved every each one of those drawings.

"M'kay." He shortly caressed your arm before removing his from around you, shifting in his seat as he took the pencil again. He slightly nodded towards you. "Sit there, wanna hav' a good look at ya."

You slightly moved away to sit at the other edge, still facing Arthur who turned his body towards you, bending his leg on the bed to lean his journal against it. You shortly ran fingers through your hair, setting strands over your shoulders, and straightened your back, ready to be his model.

His face was relaxed as he started sketching, the soft sounds of the pencil gliding over the paper filling the air between you. Arthur kept looking up at you regularly, a gentle smile on his face as he met your soft affectionate gaze.

There was silence between you two but it was comfortable, happy. The light from the oil lamp lazily danced over the left side of his face, highlighting his features.

He was beautiful. As you remained motionless, you thought about how often he put himself down, being completely clueless about how he looked in your eyes.

"You're so pretty," you said quietly, nothing but affection and genuinity in your voice.

Arthur looked up at you surprised, then got visibly flustered as he blushed and looked back down at the sketch, scribbling on. He let out a small low chuckle. "I ain't pretty."

You slightly frowned, displeased with him rejecting the compliment like that. "So I am a liar?"

Arthur looked up, for a short moment he looked like a clueless child trying to find the right words. "I ain't meant it that way..."

You couldn't hold back a smile. "Just take the goddamn compliment, Mr Morgan, it's not so hard."

Arthur softly huffed as he returned his focus to the sketch, seemingly uncomfortable. A sad feeling grew in your chest. He really had no idea, did he?

"Am I a good model?" you asked after a while of silence. You knew very well he could draw you from memory but this was easier and you enjoyed being the center of his attention in any way. Frankly, Arthur enjoyed studying your features as you sat in front of him as well.

Arthur smiled. "M'favorite."

After a few more moments, he took a few glances at you and back at the journal with a satisfied expression, putting the pencil away.

Your face lit up as you shuffled over, curiously peeking at the page. You were met with your own soft gaze staring back at you, every detail of your face in its place. It melted your heart how carefully drawn each line was.

You kissed Arthur's cheek, loosely wrapping your arms around his neck. "Beautiful as always. Thank you."

"Yer beautiful," he said in response, putting the journal flat open on the table.

You slightly blushed and moved to sit behind him, resting your chin on his shoulder as you kept your arms wrapped around him. You weren't great at accepting compliments either. "Thank you, Mr Morgan." You sighed softly, feeling Arthur's hands envelope yours. "My talented outlaw," you mumbled quietly but clearly enough for him to hear.

You heard a chuckle. "What?" you asked, unsure of what that was for. "Yer in an affectionate mood t'day," he stated, amusement in his voice.

"There a problem with that?" you asked but the smile on your face remained.

You slightly leaned back and moved your hands to his shoulders, instinctively massaging them as you thought. Arthur was out hunting, riding and shooting most of the time, so your massages were always appreciated.

You heard a quiet sigh of relief as his body started becoming more relaxed.

"Would u like to go hunt with me tomorrow?" you asked. You were tired of being stuck in the camp and honestly going on a little trip with Arthur wouldn't be bad at all.

"Sure."

You smiled and reached for his suspenders, then slid them off his shoulders. He understood and unbuttoned his shirt so that you could get a better access to his back and shoulders.

"Thank you, darlin'."

You hummed in response and continued, your gaze moving over his exposed skin covered with small scars. You wondered about the story behind each one of them, some seemed to be almost faded while there was one very fresh bruise, a red line of dried blood.

Arthur took out a cigarette and lit it, puffing as he relaxed under your touch. He probably would've offered you one as well if you smoked, but you didn't, only ever tasting tobacco when you kissed him. You never minded.

After a few more moments you put a kiss on the nape of his neck, then kissed the fresher wound as well. You were always so worried whenever he left to do a dangerous job, only praying he'd return in one piece, but you knew it was his life; and you were a part of it.

When you moved to sit next to him again, cheeky smile on your face as your eyes met, Arthur sighed, mumbling with cigarette between his lips. "Yer too good for'm, woman."

You stared into his blue eyes for a long moment, a quiet voiceless conversation happening between you two with eye contact alone. He cared for you as much as you cared for him.

Without a word you snuggled up closer, soon being enclosed by body warmth as he embraced you. You relaxed into the hug and closed your eyes, just listening to Arthur's inhales and exhales of the smoke.

You assumed Arthur must've been thinking as well, as there was yet another comfortable silence between you two and you were slowly but surely slipping into sleep.

Arthur stubbed out his cigarette and wrapped his arm around your waist, making you open your eyes just as he moved back to a half sitting half lying position on his bed, effortlessly taking you with him so that you lay between his legs, head resting on his chest. You quietly giggled at the sudden movement and made yourself comfortable afterwards, positioning your head exactly so that you have Arthur's heartbeat beneath your ear.

You were happy to have him all for yourself, safe, alive. The mess in Blackwater or the emergent stop in Colter could've been much more fatal for you two. Davey and Jenny were gone. John was attacked by wolves. And although you loved Horseshoe Overlook, the homely feeling and the beautiful view, you knew you'd have to move eventually. You needed money and you weren't getting it exactly the legal way, and you could only lie low so long.

And frankly, with Micah in the gang now, your worry rose even more. Dutch trusted him, for some goddamn reason, but he seemed to be reckless and dangerous, bending some of the morals this gang used to have. Not to mention him being a straight up jerk to everyone.

"Arthur?" you spoke, your voice slightly worried as you caressed his arm with your fingers.

"Hm?" His chest vibrated under your head.

"We can't let another Blackwater happen again."

Arthur understood what you meant. Him and Hosea tried convincing Dutch that the ferry job was a bad idea but it happened nonetheless, putting your gang in a situation worse than ever before. You worried about the influence Micah had on Dutch and the potential limits.

You knew that Arthur trusted Dutch, him and Hosea raised him, after all; but he wasn't stupid either. And the plans Dutch claimed to have planted seeds of doubt in almost everyone.

Arthur's response was a sigh and a kiss on top of your head, his arms hugging you just a bit tighter. There wasn't really much he could say to comfort you, he always tried to be honest and he couldn't know how the future would unfold, after all.

But you trusted him. That he would do the right thing.

With Arthur's heartbeat echoing under your ear and embraced by his warmth, you were slowly being lulled to sleep by his regular breaths.

Whether you'd stay outlaws forever or not, this really was all you had wished for.

[2demondogs]

Hiii!! I love your work so much and would like it if you could do some angst(?)/comfort with Arthur and FTM reader?

If you're comfortable with this, reader might experience some transphobia while trying to get his hair cut short at the barbers, and they refuse to cut his hair. When he comes back to camp and Arthur sees that his hair isn't cut and he looks disappointed and upset, Arthur comforts him and offers to cut his hair instead.

Thank you!! I love this prompt... everyone's experiences are different, so I drew a lot from my own here. This was cathartic as fuck I hope it is for you as well.

Since the relationship felt ambiguous to me this is as well. Can be read as platonic or romantic <3

Words: 2.2k Tags: Period-typical transphobia, misgendering (explicitly in first scene); gender dysphoria, hurt/comfort thru out

I don't serve your kind. The words keep replaying in your head as you slow your horse's run to a trot, slurring into the next warning of: 'n' neither does anyone else 'round here, girl and whatever the barber had said afterwards.

Your ears had rang with the sudden rush of blood to your face when he pointedly said girl, so you hadn't heard much besides the clearing of your own throat and the tense, panic-airy good day, then you were forced, by polite expectation of your apparent subhuman nature, to utter instead of—

Instead of doing what?

Slitting his throat?

It wouldn't even have sufficed to relieve the blackness that filled your gut to bursting.

The words were spoken the same as any declination of service might be, the way it almost always is. That silent look over your figure, head to toe, and some kind of parental disappointment. Pursed lips or a frown, scrunched nose or not, and always the same, disquieting look that begs the question of who raised you?

As if this festering discontent is as blase a decision for you to make as a toddler playing in cow manure. Some work past the fence, but it's easy when you're young and small and you can wriggle through the wooden boards nailed to the posts. Except you're too old, now, for mucking about in mud that you are smart enough to understand is shit.

As if it's a decision at all.

As if you don't already fear, sometimes, that you are mucking about in shit, whatever it could mean.

As if, as if, as fucking if.

And by the time you are starting to feel the anger again, you're blinking and Bill is barking his usual who goes there? from his post watching guard. You ignore him, your mare recognizable enough to answer one of you, if not just me.

Everything melts into hot wax, burning behind your eyes. Exhaustion, and some reactionary, snapping-dog hatred of Bill for how deep his voice is, for all the hair coating his arms; suddenly, you hate every man in camp, keep your eyes on your horse as you dismount and leave her to socialize with the others. A greenness is taking root inside you, turning the fires of maladaptive respect and twisted-sweet envy into a purely Grecian kind.

Even over reason, it burns. It's so much easier to be angry, for now, than it is to let yourself cry.

Men don't cry.

Arthur is always lurking. Built for looming around, he is, but unsure where to go about it. Any other afternoon, that awkward habit would endear you. Now, he is the last and first person you wanted to hear say your name.

He knows, you think, both about the day's events and to remind yourself that you could be asked by anyone else what the sour stink rolling off your expression is all about, only to have to stammer through a lie.

Still, you freeze and splay a hand over the pages of your journal where it rests in your lap, and then gain the sense enough to shut it. Most of it had been words that would've been difficult to read from where Arthur stood, but there were drawings peppered throughout you'd rather he did not see.

He's standing in front of your seat on your bedroll, a respectful few feet back as always, thumbs hooked into his belt. Gun belt nowhere to be seen; it must be a day off or a late-starter.

"Yessir?" You answer him. It's a teasing formality, but the lack of oomph behind it makes his face twist.

"Thought you was gettin' your haircut today, mister," Arthur says, nodding at the thicket of hair still dusting your shoulders. His raises his brows, half concerned and half prying for a story, if there is one. That would endear you, too. "Y'get some trouble instead?"

Warmth raises in your cheeks. You glance at your journal, and then the bushes that line camp, as if both might speak for you. Even if Arthur won't spit invert or crossdresser at you — though the way being treated as you were this morning leaves you feeling so raw, you're suddenly afraid his heart might have changed since those months ago — it feels impersonal and also far too personal to tell him.

Violated, you realize, is how you've felt since this morning. Seen through by the eyes of hate, and violated. That burning in your skin is crawling.

"Sort of," you finally say, and the pause clearly perks his ears.

He sucks on his teeth, slides his thumb over the stitching on his belt for something to move. "You been mean-lookin' since you got back, man," Arthur says, but his tone of voice asks: Are you alright?

Men never do ask what they mean. You had to figure that out quick when you were surrounded by so many of them, of the most emotionally-withdrawn variety to boot.

Sometimes it pisses you off. You ache to be foolish in the right ways, instead of the ways that you are.

Another pause, as you ask yourself once if you should tell him, and then stare into the grass poking up around his boots instead of actually pondering the question. You suppose you knew you would the moment he called for your attention.

Why is it so difficult to accept his concern? Why does it hurt?

Tearing your gaze from the ground, roving it around camp and finding nobody close enough, you bite the bullet. "Barber turned me away." You sigh, drop your journal on the ground beside your bedroll and draw your legs to your chest, before readjusting against the stiffness of your packer pushed uncomfortably into your gut.

God, I feel extraterrestrial.

His brows furrow. "Why?"

You just look at him, shoulders sagging. He seems to recall, as if it's something he could ever forget. Does he really forget?

"Oh," he says, rubs a hand over his mouth. His nostrils flare, and he points vaguely at the ground as if condemning the blades of grass in place of the barber. "That's bullshit. How would he...?" Arthur trails off, shakes his hand, realizing it probably isn't the question to ask you in this frame of mind. "That's real bullshit. I woulda hurt him."

You blanche. "Arthur, it ain't that— it ain't nothin'," you lie. "Not worth that."

"Yes, it is," Arthur says, as if he's disagreeing on the weather.

You can't help wishing he were right, that you could have slaughtered everyone who turned that evil eye on you without soaking your hands through to the bone with blood. Before Dutch came along, before you had a place — as transient as it is — there were no rocks to cling to, because only pebbles are laid out for men like you. If it weren't for the hatred spread so far, you'd think you were the only one born wrong.

Sometimes, you feel that loneliness, anyways.

There is no want me to do something about it? asked in the silence that follows. Although you can feel it lingering in the air after he sighs, you also know Arthur isn't a stupid man.

