#yeah I know the horse has broken loose and is kicking people but have you tried NOT commenting on that

[echodrops]

Kicking the Hornet’s Nest...

I’m procrastinating hard on other tasks, but in chit-chatting (both on tumblr and on Discord) about my stance on criticism of fanfiction, I realized that there’s a very low-hanging analogy I can make to explain my thoughts on this, so…

Uh first, please remember this is my personal blog and just my personal opinion. If you think that giving unsolicited concrit is the worst, I promise I’m not here to grab you individually, shake you by the shoulders, and try to change your minds. We can agree to disagree; I’m fully aware my opinion is unpopular on tumblr but also fully aware of the irony of people giving unsolicited criticism on a post about why unsolicited criticism is a good thing.

And second, please note that the analogy used below is only an analogy and not meant to be a one-to-one comparison–obviously the issue of vaccination is a far more critical, serious, and solemn issue and the topic of criticism on fanfiction (of all things) is not equal to a global health crisis that has cost real people’s lives. I’m drawing radical comparisons to thought processes because it’s shocking, not genuinely comparing fanfiction comments to moral and ethical world health decisions because I think those two things are equitable in importance.

Uh and third, please don’t respond unless you’re going to read it all. I'm happy to take your constructive criticism after you're finished with the whole thing. I get so tired of people rushing to my inbox after only getting half way through my arguments–90% of the time, I already addressed the thing you wanted to come yell at me about and you just didn’t make it there, promise.

So, at the risk of pissing off just about everyone who thought they respected me before this:

The current anti-concrit mindset stems from a similar logic to the one used by anti-vaxxers.

(This analogy lasts a grand total of five paragraphs or something, don’t get your jimmies too rustled.)

Most people on tumblr are happy–downright gleeful–to mock anti-vaxxers. The average anti-vaxxer is considered close-minded, self-centered, and under-educated. Although the issue of anti-vaxxing is probably more complicated than we paint it here on this website (to be fair, I wouldn’t know if it’s more complicated, since I agree that anti-vaxxers are generally stupid and don’t look into their arguments very often), almost no one on tumblr has any issue with anti-vaxxers being dragged up and down the block for their bad choices.

Usually, the logic of anti-vaxxers is understood to work something like this:

Anti-vaxxer: I don’t want to expose my child to something potentially harmful, so I am not going to vaccinate them.

Literally everyone else: You’re exposing your child to far greater risk in the long-term by not vaccinating.

Or:

Anti-vaxxer: My child doesn’t need to be vaccinated; they’re fine as they are. Those diseases aren’t a big deal anymore.

Literally everyone else: This mindset will make those diseases a big deal again.

On paper, sometimes anti-vaxxer logic works out–it is true that some children suffer very painful and awful reactions to vaccinations. It IS true that poorly made or contaminated vaccinations have killed children and will continue to do in the future. It IS true that vaccinations are painful and stressful for children in general and can even–depending on how the children respond to pain and how their doctors/nurses treat them–result in long-term phobias and health care aversion. There can be serious lasting consequences from vaccinating.

But most of us laugh in the face of anti-vaxxers. Why? Because we know that in comparison to the number of benefits, the risks are minimal. In the long-term, the number of people helped by vaccines far, far exceeds the number of people hurt.

I hope you can see where I’m going. At its core, the issue of giving unsolicited constructive criticism follows a similar pattern of short-term risk aversion. Authors who don’t want constructive criticism and choose to actively refuse it are following a similar thought process to anti-vaxxer parents:

Author: I don’t want any constructive criticism. Criticism can be painful, and my writing doesn’t need to be exposed to that.

Or:

Author: I don’t need any constructive criticism because my writing is fine as it is and I’m just doing it for fun anyway.

The general attitude seems to be that exposing fanfiction authors to unsolicited constructive criticism carries more risk than it does reward. And please be aware that I’m talking about genuinely constructive criticism here, well-intentioned and polite comments (the vaccine in this analogy), not troll comments deliberately designed to hurt people’s feelings (which would be equivalent to say, an injected contaminated drug in this analogy–no one should be okay with those).

But like anti-vaxxers who insist that the short-term risks of vaccines are more dangerous than the long-term risks of major diseases… is there really any evidence that genuinely constructive criticism, even when unsolicited, really does discourage and upset a large number of fanfiction authors? Or, more to the point of the analogy–is the number of people who would be entirely discouraged from writing ever again by some constructive criticism really greater than the number of people who would benefit from getting some (again, polite) tips for improving their writing? Which is the greater risk–being hurt in the short-term or losing out on the opportunity for growth in the long-term?

Clearly there are different opinions on this and I suspect that my opinion is heavily colored by the fact that I am older than the average tumblr user and therefore have many more years to look back on to weigh on the scales of this debate.

But I will always, always argue that the long-term benefits of helping other writers where you can far, far, far outweigh the short-term risks, for a couple reasons.

1) The world is a shitty, disappointing, stressful, and painful place. We encounter harsh criticisms every single day. Your teachers will give you poor grades. Your bosses will tell you your work isn’t up-to-par. Your friends will tell you the new top you bought and absolutely love… actually makes you look like you’re wearing a potato sack. If you’re into relationships, you’ll probably experience at least one break-up in which you hear that it’s YOU, not them, who is the problem. Your feelings will be hurt by callous comments from others an uncountable number of times. Your confidence will be shaken, if not actively crushed. I’m sorry to say it, but for almost all of us, having some miserable, anxiety-inducing and extremely discouraging moments in life is part of the unavoidable human experience. (And this is doubly, maybe triply true when we are starting out new hobbies or first entering a new field. Anyone who has ever tried to learn how to skateboard and gotten laughed at by experienced skateboarders knows exactly what I’m talking about.)

The world is full of truly awful things. And I’m not the kind of person who thinks we should just be exposed to all of them right from the get-go and fuck you and your snowflake feelings or things like that. I highly urge people to tag for triggering content and am on the record again and again telling people to block characters or ships that make them uncomfortable.

But many fanfiction authors are young authors, some of whom are posting work for public consumption for the very first time. Still more have no positive experiences with constructive criticism in the first place, and the extent of their literary criticism knowledge comes from really awful and boring high school English classes. When budding writers encounter a sudden explosion of access to readers–from having maybe one or two friends read their work to suddenly having their words in front of the eyes of thousands of strangers on the internet:

It’s disingenuous to give starting writers nothing but positive feedback. Only hearing positives about your work actively discourages change and self-reflection. It gives writers an unrealistic picture of their work that can result in far more serious disappointment and embarrassment later. When someone is awful at singing and they’re only told how nice their voice is, eventually when they sing for a more serious group of strangers, they’re going to be in for a very, very miserable time.

It’s a terrible missed opportunity for young writers to get a glimpse of what “professional” writing is like. Everyone benefits from genuinely constructive criticism–both the person getting it and the person giving it. We create young writers who are passionate about improving their writing by inducting them into the culture of planning, drafting, bouncing ideas off each other, finding beta readers, and taking others’ advice to grow their abilities, and oftentimes, one of the first experiences a person has with that process is someone spontaneously going “Hey, what if you tried this instead?” People often become inspired to become doctors and nurses after witnessing a family member experience a medical crisis–people often become inspired to become writers after receiving thorough feedback on things they have written. It’s impossible to really know whether or not you want a piece of constructive criticism until after you have heard what the criticism is, and adopting a “no unsolicited constructive criticism” policy as a whole creates an entire generation of fan writers who would miss out on opportunities for growth and inspiration.

This is waxing REALLY philosophical, but bear with me here, because this is also a well-documented concern of mine: we are entering an age in which people are no longer responsible for the media choices they make, where the internet is no longer viewed as a the equivalent of yelling into a crowd of (potentially dangerous) strangers, and the onus for protection is shifting away from self-preservation “I need to not put myself near upsetting things” to “other people have the responsibility not to expose me to upsetting things.” I’ve seen a lot of people say “If authors want constructive criticism on their fics, they can just say that in a note!” My ladies. My guys. My non-binary buddies. This is the utter opposite of how the internet functions. When you put anything on the internet, you are literally putting it before a crowd of an absolutely uncountable number of strangers and there are no rules (barring the laws of their home countries) dictating how they can respond to the things you put out there. Posting your writing on the internet is explicit consent to receive constructive criticism from anyone at any time unless you take actions to prevent that in advance. Sites like AO3 actively grant you the power to dictate who can SEE your work, comment on your work, give you the power to remove messages, screen comments before they appear, block comments entirely, or simply write in any of your notes sections that you do not want constructive criticism. (If it’s that easy to write “I want constructive criticism!” why is not seen as equally easy to write “I do not want constructive criticism!”?)

Public spaces on the internet are opt out, not opt in.

Why do many (though lord knows, not all) tumblr users easily agree to the idea of “If you don’t like a ship, you should just block it” or “If you see properly tagged content you don’t like on AO3 and you click it, that’s your own fault for not reading the tags,” but have the complete opposite mindset when it comes to constructive criticism? “I’m submitting my work in a public place where anyone can express their opinion on it… But even though there are multiple tools at my disposal for discouraging and blocking opinions I don’t agree with, it’s actually other people’s responsibility not to say anything that might upset me.”

As I said, waxing philosophical here, but this is kind of a scary mindset. The ability to enter a public space–and the internet is the MOST public space in the world–and then declare that you simply don’t want to listen to dissenting opinions is scary. I mean, this is how we get a common anti-vaxxer mindset–I don’t want to listen to your opinion because I have my source telling me I’m right and that’s all I need. “I put my work out in a public place and left it accessible to everyone, but I don’t want to listen to what everyone says about it.” I don’t mean to jump off the slippery slope, but this issue is a slippery slope in and of itself. Down this way lies a dark future. “It’s other people’s responsibility to curate my social experience for me.”

But really, after all this… I just flat out think it’s important to give genuinely constructive criticism to each other without people needing to ask for it because it just kind of sucks to see a fellow writer struggling with something and not say something about it. It’s not about feeling superior or thinking you know better than someone else; we all have our own strengths and weaknesses, and spotting something that could use a bit of work in someone else’s writing doesn’t make you a better writer, it just means that’s not your particular weakness. When someone is struggling to learn to swim, you don’t just leave them to their own devices and assume they’ll figure it out–even if they swear they’ve got it. When someone is learning to sew and you, who has sewed that exact thing before, don’t offer any advice, that’s not encouragement, it’s apathy. There will be many, many, many times in your life where you did not know you needed advice. Where you did not know HOW to ask for advice. Where you might have known you needed advice but not really wanted to admit that. Where you might have known you needed advice and been too shy to ask for help. Where a piece of advice completely from the blue changes the course of your life. Fandom as a whole–fan creators as a whole–cannot become a culture that closes the door to that vital form of communication, rejects willingness to not only uplift but also help each other grow even when we least expect it.

Anyway, I’m literally just writing this to avoid real responsibilities, but the point I’m trying to make is:

Most writers, even very young writers, will not be discouraged by polite, well-intentioned criticism. They may not like it. They may not take any of the criticism to heart, but most people, even young people, are far more resilient than tumblr (which on the best of days is a negative feedback loop that can romanticize a victim mindset because having the saddest backstory makes you immune to cancellation) wants to give them credit for, and a vast majority of writers will not be traumatized or scared away from writing by people trying to offer them genuine advice. Remember, no one here is advocating for asshole trolls who post comments like “Your writing sucks and you should delete your account.” A majority of writers, even very young writers, will be able to weather the storms and tosses of even really rudely-worded advice and recover. Sometimes it might take a while, but human beings have survived as a species because we’re really, really persevering.

(But some people aren’t! you might say. Some people really will give up writing if they’re criticized! And you’d be correct. There are people who will give up, even if all they are faced with is a single gentle, well-intentioned piece of criticism. But the truth is… People give up on hobbies for all kinds of reasons! Not every hobby is for every person! Every hobby carries with it its own challenges, its own share of risks, and its own pains. Learning a new hobby consistently requires putting yourself out of your comfort zone. Wanna learn how to ride a snowboard? You will get bruised. Wanna learn how to play chess? You will lose. Wanna learn to draw? Someone will make fun of your early drawings. You will make fun of your own early drawings. Wanna post your writing on a public platform? Someday, someone is going to say they’re not a fan.

And that leads me to address the point that just keeps coming up and coming up in this issue: People aren’t always posting their fics to improve as writers! A lot of times people are posting for just fun or for personal reasons.

Yeahhhhh bullshit. No, no, hang on–I don’t mean that people don’t have fun writing and posting fics, or that fics can’t help you through traumatic experiences because everything I’ve ever posted is basically me dealing with my own personal shit–what I mean is that there’s always an additional dimension to posting your fics on large-scale public websites. People write stories and share them with their friend groups for fun. People write characters overcoming trauma and share them with their therapists (or the friends who help to fill that role) for healing. People post their stories publicly, where anyone can respond, for validation on top of their fun and healing. There are ways to hide your fics entirely on many sites. You can leave things in drafts. If a fic is appearing as unmoderated and open to the public on a major fic site such as AO3, Wattpad, ff.net, etc., it’s because that fic’s author wants responses from others! They want views. They want subscribes. They want kudos. They want comments. There’s literally no reason to post publicly except for your work to be viewed by the public.

The fun one has writing a fic is often tied directly to the thrill of seeing a comment or kudos notification pop-up in your inbox. We love seeing people enjoy our fics–it absolutely makes my day when someone sends me a message telling me they re-read my fic for the third time.

It’s NOT fun to write something and get no response.

Writing something and getting no response is actively discouraging, actually.

So whenever someone says “They’re not writing fics to improve as writers; they’re just doing it for fun!” I have to laugh a bit–because when the concept of “fun with fanfiction” is tied so closely to the experience of having your work viewed and enjoyed by others, the fastest and surest way to increase the fun you have with your fanfics… is to improve as a writer. The more you write, the more you improve. The more you improve, the more loyal readers you gain. The more loyal readers you gain, the more excited people you have to gush about your fics with. Want a Discord server full of people willing to help you brainstorm ideas for your favorite AU? Write well, attract followers. Want fanart of your writing, probably the most fun and exciting thing I can think of as an author? Write well. Just plain old want more friends in the fandom to talk about your favorite characters and fic ideas with? Make writer friends.

People have fun writing about their favorite characters and post publicly to receive responses and validation for their creations… Responses increase the fun writers have because they make the hard work of writing worth it and give you people to keep writing for and with… Improving your writing increases the number of people attracted to your works and the number of people willing to spend time responding to them… The bigger the response you get, the more invested you become in your fics, the more fandom friends you make, and the more you want to write–it’s a process that is self-fulfilling, but also one that exposes you to criticism by its very nature. The very act of seeking responses from readers means that you’re open to responses that you don’t necessarily want to hear.

And I actually don’t mean this in the way of “If you can’t handle the heat, don’t jump into the fire.” What I mean is that it is impossible to create a world in which everyone who starts writing sticks with the hobby and keeps churning out works for us to enjoy forever. It is impossible to create a world in which no young writer will ever feel discouraged and give up. The writer you decided not to give constructive criticism to might just as easily become discouraged and quit writing because they didn’t receive enough response.

The first time you give your child a new vaccine, you cannot predict the results. Your child might suffer an allergic reaction. They might die. Every year, numerous severe reactions to vaccines do occur. But the majority of people don’t question the effectiveness of vaccines because we understand that the number of people who have severe reactions is very low in comparison to the number of people who benefit from the vaccine. The number of people who will be discouraged from writing by genuine, polite, constructive criticism is minuscule in comparison to the number of people who will either 1) benefit from it directly and be thankful you gave it, 2) not benefit but not be upset by it, 3) be mildly upset by it but then benefit, or 4) just be mildly upset by itself and then move on with life unharmed because sometimes people say things we don’t like but that doesn’t ruin our lives every single time it happens.

I’m not saying that providing polite constructive criticism doesn’t have risks, just that its risks are smaller than its benefits.

And I’ve successfully whittled enough time away with this now that I can go to sleep without guilt over the things I didn’t finish, but I started this by saying the long-term benefits outweighed the short-term risks and I feel obligated to defend that…

The long-term benefits of well-placed constructive criticism are enormous. Sometimes people need ego checks. Sometimes we need wake-up calls. Sometimes we need a gentle helping hand and didn’t even realize other people could be the help we needed. Sometimes we need a reason to get fired up–even if that reason is spite, trying to prove a critic wrong! Sometimes the answer is glaring us in the face and we don’t notice until someone else points it out. Sometimes we just plain out make mistakes. Sometimes we need a teacher because the ones in school let us down. Sometimes (oftentimes) other people bring incredibly unique perspectives to our stories that we would never have been open to on our own. Sometimes we write something unintentionally hurtful and need some gentle correction. Sometimes we could be having a lot more fun if we knew the tips and tricks others had to offer. Sometimes improving ourselves is hard but worth it. Sometimes bitter medicine is the only thing that will cure an ailment.

Shots hurt. People avoid them because they aren’t fun–what parent wants to expose their child to the painful, stressful situation of getting stabbed with needles? (What parent looks forward to the yearly flu shot themselves?)

We naturally flinch back from criticism. There are many times when we swear we don’t want it, don’t need it, can’t bear it! In the moment, it is incredibly difficult to be confronted with someone basically implying that you should change something integral to yourself–your art. No one likes to feel like they’re being picked apart for weaknesses, definitely not.

But sometimes a single comment can make a massive difference in your life–even when you didn’t want it at first.

All my life, I have been helped along by teachers, family, and friends who refused to settle for patting me on the back. The people who mean the most to me, who I most credit with getting me where I am today, are not the people who just told me I was good at things. They’re the people who told me I was good at things BUT. They people who challenged me to not just sail through life or even coast in my hobbies, content with the level I entered on–they’re the people who had faith in me and trust that I could refine my skills, could have even more fun IF I took that next step, challenged myself to go a bit harder… They’re the people who took the time not just to skim over my writing and slap a thumbs up on it, but the people who thought hard enough about it go: “This story was good, but have you thought about…”

Today, I’m a professor of English because I started writing fanfiction when I was 11 years old. Because I started posting fanfiction when I was 13. Because at 14 years old, someone–without being asked–taught me the correct way to format dialogue and how to strengthen my dialogue tags. Because at 15, someone flat out laughed to tears at a cliche metaphor I’d extended too far and I was ashamed, but they taught me something else to try instead. Because by 18, I’d received–and taken–enough unsolicited writing advice to land myself the highest paying on-campus tutoring job my university offered. Because by 19, someone challenged me to write something I told them was impossible for me. Because by 20, that impossible writing became the sample that got me accepted to grad school. Because by 21, I was furious enough at the criticism I received from my creative writing masters classmates to write a thesis so feverishly overwhelming that it inspired one of the foremost postmodern poets in the country. Because by 27, it was brutally honest criticism that gave me the gall to finally leave an abusive job and apply for a teaching position. Because by 30, I got to sit at a public literary journal volume launch and watch an entire class of my creative writing students become published authors.

And even though I joked about why I was writing this, and even though I’m really not, at the heart of it, trying to persuade any one person over to my side, I hope it’s clear how much of a labor of love this post is. How passionate I am about this topic.

This whole thing is a drawn-out plea: Please, do not let fandom creation sites become a place where no one offers advice unless it is begged for. Do not miss your chance to help someone else improve. Do not close the door to criticism that could change your life. Do not let fear of short-term discouragement prevent you from seeking long-term growth. Do not let the immediate side effects cloud your view of the global benefits.

Inoculate yourselves with good advice as a shield against the very hard future.

A dearth of criticism will not make fandom a better place. It will just make it a quieter one.

[aceofwhump]

Guys

The Weeping Monk.

The Weeping Monk has become my new obsession. I love him. I knew I would because seeing all the gifs of him in tumblr is why I watched in the first place I didn't not expect for him to capture my interest so much. It's not the strongest hyperfixation I've ever had but it is one nonetheless and I'm thrilled. Welcome the list of "Ace's Favorite Whumpees"!!

SPOILERS ALERT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Seriously I got ramble and let some spoilers loose so if you want to watch it still and don't want spoilers just keep scrolling

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So not only is Daniel Sharman fucking gorgeous but Daniel Sharman looking like this?