There is no justice for you, same as anyone deemed degenerate in the way you are, and he knows this as well you do. There is no use pretending that there can be, not today and not tomorrow. Twenty years from now, maybe fifty, maybe the very day you lay dying— but not today, and not tomorrow.

The promise of it beneath Dutch is part of why you've stuck around, despite that promise being made in the utmost secrecy.

"I'll put the bastard out of a job, at least," Arthur offers. "Won't even charge ya."

"You know how to cut hair?" You ask.

He offers a small smile, lifts his hat and bows his head. "Can't promise it'll be handsome," he says, running a hand through his own choppy hair before re-settling the gambler on his head. "I been cuttin' Hosea's, lately, old coot can't work the scissors. Used to cut John's, before we could trust him with scissors."

Your mood lifts, menially. "Is that to say you're still cuttin' John's?"

Arthur laughs. Nothing gets a belly-laugh out of him like picking on John. Somewhere, some sixth sense probably made the other man sneer with no apparent cause.

"Nah, he's too literate now. He could actually tell me what he's thinkin' 'bout," he waves a hand, then feigns a disgusted expression. "I'd prob'ly end up stabbin' him in the head."

Clearly, he's more comfortable raising your spirits this way. You don't blame him; it's easier, too, for you to get distracted from your grief than to explore it.

Most of camp is busy, the women washing and mending and reading, the men doing the hard labor and lazing around. Even out in the sticks, even above the law— those divides still find us, you think, and ignore the complexity of how you fall victim to them, too, in your own ways.

The canvas flaps of Arthur's tent are already drawn down to keep his cot in the shade, and you're thankful for the privacy despite the slight claustrophobia inside it. Sure, you've shared tents with Hosea and Lenny who both are afflicted with a constant chill only drawn canvas can resolve; and with Javier who draws the flaps because he is forever roasting, seeking the same shade that's found here. Something thick clogs the air as Arthur takes a pair of scissors from his shaving stand and drags his fingers through your hair to straighten it out, all before you've even stopped moving, as uncoordinated as most of his friendly gestures are.

Kindness just the same.

Could be thick in your throat, too, maybe that's why your eyes feel dry enough to burn — but neverminding that, you swallow and say: "Thanks, man."

Arthur grunts behind you. He's so much taller, he doesn't need you to sit to see clearly over the top of your head. It stings, a little, and then it fades.

"Ain't nothin'," he says. "How short you wantin' this?"

You try to think of anyone but him to compare your desired length to. He's already being nice. You can't let yourself appear admiring.

"Sorta like Bill," you say.

"Wanna be baldin' in the front like 'im, too?" He asks, and you can hear the shit-eating grin before he snickers alongside you.

It should probably worry you how quickly he works, pulling chunks of hair taut and snipping straight across the ends. First, a solid inch comes off your nape; then he's working closer to your scalp, rough but confident. Most finer movements, you've noticed, seem to come natural to Arthur despite his inelegance with the rest of life's motions.

You can feel the boxy pattern he cuts in. Cookie-cutter, probably, because you suppose Hosea is the only one he's ever done-up who really cared to instruct him on flattering his face shape.

That thickness raises in your throat again, and your chest presses against its bindings with the heavy breath you take to try staving off what must be tears. Only some, does it lighten, as the weight of untrimmed hair is loosened and felled.

Thanks doesn't feel like enough. You aren't often so... whatever you had been since you got back from town. And Arthur still took your vulnerability in his hands by his own volition, without asking for anything in return. Gratefulness blooms from that tacked-on clause, because you know the plight of where's my favor? too well from that false girlhood.

A haircut amongst thieves really ain't nothin', he's right — your hair has been cut by many a fool before, in shops and in camp — but whether or not it's just a haircut is a better question. It is, then it isn't, and then it's too much to think about all at once and you feel overwhelmed, slinking out of your own head and back to the present, staring ahead at the beige, stained canvas of Arthur's tent as his hands work through your hair.

He's ruffling it and nudging your head towards the barrel his shaving mirror stands on before you're fully back in reality. You need to get a handle on the spacing out, you know, but you never realize it's coming on before it does.

"Take a look," he invites as you step towards the looking glass. "Tried not to do y'too nasty."

You lean over, fix the part of your hair after running a hand through it, just to feel the difference. It's a weight off your shoulders, mentally, and you find yourself smiling.

"Looks good enough for a hat," you say, give him lopsided grin.

He snorts. "Careful." Arthur tosses the scissors back atop the barrel. "Might inflate my ego."

It's choppy and slightly cockeyed, if you look carefully, which you don't.

Straightening, you itch with the urge to hug him. Contentment wavers. Another moment of social expectations reaching into your heart, twisting around the feelings, making you wonder if men ever get that urge or if it was too womanly of you to even consider it— and Arthur must sense your pent-up intent.

He doesn't offer an embrace, though you've never known him to be one to shy from it. Instead, he claps your shoulder and squeezes in something quite like one, offers a crook of his lips.

[archangeldyke-all]

Did someone say cowboy Sevika?

Absolutely delicious, I have thoughts.

Theres the classic off limits farmer’s daughter dynamic, which is to die for every time, but I thought what about a farmer’s widow? All lonesome on her big empty property, she hires Sevika for some extra help and then the tension is off the charts!! I think it would be ideal for a long, slow burn style fic. Draw it out, make them drool over each other for a bit til they can’t take it anymore

For a blurb idea what about Cowboy Sevika teaching the reader to ride a horse? It could be cute and flirty or it could get nasty lol whatever you’re in the mood to write!

Also let’s take a moment to imagine her tying those fancy cowboy knots. Rope steady in her big rough hands. She’s stripped down to her used to be white tank top, you can see her muscles flexing while she pulls it taught. She’d be all sweaty and you innocently walk over to her, pluck her bandanna out of her pocket, and dab away the droplets on her forehead. You tuck it gently back into the front pocket of her tight, dirt stained jeans and saunter away so sweetly. She’d want to chase you down like a wild animal in heat after that

the last paragraph here made me dizzy. thank u.

ur the second person to request a 'teaching reader how to ride horseback', mars, @sexysapphicshopowner , being the first! so lets do that ;)

part 1 of cowboy sev here, part 2 here!

men and minors dni

you're now the only one in your little mis-matched family who doesn't know how to ride horseback.

sevika's been riding since before she could even properly walk. powder took to it like a fish to water. violet was a little more hesitant, but figured it out in time. and now all three of them are trying to convince you to learn.

you've never needed it. you were born and raised in this town, everything you need is within a mile's walking distance. but, they're insistent.

you've ridden horseback before, clinging onto sevika as she controls shimmer's pace, but you've never been in control of the reigns. it seems scary, being that high up, going that fast, the only person keeping you from going flying off shimmer's back being yourself.

and now, sevika's got you in the stable, grinning at you as you hesitantly look at shimmer. powder and violet have been asleep for hours, exhausted after working in the garden all day with you.

"can we just go for a quick trot with you in front?" you ask, pouting at your wife. she laughs. "just so i can see you do it!" you insist. she rolls her eyes, then lifts you up by the waist, helping you straddle shimmer's back, before hopping up in front of you.

you press your grin against her shoulder, quickly wrapping your arms around her waist. she laughs in front of you, giving shimmer a little tap with her spur, the mare slowly trotting out onto the main street.

"you're such a baby." sevika teases. you pinch her side, watching her wiggle.

"i'm just lucky. got a wife who knows how to ride so i never had to learn." you say. you can't see her smile, but you can tell she's grinning in front of you.

sevika slowly walks shimmer down the main street, picking her pace up to a cantor when you get out of town.

the three of you ride out into the desert, and you tilt your head up to soak in the sight of the stars above, sighing as the wind whips past you.

"you're not even lookin' at what i'm doing." sevika laughs ahead of you. you giggle.

"stars 're so pretty sev. look." you say.

sevika brings shimmer to a stop, tilting her head up to look at the stars with you.

"hm." she says. you squeeze her waist.

"what?" you ask, enjoying the heat of her back pressed against your front.

"they're pretty, i guess. nowhere near 's pretty as you." she says. you grin.

"sap." you say.

it's summer, but this late at night, the desert is chilly. you sneak your cold fingers up under sevika's shirt, watching her jump, then giggling when she elbows you. you don't move your hands. she doesn't ask you to.

for a few minutes, the two of you just stare at the sky, the vast expanse of stars and planets before your eyes.

it's a new moon, and without her shine, all the stars in the galaxy are visible.

shimmer shifts beneath you, and sevika laughs.

"she hates waitin' around." she says. you smile.

"just like you." you say. sevika laughs, nudging shimmer's side, letting her trot around the empty expanse of the desert.

you hook your chin over her shoulder, watching how her hands hold the reins, how she uses them to gently guide shimmer to and fro.

beneath your fingers, you can feel her belly rise and fall with each breath she takes. a smile ticks up at the corner of your mouth, and you turn your head to press a kiss to sevika's neck.

she goes stiff in your arms.

"what're you doin'?" she asks. you smile against her throat.

"'m watchin' you." you say. "learnin' how to ride."

"you don't need any help learning how to ride." sevika says. you laugh at her horrible joke, pinching her waist. she chuckles.

"speaking of..." you start. sevika snorts in front of you.

"yeah, darlin'?" she asks. you nip her neck.

as much as you both love powder and violet, their abrupt entrance into your lives has left your sex life in shambles.

it's not like you're not having sex. it's just that you can't have it like you used to.

when you used to spend any spare moment the two of you had sprawled out in bed, naked and sweaty and kissing, now you gotta keep your romps quick, lest the girls get in trouble while they're unsupervised.

plus, with the nightmares that violet's been having, paired with powder's separation anxiety toward her sister, a majority of your nights as of late have ended with the four of you piled up in your-- used to be-- marital bed.

you've just had to get a little more creative. you and sevika have been doing a whole lot of 'chores' in the stable, trying to avoid shimmer's judgmental eyes as you fuck against the haybales.

and now... out in the desert, with sevika pressed against you and nobody out here beside you, your wife, and the stars... now seems like the perfect opportunity to get creative.

slowly, you inch your hands down sevika's abdomen, taking a moment to admire the firmness of her rippling abs shifting with each step shimmer takes. she chuckles huskily in front of you, and you begin sucking a hickey against her neck.

"insatiable." she says. "'y had me this morning while we were 'pinning the laundry to dry'." you hum.

"want me to stop?" you ask. she laughs out loud, a bright, echoing thing.

"hell no." she says. you grin, and continue trailing your fingers lower, fiddling with the button of her chaps.

shimmer continues her aimless trot, slowing occasionally to munch at spare patches of grass, knowing that you and sevika are in no rush to get anywhere.

when you slide your hand down her pants, she sighs, leaning some of her weight back against your chest. you pepper kisses against the side of her face, trying to give every branch of the scar on her left cheek a solid smooch. she giggles against you, then moans when your fingers start working against her clit.

"you're wet already." you mumble against her. she hums.

"knew this is what you were workin' up to the second you asked me to ride in front first." she says. you chuckle. "i'm never gonna get you to learn to ride, am i?" she asks.

"mmm, maybe someday. don't need it now, though, do i?" you ask. "not when i've got you." you say.

sevika sighs and turns her head to capture your lips in a kiss against hers. you hum against her mouth, nipping her lip as you start rubbing her clit in slow circles.

"fuck." she sighs, turning her neck back around to watch where shimmer's going. "i love you." she whispers. you smile and nip her neck.

"love you too." you say, trailing your free hand up her chest to fondle her breasts.

sevika's tits are sensitive, you've made her cum from your hands and mouth on her chest countless times before. she shudders against you, her back arching as she shoves her chest further against your hand. you snicker, and start to gently fiddle with her nipple.

"fuck-- your hands." she says.

"'s kinda what you're doin' now, baby." you tease. sevika snorts, but it quickly dissolves into a moan as you increase your pace on her clit, sinking your teeth into her neck as you pinch her nipple.

"y-you're horrible." she chastises you for the joke. you giggle against her.

"you close?" you ask. she laughs.

"yeah." she says.

shimmer lets out a sneeze-- clearly disapproving of the activities happening on her back, and you giggle.

"she's sick of us." you say. sevika sighs.

"she, fuck, she's so judgmental." sevika whimpers.

"should be gettin' back soon. 's almost midnight-- violet's gonna have her nightmare soon, we should be there when the girls come lookin' for us.' you say.

"fuck, can we please not talk about the kids while you got your hand on my cunt?" she asks. despite her complaints, sevika tugs on shimmer's reins, turning her back toward town as you work your hand against her.

"y' better hurry up. we're only a few minutes away from town." you say. sevika groans. "need some encouragement?" you whisper against her ear. she shivers, and you smirk.

"shut up." she whispers. you grin, knowing that sevika's 'shut up's tend to mean 'keep talking.' especially in the bedroom.

"you sure? y' don't want me to tell me how much i love you? how perfect you are for me?" you tease. sevika's thigh shakes against shimmer.

"fuck."

"my cowboy. my wife. so strong and handsome, givin' up her life of crime just for me. gotta compensate that kinda sacrifice properly, don't i?" you ask. sevika whines. "fuck, 'n you look so good when you're on shimmer's back. why would i wanna learn to ride when i could just watch you instead, hm?" you ask.

sevika lets go of the reins with one hand to grip onto your arm. you kiss her cheek.

"cum for me, pretty thing. if you're lucky, maybe i'll wake you up before sunrise to help me 'feed the chickens.'" you say. sevika whines, remembering the last time the two of you used that excuse-- you ended up with sevika's tongue inside of you, your back against the coop as she knelt on the shitty ground, clawing at your thighs. "c'mon sev-- give it to me, baby."

sevika cums with a resounding "shit!" shimmer spooks a bit, jumping and bucking beneath you, and you both squeal as you hold on to the mare while she calms down.

sevika's cunt is still fluttering beneath your palm as she pulls on shimmer's reins to bring her back to a walk as the shimmering lights of town become visible ahead. you hum against her, ducking your fingers down to gather her cum from her dripping hole, before pulling your hand out of her pants and popping your fingers in your mouth.

you moan. sevika moans. shimmer grunts, a disgusted little noise.

"fuck." sevika sighs out, her back slumping against your chest. you giggle, removing your hand from her tits to button up her pants, before giving her cunt a little pat over her chaps. she jolts. "hey!" she says, giggling. you grin against her neck, pressing another kiss to the skin beneath your lips.

just before shimmer starts down main street, sevika pulls her to a stop with a "woah, girl."

you're about to ask her what she's doing-- the tavern about two hundred feet away, but sevika answers your question before you can get it out when she turns her head, grabbing your chin with her fingers and smashing your lips together.

you sigh against her mouth, nipping on her tongue when she swipes it against your lips, giggling at the little involuntary twitch of her thigh.

she pulls away with a sigh, looking into your eyes dreamily.

"i love you more than there are stars in the sky, darlin'." she says. you smile against her lips.

"i love you too, my sweet wife." you say, reaching forward to snap shimmer's reins, letting the horse lead the two of you back home. sevika raises an eyebrow at you and you smile. "see, i did learn a little somethin'." you say.

sevika laughs.

"guess i gotta take you out for ridin' lessons every night, huh?" she asks. you grin.

"i wouldn't mind that at all."

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[cowboydisaster]

Hi again! Thought of another one….

Arthur finds out that reader has a gift for him for Christmas but he hasn’t gotten them anything. So he has to scramble to think of a gift. He ends up making a handful of drawings of reader including some with their beloved horse. And of course reader is over the moon about it

This one isn’t too clever so if you’re not feelin’ it, it’s ok.

🎄❤️

* ˚ ✦ Icebreak * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f!reader word count: 720 a/n: Just a cute lil' drabble. Merry Christmas' eve! Thank you for another really cute prompt!!

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: ONE day 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

Arthur distinctly remembers the conversation in which you’d both agreed that you wouldn’t be exchanging gifts this year. Alarm bells are going off in his head. Was he supposed to get you a gift anyway? Should he have ignored that conversation entirely? Been a gentleman and got you something nice? Arthur swallows thickly. 

Despite the conversation, Arthur had just found out that you have a gift for him. Sadie has a loud mouth, especially when she’s drunk, and for once, Arthur is grateful for it. At least he has a little time to think of something. He pulls his pocket watch out, glancing at the time. 6:27 PM. A little time. 

In a rush, Arthur jogs into his tent, pulling his journal out of his satchel and placing it on the bed. Beside it, he tosses down a piece of charcoal and a pencil. The camp isn’t in a great financial situation; hence the agreement of no presents. So, he reckons if he can’t buy you something, he’ll just have to make you something. 

Arthur begins drawing, and after a while, the sun fades away, forcing him to switch to lantern light. The side of his hand is caked in lead as he runs the pencil over the pages, capturing the curves of your body, the shine of your smile. He draws his favorite memories of you. The day he gifted you your mare, Sugar. The day you kissed him for the first time. The day he’d brought you to camp. 

Arthur stays up far too late, sketching a handful of pictures of you, taking his time to capture you in the utmost detail. His hand flicks perfectly, catching the waves in your hair, the line of your jaw. Arthur draws you with your mare, with his gelding, with him. 

The group of drawings encapsulate the things that you love the most, and the memories that you hold dear. After finishing half a dozen good drawings, Arthur inspects them, fixing little mistakes, and adding little notes about his love for you. When he’s finished, he takes some old baling twine, tying a little bow around the pages, fixing them until they’re all wrapped up perfectly.

He knows you deserve better, a bracelet of silver or gold. A necklace embedded with gemstones, or a new dress. Those are the things you would have been gifted back in the city. He sighs, looking down at his little homemade gift, knowing that it will just have to do.

— — —

“Alright,” Arthur whispers, pulling out the ribbon-wrapped sketches, “Go on n’ open ‘em.” 

Your eyes open slowly, drifting to the white pages that Arthur is extending out to you. 

Hesitantly, you take them, eyes searching up to Arthur’s for reassurance. He nods, and you smile, pulling the twine ribbon, letting it spiral to the floor. You flip the first paper, recognizing it as being ripped out from Arthur’s journal, and you gasp. 

It’s a beautiful sketch, one of you sitting up in bed, hair draped down your back, a graceful smile on your lips. Even through paper and pencil, Arthur has managed to capture the sparkle in your eyes, the optimism in your countenance. Next to the drawing is a small note. 

Early mornings with my lady.

Your heart warms, and you flip to the next one. You find a sketch of you, laying on the back of your beloved mare, arms wrapped around her neck. The drawings are stunning. Works of art that should be posted in a gallery in Saint Denis, and he’s giving them to you. You know how private Arthur is with his journal, and you’re honored.  

“You like ‘em?” Arthur asks, nervous of your silence as you continue to look through. Tears pool in your eyes as you look up to him, holding up some of the precious gifts. 

“You drew me. Arthur,  I love them.” Sincerity is thick in your voice, and Arthur wipes a tear away from your cheek. 

“Didn’t wanna make you cry.” He jokes. You huff. 

“They’re so beautiful, so meaningful. No one’s ever done anything like this for me. Not in my whole life— not before you.” You whisper. 

Arthur’s arms wrap around you then, pulling you into his chest, shushing away your sniffles. 

“They’re perfect, Arthur.” You murmur against him. He smiles. 

“Merry Christmas, darlin’.”

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola @calcarius445

[goodqueenaly]

Hello again! Sorry I’m trying to figure out how to make this a question, but if you’re willing to, I’d love to hear any thoughts you have about Myranda Royce? I feel like she’s interesting as a counterpoint to the general depiction of the Vale nobility—it struck me that her open association with “Alayne Stone” could be considered unusual by her contemporaries. Do you think it’s genuine, or being gracious (or both)? Thanks and I hope you are well!

I think Myranda is quite an interesting character! (Long, more under the cut)

On the one hand, Myranda certainly wants to encourage Sansa-as-Alayne to see her as a friend. Throughout their conversation, Myranda asks, indeed demands that Sansa-as-Alayne refer to her as “Randa”, an informal nickname which bridges the class distinction between them (more on that in a bit). Myranda’s genial, self-identified “wicked” gossip, punctuated with laughs and jokes, directly recalls Sansa’s last true experience of female friendship, way back in AGOT - sharing a strawberry pie with Jeyne Poole, “giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets”. Too, as they near the Gates of the Moon, Myranda tells Sansa-as-Alayne of the apartments readied for her but offers to share her own bed with Sansa-as-Alayne, much in the manner of Margaery’s bedsharing with her close-knit cousins. Nor is this proffered friendship an entirely empty hope on the part of Myranda. By TWOW, Sansa is internally referring to Myranda as “her friend”, and when Myranda cheerfully dares Sansa to race the gatehouse by declaring “[l]ast one to the gate must marry Uther Shett”, Sansa laughs and joyfully thinks that “[f]or just a little while … [Sansa] found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up”. Myranda does provide Sansa-as-Alayne, at least eventually, some access to friendship and fun Sansa has not experienced in a very long, very traumatic time; finally, after months turning to years of loneliness, abuse, and fear, Sansa has a young aristocratic woman of an age with her, with whom she can be happy - in fact, feeling “alive again, for the first since her father… [sic] since Lord Eddard Stark had died”.

Yet Sansa cannot embrace Myranda Royce as her friend without complication, given the context in which she is introduced to Myranda. Before Sansa and Myranda Royce ever meet, Littlefinger warns Sansa that she, Sansa, must “be careful” and “[g]uard [her] tongue around [Myranda]”, because while Myranda “likes to play the merry fool … underneath she’s shrewder than her father”. That Sansa takes this warning to heart is reflected in Sansa-as-Alayne’s greeting to Myranda, allowing Myranda to call her “Alayne” but internally adding “you’ll get no secrets from me”.  Indeed, Myranda’s frank conversation, complete with blunt questions, seems to parallel Olenna Tyrell’s similarly staged interview of Sansa at the start of ASOS; just as the shrewd Queen of Thorns weaponized an attitude of uncourtly candor to make Sansa comfortable enough to admit to Joffrey’s monstrousness, so Myranda seems to want to draw information out of Sansa-as-Alayne, particularly to her true identity, by peppering their chat with candid sexual references and choice bits of gossip. To that end, Myranda does appear to succeed: when Myranda seemingly offhand mentions that “the Night’s Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark’s”, Sansa-as-Alayne blurts the name “Jon Snow” - an improbable bit of identification for supposedly the bastard daughter of a minor Vale lord, allegedly living in Gulltown with the Faith until relatively recently. (Whether Myranda then later remarks on Sansa-as-Alayne’s “rosy cheeks and big blue eyes” to make a coy reference to the true Sansa’s Tully appearance, or later still tells Sansa-as-Alayne that “[t]he first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare” as a sly allusion to the Waynwood marriage Catelyn says was made by one of Jocelyn Stark’s Royce daughters, are both open, intriguing possibilities.) In the ongoing theme of truth versus lies so central to Sansa’s storyline, Myranda’s search for knowledge is used by Littlefinger to portray her as an antagonist; falsehood and secrecy, literally defining Sansa for the moment in the guise of “Alayne Stone” must perforce divide Sansa from her would-be friend, at least according to Littlefinger. 

Yet Myranda does not simply represent the duality of friendship and animosity for Sansa-as-Alayne. For all her risqué jokes and targeted requests for information, there is I think a good heart to Myranda, most clearly demonstrated in her treatment of Robert Arryn. Before we even meet Myranda on page, Sansa mentally notes that “Robert [would] be pleased” at the news of Myranda’s coming, because “[h]e liked Myranda”, implying not only that Robert has met her before but that Myranda made a good impression in her prior visit(s). While it’s certainly good political sense for any Vale aristocrat to treat the Lord of the Eyrie with respect, Myranda shows Robert genuine warmth and kindness: kneeling to meet him at his level, grandly lying that he had “grown so big” and would “be taller than me soon”, and joining Sansa-as-Alayne in allaying Robert’s fears by agreeing that the Winged Knight could indeed fly “[h]igher than the mountains” - all important actions to take toward a young boy infantalized and dismissed as sickly for virtually his entire eight years of life. Like Sansa, who plays to Robert’s favorite stories of chivalric heroism to encourage his bravery, Myranda offers Robert a rare opportunity for pride in himself in this trek down the mountain. Indeed, Myranda acts exactly as Sansa believes Mya Stone should have - “greet[ing] him with a smile” and “[telling] him how strong and brave he looks” - a positive reflection on both Myranda’s relationship with Robert and her perceptive sense of manners. 