With the eyes and the hood and the darkness and the scruff. Oh hell yeah! He's like some omen of death with that cloak. I love it.

So why do I like the Weeping Monk so much?

Well first of all I LOVE A GOOD REDEMPTION STORY!!!!! Like so much! I blame Zuko for that. But if you give me a bad dude who's done some bad shit but also has one hell of a traumatic past then put him on a path of redemption and healing? I’M SOLD! And at the end of the season, The Weeping Monk has been set on his redemption beginnings and I will die if Netflix doesn't give us a season 2 so I can see this boy walk his new path towards redemption and healing. I crave it.

But anyway. This man right here. The emotional angst and whump he exudes is so lovely.

Towards the end of the season we find out that he's Fey and I fucking lost my shit. This boy is a Fey who was raised by the people who hate Fey. His people were killed and he was taken as a child by the same people who murdered them. He was then brainwashed to believe he was demon born and evil and a sinner purely for existing and was taught to punish himself for it (he whips himself in a form of self flagellation!) and I'm sure he was punished for all sorts of things growing up by his "Father". The amount of self hate and self doubt he must feel breaks my heart. He knows he's Fey! He remembers his real name (also that reveal sent me to another plane of existence) so he must have some memories of his family and his people. But he's spent his whole life being used as a weapon against his own people and brainwashed into thinking he was saving them because fey are inherently damned. And that's all he is to the Red Paladins. A weapon. But he sees them as his people, his family because that's all he knows!

This dude is so broken and brainwashed and lost it just breaks my heart.

LOOK AT HIM!! Look at this lost and broken boy!! He just needs some love and affection dammit!! I mean he flat out asks "Do you love me Father?" AHHH!!

And oh my god this conversation between him and Gawain?!

Allow me to share the whole conversation because I need to talk about it.

Gawain: Don’t be afraid Ash Man. I don’t bite. It’s those eyes. The mark of the Ash Fold. There haven’t been any in these lands for centuries. How did you find your way here? Have you just come to watch me die?

The Weeping Monk: Why didn’t you tell them? Before...you could have told them. But you didn’t. Why?

G: Because all Fey are brothers. Even the lost ones

WM: This suffering, it will cleanse you.

G: You parrot these words, but you know it’s all lies. I can feel it in you, my brother.

WM: You are not my brother.

G: They have turned your mind so far inside out...that you don’t know the difference between kindness...and hate. Who did this to you?

WM: We are saving souls. Your soul.

G: Tell that to the little ones that you burn.

WM: I don’t harm the children

G: You burn their homes, you slay their mothers and their fathers, and you watch your Red Brothers run them down on horses. And you see it all through those weeping eyes. That makes you guilty. Brother! You can fight. I’ve never seen anything like it. You could be our greatest warrior. Your people need you.

WM: You are not my people.

G: Then tell them. If this is where you belong, tell them what you are.

WM: I’ll pray for you.

G: And I you.

First of all this conversation is the reason I now ship these two. Just saying. Gawain saw that he was kin, that he was lost, that he was broken and reached out to try and help him even though he is the reason he is being tortured. I can’t with these two! But also, the WM felt guilty about turning him in and worried about his own fate but you can tell that Gawain’s words sink in and set something inside of him and it’s because of Gawain that WM is now on this path of his. AND Gawain! I fully expected him to hate this man after everything hes done but he saw a lost and broken fey brother and tried to help him and I just...Gawain is so good you guys! This whole exchange is just *chefs kiss*. Cause after this the WM saves Squirrel.

Which leads me to Squirrel and the Weeping Monk. The other reason I desperately need season 2 is because I can't wait to see this unexpected pairing. I mean come on, big bag tough guy with trauma becomes unexpectedly joined with a young child? Best trope ever. Plus he got his ass kicked pretty bad and I need season 2 start off with that so I can see Squirrel take care of this injured man. Anyway, these two are going to have a great adventure getting back to the Fey and I NEED TO SEE IT!!! I want to see Squirrel and Lancelot bond and Squirrel defend him against Fey who hate him and for Lancelot to reluctantly become attached and defensive of this Fey boy and AHHHHHH!!

Oh and side note: One of my favorite tropes occurred. Defeated in battle, manhandled to their knees and hood pulled off revealing their bruised and bloody face. God yes please.

Time for some headcanons:

Okay he's totally touch starved am I right? This boy hasn't known a kind touch in his whole life. Pain is all he's known. The Paladins only touch to punish him or wield him. And he thinks he deserves it. He deserves the pain. The punishment. But kindness? A soft touch? Someone tending his injuries gently? He doesnt know what to do it that. He ends up stiffening or flinching away from the blinds hands of the fey, confused at first but slowly he starts to crave that kind touch.

Squirrel is always hugging him. Like whenever he sees him. And WM doesnt know what the fuck to do with that. You think he ever for hugged? I DOUBT IT! So hes all stiff and awkward and kind of bears it but after a while he starts hugging back kind of awkwardly.

Oh and speaking of tending his injuries I can almost guarantee that he has either had to tend to his own injuries in the past or he didn't do anything for them at all. But he's in a Fey camp now and the Fey help each other so when he and squirrel first show up at the camp and a he's taken to a healer and at first he balks and is like "I'm fine" but people like Pym and Squirrel and Gawain (YES GAWAIN! I have thoughts hang on) are like clearly you're not so just sit down before fall down again and let Pym heal you! AND then we get a scene of them all seeing the scars and fresh lashes and being horrified

Okay Gawain. He's not dead and he and Lancelot become best bros (or lovers cause I kind of ship them so much. Forget Nimulot. It's Gawain and Lancelot all the way) and Gawain protects him from the Fey who want to kill him after Squirrel and Lancelot arrive at the makeshift Fey camp and he's taken prisoner. Gawain watches him and see his humanity and goodness and self hate and trauma and Lancelot has someone who sees him as a "brother" as someone lost but not irredeemable and they fall in love okay bye

His powers as one of the Ash Folk. We know he can track. But from what we saw what if he's also got some camouflage or healing abilities hes never explored. NEVER EXPLORED BECAUSE HE THOUGHT IT A MANIFESTATION OF HIS INNER DEMON!!!

Also, I saw these two onset pics and now I'm ready for this to be s2 WM and Squirrel.

Okay rant over. Sorry. Bye now ✌

[wordsnwhiskey]

Is It Living If You've Left Your Life Behind?

Pairing: Dave York & GN!Reader

Summary: Thanks to you, Dave escaped the showdown with McCall. You planned to take him to a safehouse on the other side of the country where he could recover and get started on living a new life. In order to do that though, he has to leave his wife, his daughters and his life behind. He can't help but wonder, is it really living if he has to leave his life behind?

Rating: T for Language I guess

A/N: This is my late submission for @autumnleaves1991-blog 's Writer Wednesday. I got into my feels tonight and Dave was calling to me. It's my first time writing for him and this is a different take on Dave than I'd normally go for. A softer/angstier Dave but honestly, given this situation where he survives? I don't see classic Dave shining through, at least not until something kicks his ass into gear. The man is injured and more than a little lost. Also, I'll probably edit this later, it's 03:30 and apparently I have a knack for posting things when I should be asleep.

Masterlist | AO3

There was nothing but the open road ahead of him as he sat in the passenger seat, a permanent grimace affixed to his face. His pain ebbed and flowed but at least that meant he was alive. Alive with nothing but the open road ahead of him and his entire life behind him.

Dave really only had you to thank for that. A life debt for a life debt even if it meant he no longer had his life, not really at least. His girls were well over a thousand miles behind him, everything he’d known and loved, he’d likely never see again. You were the only thing Mac hadn’t counted on and even though Dave had lost religion a long time ago, he thanked whatever god or higher power out there that you had kept your head about you during the showdown.

He had been furious at first that you hadn’t tried to kill McCall, only stalled long enough to get him and yourself out of there under the cover of the storm. His anger had quickly dissipated though, you had made the right call, of course. He still had trouble seeing out of his eye, a concussion from being blown off of his feet and plenty of bruises complemented the odd cut or two Mac had managed to land. Things would have been a lot worse had you not intervened.

You glanced over at Dave, hunched over, curling himself into the passenger window. Dave fucking York. He had really gotten himself in it this time but you couldn’t find it in yourself to blame him. In this industry, shit decisions had to be made all the time and Lady Luck was rarely ever kind. People died, that was the business. What else was the married father of two supposed to do when he was cut loose? Assimilate? That kind of thing wasn’t for people like you or Dave York, not really. McCall was too high up on his high horse to get enough oxygen to his brain and too blinded by his own grief to see it.

Then again, you were definitely biased.

“How’s your pain level?”

You asked, and were met with a withering glare, his newly-crooked, hawkish nose only served to further accentuate the harshness in his eyes.

He hadn’t talked much during the already several day trip. Not that you needed the conversation, but you understood better than anyone he knew who was still alive aside from the man you were fleeing from, what this felt like. You hated how people romanticized it, leaving everything behind and starting over. It never worked that way. Your family and friends lived and died and you couldn’t be part of any of it. And now Dave, Dave had two daughters and a wife but they might as well be poison now. Poison to his mind, torture to think about. Poison to the touch if he ever went to see them again, because surely McCall would be watching them from afar, waiting.

The same thoughts seemed to be on his mind, from the corner of your eye you could see him slump further into the window, clutching a small photograph he had pulled from his wallet. For all that he was, former agent, mercenary, murderer, assassin, he was still a family man, a soft man at heart and going into hiding away from this family had just as much likelihood of killing him as McCall did.

“I’m not going to see them again am I?” Dave murmured as he stared down at the photo, thumb grazing over his daughters’ faces.

You opened your mouth then closed it again, contemplating giving him platitudes or the truth. He chuckled at your reaction, a hollow sound devoid of any humor.

“Spare me the bullshit.”

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened and you let out a sigh.

“I don’t know Dave. If McCall winds up dead then yeah, that’s an option. I haven’t been back to see my family but I don’t have the same… things anchoring me somewhere or drawing me back.”

Silently, he turned to resume watching the passing orange and brown landscape fly by.

It had been about another two hours since he last spoke and he had been so still and quiet, you thought he might have fallen asleep.

“Why’d you do it? Why are you doing this?”

His voice is gruffer, made thicker from the knot of emotion in his throat. It startles you out of your own reverie.

“Do what?”

“Why did you bother saving me? You could have made it out of there and been in another country by now. Fuck, you could have dumped me at a hospital anywhere along this godforsaken road and still be in another country by now.”

You frowned, somehow you had hoped his relative silence meant you would be able to get through this journey without delving into any sort of feelings.

“It crossed my mind, on both counts.”

He raised an eyebrow, not so much in surprise that you had thought about it, more so that you hadn’t gone through with it.

“I didn’t have any part in Susan’s death so McCall would have stopped hunting me eventually.”

You spared him a glance, he was staring at you intently, analyzing.

“Is this the part where you tell me you love me?”

You scoffed and looked at him incredulously then shook your head.

“No, it’s even more pathetic than that, Dave. You’re probably the closest thing to a friend I have and we’ve tried to kill each other before.”

That got a small laugh out of him, because really, what was more ridiculous in their line of work than friends?

Probably having a family. Dave grimaced as the thought echoed in his mind.

“We were the best at what we did.”

He said, with an air of nostalgia and you nodded in agreement.

“And the worst, somehow even with us each taking on contracts for the other, here we are, still living.”

The small smile faded from your lips at his silence and lack of a response. Your gaze fell on him again as he shrugged his mouth and sighed.

“Are we? Is it living if I’m leaving my life behind?”

This was not the Dave York you knew. Occasionally, you had seen the wry humor, and suave exterior give way to the side of him that accepted “New Hamster” as an answer instead of “New Hampshire” but not even that remained. The Dave next to you had all of those layers peeled back. He was raw and unsure.

You didn’t answer him for a few minutes, honestly there wasn’t much of anything you could say that wasn’t a load of shit. You were both too practical for pep talks. Moreover, it wasn’t a question you had even stopped to ask yourself. The answer and the journey to that answer was a dangerous one.

“I- ��. It’s the best option you’ve got right now, Dave. It’s a pretty fucked situation, my advice? Take it one hour a time and if you can manage that, take it one day at a time.”

“An hour?” Dave shook his head and rubbed his stubbled chin with his hand. “All I’ve seen for hours is dirt and sand. While Mac is probably watching Carol and the girls like a fucking hawk.”

You pursed your lips, and eyed the upcoming sign detailing the available lodging and food at the upcoming exit.

“Well you’ll have the inside of our next motel room to stare at in another hour.”

Dave slipped back into silence and you simultaneously welcomed and detested it. Things were simpler without him getting all philosophical on you and contemplating what made living actually living. It hardly mattered though because he had already gone and planted that damned seed inside your brain.

You pulled up to a not entirely shitty motel and paid for the night before going back for Dave who was waiting in the car. The room wasn’t terrible and after a thorough check, you could at least confirm there weren’t any critters who would be keeping you company. At least there were two beds.

After a dinner of pizza from the diner down the road you had taken Dave on a detour to the gas station to get a burner phone. In your haste to put as much distance as possible between you and McCall, you hadn’t bothered to get him one earlier. Once that was finished you both headed back to your room to unwind.

Dave sat in one of the rickety chairs at the small table that seemed to be actively trying to shed it’s veneer layer. With a sigh, he went to work stripping and reassembling his pistol. It was calming, relaxing for him. All of the pieces had a purpose, an order, to be pulled apart then reassembled, very much unlike his life right now. Nothing had purpose or order and everything had been pulled apart, leaving him broken shards to piece back together.

Hours passed and by the look of him, you figured Dave’s fingers might have gone numb from the repetitive movements and his eyes were drooping, well his good eye was drooping more than normal since the one McCall had nearly managed to gouge was still a little worse for wear.

“Dave, get some sleep. You’re no good to me or yourself if you’re half asleep.”

You know he’s been fighting sleep for a while now, he does every night just like he fights the pain you’re sure he’s feeling but refuses to take anything for. For the first time since you two set off, you’re not annoyed by it. He’ll sleep soundly at least once he let’s exhaustion take him. All the better for what you have planned.

It wasn’t until 01:00 that Dave was finally asleep soundly enough that you felt you could get up without waking him. Quietly, you made for the table, using the flimsy pad of paper and pen there to write a note before you walked out the door and shut it behind you. Thankfully, the city you had stopped in was populated enough that rideshare services were available and in less time than you had figured, you were on your way to the airport.

Dave woke up and immediately knew something was off. It was too quiet and there was too much sun trying to peek through the curtains for it to be the usual time you both headed out for the day. He sat up quickly and grabbed his pistol, then looked around the room for any signs of danger until his eyes fell upon the pad of paper on the table. A sharp pain arched through his skull when he stood up, a remnant of his concussion. He took the note in hand and began to read:

Dave,

I figure, if I’m lucky, I’ve got 4 hours on you. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 6. Anything more than that and I’m disappointed in you, Dave.

He looked up from the note at the digital clock on the nightstand, it read 07:30. A wry grin threatens to take shape on his lips. You’d be disappointed.

I’m not going to make this some sort of sappy letter. I don’t have time for that shit. You were right. It isn’t really living if you’ve left your life behind. Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who really has one to miss. The only way you get to go back to Carol, Molly and Alice is if McCall is out of the picture, so I’m going to give it a shot. I left you enough cash to pay the room through the week and then some. If you don’t hear from me after a week, call the number at the bottom of this note and tell him you’re cashing in a favor for me. He’ll help you out. Might even know someone else who can help with your family. I left you the car, keys are on my bed.

Good Luck.

Dave’s throat went dry and then he saw at least four shades of red before he finally calmed down to assess the situation. Then all at once, it was like ice had been poured in his veins and things began to shift into focus.

What the fuck was he doing?

This entire time he had been wallowing, perhaps well earned, but he should have been planning. He had let his grief for the loss of Susan, the storm of emotions he felt seeing Mac still alive and a simple job that had spun drastically out of control, completely cloud his judgement. He was just as well trained as Mac, but he had let his anger and emotions get the best of him on that watchtower, he couldn’t let that happen again.

Dave moved quickly and methodically as he collected everything he needed from the room and headed out to the car. He really shouldn’t drive with his eye being what it was but he only needed to get to the airport and he could make it that far at least.

He couldn’t let Mac kill you, like Ari, Reznik, and Kovac. Family.

Like hell if he was going to let the closest person he had to a friend get killed.

If anyone was going to kill you, it’d be him, just for you trying to pull off something as stupid as this.

He knew this was the best move though, Mac wouldn't be expecting an attack this soon this time, the attack wouldn't be in the middle of gale force winds on Mac's home turf. You... and he would have the upper hand this time.

Dave got through the airport with relative ease thanks to him having TSA pre-check, no one bothered to ask him about his eye which he did his best to hide with a baseball cap.

He sat down and waited for his flight to be called. Mentally, he began going through the disassembly and reassembly of the rifle he had with him at the watchtower to help focus himself and pass the time.

The PA system broke his concentration and alerted him that it was time to board. Dave was tense when he finally got to his seat and sat down. His jaw was set in concentration as he started to come up with a new battleplan and weighing his options. Yes, he was injured but he'd been through worse on missions and come out on top.

At least one person was going to die by the end of the week and he'd be damned if you and him weren't the last ones standing.

Thanks for reading, tagging a few people interested/who might be interested:

@wheresarizona @pascalsimp @beesting77 @boxdyeblonde @lackofhonor @kaybrownies @agentwhiskeypussyindulgence @elegantduckturtle @janebby @faithkeeper-81 @doin-stuff @danniburgh @pascalslittlebrat @mothandpidgeon @mouthymandalorianalso @phoenixhalliwell @kesskirata @starlightmornings @wyn-dixie

[avengerscompound]

It’s You and Me - Chapter 8

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Clint Barton x  F!Reader

Word Count:  1724

Rating:  E

Warnings:  Mentions of past abuse

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back.  Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you.  For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down.  Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father.  Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 9: Then

“Welcome to the ring, the man who can’t miss - Hawkeye!”

The crowd cheered and Clint cantered his horse out into the ring, he climbed up, so he was standing and waved to the crowd as he did a lap.

“And the girl he can’t seem to hit, Sugar Snap!”

You rode out, first flipping off the front of your horse and then back on again, before bringing your horse up beside his, so the two of you were riding, standing up, side-by-side.  “Ready?”  Clint said.

“Always,” you replied.

You sat back down and spurred the horse on.  As you took the lead on Clint, you collected your bow and an arrow from one of the clowns standing at the side of the ring.  Clint did the same as he passed them and watched as you got into the handstand position on your moving horse.  The crowd went deadly silent as you knocked your arrow with your feet, Clint got into the same position.  You loosed the arrow as you passed the target, hitting it dead center.  The crowd erupted in applause but before it even reached its peak, Clint loosed his arrow with his feet and it hit yours, splitting the shaft right down the middle.

The crowd went berserk.  You and Clint, both vaulted off your horses and landed side by side in the middle of the ring, your arms raised.  You bowed together, first to one side of the crowd and then the other, soaking in the applause.

You were 18 now, and the act was flawless.  The ringmaster always had you opening these days, and it had been a long time since anyone had approached either of you about doing any of their criminal dealings.  There had been an incident a year back where Clint had discovered Jacques with a load of stolen money and when he’d gone to turn the swordsman in, Jacques attempted to kill him.  Clint had ended up with two broken legs, and his brother Barney had left the circus to go to college to get away from everything the circus was not long after that.  He had asked Clint to go with him, but Clint had been so high on this rush of what he could only call fame, that there was no way he could let it go now.

Besides, he had Eden and he knew that if he left the circus it would mean leaving her too and he was not willing to do that.

Some of the clowns brought the rest of the equipment in and Clint put his quiver on his back and grabbed his bow.  The next part of the act was about precision archery, acrobatics, perfect timing, and making sure he selected the correct arrow for each shot.

He turned and aimed an arrow so it looked as if it was aiming at you, but was in fact aiming at a small target stuck to one of the tent poles just next to the audience.  Close enough that they could all see how he hit the target and that it would feel like they were at risk, but not so close that there was in any risk at all.

You ran backward and did a backflip, just as you launched yourself up off the ground, Clint loosed the arrow and it sailed under you, hitting the center of the target with a thud as you landed back on your feet.  You began to run around the outside of the arena, and he loosed arrow after arrow in front of you, and you flipped over each one again and again, to the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of the crowd while each arrow hit the target perfectly.

When you reached the target board, Clint changed the arrows.  He began to loose them so each hit about a foot apart and a foot higher than the last, forming steps up the board.  You climbed them as they hit, so it appeared as if you were stepping into the air and he was catching you with the arrows.  When you reached the high wire platform above, Clint moved into a different routine.

He hit moving targets, including pinning three small targets that swung down from three different directions and pinning them together with one arrow.  He hit targets while he was flipping from one platform to another.  All the while soaking in the attention from the crowd.  Above him, you were getting into a harness that would only be visible to the keenest of eyes.

When you were secure, you began dropping things on him.  He started by quickly loosing arrows, sometimes three or four at a time, and pinning each item you dropped to a different target around the tent.  Then he switched, dropping his bow and arrow and picking up a sword, as each item fell from above he sliced it in half.

A few of the clowns came out with big trench coats on and carrying umbrellas.  You began dropping water balloons on them and while everyone was distracted, Clint put on his special trenchcoat and hat. It was the one designed for the finale of the routine.  It had a locking mechanism in the arm that allowed him to catch you on the blade of a sword without his arm jerking on impact.

A huge bag of confetti dropped and exploded, queuing the clowns to scatter.  You dropped a few more things down on him, letting Clint use his left arm to slice them in two, to show the crowd that the sword was real and not blunt.

Then you jumped.  You spun in the air, corkscrewing down toward him, he brandished his sword, and when you hit the springboard, you jumped up and flipped.  Clint switched hands and lunged forward, the elbow mechanism locking in place so the flat of the blade was facing up.  You landed on it, sending a shock through his arm.  Everyone clapped and you curtsied while standing on the blade.  Clint moved to grab you in a large over-exaggerated way and you backflipped catching the brim of his hate with your toe and flipping it off his head.  You landed and ran forward, catching the hat on your head.

The crowd erupted, everyone getting to their feet and cheering for you both.  You helped Clint off with his coat and both of you bowed as your horses cantered back into the ring.  You each ran to your horse and vaulted onto it’s back, taking a lap.  Maynard entered the ring with his whip and took his spot on a podium in the middle as the clowns rushed in and cleaned up.  “Let’s hear it again, for Hawkeye and Sugar Snap!’

The crowd applauded more and Clint followed you out of the ring.  “And now, our very own Garden of Eden!”  Maynard called, and Eden ran out past Clint, winking as she passed him.

Clint got off his horse and rolled his shoulders as you approached him.  “I think I need to work on that first jump.  I felt that arrow,” you said.

“You always say that, and I always tell you it’s in your head,” Clint teased.  He walked over to the lip of the curtain and looked out at Eden as she did her contortion act.  You stepped up beside him.

“Just before I came out, Jacques approached her and said something about some art job,” you said.

Clint bristled.  He’d been hearing rumors about an art job for the past few days.  He wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, mostly because he just tried to steer clear of all of that.  There had definitely been a meeting with some art guy and the Ringmaster.  Clint had remembered seeing the bald man with his black turtleneck and rectangular framed glasses talking to Tiboldt about the circus performers coming to some art museum as part of a charity gig.  “She’s probably going to be part of that charity gig.”

You shrugged.  “Yeah, maybe.”

Clint turned and looked at you.  “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing,” you said, though he wasn’t convinced.

Clint had managed to get you to legal age without any more explicit photos being taken, but he knew Jacques still had a habit of sniffing around you.  Barely legal wasn’t as good as illegal, but it would still make him money, and you had other things to offer now.  The ability to parkour was a huge advantage to them, and you were very good with a blade.  Clint knew that while the act was as good as it was, Jacques couldn’t threaten to have you kicked out, but he could offer you things and Clint wasn’t totally sure if you would always say no.  Not if it was something like breaking and entering, and if this was some scam being organized by Tiboldt, then he was the boss, and if he said jump, you jumped.

“Sugar?”  Clint pressed.

You huffed.  “Wanted me to help him break in and help them steal some art.  Said Tiboldt wanted everyone on the job.”

“Sugar!”  Clint yelped.

“I said no!”  You said.  “Who wants a bunch of dusty old paintings anyway?”

“You think he’s trying to recruit Eden?”  Clint asked.

You shrugged again.  “Probably.  Or Tiboldt already has and he was just passing on a message.”

Clint sighed, he wanted to believe that she wouldn’t be involved in anything like that, but love and trust were not things that were linked very strongly for him.  “She wouldn't, would she?”  He asked.

You shrugged again.  “I dunno, Clint.  You know her better than me.  I do know that just about everyone else here would.”

He shook his head and stepped away from the curtain.  “I’m gonna take a shower.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nodded and didn’t say anything.  Just as he moved away he looked back at you.  “Hey… thanks… you know…?  For letting me know.”

You nodded and folded your hands over your chest.  “Anytime, Clint.  You know that.  It’s me and you.”

Clint wasn’t so sure about that.  He’d believed it before about other people who had let him down.  But as he sized you up, he thought maybe of all the people in this circus he was supposed to think of as family, you might be the one that fit the description best.

// NEXT

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #329

“i keep it all inside because i know that man is everything but kind”

What is the best thing about your life right now? Uhhhhh... I guess from a realistic standpoint, my partial hospitalization program. I'm learning very important coping skills and have some social interaction almost every day. How was your second serious relationship different from your first? Did you approach relationships differently with some experience under your belt? My first serious relationship was made deeper than what was safe because I was 100% obsessed with him; meanwhile, with Sara, I feel I loved her in a wiser way and with a sense of self still present. I was definitely more hesitant to "let" myself fall in love again, though, and was very insecure at the start. Whose death affected you the most? My dog's, Teddy. What was the best time you’ve had with a complete stranger? I don't exactly make a habit of hanging out with complete strangers... Who has seen you at your absolute worst? How did your relationship change afterwards? Mom, Jason, Girt, and Colleen, probably. Girt showed up at the ER after my overdose (I was a dramatic fuck and wrote a suicide note on Facebook so I didn't just... go without telling some people things I definitely wanted to), and that's when my crush on him really kicked into gear again. He was and is just always there for me through everything. For Jason, I am quiiiiiiiite sure seeing me have an absolute catatonic breakdown the night of the breakup just pushed him away more. I probably looked crazy. Colleen also showed up at the ER after my suicide attempt, and it brought us closer. Then there's Mom, who's, you know, my mom, and my darkest times have always grown our incredible bond, too, because she would never fail to be there for me. What’s your favorite planet? Saturn is dope. What’s your favorite pasta dish? Just spaghetti with tomato sauce and meatballs. What color do you really want to dye your hair? My top three are pastel pink, light/creamsicle orange, and silver, but there are more. What’s your favorite eye color? Sapphire blue or emerald green. What’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? Um, I don't break into places. What’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? Sara gets super squeaky, bouncy, and just in general wordlessly excited at reptile shows. Going with her to one is one of my favorite memories, mostly just by watching her. Tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. Have I ever been (awake) with friends past 3AM...? Idk. Do you have a favorite coffee shop? Describe it! Not a coffee gal. Who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Sara. (: When was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? Now THERE'S a fuckin question. I don't have the slightest idea. What was your biggest fear as a kid? Is it the same today? Thunderstorms; definitely not. Have you ever been to a Pride festival? No, but I'd love to. How open are you with your parents? I don't tell everything to my dad (though I know I could), but I'm an open book with Mom. Is there anything you’re more open about on the internet (such as on LiveJournal) than you would be in “real life”? I guess my sexual history. I'm just in general pretty open online. What is the most petty thing you’ve ever done? Oh, I'm CERTAIN it involves Jason after the breakup, but I don't know the "most"... What is the longest you’d be willing to wait to have sex in a new relationship? I myself don't want to until we're clearly serious and long-term by that point, and I know for a fact they're in love with me like I am them. I don't care how long they want to wait, though. I said in a previous survey that sex just... isn't that important to me. It's not my most cherished form of intimacy. Who has had the most positive effect on your life? My mama. Are there any relatives that you are not on speaking terms with? What happened? Most of the family doesn't talk to my aunt's literally psychotic, manipulative fuck of an ex-husband. I don't feel like it's my business to share exactly what happened, but yeah, fuck him with a chainsaw. :^) Who was the last person to ask you to hang out? Did you agree to hang out with them? It was more like an open invitation to all of her friends, but I guess you could say Summer. I did. I honestly wanna hang out again. Have you ever had to take a stool or urine test? Why did you have to do this? Urine ones, yes: to 1.) test for UTIs and 2.) ensure I wasn't pregnant before surgery. Is there a food that you eat basically every day? What food is that? Not every day, no. Can you remember the first video game you ever played? What about your first video gaming system? I don't. It was probably something with few controls, like this Barbie horse riding game my sisters and I loved, or an Elmo game that we had on a demo disc. I think you had to follow a path on a pogo stick picking up letters? We had a PS1 when I was born, so that was my first. The last video game you played - did you play alone or with someone else? By "video," I'm going to assume you're not including the computer, in which case I think it was The Legend of Spyro: Dawn of the Dragon, which I was playing alone. It does have a two-player option though that I wanna do one day. The controls are definitely meant for two people. If there is a disc in your computer, what disc is it? There is no disc. Do you shut down your computer every time after you use it, or do you leave it on? I always leave it on... Do you know anyone who has ever been in a movie? Who and what movie were they in? What was their part? Hm, I don't believe so. Describe the last shirt you saw that you really liked. Where did you see it? It was definitely some sort of graphic tee on Facebook, I'm sure. It was something with an opossum design and a short phrase. When was the last time you brought a pet to the vet? What was wrong with it? The most recent vet visit was when we got Roman neutered. Do you have any bug bites on you right now? If so, where? No. When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook? When I DID fish, yeah. Not because I was afraid to touch the fish, but because I was afraid of nicking myself with the inevitably dirty hook. Did you go to daycare when you were little? Only very briefly; my incredible separation anxiety from my mom made it extremely difficult. She very quickly chose our neighbors as my and my sisters' babysitters. I could handle that because I loved "Uncle Donny," the granddad of the family, and I could see my house from their front door. He was/is (idk if he's still alive) a wonderful man. Do you know what you’d have been named had you been born the opposite sex? No. Would you ever visit a nude beach? NOOOOOOOO THANK YOU. Who was the last person you dreamt about? I don't remember. Where is your favorite place to be kissed other than the usual place? Don't touch my neck if you don't have free time lmaooo. What is your favorite memory with one of your grandparents? I'm going to be completely honest: I have none that are exceptionally important to me. I only knew one grandmother most of my life, and we had a turbulent relationship. Would you date someone who has cheated in their previous relationships? Naaaaah son. What was the most drastic change you made to your appearance? Chopping 8+ inches of hair off. Is there anything you hope your significant other/future significant other never finds out about you? No. I don't want to keep secrets from them above all others. What are most of your Facebook posts about? If you're talking things I actually compose myself and not share, probably pictures of my pets, haha. Or small statements regarding political issues or mental health. What’s your favorite part of the song that you’re listening to? The beat. Who was the last person you got into a small argument with? Probably my mom, idk. How warm do you like your showers/baths to be? Pretty hot. In the past year, have you lost weight or gained weight? How much? Gained... and I'd rather not share. What year was the last car you rode in/drove? I have zero clue, but it's old. What’s your worst/funniest experience with one of your neighbors? The neighbors at my childhood home had two wonderful rottweilers, but one day they got loose and killed at least one of our kittens. It died in my hands. Mom was fucking livid and sobbing. Besides this occasion though, we got along with them. How much alone time is too much for you before you start going crazy and want to be around people? It depends on the day, really, and how entertained I am in my alone time. Generally, one day of total isolation (from people, anyway) is enough for me to want my mom's company at least or to be texting Sara. The last time you burned your tongue or mouth, what were you eating? A pizza roll burned my tongue just a tad. Honestly, are you shallow? Not at all. Besides clothes, shoes, and accessories, what’s your favorite thing to shop for? S N A K E S ! ! ! I could LIVE on the Morph Market website and "window shop." I love planning out the next morph I'm most interested in adopting. If you have/had any facial piercings, what side are they on? Any reason you chose that side? If you don’t have any, if you had to get a facial piercing what would it be and what side would it be on? I have a vertical labret on my lower lip that goes directly down the center of my face. I chose it because I love the symmetry. I've had my right nostril pierced twice, just because I preferred that side for whatever reason. What, would you say, is your sexiest/most provocative article of clothing? I don't own anything like that. I have zero interest in showing off my body. Do/did you have attendance problems in school? I was notoriously tardy for the first class of the day a lot because I was an absolute beast to drag out of bed all the way up to college. Does/did your parents ever go through your computer or cell phone? Mom did. What song reminds you the most of a particular day in your life? Why is that? "Where the Wild Wolves Have Gone" by Powerwolf is a strong one. I played it again and again the day Teddy was put down, even before we went to go euthanize him. It was my inspiration to one day spread his ashes at Yellowstone in wolf territory. As much as I'd love to keep his ashes forever, like, what happens after I die? And my sisters? Eventually, that container will lose meaning and probably be discarded, so I want to return him to nature. Do you have any close friends that were adopted? No close ones. Who, in your opinion, is the best thriller writer? Idk. Does your Mom eat meat? Yeah. Do you prefer thick or thin crusted pizza? THICK. Thin crust is an utter disappointment. Do you have any friends with the same name as you? No. Who has the prettiest middle name you know? Ha, I mention Alon a lot when it comes to beauty... I can't remember what it is, but I do know hers wins. Do you prefer it when it gets darker earlier? No. It makes me go to bed earlier. Can you touch​ your nose with your tongue?​​ No. Is there a particular sport you follow on a regular basis? No. Are there any shows that your friends seem to be obsessed with, but that you just don’t get? Oh, loads. How old was the last child that you spoke to? She's six. What’s a song that makes you feel happy? "Pretty Woman" by Van Halen, for one. How far in advance do you prefer to plan? It depends, but generally kinda far. Do you always smile for pictures? With other people, yes. Some selfies, no, but usually. What are you most excited about right now? my MOTHERFUCKIN tattoo appointment in MAY!!!!!!!!!!! Do you prefer the aisle, middle, or window seat on a plane? Window seat, zero doubts. Where would you like to volunteer? I wanna help at an animal rehab. What was the last thing you ate? A strawberry and grain granola bar thing. How do you find new music? Usually YouTube recommendations. What’s your favorite city? I don't have one. What makes your bedroom special to you and what is your favorite part about it? It's a total nests of my various interests. My favorite part is my meerkat collection. Have you ever had a crush on someone “too young” for you? No. Do you shave your legs more than once a week? God no. I haven't shaved my legs since October lmao. Would you get married if you could right now? Definitely not right now. I don't have a job or my own place. What is your favorite type of jewelry (i.e. bracelets, necklaces, etc.)? Chokers. Do you regret losing your virginity to who you lost it to? No. I was wholeheartedly in love with him. What was the shittiest hotel you’ve ever stayed at and why? I've never stayed in a bad one, to my recollection. Have you ever gone on a boat and been sick the whole time? No. Have you ever kept something from the wild as a pet? A turtle for a little while, yes. Don't do that. Ever win first place for something? Yeah, a few things. What was the last thing you fell off of? Idk. Do you have a favorite local band? Who are they? No. What’s the most confusing book you ever read? The style in which Johnny Got His Gun is written is very confusing, but you adapt to understand it. Jumping back and forth from the past to the present can give ya some metaphorical whiplash. Do you have a funny last name? Does anyone make fun of it? No. Has anyone ever called your personality dull? Do you agree with them? No. Have you ever personally witnessed a drug deal before? Possibly. Ever have an ultrasound performed on you? What was it for? Yes, for my liver. I can't remember what they were checking for, but I was fine. Have you ever been kicked out of somewhere? Colleen's house, yes. Have you seen all the Lord of the Rings movies? Nope; got no interest. Would you ever consider getting a piercing in your septum? Nah, not for me. Do you enjoy being outdoors? Only if it's cool out, in which case yeah. Do you enjoy watching fireworks on the 4th of July? Not anymore. I just think about the terrified animals (wild and pets alike) and traumatized veterans. Do you enjoy tanning? Not at all. Which of the seven deadly sins do you commit the most? Sloth. Did you have a Furby when you were younger? Yeah. Creepy fuckers. How long was your first relationship? I actually don't remember how long Aaron and I were together... other than it was just a few months. Who was the first person to break your heart? My dad, generally speaking. Romantically, Jason. What’s the biggest lie you’ve told someone? I don’t know. Has anyone ever drawn a picture of you? Yeah. What did the last key you used go to? The car's trunk. Is there anything, any event, you wish you could remember more clearly? I honestly do wish I remembered my "first time" because that's a pretty big deal to me. What’s your biggest priority right now? My mental health. If you’ve stayed overnight in a hospital, how did you entertain yourself? I've done that numerous times, and given there was nothing good on the TV ever, I just slept time away or read. Since every time I was suicidal, there were very, very few things you were allowed to have. Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet? EW no. Are your hands unsteady? Yes; I have what's called an essential tremor in both. Are your legs long or short? They're proportional to my body. Is there a bookshelf in your room? No. Do you own a robe? What color is it? No. Who’s the last person you smoked weed with? I've never done it. Ever had a person who was obsessed with you so much that it scared you? No. Has anyone ever mistaken you for someone else? Yeah, my sisters in the past. Is there anything you need to talk about with someone? No. Who was the last person who cried around you? My mom. Who’s the last guy to give you roses? Tyler. What band was on the last band t-shirt you wore? Korn. What piercing do you like most on the opposite sex? Maybe snakebites. Do you stick your tongue out often in pictures? Nah. I only ever really did once or twice when I had snake eyes. Honestly, have you ever purchased something, worn it, and then returned it? Possibly? If you could have your own house anywhere in the world, where would it be? In the mountains in a nicely wooded area with a waterfall close by. It'd be nice to have a small stream or pond too to sit or swim in. If you could create a holiday - what would it be? I wish the legalization of gay marriage in America was a legitimate holiday. Are you shy about singing in front of people? OHHHHH YES. Do you own a robe? Do you sleep with a sleep mask? No.

[goldinavonlea]

WHERE do I even BEGIN?????

gonna put it under a cut because i have. lots of thoughts

I’m only going to do a rough take now and I’ll get pretty and clever with it later but the centrality of family to this episode but the specific way family was framed as a concept and what that means... exceptional. Truly, stunningly beautiful.

When Anne asks Ka’kwet the word for family, she explains that in Míkmawísimk, the term they use means ‘people I am connected to because we’re alike’ (which... just need to take a pause to say what an incredibly beautiful piece of language and—since language has such a profound affect on how we look at our existances—what an incredibly beautiful way of seeing it).

I felt like that formed the real thematic backbone of the episode: family not being nearly as simple as blood or something you’re born into, but something that can be fostered and created, something that can be found, which considering Anne’s history and the jounery she’s going on, is so incredibly beautiful and important.

I felt that the entire episode was giving us example of example of these bonds—these relationships of family through connection and similarity. The way Ka’kwet explained family really chimed for me with how Anne sees Kindred Spirits (which makes sense, since ‘kin’ is a term for family!), which is just one example of how Anne and Ka’kwet are immediately drawn to one-another, immediately alike in many ways and so there’s this instantaneous sense of family there.

I love that Anne was having a bit of a giggle over Matthew and Marilla’s similarities over dinner, but there’s an a slight undertone to it—she’s looking at the ways they are evidently family in a manner which doesn’t neccessarily include her. But there are so many ways in which the episode also makes her similarities to them—the ways in which she is so absolutely connected to them through likeness and in family—clear. I mean just watching Matthew and Marilla being absolute muppets to surprise her with that cake—Matthew with his book upside-down, Marilla straight up giggling to herself. They’ve taken in so much of her levity, her mischief and joy: they’ve become more like her, they’ve learned from loving her and changed in the process of becoming a family.