Related to this point, Myranda seems to have a keen and natural grasp of her position; this is a young woman who understands how to be lady of a castle to her fingertips. The little Sansa initially knows of Myranda Royce includes the fact that Myranda “kept her father's castle for him”, and that “it was a much livelier court when she was home than when she was away”. Myranda’s courtly experience is on full display in Sansa’s TWOW sample chapter. When the Waynwood party arrives to the Gates of the Moon, Myranda curtsies to Lady Anya, politely ignores Wallace Waynwood’s stammer, adds some sweetly witty commentary on the upcoming feast and tourney, and informs the Waynwoods of their and their party’s lodging with both grace and tact. Too, while she might continue to provide her cutting opinions privately to Sansa-as-Alayne, Myranda also seems to know where to express herself more subtly: calling to Sansa-as-Alayne for a less rude escape from her Lipps and Shett admirers, and quietly teasing Lyn Corbray (whom Myranda already identified as an unlikely suitor) by piously wishing for a healthy delivery for that Corbray sister-in-law whose pregnancy Lyn resents so much. 

Which, of course, only highlights the (relative) societal knife edge on which Myranda exists. As the daughter of the head of the lesser branch of her family, Myranda already occupies a place lower than that of other Vale blue-bloods - recall Littlefinger’s note to Sansa that Myranda’s father was in part quite willing to believe Littlefinger precisely because he, Nestor, was “very much aware that he was born of the lesser branch of House Royce”. As “a widow, but scarce used”, to borrow her rueful turn of phrase, Myranda has neither the maidenhood so prized by aristocratic Westerosi nor the dynastic investment of a child with her late husband - and by extension, a socially acceptable role(s) as wife and/or mother. Myranda is, in the cold and unfair calculus of Westerosi aristocratic marriage making, a lesser prize - a fact Myranda herself appears to recognize all too well. As she sighs to Sansa-as-Alayne, Myranda cannot determine “whether it was me she [i.e. Anya Waynwood] found unsuitable [for Harry Hardyng], or just my dowry”; too, as Sansa herself picks up, behind Myranda’s japes of Sansa-as-Alayne’s apparent success in being betrothed to Harry, there is the hurt of a young woman brusquely reminded that she was, at least in the estimation of Lady Waynwood, not good enough for such a match. In the zero sum game of Westerosi matchmaking, Sansa-as-Alayne cannot win (again, only in the  sense of a betrothal to a politically very important fiancé) without Myranda losing out on that exact match. 

This tension, in turn, I think as much defines Myranda’s relationship with Sansa as the duality of Myranda as both (potential) friend and foe does for Sansa’s relationship with her.  Myranda has the name and familial credentials, but not the dowry to make good on them or the aristocratic marriage to show for them; Sansa-as-Alayne is (ostensibly) an unlegitimized bastard of a rather upjumped lord, yet she has the great dowry and (as of the start of TWOW) the brilliant future marriage to the heir presumptive of House Arryn. Consequently, when Myranda first meets Sansa-as-Alayne, it is Myranda who condescends (in the most fundamental meaning of the word) to her: “I am 'my lady' at the Gates”, Myranda reminds Sansa-as-Alayne, “but up here on the mountain you may call me Randa”, a quiet reminder that it is Myranda who can waive the privilege of formal address because she herself is automatically entitled to such a style. It is Myranda who sniffs at the “common girl”, not even dignified with a first name, with whom Harry fathered a child; Myranda who thinly veils the bitterness in her observation that “Harry could have done much worse” than marry her, even if she was, as she reflects, widowed and no longer a maiden; and Myranda who declares that she “shan’t concern [herself]” with Sansa-as-Alayne’s “bastard breasts” when comparing their physical appearances. Likewise, it is Myranda who scathingly asks whether Sansa-as-Alayne “ever knew] a Sisterman who could joust”, as according to Myranda “[t]hey clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater” - proper performance of chivalry being so often equated in Westerosi society with aristocratic bearing. These two young women occupy similar, yet opposed, liminal spaces in their society (as I talked about before specifically with Sansa), operating in an aristocratic sphere that at the same time embraces and rejects them, but for very different reasons. 

What I could certainly see is that when (not if) Sansa-as-Alayne is in fact revealed as Sansa Stark in TWOW (ahem, Shadrich), Myranda helps verify Sansa’s true identity (having, again, perhaps puzzled out as much from observing her). More importantly, I hope that Myranda is not in fact an antagonist to Sansa out of some petty sense of jealousy (I had plenty of negative female relationships in F&B, thank you very much), but rather helps undermine Littlefinger’s governing thesis presence in Sansa’s life (before the final denouncement of Littlefinger by Sansa at Winterfell, anyway). For Littlefinger, who values and employs lies and deception as a fundamental aspect of his character, a figure who seeks out truthful information is indeed a disturbing, dangerous individual. Moreover, as a confident and (again, relatively) independently secure aristocratic young woman in her own right, Myranda Royce almost certainly represents to Littlefinger a threat to his isolation of and control over Sansa; just as Cersei separated Sansa from Jeyne Poole in the immediate aftermath of the purge of the Stark household to keep Sansa alone and friendless (remaking with annoyance that “[t]he gods only know what sort of tales she's been filling Sansa's head with” - that is, true stories of the violence and bloodshed of the purge), so I think Littlefinger fears the appearance of a potential friend to Sansa, unconnected to himself, who could begin to influence and encourage her in ways he would not be able to oversee. In perhaps identifying Sansa as a Stark, but then supporting her, Myranda may appear to Sansa as a deliberate rejection of Littlefinger’s description of her as a truth-seeking villain - and, in turn, begin the downfall of Littlefinger himself. 

[foxyanon]

To Love A Dragon: Part 2

Summary: Rhaenerys meets Sihtric and unfortunately, Guthred and Eadred.

Pairing: Sihtric Kjartansson x Rhaenerys Targaryen

Word Count: 2708

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: Death

Part 1, Part 3

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from The Last Kingdom or A Song Of Ice And Fire nor do I own any of the images used.

Dividers by @arcielee and @zaldritzosrose

It had been a little less than a fortnight since Sihtric had seen the Princess, and to say she haunted his thoughts would be an understatement. It wasn’t until he made it to the town to meet up with Tekil, that his brain finally connected the memory of the white haired dragon rider and the woman he saw in the tent, the realization he had actually seen a Targaryen in the flesh and lived to tell the tale causing his fingers to feel a little tingly and numb. He could still see her unique eyes whenever he closed his, his dreams filled with thoughts of what it would be like to be close to her and if royal ladies are truly as soft as the other warriors have claimed.

Now, he was riding towards King Guthreds camp, where Tekil was to kill a one Uhtred Ragnarsson and Sihtric knew there was a very real chance he would be recognized by the Princess if they saw each other. The nerves he felt at that thought had his fingers tightening around the reins, posture tense as he took some steadying breaths to try to calm his mind. His silence from being lost in his thoughts had caught Tekils attention, the older warrior a bit concerned for the quietness Sihtric was displaying. While he would never say it outright, he knew the boy was a good one and if given half a chance, would be a great ally to anyone. However, Tekil’s honor bound him to Kjartan and he would not show favor towards the man’s bastard son. So he said nothing, choosing to ignore Sihtric instead as they rode for Cumberland.

Their arrival garnered some attention, but the silver tongue of Tekil managed to throw Uhtred off their trail for now. Sihtric’s eyes scanned the other men with the Daneslayer, noting how a man with curly hair seemed not to buy the lie of who they were and why they were there, but he said nothing. He didn’t see any sign of the Princess and her entourage yet, a small reprieve considering the high stakes of the current mission they were on.

As they were getting a little something to eat, a flurry of movement and the sound of many horses arriving alerted everyone to a new arrival. Sihtric immediately began searching, the banners of House Targaryen blowing in the breeze before he saw her, sitting astride a black mare and her hair pulled back into a couple braids, the rest cascading down her back. His breath caught in his throat as he got a glimpse of what she looked like in the sunlight, far more radiant than he remembered. Her arrival had many flocking to catch a glimpse of the foreigner, and Sihtric could not blame them. She carried herself with a level of authority of one born to their station, the kind of authority that his own father could never possess. Despite him being towards the back of the crowd, he swore her eyes met his briefly when she scanned the people flocking to see her.

Rhaenerys knew why the people were gawking at her, her unusual features drawing the attention of the many. She scanned the crowd a little bored at the display, before seeing a familiar man hovering towards the back. She smirked before looking away, deciding to have one of her people learn about him discreetly. Her sworn shield, an older man named Ser Elwood Graves, rode alongside her as he watched for potential threats. As they rode closer, a pale and frail looking man wearing a half decent tunic and dagger flanked by some perfumed older man in religious robes and another man with long hair and the presence of a warrior approached them. Already Rhaenerys did not like the religious one and the frail one, but the warrior did not irk her as much.

”Welcome, Princess. I am Guthred of Cumberland,” he said in a tone that grated on her nerves, sounding as though he was not sure how to handle the power such a title gave him. She dismounted instead of responding, allowing Ser Elwood to announce her as was custom in her home.

”You stand before Rhaenerys of House Targaryen, Princess of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne,” Ser Elwood stated, his voice calm and clear, as he stood to her left.

She nodded politely towards Guthred, meeting his eyes with disinterest. She had been sent here on the possibility of a marriage alliance, but quite frankly she was not impressed with what she saw. Perhaps a lifetime living in a more advanced kingdom was to blame, but the pale man in front of her and the simple structures that made up this place left much to be desired in her opinion. She watched the new king stutter for a moment in her presence, before the warrior chuckled and stepped forward to introduce himself.

”I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg. I command the king’s army,” he spoke in a strange accent, keeping a respectful distance and tone. He earns a point in his favor, Rhaenerys putting a face to the name of the renowned warrior her fathers spies had given her on the journey here. Though she was told he was sworn to Alfred, not this fop. She’d have to make certain of her information next time. She nods politely to him as well before hearing the religious one clear his throat to get her attention.

”I am Abbot Eadred, advisor to King Guthred. We welcome you and your people to Cumberland. I hope the journey here was smooth and swift, by the grace of god,” he spoke with practiced ease, though his eyes spoke another story. Rhaenerys would have to watch this one, years of being in her fathers court having taught her how to see through one's intentions.

”A pleasure to meet you all, lords. Your Grace,” she said as she made eye contact with each man in turn. The King could barely hold her gaze and that was more than enough to determine she would never marry a man like him, but she wasn’t about to waste this trip. If nothing else, she could have her maester chronicle the people here for her fathers council.

Once the pleasantries were done, Rhaenerys excused herself to speak with her own people and make arrangements to have her tent pitched far from Guthreds hall, because everything about him already aggravated her and she refused to sleep under his roof.

Night fell and a feast had been prepared in her honor. She was seated next to Guthred, Ser Elwood standing behind her like her ever present guardian. The King had been trying to make small talk with her, but she wasn’t interested and was looking for a chance to politely excuse herself after having picked at her food. After an hour enduring the man’s presence, she deemed it appropriate to go get some fresh air and hopefully she would get the chance to ask questions of Lord Uhtred. Ser Elwood followed her out, handing her Dark Sister once they had left the hall.

”He is a coward and a waste of a crown,” Rhaenerys spoke bluntly, a small chuckle coming from Elwood causing her to grin back at him as she finished securing her sword around her hips.

”He is their king, Princess. Divinely chosen, if the stories are true,” Ser Elwood spoke, the laughter not really leaving his voice.

”I do not believe in the kind of divinity spoken by snakes,” she muttered under her breath, hearing the sounds of a fight coming from the stables. With a look shared between her and Elwood, they took off in the direction, blades drawn and ready for a fight.

The two arrived right when a couple other warriors did, the fight going by quick when the numbers where evenly matched. She clashed steel with the familiar man from earlier, the two staring into each other's eyes for a moment. She grinned at him, the young man immediately disengaging and stumbling backwards, a shocked expression on his pretty face. She heard Uhtred call for a halt, wanting to keep one of them alive for questioning. She watched a big man with an impressive mustache tie up the young man, before she sheathed her blade and faced Uhtred.

”If it is alright with you, Lord Uhtred, I should like to question this one too when you are done with him,” she said, placing her hands on her hips and briefly looking back at the now scared Dane, before meeting Uhtred’s eyes.

The Daneslayer looked at her confused, nodding in approval as he caught his breath. “As you wish, Princess. And thank you, for your assistance.”

She nodded, relaxing her stance a bit before deciding to speak with him tomorrow. She watched Guthred and Eadred approach, as well as a bunch of others, and opted to simply watch the interactions between the three with interest. It was clear Guthred was not meant to be a king and the entirety of his backbone came from his advisors, and he leans too heavily on them and most definitely is far to public about his struggles. Even after being in this place for a short time, it was clear the people looked to Uhtred or Abbot Eadred for guidance, which is not a good look for an unstable kingdom.