The same with Diana!! With her whole prank to get Anne over for the birthday tea—I mean can you imagine the Diana we first met in season one, who decalred herself to be lacking in imagination and who was so constrained by propriety, getting up to such hijinks? Purposefully yanking her neat hair out of its ribbon (about which I have two points: first, Di’s hair looked absolutely glorious down like that, she’s looking vital and lively and stunning this season; and second, the parallels of Di pulling her hair out to prank Anne, Anne loosing her ribbon and shaking her hair out on the horse, and Ka’kwet taking out her own hair ties she’d made to trade with Anne. Again, parallels are similarities, and similarity means kindred!)

NOT TO MENTION our girl kicking off at her parents about Queens using words like ‘supercede’, demanding her right to an education, slamming furiously away at her piano when she’s dismissed? God I have never been prouder in all my days, but again—she’s grown so much fire since meeting Anne, so much spirit and determination through knowing her. They are alike. They are family.

And with the girls from school in a wider sense too—there’s so much more ease there, a sense of unity and belonging and knowing of each other that lends a fluidity and familiarity to their interactions as a group which was frankly delightful to see (plus: Jane and Tilly both already have me cracking up this season which is wonderful because more of those two was something I really wanted to see). There’s no hostility there now, really—just soft-worn treads of exasperation and bickering which feels deeply familiar. They share the same stories, the same jokes. They have a Togetherness.

Mary and Bash were just... a fucking delight. A true joy. And again! The unity! The way they laugh together, share lines of thought, share such a sense of spirit and cheekiness. And of course they share an Actual Baby now which I will come back to I promise because that deserves space of its own.

And... look. Anne and Gil. If family, if kindred, is something made of things shared, of the ways people are the same, then one really can’t have enough of a giggle over the fact that they both, in the space of one episode, managed to have a moment of Putting Themselves Out There to the other only to be SPECTACULARLY shot down by the absolute MISSILE of the other being a complete fucking idiot. Like, to steal from Josie’s ‘too close to the sun’ comment to Moody (who remains, as ever, a Mood and a half), Anne and Gil each performed a truly impressive Icarus moment in the others’ presence this ep. Gilbert was Full On, Pedal to the Metal making allusions to their Future and Courtship and Marriage (he actually honest to god used the word Future in that conversation bless him, just bless his heart) and Anne just fires off a zeplin-felling, building-flattening rocket launcher of ‘you should really get on with it with Ruby’. And his whole 360 from being Absolutely Prepared to get in on this take notice thing, practically had Anne’s name written out already, to the screeching halt of Disaster Teen like ‘yeah I’m not really a take-notice kind of guy’ god I’m loving getting to see them just be Deeply Stupid Adolescents it’s... so enjoyable.

AND ANNE! Anne Shirley-Cuthbert! Madame! Was fully flashing back to Marilla’s ‘when someone loves you, then you’ll be kissed’ guidance because clearly her brain started to kick into gear when Ruby went off about the romance in his eyes and she just went ‘whelp the only possible way to get to the bottom of this is to corner him, give him a good Staring At, and see if he plants one on me’. Christ she’s iconic, just the monumental, fearless idiocy of that. I mean I’d thought a lot about what barriers there might be in place between Anne and Gilbert assuming from promo materials that they both had to be cottoning on at least a little bit to their feelings, and most of my thoughts were deeply angsty, but I didn’t at any point consider the most simple, the most obvious, the most hysterical answer which is that they’re just both absolute morons about this shit. Gilbert definitely being the greater moron though I mean ‘See ya’ YOU FOOL? YOU FOOL SHE CORNERED YOU ALONE TO BLINK AT YOU AND LEAN INTO YOUR SPACE YOU WERE PRACTICALLY READY TO PROPOSE JUST HOURS BEFORE WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK IS HAPPENING HERE?

Anyway how that ties into my original point on family/kindredness is that Anne and Gilbert are both precisely the same tone of Very Smart Person Who Is Also Catastrophically Stupid At Inopportune Moments and that’s why they’re kindred.

God he asked her if she’d forgotten what she was going to say, the pain I will feel until the end of my days that Bash was not there to witness that moment and tear literal shreds out of Gilbert for it it’s an honest to god tragedy.

which, coming back to our fave married couple because did i not promise???

the baby. THE BABY!!! Bash and Mary have a BABY they have a DAUGHTER her name is DELPHINE and Bash speaks to her in RIDICULOUS VOICES and apparently gets JEALOUS that he couldn’t help FEED HER! Mary carries her on her back and hangs out with Marilla thrice weekly (because Marilla wants baby cuddles) and Bash and Mary cooing over their beautiful daughter?? being desperately in love and so happy? i could scream i could SCREAM

Just the whole dynamic of the Lacroix-Blythe familiar unit broke into my home stole my heart out of my chest and I’m not even mad about it. Gilbert teasing Mary about bossing them about like their old boss on the steamer? the two of them sharing a What a Loveable Idiot Look re: Bash when Bash won’t stop talking to Delphine in weird voices? The ease and comfort with which they all exist in that space that was so sad before? and is now alight with joy and family? Gilbert kissing Delphine’s head and saying goodbye to her before he leaves for the day and mercilessly ribbing Bash on his way out? I’m gonna rewatch it I’m gonna rewatch that scene and literally if anything happens to this family I will scream I’ll SCREAM they’ve all been through enough they all deserve joy.

anyway it’s 3:00am and I’ve descended into nonsense so I’ll be back with a more thought out post (broken up into several because this is long as hell) when I’ve slept but in conclusion I love everyone (except, as ever, Billy Andrews) and I’m so so so happy to have this blessed show back in my life

[slothgiirl]

Shadowplay part 9

When you land, the sun's still out and bright. Just the way you imagine California to be. There's a small building hope of beaches and ice cream right out of the airport. 

Of course, you hadn't accounted for customs. And another round of security checks. And then having to wait around for a checked bag. It's been nine hours and neither you or Alex are willing to make much in the way of conversation. Trading an exhausted smile as he nabs the suitcases off the baggage carousel. 

You are tired. Legs all cramped up. Water has never sounded better. That's definitely why you let Alex intertwine his fingers against yours, holding your hand as he gets hold of an uber. You don't even protest the cost of an uber. Just add that to the perks of agreeing to this whole charade. 

Stretching out in the car as you sit in traffic, you can't help but snipe, "can't believe I came all this way for this lovely view. So worth it."

Alex laughs, rubbing the bridge of his noes before his gaze settles on you. Has heat making its way up your cheeks. "Let's just set these bags down and grab a car love," he says, a plotting gleam in his eyes as he smiles at you, "Can't let your first night in LA go to waste."

"Alex," you instantly start, "I was only joking," though you doubt he isn't aware. Or that any protest of yours will stop him now that he's got a plan. "You could buy my love with a good coffee right now." You rub the sleep from your eyes.  

"Coffee and a view," he promises. 

"Do you even have a car in LA?" He didn't in London. But then the old city was a terrible place to drive in. The tiny roads. The sheer amount of people. The tub was the way to go. 

Nothing like the vast  Californian highway. 

He grins, "and a motorcycle."

"Of course you do." You shouldn't be so surprised. You can't get enough of the sea as you drive up into the hills. The ocean as blue as the trees are green. The streets are more empty and soon enough you pull up on the side of a hill. It's by far not the largest house you've driven by. 

They're all over the place. Some trying hard for the Versailles aesthetic, while others wouldn't look out of place on a minimalist instagram. 

No. Alex's house is very him. The exterior resembles an English country house. A proper one not the ones poshos call houses but are really mansions. There's the american touches that make it much too neat to be charming. Larger than his home in england but then again it is the states. 

Alex unlocks the door, dragging the suitcases in by himself despite your attempts to help. 

"Can I," you ask him, gesturing at the blinds. 

"Make yourself at home," Alex responds easily, already kicking his boots off.  

You open the blinds, letting the light in. You try and take things in. The kitchen isn't as sparse as the one in london. But then again, he'd lived here with Arielle. So probably her influence. But that's where it ends. 

The movie posters, ranging from Jean Luc Goddard to Raging Bull and landing on Tarantino, hanging on the walls are all him. Alex has selected enough movies to watch on your couch for you to know as much. you had never let him forget how boring you found Jean Luc Goddard and Stanley Kubrick. 

A vintage record player sits by the TV. The couch a deep navy suede, and as rectangular as modernism allowed. It was hard to picture Arielle having met her. 

He'd either gotten rid of any touches she'd left behind in the past eight months. Or there had never been any. It must be hard to have broken a relationship off and before the years was up, your ex is getting married. 

There isn't even a thing layer of dust though he hasn't been here in months which means he hires someone to clean his home. A detail you're not surprised Alex, as meticulous as he is, didn't overlook.

"What do you 'fink," Alex asks, watching you from the hallway having changed into a white dress shirt and a navy blue blazer that was less saville row and more Saint Laurent. Always such a clothes horse. Which would've bothered you if you hadn't been the same. After all, you'd changed into a chloe dress before you'd landed.

"I think nothing beats a classic double breasted blazer," you tease him, sinking down into the couch, letting your words hang in the air as Alex scoffs, affronted. "And I don't think I'm moving from this couch ever again." 

Laying down felt better than sex after a nine hour airplane ride.

"Not even for coffee," he asks, walking over to met you, looking down as you lay in his couch, amusement clear in his wide eyes. 

"You'll have to bring it. Sorry not sorry at all actually."

Alex laughs, placing his knee by your legs as he hovers over you. From there, it's easy to reach your arms up, curling yours hands over his shoulders as you scoot over. He takes it for the invitation that it is, laying down next to you. 

While the couch is wide, it's not that wide. There's not a part of your body that isn't brushing against Alex. And yeah, never getting up again. 

You close you eyes, falling asleep with ease. Alex being there with you was so normal. So right. You shirt, your hands loosely around his neck. You don't miss when he shifts close to you, deliberately  Just as confused about the thinning boundaries between you both.Where did the lie end and begin. 

Alex rests his cheek against your hair. And you relax into his chest. It's too easy. 

And you can't. 

You can't confuse yourself more than you already are. Is he just this comfortable in your friendship? Or is it more? 

With a great reluctance, you sit up, pulling away from him. Your heart deflating as you do. "So about that coffee," you wiggle your brows. 

Alex smiles softly, looking up at you from hooded eyes, all the pomade in his hair keeping it intact through an airplane flight and laying down and all the times he goes to run his hand through it. "You only ever want me for me coffee."

You try and fail to keep a straight face as you utter, "I'm like a sugar baby but with coffee. A coffee baby." Alex drives a Pontiac down the LA streets. It fits the aesthetic he's carefully cultivated. Not that you stop from teasing him as all the modern cars lap him. "Oi," he complains, "leave me car alone and drink your coffee!"

"Never," you laugh, watching the city go by. You had no clue where you were headed, but were enjoying the ride. Drinking in the sunset as the city lights came on. Skyscrapers sit surrounded by highways. Dozens of cars flood the lanes, but no where near as slow as they had been earlier. 

You roll the window down. 

Alex skirts by the city, turning the volume up on an Zeppelin album. You would have guessed he'd head into the city. But the man was a hopeless. He loved nothing more than to do something lowkey and unexpected. It was often far more comfortable. From going with you to lunch in the park or finding a tiny out of the way pub out from the city center. 

"I love listening to lemon song while I work," you comment, cracking your knuckles. This was the longest you'd gone since high school without hand sewing. 

"No crooked stitches?"

"Never. I'm too pro for that son." I say using my best american accent. Which hello, you so were. Alexander McQueen himself got his start on Saville Row. Not just anyone worked there. 

Alex turns, looking over at you, with a laugh. Streetlights casting a halo over his features.  

"Eyes on the road Turner."

"I can do two things at once."

You roll your eyes. "Wear your sunglasses too while you're at it." 

"If you insist love," he grins, reaching for the pair tucked into the sun visor. You giggle, shaking your head. You sip at your cup of coffee, smiling as you do. This was all so easy. But- 

Taking a deep breathe you resolve to enjoy your time in Los Angeles together. To enjoy your trip up to Northern California without over thinking things. Especially right now that you two were alone. 

You'd already played the part with his other two friends. It had been easy once you got started. And it was Alex. 

You could-you are going to talk about this with him once you go back to London. Get your feelings out of the way and make sure Alex is on the same page. It's the tension you were getting tired of. 

Alex takes you out of your thoughts as he reaches over and takes your hand in his. 

You squeeze his hand right back, meeting his smile with one of your own. The drive up the side of a hill is dark. But it's worth it as you pull up to a building at the top. You recognize it vaguely from movies. Slate white with a manicured lawn and a view of the city. It's quiet this late. But not completely abandoned, and yeah that makes sense. Observatories seem like a nigh time activity.

You'd expect nothing less of Alex. 

"Well you delivered," you grin,jumping out the car as soon as it's parked and stretching your arms above you before tossing the empty coffee cup into the nearest trash. The building draws the eye. Who knows how much cleaned has to be done to keep it pristine. 

"Did you doubt me love," Alex asks, following behind you as you walk towards the overlook, excitement running through your veins. Or maybe it was just the coffee kicking in. 

You shrug, faking nonchalance before Alex catches up besides you on the path. His hair looks especially shinny in the light like an oil spill in water. You tell him as much. "-I do appreciate the commitment though," you admit. Even at night, the California air, though cool, was pleasant even clothed in a summer dress. 

"Leave me hair alone," Alex utters, looking at the ground bashfully. His back rested against the stone wall separating your from the cliffside. The city was breath taking. All the glittering lights like stars. And things were always prettier from far away as Monet had proven. 

"You're right," you smirk, as you take in the enormity of the city, "it's too easy. Got to challenge myself." Lights filled your eyes and it was your first night in London all over again. Nothing charmed the more wistful part of your heart than a new city. 

The highways filled with cars as usual. The hollywood sign looking as tiny as your pinky. The promise of tomorrow filling the night. 

You lean forward, hands gripping the stone tightly as you sigh contentedly. All the tension ran out of your limbs. This had been the right choice despite the mess Sam was convinced you were getting yourself into. Not that she'd tell you not to: too invested in the drama of it all.  

You glance over at Alex, about to make a witty remark about his deep romantic streak. The soul of a cheesy lover who would prefer About Time and 27 dresses above Kubrick if he just let himself. If he stopped trying so hard to be the artist the magazines claimed him to be. 

But he isn't looking at the city. 

Alex is drinking in the sight of you. Eyes brimming with emotion: the very same thoughts he could never translate into words, that had him turn to writing in order to make sense of himself. 

Your breath hitches and suddenly Los Angeles seems incredibly distant and unimportant as you turn with your entire being towards him. The fluttering in your pulse absent as you meet his dreamy gaze head on. There's a assured core of emotions in your heart that keeps your heart beating evenly. 

Its with resonant understanding that you look at this man who was all the more attractive for you knowing him. 

Knowing that he took his shoes off inside without prompt. Who always argued over who'd pay the check out of his own sense of companionship and not a misguided attempt at gender norms. Who folded the blankets back up in the morning as you rushed to work in the morning. 

It filled you up inside. 

Alex takes a deep breathe in, taking a step into you. Your breath mingling with his. 

His hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Grip solidifying as you acquiesce, relaxing into his hold. 

No matter what happens later on. You want him in your life. As a friend. As a lover. You cannot imagine losing this connection. A rarity you'd come to realize in adulthood. A resonance you'd developed with Sam since childhood. That you lacked with so many of your adulthood friends. 

Alex. 

Alex fucking Turner. 

He rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

Letting out a sigh. 

[secretagentfan]

Belly of the Beast

The Seventh Chapter of Lure of the Damned a Xillia 2 zombie AU fic

On Archive! Warning: GORE 

      When Ludger was sixteen he’d grazed Julius’s car on the concrete base of a streetlight in the grocery store parking lot two minutes from their apartment complex. The metal had made the worst sound imaginable: crunchy and shrill. Definite.

     He’d somehow managed to drive the car home, but when he pulled (sloppily) into their parking space and tried the door, it wouldn't budge. It was jammed— the crash must have warped it. Ludger should have used the other door, gotten out of the car, and inspected the damage, but he didn’t.

     In that moment, Ludger sat there.

     Left hand still clutching the broken door handle, he just sat there, staring at nothing in particular. His gut churned in a mixture of guilt and pure nerves. A bird chirped in a tree outside the car window, hopped up a branch, and flew away. Ludger watched it, wished it luck. He was breathing, simple, mechanical breaths. The air conditioning had shut off, which was unpleasant, especially since the car was emitting a rather wretched burnt-rubber smell. The inside of the car was heating up, and so was Ludger, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his hand from the broken door. He couldn’t move.

     Ludger would never forget that feeling of vacant, regretful, stasis.

     The feeling revived years later, no less potent than it was in his childhood, fitting to his body like an itchy moth-eaten sweater as he sat, perfectly still, on the massive canopy bed inside Erston’s ridiculous orchard mansion.

     The bedroom door was shut. Ludger looked at it, hands on his knees.

     Wander around, see what happens, Agria had said. Staring at that door, overtaken by all the horrific possibilities, Ludger was 100% certain he did not want to take her advice. He was also 100% certain he had to.

     Elle was napping beside him, arms and legs spread out wide. Each limb was wrapped in a different blanket. She looked like the cutest, comfiest octopus in the world.

     Ludger looked at her instead, lifting a blanket that had been shoved to the foot of the bed so that it covered her stomach. Jude was fussing around nearby, putting on his worn, fingerless gloves and organizing their bags by the door in case they had to make a quick exit. He had the right idea.

     Something was going on here. It was probably bad, definitely dangerous, and they had walked right into it—or at least selected it over a potentially more dangerous option. They needed to be ready to confront what they agreed to, whatever it was.

     The bedroom was safe. The shower was great. But eventually, they were going to have to leave this room and deal with the damage. Ludger needed to stand up. Julius wasn’t going to tap on the window and coax him out this time.

     He took a deep breath, crossed the room to his bag, and pulled out the small-but-mighty sledgehammer he had looted from a home goods store. He set it by octo-Elle, the corner of his mouth quirking downward when he noticed the mattress sink a little with the weight.

     “Hammer’s next to you, Elle.”

     “Yeah ‘kay,” she mumbled, still half asleep.

     “You have your whistle?” he checked, hand on her shoulder. Elle groaned pushing his hand off. She reached under her shirt, producing the large metal whistle Julius had stolen for her on her sixth birthday. It was loud, awful sounding. Elle loved it, but after a week of no sleep for either of them, and lots of regrets, Julius and Ludger had to lay down the law and say it was for emergencies only.

     “Yeah, got it, go away,” Elle grumbled, turning on her side. Ludger smiled, brushing her hair back once, for courage, before looking to Jude.

     “Want to take a look around?” he asked.

     Jude’s eyes were wide. Ludger blinked, confused for a moment, before realizing that handing an 8-year-old a sledgehammer was probably a bit eccentric. He shrugged.

     Jude was not deterred. “Has she ever used that?”

     “Seeing it is enough, usually.”

     Jude’s shoulders relaxed, as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll admit, it does make me feel a little more at ease to know that she can defend herself.”

     Ludger nodded, glancing at Elle one more time. He hated leaving her, but it wouldn’t be the first time. Elle was capable and independent when she needed to be. She would be fine. He had to keep telling himself that. He picked up his metal pipe and went to the door.

     “I’m right behind you,” Jude offered. Ludger felt a small spark of courage at the optimism in his voice, or maybe it was the surprisingly sturdy golf club he was holding. Whatever magic it was, it gave Ludger the ability to close his hand firmly around the door handle.

     With a deep breath, he let in the rest of the world.

     The mansion was massive, absurd. Their room was situated at the end of a long hallway. Following the hall to its natural conclusion seemed to be as good of a path as any. They took turns jiggling the handles on ornate doors, shrugging at each other when they were revealed to be locked.

     Ludger wasn’t sure why he expected anything in this place to be easy. They pressed on, navigating farther and farther away from Elle. The sound of the whistle would carry. Ludger knew it would, but he couldn’t help but fear.

     A large, dilapidated mural of four horses running through the orchard on the wall between the two master staircases pulled him from his thoughts. It screamed wealthy excess in loud capital letters. He was reminded of his brief stint as a window painter in high school. Never again— just looking at the size of this thing made his arms hurt.

     He made long suffering eye contact with the horse on the left: it was mid-gallop, neck tilted down just a little more the others, like it was questioning why it was running in the first place. Someone had chipped the paint on its muzzle in the shape of a moustache. He pointed at it, and Jude laughed.

     “It looks like Erston’s group isn’t so focused on maintaining the original interior design here,” Jude said. “At least, not the usual kind—have you noticed how clean everything else is? How long do you think that took them?”

     “Depends on how long it took for survivors to come back here,” Ludger replied, watching as the smile on Jude’s face faded into something more knowing, tired.

     In the early days most people had yielded to the rules set out by the authorities and abandoned vast regions that had been labeled “infected.” Anything to stop the spread. People lost their homes, livelihoods, in order to run to the next safe area. Of course, that safe area would quickly turn unsafe, and they would have to run again. It was untenable.

     Ludger had spent those days barricading in the break room at the hospital with Julius and Elle. Stealing baby formula and looting vending machines, just biding time, praying for aid.

     Instead of aid, the rules changed. Fences and walls were built, not to protect, but to contain. Entire countries were determined lost causes and cut off like a rotten limb. Anyone who was counting on assistance, Ludger, Elle, and Julius included—learned a painful lesson.

     Time marched on, even through the rot. Cracked windows, layers of dust.

     “Ludger,” Jude said, interrupting his thoughts. He was pointing to a door nestled to the far right of the mural. It had been painted to look like it was part of the base of one of the orchard’s trees, the steel doorknob molded in the shape of a cute cartoon apple.

     “I think I saw Presa carrying the bodies through there. I’d like to check that out, if that’s alright with you.”

     Jude really was just going to tackle the worst possible place as fast as he could, wasn’t he? Stomach sinking, Ludger nodded.

     The apple door gave way to a descending staircase, leading to a short hallway, and crusty cellar door. There were brown bloodstains on the wood stairs and white walls. Some looked like handprints.

     Ah, so they went with a murder basement, Ludger thought. He wished he could have been more surprised. He sighed, stepping forward, when Jude’s hand hit his chest.

     There were voices coming from behind the door. A man’s voice, too high to be Erston’s, was arguing loudly with an airy voice that could only belong to Muzét.

     Whatever they were discussing, it was heated, at least on the man’s end. Ludger hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with Jude. He nodded, and they quietly advanced.

     “—telling you they just need to be disposed of.”

     “But we carried them all this way.”

     A scream, high-pitched, agonizing. The sort of sound made only when someone emptied out their lungs completely.

     “Muzét’s in trouble!” Jude cried.

     Without thinking, Ludger’s hand flew to the doorknob, twisting it ineffectively. Locked. Jude caught his wrist, pressing the golf club in his hand.

     “Hold this please and get back!”

     “Huh?”

     Cluelessly, Ludger pressed himself to the wall, armed with Jude’s golf club and his own metal pipe, and watched as Jude took a few steps back, exhaled, and ran toward the door with all the intensity of a football player about to tackle.

     Shit, was he going to break the door down?

     “Jude, hold on!”

     “We don’t have time!”

     He crashed into the door, right shoulder first. The door made a loud cracking sound, splintering at the lock, partially cracking open wide enough for Ludger to kick it out fully, as Jude stumbled back, clutching his shoulder.

     Opening the door was a mistake; the smell of rot was intense enough to make Ludger’s eyes water.

     “What the—”

     A man in a white lab coat was staring at them, wide-eyed. He was wearing a too-loose medical mask, secured to his face with a pair of dirty spectacles.

     “Oh,” Muzét said, from where she was sitting on the floor, pristine and uninjured. “There were a couple of cute boys under all that blood and grime.”

     “You’re not hurt,” Jude said, breathless. He was wincing a bit, holding his shoulder.

     “My door!” the man in the lab coat exclaimed. “Why would you just break it open like that? Are you animals?”

     “We heard screaming—” Ludger explained.

     “So you break down a door to head toward the scream? Altruism is well and good until you’re bitten for it. How on earth have you managed to survive this long?”

     Ludger flushed. His body had just reacted without thinking, but the man made a point. What was he going to do? He had a metal pipe, and a golf club. Still…he couldn’t have just ignored the scream. He glanced toward Jude for back-up and felt his stomach drop.

     Jude was ghostly pale. He was staring in straight ahead at the right side of the room which had previously been hidden by the doorframe. Steeling himself, Ludger followed his gaze.

     Bodies. A good amount. They weren’t piled, exactly; they were resting in organized lines on old, deteriorated mattresses. Some were tied down with rope and wire, others were just lying there, still. Isla and her husband were in the still category. Their crushed skulls and shotgun wounds were on full display, just two more corpses in the room, but corpses Ludger knew, recognized— assisted in. Somehow seeing their bodies again, like this, made guilt pierce through his stomach more forcefully than killing them had.

     At least they were quiet. A woman, heavily decomposed, was tied to one of the mattresses in the center. A tube in her wrist was connected to an IV drip, and an incision had been made in the base of her neck, all the way down to the lower border of her ribcage. Her skin had been peeled back and held in place with metal pins; rusty brown organs were pulsing, shifting in her chest as she writhed, jaw opening and closing.

     Ludger made the mistake of meeting her eyes, wild, bloodshot and desperate. She was making high, cooing sounds, spittle trailing down her chin. The image of Elle as an infant flashed in Ludger’s head; the sounds she made as a baby, teething, adorable— fuck.

     The involuntary comparison made something harsh lurch in his stomach, wretched, awful; his whole body recoiled, rejecting the sight in front of him, emotionally, physically, whatever it took— as long as it was away from him.

     Reflex pushed his hand to cover his nose and mouth, as he hunched forward, shutting his eyes, silently willing himself not to get sick. Not here. Not now.

     The woman yelled, and Ludger realized she was the scream they heard. She was who they came to help. This was worse than he could have imagined. Why did they leave the room, no, why did Ludger ever leave the car?

     “Ah, Balan, they don’t look so well,” Muzét announced. “A little green.”

     “They weren’t supposed to come down here…” the man in the lab coat mumbled. “Oh, this is a fine mess. Erston is going to levitate.”

     “Oh boy, I hope so,” Muzet said. “I think he’s more likely to freeze over though. Destroy you with a single stare, how wonderful.”

     “You and I have very different definitions of wonderful.”

     “What are you doing to them?”

     Jude’s usually quiet voice rose over Muzét and Balan’s chatter with ease.

     The scientist’s voice was calm, as if trying to calm a wild animal. “I know how the mattresses look, but I assure you what is happening here is purely scientific—"

     “—What, no! I don’t care how “scientific” it is,” Jude burst out, all sincere anger. “This is inhumane!”

     “Pardon? Look here,” Balan said. He seemed genuinely taken aback. “These corpses are infected. They stopped being human a long time ago.”

     For a moment, Ludger thought Jude was going to take a swing at him. His gloved fists were clenched, eyes blazing, but they hung still at his side. Ludger opened his mouth to try and say something, anything calming, but Jude pivoted, changing direction and booking it toward the infected woman.

     “Jude—!” Ludger called out, reaching to grab his elbow a second too late. Jude didn’t notice. He walked past the dead bodies, stepping over some of the still-moving infected to investigate the woman’s IV.

     His voice was calm, confident. “If this is legitimate research, I want to look at it for myself, not hear about it secondhand. I won’t touch I prom—…"

     Jude trailed off. He blinked, once, twice, frozen in place, as he read whatever was written on the IV bag. His whole posture changed. His composed confidence from seconds earlier flipped into animalistic desperation. He reached up, roughly tugged the bag from the hanger. The whole thing shook.

     “Hey! Hey, hey! Do not touch that!” Balan yelled, clearing the corpses with practiced ease. Jude dropped the bag, hardly seeming to see it. It hit the floor with a wet squelching sound. His hands were shaking. Ludger was already running toward him, dropping the pipe and golf club. Something was wrong, something was definitely, definitely, wrong.

     “What the hell are you doing, man!?” Balan shouted, crouching to pick up the blood bag, when Jude punched him, hard across the face. He toppled at the force of the impact, slamming onto the infected woman, who screeched, arms and legs struggling against the restraints, mouth opening and closing, going for Balan’s head.

     “What on earth!? Balan!” Muzét cried, frantically attempting to untangle Balan from the infected woman. Ludger had his hands full, arms locked around Jude’s midsection.

     “Ludger, let go of me!” he yelled, but his voice sounded shattered, fragile. Unfortunately, his struggling was anything but.

     “You have to calm down first!” Ludger commanded, but Jude only struggled harder. His elbow slid against the bandages on Ludger’s arm purposefully, and Ludger sucked in a pained gasp, grip loosening enough for Jude to scramble out of his hold.

     “Sorry,” Jude said. Regret flashed on his face for a fraction of a second, but it melted into something else, something stronger. He lunged for Balan again, who Muzét had managed to get upright, away from the infected woman.

     “Jude!”

     Whatever Jude was trying to do wasn’t going to help him; Ludger knew the look in his eyes. Pure, unadulterated, despair. Whatever he wanted to fight; he had already lost. Ludger grit his teeth, knowing what he had to do, but hating the idea of it.

     Sorry, Jude, he thought. But you’re not giving me much of a choice here.

     Ludger leapt forward, hand flying to Jude’s injured shoulder. Jude’s eyes widened as Ludger’s fingers closed around it, squeezing. The sound Jude made— a sharp, pained intake of breath— made Ludger's heart ache. Dislocating it from this angle would be easy, but Ludger wasn’t looking to do that.

     “Listen to me—” Ludger whispered, pulling Jude down, other hand pinning his left wrist to his back. “What you’re trying to do�� you’re going to regret it when you can think clearly. Stop attacking and breathe.”

     Jude continued to struggle for a few painful seconds, before his eyes shut, and he went limp. Ludger released him immediately.

     They were both breathing hard. Muzét and Balan were staring at them with baffled expressions. Ludger swallowed, returning his focus to Jude, who was curled in on himself. His breath left him in quiet, choked sobs. Ludger rubbed his back.

     “Can someone please explain what’s going on here? I’m so confused,” Muzét said, finally breaking the silence. Balan and Ludger both shook their heads at her, but evidently, her words were all it took to get Jude to start talking.

      "My name is Jude Mathis,” he said, voice pure fury. This clearly meant something to Balan, as his entire face seemed to go slack with shock.

     “That’s…” Balan said, “Oh, god.”

     “I think I see it now…” Muzét mumbled, finger to her chin, held tilted just so.

     “Then you should understand why—you should know!” Ludger’s heart pulled at the agony in Jude’s voice. His fists were clenched hard against the floor.

     “That blood bag of yours says Ellen Mathis.”

     He looked small, furious, lost.

     “What the hell have you done to my mom?”

[mitsususu]

As of this post, leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) has 80 Stucky fics and is continuing to publish. Do you like fantastic world building? Enjoy fantasy and magic? Below are my favorite Top 10 fics:

“The Necrofloranomicon” (T, 47k) 

Bucky didn't want much. Just to keep his head down, to sell his scavenged flowers in peace, and to stay off Shield's radar. His life would have been a lot easier if his flowers weren't dead and if being a necromancer wasn't illegal, but easy or not, he was getting by. Steve didn't want much, either. He was happy working for Shield, he had good friends, and overall his life was going just about the way he wanted it. Problem was, being happy with your life was generally an invitation for fate to throw a spanner in the works—and in Steve's specific case, it was going to be a spanner named Bucky.

(A love story about flowers, trust, and magic and the choices we make about doing what's right.)

+ Magic AU. Or, what to do when life gives you “evil” powers and you just wanna pet cats

-☆-

“Probably Not What They Meant By A Game Of Cat and Mouse” (T, 7k) 

Once upon a time in an apartment block in the city there lived a cat named Bucky and a mouse named Steve.

Everyone knows cats and mice can't be friends. But Bucky's not a normal cat: he's a witch's familiar and a damn good one (just ask him). And Steve's not a normal mouse. He's...well, he's Steve.

This is their story.

(Contains many true mouse facts for your edification.)

+ Animals AU. They’re small but their hearts are big

-☆-

“If Wishing Made It So” (T, 29k) 

Modern Winter Soldier AU where Bucky is a genie who became HYDRA's Asset.

When HYDRA found the Tesseract they also found a genie in a bottle. Knowing a genie's wishes are a trap that will turn and bite you, they used the power of the Tesseract to enslave the genie. It cost them three wishes but it bought them an Asset with power greater than any human and for 70 years they used him to work HYDRA's will on the world.

Until they lost him.

His bottle washes up on a beach and he's found by a new Master, Steve Rogers. Steve, horrified at having absolute power over someone, has a very different approach to being in control of a genie. While Bucky waits for his new Master to show his true colours they're trying to work out how to live with each other. Bucky doesn't trust Steve, Steve's friends don't trust Bucky, and no one realises HYDRA has not let their Asset go so easily.

+ Modern AU. Bucky grants unlimited wishes and Steve is Good

-☆-

“On a Pale Horse” (T, 25K) 

Fast and fierce, the Horse Guard protect the Kingdom and its people, and they welcome anyone into their ranks-noble, commoner, or peasant-so long as they can ride a horse like they were born to it. Guard Barnes—Bucky—has come to the Kingdom's largest horse fair to find a new horse. He's supposed to choose from one of the approved horses; instead he finds himself buying a tall, skinny, angry stallion with the ridiculous name of Steve. Bucky can't leave him behind, but he's nothing like what Bucky's looking for and everything Bucky doesn't want.

But Bucky's more right than even he knows because Steve's not a horse at all. He's a man under a curse, victim of a powerful sorcerer's temper and magic, and he's bound to never, by action or deed, reveal what he truly is.

It's gonna be one hell of a ride.

+ Historical AU. Steve protec but he also attac 

-☆-

“And There But For The Grace” (T, 46k) 

Magical Realism AU where demons exist and Steven was an angel lured to Lucifer's side in the war in Heaven. After the war, they threw him down into Hell, no longer an angel, but a demon.

Some humans know demons exist, summoning them out of Hell to use as weapons. Desperate to escape Hell, Steven answers a summons only to find himself bound to serve HYDRA. When they send him to possess Agent Peggy Carter, the encounter doesn't go as HYDRA expects and Steven is set free to roam the earth.

Sixty years later, frantic to escape another summons, willing to do anything to stay unbound, he takes refuge inside the killer sent to slaughter the summoner. The killer has a metal arm and a mind like broken glass and Steven soon discovers he isn't the only one hiding inside of it: he finds the man the killer's body belongs to. Fragile and lost, the more Steven seeks him out the stronger he becomes, until the day he remembers his name: Bucky. Determined to protect him, Steven will do everything in his power to set him free and keep him that way.

(Chronologically, this stretches from before Captain America: First Avenger to a year or so before the first Avengers movie but has spoilers for Civil War.)

+ WW2 to WS. What happens when demonic possession turns protective

-☆-

“Black Dog” (T, 55k) 

So long ago the details were lost to time, people began creating guardians of the dead. They were made from dogs, dogs who were buried in graveyards before anyone was laid to rest, their spirits arising as black dogs, bound protectors of the human dead.

Steve had always wondered what would happen after he died. He hadn't expected the answer to be 'wake up in the cemetery he'd been buried in', but here he was, some kind of ghost, and he could see the trees through his hands. It wasn't so bad, and he wasn't alone—a sleek black dog, golden eyes glowing bright, was happily waiting to greet him.

Decades later, on what was supposed to be a quiet, peaceful, definitely-not-life-changing walk through the woods, Bucky stumbled across an abandoned cemetery and into the impossible.

(It's a ghost story and a love story and a story about dogs.)

+ Modern AU. Ghost Steve, good dogs, and Bucky who just wants to help

-☆-

“Plunge” (T, 32k) 

Steve squawked as a hand wrapped loosely around his wrist. He braked, wings banking so hard he almost somersaulted over himself, and surged up and away from the ocean, spinning to find himself staring at—

A triton was laughing up at him, sharp teeth gleaming in the sunlight. Steve had seen tritons before. He knew what lurked under the water. The power and violence wrapped in muscle and skin.

The triton's grin turned knowing, like he could see what Steve was thinking. "Hey there, Feathers. You want to go for a swim?"

+ Fantasy AU. Moving on from your past and finding your place in the world

-☆-

“And No One Can Talk To a Horse” (T, 17k)

Kelpies were killers. They lived in the water, drowned anyone who came too close. Ate them, most of the time. It was reflex not choice, like the kick that follows a hammer hitting a knee, because kelpies were no more aware than a wave or a wildfire.

Hydra knew about kelpies. It was why they'd come up with their brilliant plan to capture one and turn it into an assassin. But like so many plans that seemed good on paper it came with unintended consequences—in Hydra's case, the unintended consequences were Bucky and no more Hydra.

Steve didn't know that. Even as a sometime Shield consultant, he had no way of knowing any of that. Which meant when the sleek black horse surged up out of the water and didn't kill him, the only answer he could give to, "Why?" was, "I don't know."

+ Fantasy AU. Killer kelpie Bucky just wants to be a roller coaster

-☆-

“A-mage-ing Grace” (T, 18k) 

Steve was a mage, not a fighter: he'd entered the tournament to face other mages. But when he had to face the Winter Soldier, he never thought he'd wind up being responsible for him, even if it was only for the time it took to get him off the Baron's lands. He hadn't dreamed it would lead to the Winter Soldier following him through half the kingdom.

Steve wasn't sure why it was happening, he wasn't sure what the man wanted, but for the moment he was willing to wait and see. He just hoped he wasn't making a terrible mistake.

+ Fantasy AU. A road trip AU if cars were hitchhiked carts

-☆-

“The Centaurs’ Tale” (T, 31k) 

"You know how I sometimes call you a horse's ass?" "Yeah?" "It's a hell of a lot more accurate now."

It's the same old story: another day, another bad guy with designs on the planet showing up in New York City. But prepared as they are for weirdness—and Steve and Bucky thought they'd seen and suffered it all—neither of them are quite ready for where this particular tale winds up.

Or, to be completely accurate, where this pair of tails winds up.

+ Modern AU. A study on superhero public perceptions

-☆-

*More Leveragehunters stories in the Dragons, Mermaid AU, Vampires, Royalty, Werewolf Steve, Demons, Fairytale, Christmas, Handler Steve, and Asexuality lists

[krisseycrystal]

rated: g

fandom: Steven Universe

prompt: “Partners in Crime” + Steven & Lapis

requested by: @moominquartz

MAN THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE also largely healing considering that canon suf is really tearing me up man. it’s so good but i’m literally having difficulty sleeping laskdjflkajsdf

so take some tooth-rotting fluff instead

set somewhere in Season 4, prbly!!

o - o - o

Teehee Valley [Read on AO3]

o - o - o

Some of the buildings are barely standing under the midday desert sun. Worn paint peels off of rotting wood. Planks that cross over one another, boarding up broken windows, sag beneath the sweltering heat. There’s a tattered flag that marks what was once a saloon but now hangs listless, unmoving under the lack of wind.

As their horses trod into the stuffy carcass of Duston, Sheriffs Lapis and Stephanos have the uncomfortable feeling of being watched.

Lapis dismounts first.

“Well,” she mutters as she casts a blue eye over the decrepit ghost town. “I guess that means we’re here. Now what?”

“Now…” Stephanos hops down from his horse and gives her nose a big, appreciative kiss. (The horse’s nose, he is sure to clarify, though he adds that he wouldn’t mind giving Lapis’ nose a big, appreciative kiss if it was feeling left out. Lapis snickers and says something to the effect of, if her nose was feeling neglected, he would be the first to know.) “I think Sheriff Perrington said the Rhombus Bandits were supposed to be here, right?”

“Oh, right.” Lapis draws her twin water pistols. “So, what, do we roll initiative?”

Stephanos shrugs and brings their entire game to a halt.

o - o - o

“To clarify,” Peridot points out with a lifted finger. “As a reminder for those who have a bad habit of not paying attention to the rules: you do not have to roll initiative until the fight actually begins.”