Once Uhtred had given the order for the heads of the dead to be removed and the group dispersed, she decided to hang back. Rhaenerys sent Elwood off to get some sleep after he informed her spies about what happened, watching as a curly haired man and the big one down their drinks, claiming they needed a little liquid courage to do the task. Just as she was about to step forward and just do it, a little blonde woman with a cross necklace walked up and grabbed a half dull dagger, stating she would do it first.

She’s got guts, I’ll give her that, Rhaenerys thought to herself before unsheathing Dark Sister and clearing her throat. When the lady turned around, she nodded toward the dagger and held the sword out to her.

”That blade is too dull for the task, and nothing cuts quite as cleanly as Valyrian steel. Here, use this instead,” watching as the lady tentatively took the hilt with shaky hands and wide eyes, setting the dagger down on a wooden box. “What is your name, my lady?”

”I am no lady, Princess. My name is Hild,” the woman responded with a quick bow, her hand flexing nervously on the hilt of the sword as she took a few shaky breaths. It was apparent this would be her first real beheading, and Rhaenerys remembered her first one. She decided then she would help her, the same way her father did.

Rhaenerys nodded before walking over to the furthest body, her feet placed on either side of the dead mans torso. “Based on the way you are holding that blade, you have never done this before so I will assist you,” she spoke calmly, gesturing with her hand for Hild to join her. When she did, Rhaenerys kept her word, telling her how to hold the blade in her hands before she bent down and grabbed the front of the man's armor, pulling him off the ground enough for his head to sever cleanly when the blade came down. She nodded toward Hild, the latter taking a deep breath before lifting Dark Sister and bringing it down just below his chin, removing his head in one clean blow. Blood poured onto the ground as the head rolled away a bit, a look of shock on Hild’s face and bewilderment on the men’s.

Rhaenerys dropped the lifeless body from her grasp and gently took Dark Sister from Hild, watching as the suddenly green woman picked up the head to place it on a wooden crate before walking a few steps and expelling the contents of her stomach onto the ground. Rhaenerys grabbed the hem of her calf length dress to wipe the blood off, smoothly sheathing it once more and gently patting Hild’s back.

”It gets easier with time,” Rhaenerys said simply, starting to walk away before hearing the tied up man call out to her. She turned around to face him, a curious look on her face as the curly haired man walked up and shouted at him.

“I wish to speak with you!” Sihtric called out, hoping to get her attention before she got too far. After having watched how she helped the nun, he was certain that if Lord Uhtred would not take his oath, he would give it freely to her should she wish it. Only, once he opened his mouth, the curly haired man stomped up and shouted at him to shut it. Automatically Sihtric looked down, before he heard the princess speak up in his defense.

”Enough. There is no need for such hostility, he is already unarmed and bound,” she cut her eyes toward him, her wrist hanging loosely off the hilt of her blade. “What is your name?”

”I am Halig, my lady,” he said nervously, bowing a little awkwardly under her gaze.

”The proper way to address me is either ‘Princess’ or 'Your Highness’, Halig,” she corrected, though her tone was not as haughty as other nobles Sihtric knew. He watched Halig stutter out an apology before her eyes landed on the big man. “And yours?”

He heard the other man introduce himself as Clappa and watched with a subtle smile as she reminded both of them to finish carrying out their lord's order as there were still six heads to remove. Once they scurried off to do just that, she looked at Sihtric with recognition in her eyes.

”I know your face, but I do not know your name. You are the man I saw sneaking out of my tent in the early morning nearly a fortnight ago, yes?” Rhaenerys asked him, her head cocked to the side as she regarded him with interest.

Sihtric shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearing his throat as he avoided her eyes. “Yes, Your Highness. I am called Sihtric,” he said quietly, feeling overwhelmed by her attention.

”You may look at me, Sihtric. I will not hurt you,” she replied softly, bending her head down a little to meet his gaze with a small smile, her kindness towards Sihtric making him feel warm inside and unworthy of such affection all at once.

He looked up slowly, breath catching in his throat as he watched the torchlight dance across her skin. She was even more stunning up close and he had to remember to breathe. “I wish to serve you, Princess,” he willed himself to not stumble over his words, feeling the beginnings of desperation claw through him. He didn’t wish to die a prisoner, but he’d pledge himself to her cause in any capacity if it meant he might live another day.

Rhaenerys softened her gaze, shoulders dropping a little before speaking in a soft tone. “A tempting offer but I must wait before I accept your oath. I will not supersede Lord Uhtred’s authority here. I promise, the moment he is finished with you, I will speak to him and see about having you released to me.”

He nodded in understanding, feeling a little dejected but realizing there was only so much she could do. He only prayed Uhtred would speak with him sooner rather than later, because he hated not knowing what his future would look like. At least with Kjartan he knew where he stood.

She gave him a sad smile and nod before turning on her heel and walking towards her encampment. Sihtric could only watch her retreating form, a strange sense of loss gripping his heart. He had only ever felt like this once before, the last time he saw his mother before her brutal death. He reached up with his bound hands and gripped the hammer pendant he wore, silently praying the gods showed him favor so that he may have a chance to earn his freedom or an honorable end.

Tagging: @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @gemini-mama @synintheraven @zaldritzosrose

@alexagirlie @legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @viking-chaos

[the-traveling-poet]

Hello again! 😆💗,

Thank you very much for fulfilling my request!😩. I did not expect you to fulfill it so quickly, and this made me very happy. It was funny and CUTE 💗.

Well, I have a lot of ideas, but Idk how to write them but I think it will not be as fun when I read it from someone else’s writing. 🫳🏻

It is the same idea. Fem!TitanReader X Levi, The events take place when Annie kidnapped Eren, and the reader chases her in her titan form, but Annie was able to escape after leaving the reader with dangerous injuries, and she was left alone because there wasn’t enough time to treat her until the mission was over, and Captain Levi didn’t find her among the soldiers or treatment tents, so he decided to go back to look for her, and when he found her, she was still in her titan form. She fainted and half of her limbs were still trying to regenerate.

💗(Thank you for fulfilling my first request. If you have some time, I hope you will fulfill the second request, so I can be silent in peace. Lol)

Shifting Scares

During the 57th expedition beyond the walls, everyone was on edge. While Commander Erwin hadn’t specified all the details for their plan, a select few knew the danger this put young Eren Jeager in. In order to use him as bait to draw out the ‘abnormal’ titan hiding amongst their ranks, they’d need all the protection they could get. So naturally, they’d tasked you; their secondary titan shifter, to stick close to the young boy. As plans shift and fail, you’re left with no choice but to take on the threat single handedly until help could arrive. But no one knew the danger this would place you in, until it was nearly too late.

Pairing: Levi x Titan shifter! Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of injuries, language, fluff, s2

taglist: @21aurora @deepzombieyouth @braunsbabe

A/N: Awe ofc lovely! I’m so glad you enjoyed the first one, and I hope I did part 2 justice! Sorry for such a long wait. Work got in the way and I had some personal issues that really took me for a turn, but here I am!

Enjoy ~

Part 1/ish

“Eld, you’re taking the lead from here. Tether the horses and get Eren out of here until I give the signal.”

The second in command gave a brisk nod in return, then turned his attention back to the front.

Just behind him, you gripped the reins holding you to your horse tighter and grit your teeth. It had been a close call, for the past several minuets. Really, it had felt like hours; galloping at top speeds to escape the grasp of the titan behind you all. You’d lost count of just how many times you’d felt her ginormous calloused fingers brushing your back through your cloak.

You’d understood why you had been placed at the rear or the Special Operations Squad. You knew it was to cover the flank and provide even more security for the young boy in front of you. But damnit if you hadn’t been scared shitless the whole time despite your agreement.

Chancing a glance back towards the front, you caught your Captain’s eye. He stared seemingly into your soul from the front of the small formation, as thought he was looking past your gaze and into your very mind. After assessing you a moment longer, he gave you a small nod. One you had a hard time returning.

“L/N, you know the drill. Watch their six. Should anything happen, you’re to act as defense.”

“‘Course, Captain,” You mumbled, trying to shoot him a smile. Though it looked more panicked than reassuring in his eyes.

Looking you over one last time with a flash of what you could have sworn was concern, he turned back to the front and crouched up onto the back of his mare and gripped the handles of his odm gear and shot off up into the forrest surrounding your path. A moment of silence accompanied his departure, and you couldn’t help but worry for his safety above your own as he returned to the Commander’s side.

Humanity’s strongest or not, the lot of you had never gone toe to toe with another shifter.

The silence followed you all up until you came to stop near a large oak, where you dismounted your own mare at Eld’s call and prepared to tether her to the tree.

“Don’t worry sweety, you’re well out of danger here,” you murmured to your loyal steed, petting across her forelock gently before shooting up into the trees with the rest of your squad.

Grappling onto the first of many branches that would bring you nearest the top of the large tree, you glanced over at Eren with a smirk as you pressed down on the lever of your gas containers; a wordless competition for a race.

Sensing your mischief, Eren rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t quite hide the interest he took in your silent challenge.

Racing through the thick limbs, you couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself despite the dread this mission had placed the entirety of the Corps in. But a little fun far away from the danger might help ease the boy’s mind, right?

And maybe yours, too.

The two of you touched down nearly in synch, catching your breath as you playfully shoved at one another’s shoulders with mumbles of disagreements for who’d won.

Hearing someone clear their throat, you both stopped and stared ahead with wide eyes. The rest of the SOS had made it up to the top before the both of you, much to your disgruntlement.

“Oi, you shifters…or whatever they’re calling you now; you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Oulo grumbled out, folding his arms loosely across his chest.

Shrugging your shoulders with a careless smile, you strode past him and jumped over to an adjacent branch and took a seat with your back propped against the trunk.

“Just lessening the tension,” you sighed, closing your eyes a moment.

“Lessening the tension, my ass. You act as childish as Jeager.”

“Hey!” Eren scrunched up his face and jutted his chin, squaring his shoulders as though ready for a fight.

“Oulo that’s enough!” Petra cried, shooting her companion a glare. “Captain Levi said that Commander said this was of utmost importance, so you’d better act like it!”

“Of course it’s of most importance dear Petra, I just don’t see why Captain placed me here among you children instead of taking me with him for assistance.” Oulo clicked his tongue in annoyance, his posture aloft and dismissive.

“Assistance in what? Impersonations?” Gunther scoffed from his place leaned against one of the thick tree trunks with a humored grin.

“Wh-I do not…”

“You do, Oulo.”

You smirked to yourself on the opposite branch. Their banter never failed to boost your moral. Especially now with so much clouding your mind.

You listened in as Eren jumped into the banter, and observed how the conversation took a more somber mood a moment later. With a grunt you stood and brushed yourself off, waltzing your way closer to your companions.

“Eld’s right, we’re in some weird shit right now. But don’t you worry Eren, we’ve got this under control,” you comforted the younger man with a grin.

He returned your smile, seemingly more at ease now with the reassurance of his friends. His shoulders were less tense now, and his hands finally fell from their fists.

With a frown you lowered your gaze to your boots. You understood his rage towards the beast. A devil, really. Another shifter in Paradis; only, this one was bloodthirsty and dangerous.

Hearing all those strangled cries behind you on the trail, accompanied by sickening crunches from bones snapping into pieces and tearing through flesh…It sickened you, made you see red as your hands shook. You’d had to restrain yourself as much as Eren from breaking formation then and there to take her out.

So many lives lost…So many you had to repay…

A sharp crack off in the distance startled you from your thoughts.

Turning to face the direction your comrades all stared off at, you saw a plume of black smoke shoot up over the tree line.

“A flair signal,” Eren gasped.

“That’s our cue. It’s gotta be Captain’s signal to regroup. We’ll head that way immediately,” Eld addressed you all, finally a small smile tugging at his thin lips.

“This’ll all be over soon. Gunther, watch the rear with Y/N. Petra, Oulo, stay at Eren’s sides. I’ll take the lead.”

“Sir yes sir!” You chirped, already clipping your handles to your blades. Taking a stand beside Gunther, you shot him a grin as you watch the others shoot off into the forrest ahead of you.

“No crazy stunts, L/N. Not till we’re back in HQ.” Gunther chuckled, loosening up more now as he shot off ahead of you.

Rolling your eyes, you leapt from the tree to catch up. “Yeah yeah. You keep Oulo and Petra under control, I’ll keep Eren and myself sane.”

As the forest flew past you in a blur, and your friends in front of you continued to banter back and forth through the air, you allowed yourself a deep breath of relief.

So far, everything had gone to plan…

═════════════════

“Levi, restock on your gas and blades then regroup with your squad. We must get Eren out of here as soon as possible.”