“Okay,” Lapis says. She shrugs. “So I shoot a guy. Now do we roll initiative?”

Steven has to smush a hand to his mouth to stifle his giggle at the strained look crossing Peridot’s face. 

“You just want to fight.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Ugh, fine.” Peridot rolls her eyes and her lifted hand. “Yeah, okay. You see a pair of eyes peeking at you through a gap in one of the boarded-up windows, so you fire a shot. Roll initiative.”

o - o - o

“All right!” Stephanos cheers as the water hits true. They hear a surprised squawk from the squatter behind the boarded windows of the local grocery. “Go Lapis!” 

“Eh. I’m just that good.”

Soon after, other bandits attack and either reveal their hiding places to the sharp-eyed Sheriff Lapis, or crawl out into plain view for her to shoot at head-on. Lapis makes quick and suspiciously well-rolled work of the bandits as Stephanos covers her back. Under the medic’s care, Lapis is continually protected and buffed.

Then the leader of the Rhombus Bandits finally steps into the center of Duston’s road and Stephanos gasps.

Lapis squares her shoulders.

(“This is gonna be just like one of those old Western quick-draws, isn’t it!”

“That is the point of the final round in all Badlands & Bandits combat sequences, yes.”)

“Well, well, well…” Yellow, the leader of the Rhombus Bandits rumbles from deep in his broad chest. “So you’ve come all this way from tiny ol’ Barnopolis to fight little ol’ me? Why, Sheriffs, I’m flattered.”

o - o - o

Lapis howls and clutches at her stomach. Steven laughs, too, but really it’s far more at the fact that Lapis finds it so funny. She has to lean against his shoulder to keep upright. His legs, sticking into the air behind him, kick idly and giddily.

“What? What the heck is that?” Lapis gasps.

“What is what?” Peridot’s face flushes into deep cedar green.

“That accent!”

“It’s a character voice, you clod!”

That sets Lapis off all over again, making her laugh harder than Steven has ever heard before.

It reminds him how much he likes Badlands & Bandits. 

o - o - o

“Yeah, we, uh--” Stephanos looks to Lapis for a little help, but she’s still wiping tears out from under her eyes. “--we came all this way because of what you’ve done to poor Sir Perrington in Barnopolis! How could you steal all of that man’s wealth and livelihood?”

“You Sheriffs just won’t understand. You never do…why, when I was once a noble Sheriff, I--” 

Lapis stuffles her snickers with a snort. She lifts her water pistol. “Yeah, whatever. Can’t we just get this over with?”

Yellow gave a long, drawn-out groan. “You never let me finish my evil villain monologues! Fine! Whatever! Draw your weapon. On the count of ten, we fire!”

Seven beats later and Lapis is the victor, much to the disgruntled game master’s dismay. 

o - o - o

“Steven, don’t encourage her!” Peridot squawks at the boy’s enthusiastic cheers and high-fives. “Lapis totally cheated!” 

“Nuh-uh!” Steven pouts. “Lapis cleared that dexterity check fair and square!”

“Yeah, her dexterity check…to cheat!”

“It’s not cheating if the rules say I can.”

“You’ve been rolling abnormally high all game long, anyway. It’s possible you may have done something to alter your die unfairly.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“A likely story!” Peridot ruffles her own hair with a grimace. “Ugh, you always do this! You never pay attention to the rules! You never care about the story and the ghost towns I spend hours crafting! You’re just here because Steven is, too!”

“Guys! Guys!” Steven pushes himself up off of his tummy and onto his knees, hands extended between the two. “Can’t we at least finish this session? I mean, we’re so close to the end of the quest! We’ve defeated Yellow, so now we just gotta return Sir Perrington’s gold and we’ll be done for the night!” He swallows back the urge to add, And then you never have to play it with me again, but he’s sure the sentiment is already felt.

A peculiar look crosses Lapis’ face. After a moment’s pause, she leans back on one hand. “Or do we?”

“What?” Steven and Peridot ask.

“Do we have to return the gold to Sir Perrington?” 

“What do you mean? It’s his.”

“Yeah, but.” Lapis rolls her free hand loosely. “He’s sitting all cozy in that uppity mansion of his in Barnopolis, right? And he only got all of his riches off the backs of his workers in the mines. So who really deserves all his gold?”

Steven’s eyes widen. “You mean you want to redistribute it to his miners?”

“Why not?”

Peridot looks to Steven and frets at the genuine thought that creases his round, young face. “Steven! You’re not really considering giving Sir Perrington’s money to other people, right? You guys are Sheriffs!”

“Yeah,” Lapis shrugs. “But we need a new antagonist for the next part of the story, right? And how interesting of a twist would it be if it was the man who was once our, uh, ‘humble patron’?”

Peridot freezes with her mouth open and pointer finger extended. After a moment, she closes her mouth and sits back. “I see your point.”

Steven’s eyes shine like stars. “So we can do it? We can really Robin Hood his money away?”

“And you’re both going to be in on this?” Peridot says by way of answer. “Neither Lapis or Stephanos have any reservations about going back on their word to Sir Perrington? They did promise on their stations as Sheriffs to safely return his gold, if you remember. I would think if anything, Stephanos and his medic vows would keep him from being dishonest.”

Lapis and Steven share a look. 

Lapis smiles first. “Yeah. We’re in this thing together,” she says and Steven cheers with both fists raised.

[gingers-writing-blog]

New York Bound

Chapter 2

Triggers: Swearing, Stealing, Descriptions of Violence

New Words: Toff - Rich person (generally disliked by the newsies), peelers/bobbies - police, hawk - to sell

Word Count: 3,277

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"C'mon Cat! Let's get outta here!" Tommy shouted over to me from a little way down the street. I slammed the gates shut and threaded the thick chain through the bars. 

"Have fun with that Dan!" I said sarcastically; lockin' the heavy padlock with a hairpin I found in the Lodging House, I smirked at him. It's the least I could do since they seem hell-bent on makin' my newsies' lives miserable...

He scowled and slammed his hands on the bars, they shook loudly and a few drops of water fell on him. 

I laughed at him as I turned on my heels and we ran as fast as we dared down the cobbled streets and through the Saturday markets. We dodged through crowds and through street vendors.

"Cat! Peeler!" I heard Tommy shout from a little way in front of me. I looked to where I heard his voice, and sure enough, Officer Wilson was doin' his rounds of the market. I had about a second before he saw me.

I ducked down and crawled under a stall. I felt the water from the puddle under me soak into my trousers at the knees. Great, those will be dry by next week...

That man has arrested me more times than I can remember, but I've only ever been taken to jail once. He had a very long-standin' grudge against my parents and for some reason, he took it up with me when they...

Anyways, he takes it out on my by findin' stupid reasons to arrest me! But they've never found a legitimate reason to send me to jail, well other than that first time...So most of the times I just get fined and sent on my way. It's annoyin' at best, downright fucked up at worst. Oh well!

"Oi kid! Get out from under there! Before I get the peelers on ya!" The stall owner kicked and hissed at me. I scrabbled past her feet to get out from under the stall and I dragged my papers with me.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw who kicked me.

"Ya wouldn't get the bobbies on me would ya, Miss Hannah?" I flashed her a smile as I got to my feet and brushed myself off. She laughed, shook her head and put a hand on her chest.

"Oh Cat! Ya didn't half give me a turn kid! I'm so sorry for kickin' ya hon!" She gave me a quick once-over to check that I was ok, then patted me on the shoulder.

Miss Hannah owns a fresh fruit and veg stall in the Saturday markets. She's been there for as long as I can remember and she looked after me for a bit, when I was homeless for a few weeks. I was much younger then and I couldn't fend for myself.

She's a large woman, she wears a simple, slightly dirty brown dress with a faded reddish-brown shawl coverin' her shoulders and chest. Her mousey brown hair was always loose around her shoulders and she always keeps a strip of red cloth tied in a bow around her right wrist, no one really knows why...

She's more like my mother that I remember my real mother to be after...that... Anyways, we always look after each other and I owe her my life since she saved mine.

"Miss Hannah! I'm fine! I'm fine! But I appreciate your concern." We laughed and hugged quickly. She turned back to her stall as she heard a small boy clear his throat impatiently to get her attention. Disrespectful little shit! I was about to put that kid in his place, but Miss Hannah put the back of her hand on my chest firmly to stop me. She turned to the boy, he was a bloody toff too!

"So, who ya hidin' from ey Cat?" She asked, handin' change over to the small boy. 

"No one!" I said, placin' my hand over my heart and fakin' offence. "Me and Tommy Boy just pissed off the Jordan brothers and I need to sell my papers." I held up my stack.

"What's the headline today?" She asked, I lifted my papers up and checked out the front page.

"Fire in Tower Hamlets kills 17 people."

"That's awful!" Miss Hannah asked, searchin' through the small sack of money on her table.

Us newsies very rarely shouted headlines that were actually true, but when there's somethin' vaguely interesting, we exploit it like hell. We just work with what the publishers give us...But today was one of the rare occasions where they actually gave us somethin' good. 

"That's where my old man is. I'll take one. Here." Miss Hannah's father, Old Man Maguire, lives in Tower Hamlets and she sends his money to help him get along. She handed me a three pence piece she got from the bag and I handed it straight back to her. She can't afford to spare 3p. She just shoved it back in my hand and took a paper.

"No refunds." Miss Hannah chuckled and I put the coin in my pocket.

"Fine...but that's what I'm supposed to say!" I said. She shook her head and served another customer.

While Miss Hannah was occupied, I looked around to try and find Tommy. I couldn't see him anywhere, then he came runnin' up behind me clutchin' the string around his papers.

"There ya are! I couldn't find ya! I thought Wilson had ya for a sec!" He bear-hugged me and kissed me on the cheek.

"G'mornin' Miss Hannah!" He reached out, held her hand and kissed the back of it. Miss Hannah and I laughed at him, Tommy has always been a gentleman, a very lovable gentleman, unlike the bloody toffs...

"Good mornin' Tommy Boy!" She replied with a smile. "Right...you two'd better start sellin' ya papers!"

"Oh yeah...! Thanks for the threepence piece Miss Hannah, and we'd love to stay and chat, but ya right, we gotta go." I looked around and saw that Officer Wilson was comin' much closer now. I also saw Smalls on the other side of the market, I nodded to her and gave her a look.

She got the message. She ran up to him and offered him a paper. She was buyin' us time to get outta there, also this is her sellin' spot and it's not right to steal someone's spot. It's also against the rules of our Lodgin' House.

But everyone knows Miss Hannah is like my mother and she's the exception to the whole sellin' spot thing!

I looked over at where Smalls was annoyin' Officer Wilson. She had almost annoyed him enough for him to bugger off! After another minute or so, Wilson threatened to arrest Smalls and he turned around and walked away. He looked so pissed off! Success!

With Wilson gone, the coast was clear and we could make our escape. I have Miss Hannah a quick hug and we ran off back through the market. 

We ran past a bakery stall on our way through and as we did, Tommy stole a couple of bread rolls. I glanced back at the stall owner to just make sure he didn't see Tommy Boy steal the bread.

I'm pretty sure he didn't and I couldn't hear any shouts, although the market is usually very loud with all the people hagglin' for the best price!

We got clear of the market and we were out in the street. We stopped runnin' and Tommy held up the rolls proudly.

He had that grin on his face that always made me remember why I loved him. Even when he stole things...

"Really!?" I laughed and he grinned back.

"Have you eaten yet today?" He asked. I couldn't tell whether it was sarcasm or genuine concern in his voice...so I went with both!

"No..." I rolled my eyes and took one out of his hand. I didn't think stealin' was right...but I couldn't argue with it in certain situations. I haven't stolen anythin' since I was seven, that's when I became a Newsie, and even now I still don't encourage it...

We bit into the rolls at the same time and Tommy winked at me. I rolled my eyes and smiled.

The rolls had small seeds in them and they were still fresh, sweet and hot! We ate them quickly and out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone come round the corner of the bank. I turned my head subtly and saw someone else come round the corner.

"Tommy..." I whispered. "Who's comin' round the corner behind me...?" I was worried that they might be people linked to my parents. Or they could just be a couple of thieves who didn't know the market had better targets...You could never be too careful, especially with fewer people around...

Tommy looked over my shoulder as discreetly as he could.

"I'm not sure..." He whispered back. "We should go, just to be safe..." I nodded and shifted my papers to my right arm. I held Tommy's hand and we crossed the street, bein' careful to not get hit by motorcars and horse-drawn carriages as we went.

~ Meanwhile ~

If anyone who actually cared had been around the back alleys of Lambeth, they would've heard the angry shouts of three men as they punched, kicked and fought tooth and nail.

"Get the fuck offa me, Joey! Switch will hear about this you vicious two-faced pricks!" The boy yelled, his American accent coming through strong.

"Oh, do you hear that Dan? Switch will hear of this!" The man turned to his brother, and after a few seconds, they just shrugged in unison.

Both men got uncomfortably close to the beaten and bloody boy, who was in a heap on the floor. His nose had been broken, he was covered in blood and there were cuts and bruises all over his sleeveless arms - and no doubt, the rest of his body. His dirty blond hair flopped in front of his eyes, but he didn't have the energy or strength to flick it away.

"We don't care. We're paid to bring you in and we're gonna bring you in, even if it's the last thing we do...Joey, cuff him. He's finished."

While Joey cuffed the boy, Dan waved his hand into the street and signalled to the van, which was parked a few streets down.

The van drove up and parked up next to the where the fight had taken place, by that time, the boy had been cuffed and was in no fit state to run away.

He was hauled up off the floor and tossed into the back of the van like a sack of potatoes on market day.

"Enjoy the Workhouse, Roger." The doors slammed in his face and the van moved off.

~ Back in Westminster with Cat and Tommy Boy ~

"Ayyy! Get outta the bloody road!" An angry carriage driver yelled at us as we crossed the street.

"Ahh, London...The nicest place on earth!" I commented, sarcastically.

We continued weavin' down the streets to our sellin' spots, talkin' about everythin' and nothing. When we got to the Victoria Tower Gardens - next to the River Thames and opposite Lambeth - we hopped over the stupid little fence and stepped right over the 'Do not walk on the grass' sign.

~ Meanwhile ~ 

" Ya fuckin' bastards! Get offa me!" I yelled. I was shoved violently from behind and fell flat on my face. My face was pressed into the pavement hard and Joey Jordan put his foot on my head. I tried to lift my arms to get him off and get meself up, but my hands were cuffed behind me...

I struggled and wriggled on the floor, but all that got me was a strong kick to the face. I felt somethin' in my nose crack and blood come drippin' out. Shit that was painful! But that was almost nothin' compared to what was gonna come.

Joey lifted his foot up from my head and yanked my arms up so I was standin'. He then linked one of his arms in the gap between my back and my arms, that were still cuffed together. He put his other hand on my right shoulder.

Then Dan punched me in the stomach really fast. I swear those guys is boxers or somethin'. Either way, all of the breath was knocked out of me, I tried to double over, but I couldn't cause of Joey holdin' me.

Dan landed another punch on my stomach, then my face, then my stomach again. I coughed a few times and drew in a ragged breath. I tried to call out for help, but I still couldn't breathe.

I squirmed around and tried to free meself again.

"Stop movin'...Or I'll have your guts for garters..." Joey hissed threateningly in my ear. I stopped. I was paralysed with fear. Not with what he said, but by what Dan had just taken out of his pocket...

"Hmmm...which one should I use? The knife?" It glinted threateningly in the sun that managed to get into the alley. "Or the brass knuckles?" He slipped them on his right hand and made a fist. I braced meself.

"Let's save the knife for the murderers' daughter."

"Good idea...then we can really show her a piece of our minds after what she did to us!" Dan got right into my face as he said that.

Cat! You'se in danger! I pray ya make it out  'live...

Dan's punches were so much harder and more painful with the brass knuckles on, and when he'd finished with me, I was so weak I could barely stand.

They literally dragged me out into the street and threw me into what I guessed was the back of a van. The last thing I remember was seeing the Workhouse loom ahead of me, going over a pothole in the road and from there on...nothing. Everything was black.

~ Back with Cat and Tommy Boy ~

The sun shone down through the leaves on the trees as Tommy and I strolled through the park.

We both kept an eye out for the crabby old park keeper, but his uniform is green - which is really ugly by the way - and he kinda blends into the grass...

"Nice day today, ain't it?" I asked as we sat down under a tree, with our backs against the trunk.

"Yeah...'s beautiful! Just like you..." He leant over and kissed my cheek. I threaded my fingers through his and smiled up at him.

I had sat down further away from the trunk, so I was leanin' down further and I ended up below him; I'm actually half an inch taller than him and I never let him forget it...but I didn't feel like it today...the day was too nice to ruin...

"I love you too." We sighed in unison and sat there, takin' in the views...

Until the peace and quiet of the moment were shattered, when the crabby old park keeper grabbed Tommy's collar and hauled him to his feet.

I stood up quickly, in case the Jordan brothers had chased us this far.

"How many times do I have to tell you kids to keep off the bloody grass?!" He shouted, a few people, mostly rich folk, turned their heads to look over at us.

"Yes...We're very sorry, Mr Walker, it won't happen again, sir..." Tommy said. Mr Walker thought for a while, decidin' whether or not he's gonna trust us...

Eventually, he let go of Tommy's collar.

"Thank you, sir," I said.

"Hmmm, I'd better not catch you two here again." We both nodded.

"You won't sir..." Tommy took a few steps back as the old man turned around and started to make his way back to his favourite bench.

"In your dreams!" I whispered, albeit a bit too loudly. Tommy Boy elbowed me in the side in an attempt to stop me laughing, but it didn't work, and unfortunately, Mr Walker heard me.

He turned back to us, absolutely furious. His face was bright red - he was very easy to piss off - and he glared at us. I stopped laughin' and backed away from him, tuggin' Tommy's arm.

He made a grab for me and Tommy Boy yelled to run.

I turned tail and ran away. I ran through the park, my papers still under my arm. I stopped when I realised Mr Walker had given up chasin' us both and looked around for Tommy Boy.

"Tommy! Tommy!" I called out when I became aware of the fact I couldn't see him anywhere. "Tommy!" I ran over to a large oak tree and suddenly, someone wrapped their arms around my waist from behind. I tensed up, preparin' for the worst.

"Hey, babe!" I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Tommy!"  I detached myself and whacked his arm, pretendin' to be angry with him, which almost never happens. I tried to keep a straight face, but I just couldn't and he knew it. 

We both burst out laughin' and we couldn't stop. We laughed and laughed until we practically collapsed on the grass behind the tree, somewhere we didn't think Mr Walker could see us.

"Do you see his bloody face!" I wheezed.

"Redder than a tomato in the sun..." Tommy sighed. I opened my mouth to sat something, then Big Ben across the river tolled 8 times.

"We should go, it's 8 o'clock." 

"Yea, let's go." He took my hand and we made our way back to the pavement on Millbank, makin' sure we didn't run into Mr. Walker.

"Where are you sellin' today? Normal spot?" I asked.

"Yep, I'm goin' by Westminster Abbey." I nodded, checked the street for any traffic and we crossed over.

"I'm goin' over by the docks, so I'm actually goin' the wrong way!" I laughed and Tommy smiled. 

"Ok," We stopped walkin' and stepped closer to the buildin' so we didn't get trampled by busy people rushin' to get to wherever they needed to do...They were also the people we had to sell our papers, so we had better get going!

"Let's split up here, meet you at the café on Romney Street at midday?"

"Yep, noon it is. See you and good sellin'."

"Good sellin'." He smiled and looked at me the way only he does, before plantin' a quick kiss on my cheek and turnin' to walk away. He glanced back at me and I waved his goodbye.

God, I love him. So. Freaking. Much.

I walked back to the docks and began to hawk my papers.

I got up on an empty upside-down wooden produce box surrounded by green bottles.

Dockworkers came up in waves to buy papers and I had to shove some of them offa me when they got a bit drunk and handsy. I also had to move places a couple of times.

I waved over to where Switch was sellin' on his side of the river, over in Lambeth. He didn't wave back, smile or look like he was managin' to sell papers; probably because he had a face o' thunder. 

Then a kid I recognised from Lambeth ran up to me and I jumped down off my box.

"Cat?" He asked.

"Yeah, that's me," I replied, slightly suspiciously.

"Switch has called an emergency ally meetin' in his Lodging House. Now." I gave the kid one of my pennies and he ran off.

"This can't be good." I thought as I made my way over to Lambeth.

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A/N Thank you for reading this chapter! I hope you liked it! Please vote, reblog and have a super day!

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Darksiders: Arthurian Tales

Chapter 5: Encounters Part 1

Morgen led Death on a path to the forest after getting ready for their midnight ride. Course, all the while Death was wondering how Morgen tamed a Unicorn, a female no less. Unicorns were always timid by nature, and the females especially so. He knew of the stories of Unicorns approaching maidens under various circumstances, but ultimately viewed them as just that. Stories. That and male Unicorns were the ones that said to approach maidens anyway. He'd not heard a story involving a female one. He stopped his musing when feeling Morgen's arm on his chest.

"Hold on a moment. They're in this clearing up ahead. We need to approach slowly. The males can be a bit territorial sometimes." Morgen says quietly.

"You sure they're not just going to bolt anyway? I am the Reaper after all." Death whispers back.

"I've been around this herd many times now. They've gotten used to me, so even with you around they should be fine." Morgen says before heading into the clearing carefully.

Death followed her closely, still skeptical that they'd sit still while he was there. He'd been around Unicorns before, usually by pure coincidence. For some reason babies were fine with approaching him, mainly due to Despair, who usually would try to ignore them. While adults were cautious and kept their distance. Though he's had a few males get brave and try to shove him with their horns. So he wasn't entirely hopeful about this encounter going well.

Once in the clearing, Death glanced around at the small herd. There were a few babies, with Mothers that were grabbing their tails and dragging them back closer. He heard a few protective sounds coming from one of the males as well. The sounds were a mix of a horse and elk. He heard Morgen's voice ahead of him and continued following her. Eventually Morgen found the female Unicorn she was looking for. Death noticed this female looked a little different. She still looked like the others, with the legs and head of deer, body of a horse, tail of lion, and more. Course most females were a bit on the spindly side, this female had more muscle tone to her. He was even more surprised when she approached him. Her horn glowed a bit as it's tip touched his chest. After that she lifted her head up and gave a call, presumably to the other Unicorns. Upon hearing it, they all seemed to go back to their own business. Death then felt something bump his leg. Looking down he found a tiny Unicorn trying to tackle his leg. It didn't last long as the female gently nudged it away.

Morgen then began stroking her neck as she told Death, "Her name is Ataraxy, and she's very docile as you see."

Death approached carefully before stroking her, "I see. She's a bit muscular for a female."

"I've ridden her many times, and given her some food based on books I've read. Speaking of which..." Morgen says before reaching into a pouch.

Ataraxy made an excited sound as Morgen pulled a few sugar coated marigolds from the pouch. Eagerly she ate them up and nudged Morgen happily.

"For instance, I once read that marigolds were a popular treat for their sugary petals. So I'll give Ataraxy a few when I visit her. As you can see, she certainly loves them." Morgen says.

"Intriguing. Despair can eat what most horses do, but he's not a fan of sugar cubes or even apples. One day I actually spotted him kicking at the bones of a long dead animal. I watched him a bit longer and eventually he did manage to break the bone somewhat. After that he started licking at something inside the bone. When I came closer I realized it was the bone marrow." Death says.

"Your horse likes bone marrow?" Morgen asked him with a raised eyebrow.

"He does, and I have no idea why. Eventually I started making bone marrow cubes for him. A mix of marrow with some bone meal in there so that it has some nutritional value at least."

"I see..." Morgen says a bit weirded out.

"I don't blame you for the reaction. I still find it weird myself."

Morgen eventually shook her head and then led Ataraxy to Vortigen's stables where her saddle was. Death summoned Despair in the meantime as he waited for Morgen to finish readying Ataraxy. Despair in the meantime nudged Death for attention. Chuckling, Death gave it to him. Course they then heard little high pitched barks. Death looked behind him and noticed one of Despair's saddlebags was moving. He chuckled again and lifted the flap, finding a jealous, little, white Limt inside there.

"Fuzzball, what are you doing in there? You're supposed to stay home you know that." Death says petting him a little.

Fuzzball only barked more, wanting to be held like the big baby he was.

"Ok ok jeez, you are so needy. Just quiet down already." Death says finally scooping the critter up.

Once he did so Fuzzball was calm and panting happily. Death then heard Morgen gush from behind him,

"Dawwwwwww. What a cutie?" Morgen says seeing Fuzzball.

"Yeah he's pretty cute, when he's not being a baby."

Death got an annoyed 'merph' noise from Fuzzball. He snickered before setting Fuzzball back into the saddlebag.

"I know you have Despair and that crow of yours, but I didn't know you had a Limt." Morgen says.

"Yeah. I only have him because he can be useful at times. More often than not he stays home though, as he can't really defend himself. Not that he doesn't try. Even Dust picks on him."

"Your crow?"

"Yes. I've had to break apart several fights over the years, luckily they are rare nowadays. Usually it's because Dust, being a crow, decided to be to annoy Fuzzball too much." Death says.

"Hehehehe I see. How did you end up with Fuzzball exactly? I can't imagine you picked him up and randomly decided to keep the little rodent."

"It was not my finest moment. Perhaps a conversation for the ride?" Death asks as Morgen mounts Ataraxy finally.

"Sounds good to me."

The two then rode off together down the road. Death then began to regale Morgen with the tale of how he met Fuzzball. Death had known about Limts before meeting Fuzzball. Usually they were seen as nuisances and pests since like most other rodents, they'd eat just about anything. But with Limts, that was all too true. Limts can and will eat anything they can take a bite out of. Even if sometimes what they eat isn't edible. They were also known for access amount of fur, and for healing powers that very few people could explain. Death met Fuzzball on a realm with an eternal winter, he couldn't recall which one exactly. However he did remember a battle taking place and how in the middle of it, Mother Nature seemingly decided to smite everybody there. An avalanche came about and sucked in just about everybody in it's wake. The avalanche had also knocked a few boulders loose, with one landing on Death. It had pinned his arm and despite his efforts he couldn't free himself in time. While buried under the snow, Death tried digging himself out with his free hand. Only for more snow to fall on him with each hole he dug. Eventually he dug one final hole, but he was running low on air. That's when he heard a high pitched bark and looked up to see Fuzzball. Fuzzball then without any prompting or insensitive, began to eat the snow surrounding Death. Granted the little rodent had to stop every few circles to puke up water. It took some time, but Fuzzball eventually dug Death up enough for him to breathe properly. Course he was still pinned under the rock. Fuzzball however once again jumped into action. He began to bite off rock chunks and chew them up before spitting them out. The chewed bits flew pretty far and fast from what Death recalls. Fuzzball kept it up for a good while, but eventually just didn't have it in him to eat anymore rock pieces. So he called for backup and more Limts came by. Pitching together, they chewed the rock into a more sizable boulder that Death could move. Once Death was free at last he thanked the little creatures and began to head home. Course Fuzzball in particular stayed behind and even followed Death. At that point Death decided he may as well take the little Limt with him. Fuzzball even surprised him more by gumming him broken arm, which is how they trigger their healing ability.

"Wow, that's quite the story. I'm guessing he's ever the loyal critter then?" Morgen asks amazed.

"He is loyal for sure, much like Despair and Dust. He's just also very needy and acts more like a lapdog than the rodent he is. He even figured out how to use puppy eyes."

"Oh really? I'm guessing you've caved in once or twice." Morgen asks teasingly.

"Yeah you may find it funny now, just wait til he does it to you. Then you'll see for yourself why his puppy eyes annoy me. Only War and Fury can resist him everytime. I can only resist him sometimes and Strife, nada." Death says.

From there the two decided to take a break. Despair and Ataraxy got a bit playful with each other once their riders were off the saddles. Fuzzball jumped from the saddlebag he was in and scurried over to Morgen as she sat down. Hoping into her lap and making a sort of purring sound. Death chuckled as she gushed and petted him. They then heard a little growl and Death sighed before searching Despair's saddlebags for food. Morgen herself was a little tired and decided to lay down for a spell. Falling asleep pretty easily soon after. Morgen then woke with a start sometime later.

She looked around and saw no sign of Death, Ataraxy, Despair, or Fuzzball. Already on edge, she stood up and called out for them. Getting no response, she went down the path to look for them. Only to find herself at that river. The same river, where her deed had been done. She looked onto the river in a stunned silence of sorts, then began to hear distorted, harsh sounding crying. Looking around, she saw some brush nearby moving about. Gingerly she moved it to the side and saw a fetus crying on the ground. Morgen began to back away in shock and horror, only for the thing to become bigger. With spindly limbs and a disjointed body. It snarled at her as more fetuses began to come from the shadows. Their cries filling her ears as Morgen began to scream apologies over and over again. However, she felt something grab the back of her clothes and pull her into the lake. As she tried to free herself, she saw the green eyes of Kelpie. Behind it were more eyes in the murky water. The eyes then charged at her.

Morgen awoke, this time for real, with a scream of terror. Death was already next to her, having overheard her whimpering and muttering in her sleep. Death nearly asked if she was alright, but her sobs answered that for him. Fuzzball snuggled Morgen as she curled up, hiding her face in her legs and hugging herself. Death decided to let her be for now, only giving the occasional strokes on her back. After some time Morgen finally calmed down. When Death asked if she wanted to return to Vortigen's home, she only nodded silently. Death helped her onto Ataraxy before getting on Despair. Fuzzball hopped onto Morgen's leg and did his best to crawl up into her lap. Morgen eventually helped him achieve that as they rode on. Placing Fuzzball in her lap and gently petting him.

[aisakalegacy]

Generation 2 - Chapter 4: Becoming A Martial Arts Master In A Year

They celebrated Steve’s birthday during fall. He was a loner so he didn’t want anyone but his close family to be here, but Taiga tried to make this day special anyway.

He was... Well, funny looking. He started to wear a hat so people wouldn’t focus their attention on his ears. He still was very dark, and had developed the ambitious trait. Well, he only wanted to be a fisherman, but he would be great at it!

Tay came for diner. He was not going to let his favorite (and only) brother celebrate his birthday without him! Even though he had lost his hair, he looked very chic. He had grew a bit of a mustache and beard that suited him very well.

After diner, Steve and Ami went to bed. Taiga stayed up to chat with Tay.

“You know, Tay, your father would be very proud of you. You care for your brother and sisters as if they were your own children. You’re always here for us. What a fine man you’ve become! You’re a great role model for Steve.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. I’ve got wealth - why not share it? You’ve been trough so much, I feel like it is my duty.

- I must ask you a favour.

- What is it?

- I’ve been thinking of traveling to China for a while now. I’m not sure how much time I have left, and there is something there I must do before I die. Now that the kids are all grown, I feel like it is the right moment to do it. I need you to watch over my children and the house while I’m not here.

- How long will you be gone?

- I’m not sure. Maybe a year, maybe more.

- I understand. You can count on me. Leave with a peace of mind, and enjoy your stay. And you know, Ami’s horses are starting to like me!”

- She has a funny way to show it, but I’m sure Ami likes you too. That is, as much as Ami can like someone who doesn’t have four legs and a mane.

- Why, you mean she can’t appreciate my luxurious hair?” replied Tay with an exaggeratedly offended look.

Taiga couldn’t help but laugh.

“Thank you, Tay.

-  It is truly my pleasure.”

Taiga took a few more weeks to finish her preparations, and finally, she was ready to go. She was leaving her home in good hands: the last thing she saw when she left the swamps was Tay, helping Ami with her horses.

Seven months later, Taiga arrived to the small town of Shang Simla, Shanxi, in the North-Eastern part of China. It was founded by a group of monks with an ethos of discipline and martial arts, and Taiga was expecting to find clarity of mind as much as physical strength there.

The first person she met was Yi Quan Gai Lam Hu Yin.Yi Quan Gai Lam Hu Yin was the keeper of the Academy of Martial Arts, where Taiga would stay. She came to him and said in a rusty Mandarin:

“I’m here to become a Grand Master.

- To be a Grand Master, you need to defeat each of the twelve Grand Masters of the twelve Academy of Martial Arts. Everyone of them had been training in martial arts since their childhood. Do you have enough determination to compete?

- Yes. Yes, I do. I’ve been waiting for this my whole life.

- Alright. Are you ready for your training?

- Yes!

- Well, he said, go outside and meditate.

- What? When will I fight the Grand Masters?

- To master the martial arts disciplines, you must first master discipline itself. Now go out, and concentrate! I’ll tell you when you’re ready to face your first opponent.”

Taiga went reluctantly in the Academy’s gardens and started to spare with the other students of the Academy. Everyday she would ask Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin about her next opponent, and everyday he would say the same thing: meditate. So she actually gave it a try.

After a few weeks of daily meditation, her impatience started to fade away. One morning, Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin came to her and said:

“You’re ready. You will now fight your first opponent.

- Who is it?”

A man came into the room.

“Meet Master Zhan Kim-Su Shu Zi of the Academy of the Rat.

- Do you fear death, grandma?

- Well, thank you but I don’t intend to die that easy. 

- I’m going to eat you alive.”

Zhan Kim-Su Shu Zi fought well, but he made one mistake: he underestimated Taiga, and Taiga kicked his ass.

“Not bad, said Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin. But do not let all the praise go to your head. The Rat brags a lot, but he was actually the easiest opponent you will have to face. You still need a l need a lot of training if you want to confront your next opponent.”

The next one was Bao Niu Chou Louie of the Academy of the Ox. He was half-occidental, just like her: his mother was Chinese, and his father was American. He was known for his brute force, and Taiga had spent a month doing force exercises to be able to defeat him. She lost the first two times, but she eventually defeated him.

“I was wondering, said Taiga one day to Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin, where is the Grand Master of our own Academy? Will I have to defeat him too?

- You haven’t guessed?”

He had a large smile on his face.

“It is I, Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin of the Academy of the Tiger. And I’m your next opponent!

- Alright. I’ll fight you now.”

She didn’t have the time to move that he had already put her on the floor.

“See? You need to concentrate. Technique  is not what you need. It’s focus. You’re too distracted, you don’t pay enough attention to your opponent. Your mind is everywhere when you need it right here. Now go back in the garden and meditate.”

Taiga was furious. After two victories, she had been too sure of her martial arts abilities. But she would not do the same error twice. She meditated for ten hours straight, and the next day, when she came back to his office, she was ready.

“I see you have learnt your lesson. Now let us fight.”

Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin was ferocious, and he deserved to be called a tiger. His moves were fast and Taiga had to pay an extra attention to everything he did if she wanted to be able to avoid his kicks and punches. He was way better than her and he wouldn’t allow her any mistakes. If she wanted to win, she will have to exhaust him, so that’s what she did. She mades as few movements as possible in order to keep her strengths, and when he started to show signs of weakness, she did her first attack. Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin fell on the floor, defeated.

“You have made me proud, Taiga. You have learnt a lot these past three months. Keep fighting like this and soon, you’ll be a Grand Master. And now...

- Go outside and meditate?

- Exactly. If you defeat your next opponent, I will consider you worthy of a new belt. You better start training now.

- Who is he?

- Who is she, you mean. Master Lu Zhi Tu Mao of the Academy of the Rabbit is the fastest woman alive. Good luck.”

After another month of training everday against Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin, Lu Zhi Tu Mao presented herself at the Academy.

« Is that you who wish to challenge me? You look like fun!

- I could say the same! said Taiga. So... skip the introduction?

- Lets. »

Lu Zhi Tu Mao was fast, but Taiga was more skilled, and now she was trained to see the weaknesses of her opponents. She understood that Lu Zhi Tu Mao needed to be so fast because she was not strong enough, which meant that by using more strength, Taiga could defeat her! She redoubled efforts and hit her as much as she could! That’s how she defeated her.

“Wow, you’re good. If you want a friendly spare sometimes, come to see me at my Academy!

- I will when I have defeated all the Masters!”

Lu Zhi Tu Mao laughed.

“Yeah, you do that!”

After that, Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin did as he promised: he gave her a white loose-fitting pants and jacket along with a black belt.

“You have completed the first part of your journey to become a Grand Master. You have eight more masters to challenge. You will have to train harder. Do you want to continue?

- Of course!

- The next master you will have to defeat is Master Ai Pei Long Chen of the Academy of the Dragon.

- What’s special with him?

- He’s invisible.

- Invisible?!”

Taiga was astonished.

“Yes. People at the Academy of the Dragon follow a very strict ethos that say their face mustn’t be remembered, only their actions must survive history. That’s why they become invisible.

- How am I supposed to defeat an invisible man?

- ....

- Please, don’t say “by meditating”.

- If you know what I’m going to say, what are you still doing here?

- ... Fine.”

Out of respect for the Academy of the Dragon’s philosophy, we won’t show you how the fight went. We can only tell you that Taiga was crushed more that twice, but she finally managed to defeat Master Ai Pei Long Chen by throwing dust on him. 

After him, she defeated Master Sun Young Kim-Su She Si of the Academy of the Snake.

 She was deceitful and cunning. She tried to cheat during the fight, but Taiga had not come all this way so a cheater could beat her! Taiga was a proud student of the Academy of the Tiger, so she fought treachery with ferocity - and she won.

Masters from other Academy started to hear about this old woman who was defeating them one by one. The proudest of them all was Simia Zhi Ma Wu of the Academy of the Horse. She came all the way to see what the fuss was all about, and she seemed very disappointed when she saw Taiga in person.

“Move, fool. I don’t have time for weaklings like you.”

Taiga was very offended. She stood there and said:

“Make me!”

Simia Zhi Ma Wu’s charge was so sudden Taiga was almost hit. Fortunately she avoided it fast enough.

Master Simia Zhi Ma Wu was a strong woman, and she was fast too - that made her a fearsome opponent amongst martial artists. But Taiga’s pride was at stake here, and she couldn’t lose! She eventually defeated her, but she ended up with two broken ribs, a broken nose and a dislocated jaw. She needed a lot of rest after that.

Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin cared for her and let her sleep in his office until she recovered.

It took a few weeks, but after that, she was back on her feet and ready to fight.

“Please, pick a nicer opponent next time! she begged her master.

- I don’t get to pick. Every Academy is associated to an animal from Chinese astrology. The order is ritual and follow a cycle. The next challenger is Master Chen Sheng-Hong Yang Wei from the Academy of the Goat. 

- The Goat? I can manage that.

- You be so prompt to juge. One day, it will backfire.

- I’ll work on that. ”

However Chen Sheng-Hong Yang Wei from the Academy of the Goat should have been the one listening to master Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin, because it did backfire for him.

« Well look at that, he said, an old woman wished to challenge me?

- Old woman? You’re far older than me. »

He bowed respectfully, and they started to fight. 

Taiga let him think she was weak on purpose by missing a few hits, and when Chen Sheng-Hong Yang Wei’s defense was very lowered, she stroke back and she won the fight! She was ecstatic. After that, Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin gave her the last fighting clothes she was going to wear: gold and black.

“You’ve reached the last part of your journey. You overcame many challenges, you trained hard, you learnt, and now you are here. I must ask you still: do you wish to continue? Once you’re a Grand Master, you shall take the place of the Master of your Academy - that means my place. With this comes a great deal of responsibilities.

- I’m not willing to take your Academy from you, Master Yi Quan Fai Lam. I must continue because I need to prove to myself that I can do it. But being able to beat all Grand Masters once doesn’t mean I’m the best of them all - it just means I had luck. I’ve struggle most of my life with things I had no control over. Now it’s time for me to be in control of my life.

- So be it. For you next opponent, you must remember what I last taught you.

- That I must go outside and meditate?

- ... No. That you shouldn't juge so quickly.

- Why that?

- Deedeeda ♪ ... Deedeedee ♪... Mmmhmmh deedee  ♪”

They could clearly hear an elderly woman singing on the outside.

“Oh. She’s here. Taiga, I want you to meet Master Gao Pei Hou Shen of the Academy of the Monkey.”