Scoffing under his breath, Levi watched as the carnage below nearly drowned out his Commander’s order. As the titans ravaged the unknown shifter’s steaming corpse only meters below him, the Captain ran a hand down his face in frustration.

“My tanks are full, and my blades were replenished earlier. I’ll be fine,” He countered, shooting a raised brown over at the tall blonde.

Erwin didn’t budge, his sharp gaze fixated on the scene below. “That’s an order, Levi. Restock, then regroup,”

Assessing Erwin only a second longer, Levi clicking his tongue in annoyance.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

With that he shot down to the ground some ways away from the titans and quickly topped off his gas containers and placed new blades into the metal scabbards at his sides, before loading up a flair gun and taking off the way he’d come.

No matter how fast he flew through the trees scanning for any clues as to where his squad had gone, he couldn’t escape the rush of worries running through his mind.

If she escaped, she could be ahead of me…with them. If she didn’t, then we threw lives away for nothing yet again.

If she did manage to escape, and I don’t reach my squad in time…

Levi shook his head and grit his teeth, pressing down harder on the gas trigger.

No, I will reach them in time. I haven’t given the signal yet, so they haven’t moved from the trees. They shouldn’t have…They haven’t. They’re still there. She still there-

Levi’s train of thought was quickly interrupted as a shape came into view amongst the trees. A deafening crack bounced off the trees around him, with a light akin to lightning illuminating his surrounding more then they already were. A shift had occurred, no doubt, but from who, he had no way of knowing.

Through the yellow hue, Levi came to a brief stop near the object and sucked in a breath.

Twisted in his own wires, the lifeless gaze of Gunther’s eyes stared back at his face.

With newfound urgency, Levi was once again shooting through the trees.

I was too late. She did get ahead of me…

A second crack lit up the forrest, making Levi’s hands grip his handles all the more tightly as he listened to the undeniable scream of Eren’s rage resonating through forrest. Damnit, where were they…

Grunted curses flew from his lips nearly as fast as he shot through the trees, desperately scanning both the tree tops and the floor below for any sign of movement. Or dare he think, any sign of what might remain.

A scream he knew all too well filled his ears as he entered a clearing in the wood, knocking him from his line of focus. Whipping his gaze this way and that, he was unable to see where she might have gone. Instead, all he saw were the broken remains of his squad lying about in heaps across the trampled ground.

Goddamnit Y/N…Not you too…

═════════════════

What felt like days might have only been hours. Or even just minuets. Every second that passed you by only reminded you of the pain that coursed through every limb.

And still I failed…

Of course the flair signal had been a trap. You should have seen that coming. As Gunther fell victim before your very eyes, and the figure weaving in and out of sight to your left finally took form in the shape of the dreaded shifter, you’d lost yourself to panic a second longer than you should have.

As you were corned in the clearing, it took Eld’s spine snapping into two for you to shake yourself out of your panic. You’d failed to act as defense before now, but you’d be damned if you let this devil claim you all.

You shifted quickly, screaming at Eren to run. Your transformation distracted the female titan just long enough for Oulo and Petra to blind and immobilize her.

But not long enough for them to completely escape.

You’d charged her with a shriek, determined to avenge your fallen squad. Blow after blow you delivered and received, but never once did you waver.

Even when her stronger jaw bit clean through your arm, severing the limb halfway up the humorous. Even when your legs were clawed from your hips and your face torn nearly in half.

Even then, you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

Briefly you registered Eren charging in behind you as you clung to the female titan, ripping through the skin of his hand to kickstart his own transformation. You could do nothing but watch as he tackled her, and in turn you. With your broken body flung to the side, you were unable to dodge the next blow thrown your way. The hardened skin of the titan’s heel came crashing down only a foot away from your nape, making your world go completely black.

Now, unable to claw your way out of your titan, you were left steaming in the woods. Unable to move, unable to call for help.

Whether Eren had defeated her, you feared you’d never know. Regardless of the outcome, you started to think that maybe this fate that had befallen you was well deserved.

What good was a shifter like you when you couldn’t even complete an order?

The sound of wire cables anchoring into the trees somewhere around you caught your attention. Though you couldn’t see through titan’s eyes, you could still hear. Straining to listen, you heard the zipping of cables cease, only to be replaced by rushed footsteps and a panicked call.

Another moment of silence followed, in which you were only slightly aware of a presence standing on your titan’s back. Blinding light filled your senses, and you felt your body being forcefully removed from the wreckage.

Finally able to see, you turned your head with a grunt to see just who had pulled you out.

Forehead damp with sweat and evaporating titan blood, hands shaking as they held you up into a seated position with a pained grunt. You squinted your eyes and furrowed your brow.

“L-levi?”

“You don’t have the energy to talk, brat. You’re not healing as fast as you normally do.” Levi grumbled, observing your steaming body.

A raspy chuckle escaped your chapped lips despite yourself. “Probably cause I got stepped on. Should have seen what I did to her though.”

“I did. She escaped.” He replied bluntly, picking you up with ease as he stood.

Letting your head fall against his shoulder, you let out a shaky sigh. “I’m sorry. I didn’t act fast enough. If I had…t-the squad…she wouldn’t have gotten away-“

“I said you don’t have the energy to talk brat. Focus on healing yourself while I rush us back to the front. They’ve started to depart, and I’ll be damned if we’re left stranded out here alone.”

Humming half heartedly in agreement, you closed your eyes as you felt him shoot back up into the trees. For a minute, you did try to focus on healing. But at the moment, that felt impossible.

No; undeserving.

“I’m sorry…I couldn’t save them.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.” The soft tone of his voice surprised you, making you peer up at him.

“You did what you could. And it’s more than any of us could have done. Both you and Eren will be returned to base soon enough. I’m just glad you survived.”

“But the others…Gunther, Eld, Petra, Oulo…”

You felt him physically shudder at their names being spoken. Undoubtedly, you knew he had seen what you had. Shying away from his gaze, you kept your eyes on your steaming skin.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” he sighed, coming to a stop by grappling into the nearest tree and kneeling against the bark with a pained huff. “I wasn’t there in time. Not only did the bitch get away, but it left you injured in the process. I never wished for you to end up in this state.”

You examined his face, what of it you could see as he turned away. The pain etched into every mark lining his furrowed brow only made you feel worse.

“I won’t end up like this again, and that’s a promise. I’ll get stronger, I’ll be better,” you whispered, gently tugging at his chin to make him meet your eye.

“It won’t be like this next time. I’ll train more, prepare more…so that I can save more.”

Finally, his frown let up and his brow relaxed. Cradling you more firmly against him, he caged you in his arms and shot his wires into the next tree. To your surprise, he looked down to meet your eye before taking off again; this time, with a hint of a smile.

“Well unless this training idea of yours involves setting me up in another damned tree without my gear, I’ll be there with you. Every step of the way.”

[iamvegorott]

Ink Month 2024 Day 11

Kiss - Marvelsepticeye

“Get ready to weep, Bing!” Jackie laughed, leaning his body while tilting the controller, his thumb rapidly pressing one of the buttons. 

“Spamming doesn’t count!” Bing laughed back, leaning toward the TV. 

“It does if he’s winning.” Chase’s laugh was the loudest. Bing and Jackie were sitting on the floor in front of the couch while Chase lounged on it.  

“You’d think the robot would be better at video games.” Jackie teased.

“I will literally kick your ass.” Bing ‘threatened’. 

“I’d like to see you try, Bingy-boy.” 

“Let me get my phone out first. Gotta record the show.” Chase chuckled. 

“What are you three up to?” Marvin asked as he came into the room. 

“Kicking Bing’s ass in a fighting game,” Jackie answered, eyes not leaving the screen. 

“I’m going to the cafe with JJ. Do you want me to get you anything?” Marvin offered.

“Could you get me one of the chocolate cookies, please?” Jackie glanced away just long enough to flash a smile.  

“Of course. You enjoy your game.” Marvin leaned over and kissed Jackie’s cheek, chuckling when that got Jackie to stiffen and flush red almost instantly. “Bye~” He had an evil smile as he walked off, knowing Jackie was watching him. 

“I win!” Bing cheered and snapped Jackie back to the present. “You’d think you’d be able to handle a kiss from your boyfriend.” 

“Oh, shut up.” Jackie lunged at Bing, wrestling him to the ground.

“Put him in a headlock.” Chase quickly pulled out his phone and turned the camera on.

“Don’t give him ideas!”

x~x~x

“I’m a sloth!” Robbie giggled as he clung to a tree branch. 

“Please be careful!” Henrik called from where he and Chase sat on the patio. 

“Was that for Robbie or Jackie?” Chase asked, pointing to where the other Septiceye was casually jumping between branches on a different tree.

“Both.” Henrik sighed. 

“Marv, watch this!” Jackie wanted to show off and leaped across a branch, falling a few feet and landing on another. He then casually bounced back off the branch, caught himself, and swung his body around. His gloves were a saving grace from splinters. He then sat on the branch. For the final bit, he leaned back and was now hanging upside down, grinning big and bright at Marvin. “Was that cool?” 

“That was very cool.” Marvin agreed with a chuckle. “You’re my favorite monkey.” He stepped closer and kissed Jackie’s cheek. Jackie’s face went red, and a little giggle came out, but that turned into a yelp as he lost his grip on the tree and fell to the ground. 

"I told you to be careful!” Henrik groaned.

“Smooth, Jackie, smooth.” Chase laughed.

x~x~x

“Maybe we could use a type of adhesive,” Mad suggested, pointing to the drawing Jackie showed him. The two were leaning over the kitchen table together. Mare sat in one of the chairs and was playing on his phone. “It would be different than the kind that’s on your mask, but it would be an extra layer of security to make sure the belt doesn’t fall off.” 

“Velcro’s a thing.” Mare chuckled. 

“That’s also an option.” Mad started writing down some notes. “I’m assuming you’re going to use several pairs of pants, so maybe using velcro would be best to make transferring the items easier.” 

“Maybe we could use like velcro hook stuff?” Jackie started sketching out what he was trying to explain. “They go through the belt loops, so if the buckle gives, there’s like seven or however many loops pants have of velcro-hook stuff to hold it up.” 

“I could probably make a material that has velcro qualities but is stronger,” Mad hummed in thought.

“That would be so cool!” 

“Afternoon, you three, how are we doing?” Marvin asked, standing next to Jackie and peeking at the collection of sketches. “Making some superhero stuff for Jackie?” 

“They want to ‘give him an update’.” Mare used his fingers to add the quotes. 

“That’s adorable.” Marvin was about to kiss Jackie's cheek, but Jackie caught on this time and, determined to not be a flustered mess, decided the best course of action was to turn his head and pull Marvin into a full kiss. Marvin wrapped his arms around Jackie’s neck and eagerly returned the kiss. 

“Hey!” Mad protested when Mare placed a hand over his eyes. 

[birdnonsense]

first chapter of my charles/edwin/cat king fairytale is posted.

excerpt:

“You alright there, captain?” asks the mage, who is walking next to Charles. He gives a tight smile, or tries to, as the mare bulldozes her way along the rocky incline. “You look a little queasy, there” she continues, teasing.

               “I’m aces” Charles grits out, white knuckling the pommel of the saddle.

               “Sure,” says Crystal, “and Prince Simon up there totally knows what he’s doing.” She’s making fun of the prince in one breath, and questioning what the fuck Charles thinks he’s doing at the same time.

               “No, he really doesn’t,” Charles says back, quietly, “but he agreed to this, so lets not tell him, yeah?”

               “Seriously though, how are we supposed to fight a dragon, Charles?” technically, she’s being insubordinate, but Charles knows Crystal well enough not to care, and also knows to respect her opinion.

               “Not gonna lie, Crys, I was hoping you had some spells for that.”

               “Fuck, Charles I’m a psychic, not a fucking battle mage. I can’t just wave my hand and turn the fucking thing into a butterfly.”

               “Shame, that would’ve been a neat trick.”

               “For real though, do we have a plan?”

               Charles sighs, “we’ll have to do a bit of reconnaissance first, see if its got any obvious vulnerabilities, but I’m thinking we lure it out with a cow or something, sneak into its lair while its distracted, and hope for the best.”

               “We’re not gonna fight it?”

               “Not unless we can’t get the fucker to eat a poisoned cow. Or sheep, or whatever.”

               “Right,” Crystal rubs her forehead, “so then why the fuck do we need princey again?”

               “gotta buy the poison, yeah? And the cow. Better it comes out of his treasury than my salary, right?”

               “I doubt he’s going to like this plan, he seems like he’ll want to fight the thing,” she observes, watching the prince ahead of them gesturing wildly with his sword while Wilfred nods every so often. Charles can tell the man is only pretending to listen to whatever their patron is saying.

               “He’s never actually been in a fight, I reckon, so he’ll want to fight the thing right up till he can see it, then he’ll be glad for the poison cow.” Charles nods to himself, he’s dealt with plenty of men like Prince Simon before. Full of bluster until someone actually throws a punch, or draws a weapon, and then they back off right quick and say they were only kidding. Charles father had been a man like that, beating on him and his mother until Charles had gotten away, then come back as himself instead of the scared little girl he’d left as and told the old bastard to sod off. His mum had gotten the estate then, when Charles had threatened to have the old shithead arrested.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Morgana AU Pt 7

All three of them fit comfortably in Morgana's chambers, despite offers of rooms for Kara and Gwen as well. But just as the court seems reluctant to let Morgana have free reign, Gwen and Kara are reluctant to give the court free access to Morgana. Even beyond that, after years spent in each other's company, it would feel unnatural to room alone.

One afternoon, while Gwen is having lunch with her brother, Morgana urges Kara to follow her. They make their way unaccosted through the castle-- they have an escort of two guards, but make no move to restrict their movement-- until Kara detects the scent of hay and manure.

The stables.

Kara slips inside the building after Morgana, her eyes adjusting to the change in light just in time to hear Morgana give a slow sigh of relief.

"So you are here still," Morgana murmurs to a gray horse with a mane as wavy as Morgana's own hair. The mare lifts her head at the sound of Morgana's voice, ears pricked forward. "Do you remember me, girl?"

The horse whinnies, and nudges Morgana's chest with her muzzle as soon as her mistress is in reach. Kara slowly moves closer as Morgana strokes the horse's neck.

"This horse is one of the few things I've missed about this place," Morgana confesses in a low voice. "I helped raise her from a filly, when I was a girl."

Kara keeps her hands in her pockets, until Morgana reaches for her wrist and draws her hand to the horse's jowl. The beast accepts her touch readily, though it's clear her attention is primarily fixed on Morgana.

"I'd hoped Arthur would continue caring for her."

"I have," comes a similarly low voice from the stable doors. Arthur strides towards the stall where they stand, with more confidence around Morgana than he's shown thus far. He leans against the wall, watching them both with the horse, features soft yet otherwise inscrutable.

"After a time," he continues, "she was all I had left of you."

Morgana's gaze flashes towards her brother. "Such sentiments hardly befit a king," she says.

"They befit this king."

Something in Arthur's voice changes, and he straightens to his full height-- not to intimidate, but to lend credence, authority to his words.

"I do not intend to rule as our father did, Morgana. I have sworn it to myself and the table."

Kara knows the legend, and can surmise the table of which he speaks. She doesn't know if Morgana knows. Morgana herself gives nothing away, her eyes distant as she continues to pet her horse.

"In that vein," Arthur continues, "I've come to let you know that I've deliberated your judgement."

Morgana's movements still. Kara sees her shoulders stiffen, bracing for the fall.

"Time served."

Morgana's surprise is impossible to hide. Wide eyes flash to Arthur,

"You'll notice Sarrum has left," Arthur explains, "and without his alliance. Before he did, he explained the... history, between the two of you."

Silently, Kara waits for Morgana to react. When she simply continues to stare, Arthur moves on. "I see no reason to repeat cruelty for cruelty's sake."

"Your court can hardly feel comfortable with that decision--"

"It is not the court's decision."

"Then exile--"

"Is that what you want?" Arthur asks. His words cut through Morgana's without malice. In the quiet that follows, he repeats his question. "Is that what you want?"

Morgana turns back to her horse, letting her forehead rest against the mare's jaw.

"No."

---

Arthur has provided them fresh attire the moment they were freed from Sarrum's chains, but after months of scraping together resources, Kara can't bring herself to dispose of their shifts and dresses. And one night, days after the exchange in the stable, Kara sits herself next to the fire to mend the rips and tears that have found a home in their garments.

Across the room in the bedchamber proper, Morgana and Gwen converse softly. At first Kara is content to work with their voices as a hum in the background, and only focuses in when their talk ceases for a heavy moment.

"Arthur says we're welcome here," Gwen says. Her voice is solemn, serious. Kara looks up and finds Gwen's gaze focused on Morgana. "I believe him."

Morgana doesn't say anything, which Kara has learned is a response in itself. Gwen sees it too.

Her features soften, accepting the truth as easily as she always has.

"You don't want to stay here."

For a moment Morgana's gaze is long and distance, before falling askance with heavy lids.

"No."

---

Kara doesn't ask Morgana about her intentions, but it's clear that Gwen and Arthur both itch to know what comes next. Merlin, for his part, only glares from the periphery, looking for all the world as though he would like nothing more than to sear Morgana with a curse.

He doesn't, though-- where Morgana stands tall in her identity, Merlin cowers behind his secrets.

In the end, when Morgana makes her decision, she does so in grand fashion.

"A tract of land??" Arthur repeats, voice echoing across the throne room. He'd called Morgana to open court to force the issue, when the whispers from the courtiers had grown too mistrustful.

Morgana lifts her chin in assent-- her gaze is defiant, and something about it makes Arthur relax, instead of rankle. Kara wonders if she's being treated to a glimpse of who Morgana might have been before Morgause.

"You claim to want a new future," Morgana declares. "Prove it." Exposing Arthur's sentiments to the court is a bold move. Kara holds her breath-- if Arthur denies it to ease the suspicions of the court, he loses Morgana forever.

To his credit, Arthur doesn't seem inclined to take the bait. His lips part to respond, but another voice cuts in.

"She undermines you, your majesty," Merlin warns. "Her intentions--"

"Do not presume to school me on matters of my own family," Arthur responds smoothly. He turns slightly in his chair to stare his advisor down. "I daresay that since my sister has returned to us, you have behaved more suspiciously than she."

"Arthur--"

"Enough, Merlin. I've made my decision," he announces, turning back to face Morgana and the rest of the court. "With some conditions, of course."

"Of course," Morgana echoes with a smirk.

"I choose which tract of land."

"You have one in mind then?"

"Tol, on the edge of the king's forest."

"Crown land?"

"Bequeathed to you, to do with as you please. You would pay no more tax than anyother landowner."

Morgana pauses, taking stock of her brother. "And should I welcome druids?"

At that, shocked whispers rustle throughout the courtroom. Merlin leans in to whisper in Arthur's ear, only to be halted by the king lifting his hand to stay his advance.

"Then as you say-- druids shall be welcome."

Even Morgana seems shocked at that. She has no wit with which to respond, no banter to further their repartee.

Arthur leans forward intently.

"You are the last High Priestess of the old religion," he delivers, voice even and steady. "I would see our peoples become one once more, Morgana."

Morgana stares at him, studying him for any hint of insincerity.

"It has to start somewhere," the king reminds her.

Locking eyes with Arthur, Morgana takes a breath.

"Then let it start here," she returns. Then she smirks. "Your terms are acceptable."

"I have one more," Arthur counters.

Morgana's eyebrows twitch upwards.

"This tract of land, along with anything and anyone on it, shall remain under the protection of the crown."

Morgana's jaw tightens. "I will not have soldiers tramping about--"

"No," Arthur agrees. "But should anyone be foolish enough to make a target of a settlement built by a high priestess-- then they will answer to me."

Kara and the rest of the court wait as Morgana stands in silent regard, weighing her decision in her mind. It will not be easy, what Morgana is planning. But Arthur is offering what he can to pave the way for her.

After another moment, Morgana's head tilts with a wry smile.

"So mote it be."

[phatcatphergus]

No but like Tubbo and sunny traveling across lands while tubbo collects bounties. They sleep with their hands intertwined under the stars and close to the fire to stay warm. They get up at dawn and ride until they see a spot sunny wants to explore and draw in a sketchbook she carries with her. Tubbo has a horse he raised from a colt and sunny has a young mare. They have matching boots with a sun on the heel because sunny asked for it. Tubbo wears a big poncho when it rains and sunny hides underneath it against her pa’s chest to keep dry as they ride (but her pa always splashes the water that collects from his hat onto her head anyway). Sunny’s favorite moments are when they’re settling down after dinner and tubbo takes out his guitar and sings her a song to put her to bed. She falls asleep listening to his voice rumble in his chest as he strums and watches the campfire slowly burn out

[makriiii]

Caught Ⅱ (Arthur Morgan × f!reader)

Word count: 3k

Author's notes: This is going to be more of a slow burn than I initially set out for. Also, sorry for the slow update!

Warnings: 18+, angst, slightly nsfw, cursing, mentions of blood.

Pt3! Or pt1

Wattpad or Ao3

♡

Caught Ⅱ

The further you got, once again, the colder it was, both you and your horse now having slowed to a nervous walk. Far from anything that could resemble a road or life beyond yourself and your mount.

You were lost. If that were any descriptor. Lost, cold, and tired. You could only hope Van Der Lindes gang was just as lost as you too, but much further, desirably completely headed in a different direction.

Thankfully, the rabbit you saved from earlier kept you from needing to hunt again. Hunting now would certainly only draw attention where attention was not needed, a fire too. Options were limited, to say the least.

The sky above was as dark as could be, yet sparkled with so many lights. The contrast calmed you amidst the just now subsiding adrenaline.

You blew your condensated breath into the air, watching it fade away with the seconds that passed. Bringing yourself to think on how you'd find your way back seemed impossible. The thought of laying your head into a motel bed completely dominated your mind.

You'd have to try to stop somewhere, soon at least, to rest your horse if you didn't want to run the risk of the both of you collapsing. It'd been hours since you got away with a bit of cash and some measly train bonds.

All of it didn't seem so worth it now for a few stacks of paper. But, at least it'd calm Colm some knowing that the score he'd set up wasn't for naught.

A loud crack rang out.

Your mare jumps beneath you, spooking into a quick canter.

Your whole body seized up as you clutched your saddles horn, only a second did it take for you to glance down to where you felt an impact.

A sudden, deep, burning heat spread through your left arm like the blood that seeped from the open wound.

When you finally realized what had just happened, you whipped your head around, and there he was.

That man in the navy union coat. The barrel of his pistol staring you down as he did.

Adrenaline and shock pushed you into action as you unholstered your revolver, aiming it the best you could at him through the darkness.

Each time you barely clipped him, the bullets ricocheting off the nearby pines as he crouched down at your fire, trying to avoid looking like the trees.

You couldn't meet his eye. His hat nearly covered the whole of his face as he spurred his paint after yours.

He shot again, narrowly missing you, to your relief. Your gun clicked empty, quickly realizing you had already used your whole round.

You clutched your arm to your side, beginning to get weary as you rode. The blood from your arm didn't let up.

You grabbed for your second revolver, knowing you'd most likely have another bullet find you if you reloaded now.

You'd been in situations like these before, though only once did you actually get shot, once that didn't disable you as badly as this.

The terrible aching started to really bother you now, but you couldn't focus on your arm, riding and shooting all at once.

Pivoting in your saddle the best you could, you pointed and shot again, but now he was further. Taken a path left that granted him more cover by the evergreens thick trinks.

There was no use wasting your bullets now while he stalked you like prey, waiting for you to drop. The frustration and fear with this man kept you out of the daze you felt approaching.

You made quick glances around, making sure there were no more of his members also out here for your head as well.

He would be the only manageable option.

Every time you turned and aimed, it proved more and more difficult to aim. Like he kept getting further out. The pain in your arm started worsening, making you clutch it closer to your chest with a wince. - Your mind came back to you once you hit the ground. You had fallen off and into the snow, which had at least padded your fall, but nonetheless still knocked the air out of you.

Everything around you started becoming more fuzzy, the details in the land blurry. You had to do something about your arm and the man, but probably the man first.

You stared back up through the trees, squinting and trying to focus in the darkness that shrouded your surroundings. Wherever he was, he wasn't close enough for you to see.

Heaving in breath after breath, you propped yourself up against a nearby tree, weakly pointing your shaky gun as you waited for the blue blob to get closer.

When you figured he was close enough - too close - you hit the trigger.

There was nothing after that but ringing. It looked like you hit him, you thought so. So you dragged your knife out, cutting your shirt to wrap your arm and put much needed pressure on it.

You winced with every poke and prod, and with your torn shirt quickly soaking up the blood, it gave you barely enough time to turn for your chap, slicing a piece long enough to tie around your bicep.

You dropped your knife as soon as you finished and lifted your arm as best you could to apply your make-shift tourniquet above the bullet wound.

All you could do now was hope the bleeding would stop long enough to get your bearings and get out of here.

---

Your head bobbed up and down on hardwood, enough to wake you with a deep groan. Your whole body ached like mad once you slowly regained consciousness.

"She's awake." Stated a deep silvery voice, which made you shoot your eyes open.

"Really?" Replied a man farther away.

"Pretty sure."

Everything that was happening just now started to overwhelm you in your state of being barely cognizant. You stayed silent trying to recall just last night.

From what you could muster, it seemed like death had caught up to you after all, yet you were here.

You'd been shot. That much you could feel. Your bicep burned and tingled with the puncture wounds that had penetrated each side.

When you cocked your head up enough to look at your- where was your jacket? The expected sight replaced with a dusty brown colored coat. 

You remembered falling off your horse, but much beyond that was still hard to recall.

Trying to sit upright, you found yourself tugging at binds, which set off a swift onset of panic as you started to jerk at them, your arm screaming at you to stop with every yank.

"Easy." The first man mumbled. He moved closer for you, grasping for your shoulder that didn't have a terrible stabbing pain in it. You met his eye as he pulled you up with ease to a sit.

He stayed crouched in front of you for a moment, assessing you. A soft and hardly discernible look of concern across his face. Tough but gentle, and he didn't seem to mean you much harm despite the situation you found yourself in.

Upon your upright position, you found your ammo and gun belts had vanished, and the only semblance of your items, your hat, crumpled on the floor next to you.

You took a better look around when something - someone - caught your eye, nonetheless like a moth to a flame.

That man. His union coat still hugged him, his black hat sitting on top of his head. You could never forget that attire. The clothes he wore while he gunned you down in the forest.

You knew exactly what you did to the last man who got a lucky shot in on you, only this time you had to find a way around your limbs being bound together.

You stared daggers at him from behind, desperately wishing he'd at least glance back so you could finally see his face. The face of the first man who had gotten an upper hand on you, the thought filling you with contempt.

You cleared your throat before you spoke, a rough and scratchy feel after how you'd woken. "Look at me, you bastard." Your voice still sounded hoarse over the anger that lined your words, the lack of water you'd been subjected to made its mark.

Even though you didn't call him by name or any of his noticeable features, he seemed to know exactly who you were addressing.

He gave the driving reins to the older man that sat next to him, who had his head turned to inspect you momentarily. 

"I'm lookin'." He announced, smug as could be.

He was intimidating, more so than what you initially expected. That wasn't enough to wane your aggravated attitude though, what else would he do to you know? You knew what he wanted and he wasn't gonna do much after all this.

He stood slightly bent over to hold his balance before jumping into the back where the other man sat with you.

You eyed him with such malice, yet the expression on his face only twisted into a small smirk.

"You gonna untie me or what?" It was worth the ask, unlikely he'd relent anyway.

"You gonna behave?"

"Sure, if you give me back all my shit. My horse as well, preferably, or one of yours."

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest at your ridiculous request. "I might've considered it had you left it at 'sure'." He drew out a cigarette and lit it just to puff the smoke at you.

Your eyebrows pulled together in annoyance. "Ask me again then."

He snickers at your second most ridiculous request, playing into it. "You gonna behave, girl?"

"Wouldn't dream of misbehaving." You granted, it didn't reach him, though. His expression of pure amusement gave it away.

"Never been much of a genie, so I can't grant any your wishes." He sat relaxed and aloof next to the first man you weren't sure of yet.

"You already shot me. Untying me is the least you could do. I reckon you could just poke my arm if I start actin' unruly." Reasoning with him was difficult, though you were confident you wouldn't try to fight off three full grown men. He wasn't.

"I'll think about it. If you talk nice."

"I talk nice when I'm not tied up."

"And I untie people who talk nice beforehand." He retorts, infuriating you further. "What's a girl like you doing Colm's dirty work anyway?"

"It's none the different than what you'd do for your boss."

"A train robbery alone? I think that's funny."

"Would it have been if ya' hadn't caught me last night?" The edges of your mouth curl up in a smirk at the thought of being so close to remaining victorious.

"What's even in it for you? Ya' Colm's special girl or somethin'?" His accusation made the small smile that lined your lips vanish in place of shock.

He scanned you all the while, his eyes lighting up when his insult hit where he intended.

You knew why he'd say something so ludicrous, no doubt. Not many of the yellow bellied half-wits in this gang would attempt something like this, for good reason too. Colm didn't give a rats ass for his men, yet you liked to think you brought more value to him.

"No." You replied, scorned.

"Really?" He emphasized, hammering down on the nerve he already hit. "Seems more from your end than his."

You wanted to defend yourself, but you were limited in knowing what he'd take your word for. Clearly.

"Doubt he'll even come lookin' for you. Nor your buddy I caught a few days ago."

"We'll see." Your patience - what little you even had of it, kept you at bay, still clinging on to the prayer that he'd undo your ropes.

"Tell you what? You tell us where he's at and we'll go lookin' for him instead."

"I know exactly the same amount as you." That much was true. You hadn't seen him since he made his way up to Colter. As far as you saw, he wasn't amongst the fallen. But whether they saw it as the truth was beyond you.

He turned his head to the man whose company you preferred. "What do you think' Charles? She bullshitting us?"

"Couldn't tell you," He took a moment to think you over. "Haven't had enough time to tell."

Charles. You had the name of one of the three men that rode on this carriage with you.

"I ain't lyin', you'd have to bury yourself into the man's skin to always know his whereabouts."

"Yeah?" I'm sure there's more you can tell us than that." He stops, staring straight into you. "What's your name, anyways?"

"I can tell you about my ma and pop, but anything else?" A small laugh escapes your lips at your own joke, at the absurdity of this all. "You'll have to untie me."

He mumbled something under his breath, a stormy gaze as he eyed you darkly. He makes his way closer to you and to your horror, reached out for your left shoulder.

You winced at the pain he caused when he clutched you, moving you so your back faced him enough to reach your binds.

He cut through the strings he tied you with, involuntarily getting jittery each time you felt his blade touch your wrists or palms.

Finally, the ropes that clasped you had released their tension, letting out your relief with a sigh.

"That ain't gonna last for long, so enjoy it."

You blew him off, rolling your right shoulder that you had been passed out on as you rubbed your sore wrists. "You gonna do my legs too? Or are you gonna make the poor little lady do it herself?"

"Gonna make the 'poor little lady' do it herself." He agreed, with a shake of his head as he rumbled out a chuckle.

You grunted with each movement too harsh you made with your arm while you slowly undid the ropes, bitter at this man and his yapping. Glancing up every so often, you met his eye each time. His never left you as you sat there.

He flicked his cigarette off the carriage, projecting his full attention onto you. "Alright," He chimes, leaning in. "Where's he at?" Some of his initial aloofness replaced with a more serious tone.

"Have you considered asking my associate?" You reply, taking off whoever's coat this happened to be, examining your wound closer. With every poke and prod, you winced out a hiss. The bloodied bandages an unfavorable sight to see.

"No. We invited him in by the fire to eat with us." He mocked with each word that left his mouth. He was starting to lose his patience - to your delight.

"I would've told you all about Colm if you had done that instead of shooting me." You quickly filled with regret at your snide. Your sentence sounding more like an admission rather than a jab at him.

He raised his brows, contemplating for a moment. He took it as an admission as you feared, scolding yourself for it.

"It's not going to get easier for you. Just tell us where he's at, and we'll let you go. Maybe."

"And what if I don't know where he's at? You gonna maybe let me go, or shoot me again?"

He lets out a heavy sigh, realizing he's not getting anywhere with you. By the looks of it, he hadn't slept much - served him right for hunting you down in the forest.

-Arthur's pov-

Upon his initial meeting of you in the forest, he felt slick that he tracked you down through the snow and got a shot in. Yet, after missing, he felt a sudden confliction on whether or not he should kill you.

Bill, Javier, Dutch - they all left him to deal with you, as they all knew he had a track record of collecting O'Driscoll's just fine. The group just didn't want to be out here so late. 

Sneaking around like you did and just about getting away with robbing them blind entirely alone, he had to admit, was impressive, albeit cretinous.

It led him to have some level of respect for you despite being an O'Driscoll.

Wary of your sporadic shooting, he wasn't sure how long you'd keep shooting, nor if it was even possible to not leave you dead out here in these woods. But the hit he had gotten in on you did more to subdue you than he needed - luckily. 

Only when he finally caught up to you did he see your soft features, lacking the facial hair most unkempt O'Driscolls had. You were a lady.

You pointed weakly at him with a stare so contradictory, but your grip on the gun was meek you couldn't aim properly. 

He flinched at the final shot you let out, your bullet sent whizzing past in a direction unseen, an unexpected shot from you. Just how many damn bullets did she manage to have?

Arthur stared at you as you tried to stop the bleeding, seemingly not even noticing you hadn't hit him. Your arm drenched your coats sleeve with a deep scarlet, soaking up every bit that seeped out of the wound.

Silly to state the obvious, but the bleeding, if continued at the rate it was at, you were going to be some wolves meal. 

He was reluctant to approach as you tore away at your chaps to stop the bleeding yourself, though it wasn't long till you finally slumped over. He cautiously tip toed to you, his first worry, your guns. He snatched them both up, confiscating your gun belt in the same breath. 

Arthur took in a deep, exasperated breath. Taking in another O'Driscoll didn't fill him with much glee. The rest of the gang would detest it, too. He could already feel their ornery. But just any O'Driscoll? That was false. He crouched down to examine the wound he had caused you, determining just what had to be done to aid you.

He called a few times to you, patting your cheek with his glove, checking wether you were alive or about to jump out at him, though the latter unlikely. Your cheeks started losing the rosy colour that the wind had cut through. Finest O'Driscoll he'd ever set his eyes upon - as regrettable as a thought that was.

"C'mon, O'Driscoll..." He murmurs, rummaging through his satchel. "Just how much trouble are ya' gonna give me?"

He shook his head. He'd have to make this quick. Your wound was still bleeding, and though your efforts did help, it was unlikely you'd make it out here alone, or alive. 

Removing your blood soaked jacket, he reluctantly unbuttoned your shirt to get to the puncture. 

The exposure sent goosebumps all over your soft skin. It was tough, but he did his utmost to keep from looking any further than your arm, all except a glance to assure there wasn't anything else outstanding for him to deal with. 

With the last of his gauze, Arthur packed your wound to the best of his ability. Every time you threatened to wake up, he prepared for the worst, though it seemed more paranoia than reality - perhaps the darkness and the hour was getting to him.

As he finished, he was relieved you had neither woken or died... both a strange contradiction. He gently buttoned back up your shirt, returning your jacket - have to find you something else soon. The blood on your sleeve started crunching as the ice claimed its territory, quick as it was. "Gang's gon' have me for this..."

He slid his arm gently under your lower back and legs, gently scooping you up. He'd have to tie you up before he set off, wanted absolutely no more blunders from you. The list of troubles you'd given him so far ever growing. 

That brought another line of questioning. A woman like you. An O'Driscoll. Solo train robber. Just what kind of person were you? Crazy one, sure, but how annoying would you be? He'd be responsible for you after all - a supremely risky investment. 

Through the flurry of thoughts and the wind kicking up the fresh snow, he wanted nothing more than what he had come here for. The bonds and the cash. 

Your horse had stopped only mere yards away, to much of his relief, he wouldn't be tracking anything else tonight. 

Arthur trailed up behind your mare, grabbing the loose reins before heading back in the direction you'd came.

---

Arthur could already tell in what ways you differed from Kieran, the one who was an O'Driscoll, yet so vehemently claimed he was not.

You had unfortunately entirely skipped begging for your life, screaming, or crying. You spoke to the one who shot you like there was a guarantee he wouldn't do it again.

It intrigued him. Were you just dumb? Being fearful never seemed to cross your mind.

But the more you argued, the more that intrigue turned to irritation and regret... If only you knew the trouble he went through for you. A stranger.

Arthur knew now perhaps the trouble he would have saved himself would've been worth it. Yet now here you were.

He questioned why someone like you was running with a gang like Colm's. Far too much loyalty and ambition - not to mention insanity.

Despite his curiosity, you were just as reluctant to speak as Kieran. Just as annoying too but in a more infuriating way.

Even as his patience wore thin, he still found himself unable to take the easy way out. There was a chance you knew more. Maybe you were closer to Colm. Maybe there was more use to you.

If that were the case, Dutch would be mighty pleased with what information they could pry out of you with the right motivators. Word count: 3.4k Next chapter