Taiga opened the door. A very, very old woman was having a hard time climbing the stairs of the Academy. She was so wrinkly one could hardly see her eyes. Her back was hunched and she needed a cane to walk. She was perhaps a hundred years old!

“ You? said Taiga. No offense, but a woman your age shouldn’t be sparing. I don’t want to break you.”

The old woman slowly finished to climb the stairs before she said with a whimsical smile:

“I’ve been through fifteen pregnancies, I can be through one more fight.

- Well... If you say so. Let’s go in the gardens.

- I’ll follow you.”

They went in the garden and went in position. Taiga wasn’t very happy about that fight. The woman looked so frail! If she slept, she’d break a hips and die! And her master wanted her to fight that woman?

“Salute, announced Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin.

- Oh, no, said Gao Pei Hou Shen.

- No? What do you mean, “no”?

- I don’t like to have an audience. What if you steal my secret attack? Huh. Have you thought about that?

- Well, I...

- Yeah, That’s what I thought. Youngsters don't think about anything these days. They don’t care for the elder as much as we did.

- But I...

- Please, make me a cup of tea, will you?

- I... Alright”, said Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin.

And he went back to his office. Master Gao Pei Hou Shen turned to Taiga.

“So you’re the one everyone is telling me about. I’m glad to meet you. Let’s talk. It is rare to see a woman your age start such a difficult journey. Of course, to me, you are a child, but to them, you’re over.

- Yes. Martial arts are something I have always loved, but I couldn’t dedicate my life them.

- Why not?

- I had three kids to raise. But martial arts are what helped me make it through. I’ve been through so much. I came to a new country with nothing. I had no place to stay. When I had my first daughter, I had a home but not much else. I had to do things that I’m not proud of, but that I will do again if I could go back in time. When I was desperate, martial arts were calming me down: when I fought, I was also fighting my problems. I don’t think I’ll live as long as you do, Master Gao Pei Hou Shen. I don’t regret the life I’ve lived. But I have one thing left to do, and it is to become a martial arts master. Does that make sense?

- Yes. Yes, it does.

- I’ve got your tea, Master Gao Pei Hou Shen!”

Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin was back with a cup of tea.

“Now will you please fight?

- Oh, but we already did while you weren’t there.

- What... You did?

- Oh my, yes.

- And who won?

- She did.”

Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin stood there, open-mouthed. He eventually shook his head.

“Good job, Taiga. You can rest now.

- Well, I’ve got to go. Good luck, young lady!

- ... I’m fifty.

- And I’m one hundred. It is all relative.”

And then she went away, with her cane and her whimsical smile.

Taiga mastered the martial arts skill, and the next fights went very smoothly. First, there was Master Li Yuan Ji You of the Academy of the Rooster. He was very proud, and he took it very badly when Taiga kicked his ass.

Then there was Master Abi Yat Sen-Hong Gou Xu of the Academy of the Dog. He had an almost playful way of fighting, but sometimes he would do a brutal move that was unexpected. Taiga beat him nonetheless.

There were only one challenger left - it was Master Shen Su Zhu Hai of the Academy of the Pig. She was just a little bit older than Taiga. She had a very intelligent look, and she stank awfully. She looked at her arrogantly

« Your master said you’d be the one to defeat me. You don’t look like much.

- Just you wait. I trained hard!

- Even if you had the muscles, do you have the skills and mind? »

This was a very, very long fight. Master Shen Su Zhu Hai seemed to know everything she was going to do. She could guess her every moves, and was completely unpredictable herself. If she wanted to win this time, she would need to be destabilize her. So she started to do completely random moves. If she didn’t know what she was about to do herself, Shen Su Zhu Hai would not know either! That’s how, eventually, Taiga managed to defeat her.

After that, Taiga went outside. She had completed her lifetime wisher, and she felt invulnerable.

“Congratulation, said Master Yi Quan Fai Lam Hu Yin. You are now an official Grand Master of the Academy of the Tiger. What is the first thing you are going to do?” 

Taiga could not hold back her smile.

“Go outside and meditate.”

[woildismyerster]

Hiii!! I really love your stories, you’re an amazing writer. Can I pleaseeee ask for one where the reader‘s parents arrange a marriage for her, but she is in love with Davey?

This turned out more depressing than I expected.  Jeez.

“Look at Y/N,” Race crooned.  “Out hunting for a husband.  The closest thing to a pirate we’ll ever know.”

“Aye,” you said.  “No treasure in sight.”

“I don’t know,” he said.  “I see plenty of booty.”

You laughed, appalled, while Davey shoved him.  Race practically skipped away, chortling all the while.  

“Teenage boys are degenerates,” Davey said with a withering smile.  He lowered himself onto your bench, leaning over to retie his shoe.  It looked tight enough to you, but who were you to judge?

“All of them,” you agreed with a pointed look.  “I’m not offended, though.”

“No?  Give it time.  Race will drive you away sooner or later.”

“No,” you said.  It was true; you could handle Race.  You wished you would have the chance to.  The trouble was, your days were numbered.  “I’d be fine.  I’m not sure I’ll have much time, though.  My husband hunt is over.”

“Oh?”  Davey’s brow furrowed, and he looked a little younger than he had before.  “I didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”

He casually stood from the bench, putting space between the two of you.  He hadn’t been close to touching you, but you were a little colder than you had been before.  You wanted him to come back.  “I mean, it isn’t like that.  My parents arranged the match.”

“An arranged marriage?”  Davey had been wringing his hat in his hand, worrying at a loose thread, but he froze when you uttered the words.  “What is this, the 1500s?”

You cringed.  “Maybe arranged marriage wasn’t the best way to put it.  I wasn’t traded for cows, or anything.”

“What is it, then?”

“An understanding, I guess.”  It had always been assumed that you would marry the butcher’s son.  There were many mostly-unspoken agreements between your family and his.  They would trade meat for produce from your family’s store.  When one couple wanted to go out, the other couple would watch the kids.  When you were of marrying age, it was assumed that you would be marrying Allan.

“Do you get any say?”

Say?  You frowned.  Of course you didn’t have any say.  Options were for people who could afford to have more than one choice.  Options were for people with money.  Your family didn’t have money; you just had the store.  Even then, it was only because of the trades with the butcher.  If it wasn’t for him, you might never have gotten meat at all.  You didn’t answer Davey, but the look on your face was answer enough.

“That sounds like an arranged marriage to me,” he said.

You took a bite off of your carrot, breaking a chunk of the opposite side off for Davey.  He bit into it thoughtfully, and you gave him an anxious grin.  “C’mon, Dave, it isn’t that different from anybody else.”

“Of course it is,” he snorted.  “Other people love their spouses first, Y/N.”

“Love comes later,” you frowned.  That was what your mother always said.  That you had your entire life to fall in love with Allan, that marriage was a necessity to help your family.  “People hardly ever fall in love before they get married.  Not real love, anyway.”

“Yes, they do.”  Davey didn’t look appalled anymore.  He wasn’t surprised or confused.  He just looked sad, and it made you sad in a way that you didn’t understand.

“All of these strikes,” Allan said bitterly.  “They’re terrible.”

“What do you mean?”  You forced a smile while you bagged lettuce and radishes for a customer.  Allan had come by to visit you during his break, and you were wishing that he hadn’t.

“People are complaining for something that’s their own fault,” he explained.  His eyes roamed across the newspaper, not straying to you once.  Maybe he didn’t want to be there, either.  “They wouldn’t be struggling this much if they just worked harder.”

Your customer service smile withered.  “You can’t possible mean everybody.”

“I do.”  He looked up at you, earnest.  “Everybody would be doing fine if they worked harder.”

“What about the Newsies?  They’re children.  Children shouldn’t have to work for a living.”

“Their parents should be working harder, then,” he said dismissively.

You gritted your teeth.  What of kids like Jack and Race, who had no parents to provide for them?  How much harder should they have to work, just so they could get by?  And then you had Davey and Les, whose father got hurt at work.  If the parents can’t work, if that their fault?  Should the kids have to pay for it?

“What about my family?”  You forced a grin, letting your bitterness seap in.  “What about our struggles?  They should just be working harder?”

Allan’s mouth slammed shut.  He had the good grace to look embarrassed, but not enough to look repentant.  “Well,” he said lightly, “you won’t have to worry about that for much longer.”

“No,” you said.  You struggled to keep your voice even.  “No, I suppose I won’t.”

“Ain’t you a little young to get married?”  Les looked you up and down appraisingly.  

You grinned, crooked and genuine.  “Sure feels that way.”

“So don’t.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be working?”

Les frowned, and for a second he looked almost like his brother.  “We have to.  For our parents.”

“Exactly.”

His frown deepened, then disappeared as realization dawned.  “You’s doing it for your family?”

“Sure.  Who else would I do it for?”

“I dunno.”  Les kicked a clump of dirt on the ground and took a drink of his water.  “Is he handsome?”

You considered.  “If you like sweat, meat juice, and big hands.”

“I don’t,” Les said.  He laughed, high and light.  “Do you?”

“No.”

“Do you like blue?”

“Yes,” you said, confused.

“Do you like the smell of ink?”

“I suppose.”

“That’s good,” Les said, satisfied.  “Because Davey thinks you’re pretty.  And that’s what Davey is like, so you can just marry him someday.  Later, though.”

Jack, sitting a few chairs down, snorted into his water.  “Kid, I don’t think you’s supposed to be saying that.”

“What?  It’s true.”

Jack shot you a crooked smile.  “The kid talks too much.”

“Or, maybe, everybody else doesn’t talk enough,” you countered.

“What, was that something you’d want to know?”

You bit your lip, thinking.  Did you want to know that Davey - handsome Davey, who sometimes let you read a paper with him before it was time to start selling them, and played tic-tac-toe in the alley dust when you took out the trash - thought you were pretty?

“Yes,” you decided.  “It’s Davey.  If he has - thoughts, or feelings, or something, I’d want to know.”

“Because it changes things?”

No.  No, probably not, but you wanted to remember this.  You wanted to remember good days with good people, and Davey was the best of them all.

It was the day before the wedding, and you were unhappy.

It’s fine, you promised yourself.  Love can come later.  You don’t have to love Allan now.  Maybe he likes to sing.  Maybe he smells nice, and he’ll make everything else smell nice too.  Maybe he’s wonderful with children.  Maybe he’s funny once you know him.

You knew him, and he never made you want to laugh.

It’s fine.  Love can come later.  You don’t have to be in love before the wedding.

You picked up a flower that had fallen out of somebody’s bouquet earlier in the day.  You carefully picked off the petals, startling when a hand came out of nowhere to snatch one out of the air.

“Finding out if he loves you or not?”  Davey smiled at you, but his eyes were distant.

“Nah.  I already know the answer to that.”

His grin faltered.  “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged.

“No, Y/N, seriously.”  He grabbed the hand holding the mangled flower and gave it a squeeze.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that you don’t get to choose.  I’m sorry that you wouldn’t want to choose him, if you didn’t have to.”

“That’s life, I guess.”  Your chest ached when you saw him so unhappy, so you smiled.  “Hey.  Hey, don’t be sorry.  I have a really good life.”

“Yeah?”  He pulled the flower from your fingers and twirled it between his fingers.

“Totally.  I have -”  You faltered, looking around for something positive.  “I have - carrots.”  You trailed off, and Davey laughed.

“Carrots.  I can see why you’re so okay.  Carrots make everything better.”

“My snowmen are set for life,” you agreed.

“Your eyesight is stellar.”

“If I ever have a problem with a horse, I have a good solution.”

Davey was smiling again, so your smile came easier.  “You’re right.  All is well in Y/N-land.  Carrots.”

Heart stuttering, you threw out another perk.  “And I have you.”

“Awful lot of good that’s done you,” he said.  

“Hey,” you argued.  “Hey, that’s not fair.  It isn’t what you do, it’s who you are.  I can’t believe that this world is terrible when somebody like you came out of it.”

“That’s funny,” he said.  He tucked the broken flower behind your ear and backed away.  “I’ve always thought the same thing about you.”

It was the strangest thing; as soon as Davey was out of sight, you had to swallow the bile creeping up your throat.  You weren’t nauseous, exactly; it was like you had become afraid so rapidly that your body tried to expel it in any way it could.

You had fallen in love before the wedding, and it was not with your fiance.

It was not fine.

If Davey was surprised to see you on the fire escape outside his window, he didn’t show it.  He just crawled out to meet you.  “Y/N?  Is everything alright?”

“Nothing is ever all right.”

“Is everything sort of right, then?”  He normally would have teased you about the correction, but the usual light in his eyes had dimmed.  You could count the hours before your wedding on your fingers, and you wondered if maybe he was doing the same.

“Not yet,” you said.

“But in a few hours, it will be,” he said.  His words reminded you of Allan’s, and you cringed.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“So, what’s up?”

You shrugged.  “I wanted to ask you something.”

His eyebrows rose a little.  “Oh?”

“What are my options, here?  You know all of the reasons for me to marry Allan.”  Money.  To help your family.  Because people were counting on you.  Because if you said no, you had nothing.  “Can you think of any reasons for me not to?”

He swallowed.  The light from the moon wasn’t enough for you to get a good look at his face, but there was enough for you to see the way the muscles in his jaw twitched.  “Why?”

“I want a choice, and you’re better at seeing choices than anybody.”

“You could marry him, or you could leave him,” he said.  He avoided your eyes.

“Davey.”  His eyes met yours.  “If I leave him, my parents won’t see me again.  What are my options?”

“Become a secretary,” he said immediately.  “Join the Newsies.  Find somebody else to marry, posthaste.”

You licked your lips.  “I’m not ready to get married.”

“No,” he said with a small smile.  “No, I didn’t think you were.”

“I don’t love Allan, and I don’t think he loves me.”

“No, I never thought you did,” he said.

“I want to be in love with the man I marry,” you said, looking him in the eye.

“You should be.”

“At this point, that makes you the only option,” you finished.

His adam’s apple bobbed.  “Huh.”

You waited for him to continue, to shoot you down, accept you, anything at all.  There was nothing.  “I’m not asking you for today.  I’m asking you for someday.”

He gave a bark of bewildered laughter.  “You don’t know that you’ll want me someday.”

“If I do, what does that mean for you?”

“That I’ll marry you,” he finally said.  He clenched his hands around the railing, but you saw the way his fingers trembled.  You traced a finger along his knuckles, noting the way he relaxed them after.

“Until then,” you said, “I’ll find a place to stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you said.

He leaned in, kissed your forehead, and crawled back through his window.  “That doesn’t mean I’m not.  Just to be clear - I’m not marrying you because I’m sorry.  I’m marrying you because you’re my favorite choice, every time.”

He closed the window, and you climbed back to the ground.  You headed toward the Lodge, figuring that it would be a good place to spend the night.  Maybe a lot of nights, if need be.  You were scared of the future, of course, but the idea of a future with Davey was the only one that made you think the future wasn’t such a bad thing.

[write-havoc]

Of Sons and Daughters Ch. 5

Summary: Arthur is tasked by Dutch to watch over a young woman who had just lost the last member of her family she had left. That young woman just so happens to be the daughter that Dutch told no one else about.

This is a non canon AU with no major spoilers

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character

Status: Ongoing

Contains: swearing, PG 13 smut

Intended for readers 18+ of age only

Masterlist in my bio

Arthur heads out early the next morning so he can be in Blackwater before the sun fully rises. As he pushes Sparrow through the roads and trails, all he can think about is what Dutch said the night before. And not the part he really should be thinking about.

Of course he’s worried about the gang and their money, but he’s also trying to dissect what Dutch said about Emmeline. In no uncertain terms Dutch warned Arthur away from her. There’s that part of himself that agrees. He shouldn’t get too close to her. He’ll only ruin things and make her life worse. But there’s another part (a smaller part, but it’s still there) that’s hurt by Dutch insisting he stay away. Dutch was always like a father to him. And on more than one occasion, Dutch has told him how proud he was at the man Arthur had become. So why would he be so adamant that Arthur never be with Emmeline?

Arthur slows Sparrow as he comes to the point where he has to cross the Upper Montana River into the land surrounding Blackwater. If he were going to get nabbed by the law, it would probably be right here.

He sighs at the thought. “Alright, girl,” he says to Sparrow before spurring her forward. “Here we go.”

To Arthur’s relief, no one comes after him. He can see lawmen camped out on the ridges overlooking the pass, but they only give him a quick look before turning their attentions back to the road below. It must really be true that the law has forgotten about him.

The whole time the gang was set up outside Blackwater, Arthur told Dutch that keeping the money within the city limits was a bad idea. But Dutch insisted he had the perfect spot, a hollowed out tree in the cemetery of the church right outside of town. No one would ever look there, apparently. Every time Arthur complained about it, Dutch would just say that someone he trusted was watching over it. It’s not until Arthur actually sets eyes on the spot that he understands what he meant.

Arthur walks over the nearby grave that caught his eye. “Greta Van Der Linde,” he reads aloud. “Loving mother to her son Dutch.” Arthur chuckles and shakes his head. “Dutch.”

He walks over to the closest tree and couches down beside it. There’s a very obviously dug out hole by the semi exposed roots. That’s odd, he thinks. Dutch knows better than to make it so obvious that there’s something hidden there. Arthur sticks his hand the the hole and roots around in the hollow cavity under the tree. When he doesn’t feel anything, he shoves his arm in deeper, but he comes up empty handed. Literally.

“Shit,” Arthur mutters, trying not to raise his voice in anger. The money is not there. Not where it should be. “Goddamnit.” Someone had taken the money.

He stands up straight and wipes his brow. The action causes him to turn his head toward the church and he notices a man sleeping against the side of the building. As Arthur walks closer to him, he sees the empty whiskey bottle loosely held in the man’s hand. Obviously, the man had one too many and passed out near the church.

“Hey.” Arthur kicks one of the man’s outstretched legs to wake him up.

The man makes a startled, half asleep noise then looks up to Arthur. “Whacha want, mister? I’m tryna sleep here.”

It’s probably a long shot, but Arthur asks anyway, “You didn’t happen to see anyone out near that tree, did ya?” Arthur points to the tree in question.

The man hiccups before answering. “Actually. Now that you mention it, I did. Two fellers was carrying on over there.”

“You see what they look like?”

The man shrugs. “It was dark.” *hiccup* “They got real excited about sumthin’ then left real quick. One of them was named Clem... or Cleet. Sumthin’ like that. I heard ‘em mention Strawberry.”

“What time was that?”

“Uh.” He scratches at his stringy hair. “What time is it now?”

Arthur pulls out his pocket watch. “4:24,” he answers curtly.

The man thinks for a moment. “How long have I been sitting here?”

Arthur is losing patience with this. “How the hell would I know?”

“Calm down, mister.” The man gives Arthur a dismissive gesture. “I got kicked out of the saloon at...” He thinks a moment, “midnight, abouts. I think. That’s when that no good bartender usually shuts me off.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and turns to walk away, having gotten all the information he could out of the drunk. Besides, those men could have a pretty good head start, so Arthur needs to get on the road if he wants to catch up to them.

“Hey wait,” the man calls out. “Could you lend me a dollar for a drink.”

“You don’t need no more!” Arthur yells back.

“I told you what you wanted!”

“Don’t press your luck, you old drunk,” Arthur growls without looking back to the man.

Arthur hops back up on Sparrow, headed for Strawberry. This situation doesn’t seem right to him. What are the odds that someone would come across that money on their own? And right before Arthur was going to pick it up himself? It doesn’t make a lot of sense.

As Arthur comes into the town of Strawberry, the streets are congested with people starting their days. His first stop is The Trackers Hotel. There’s a small bar on the ground floor and with any luck, maybe the men he’s looking for stopped in there last night. And if he’s really lucky, they gabbed about where they’re holed up.

Arthur pushes the door to the hotel open, his boots crunching on broken glass with the first step. He looks down at his foot, then around the room at large. The whole place is a mess, glass everywhere, tables upturned, puddles of mysterious liquids all over. There’s an ornery looking older woman trying to sweep up the debris and an equally unimpressed man cleaning behind the bar.

“Looks like you had quite the night,” Arthur calls out with a chuckle.

“Yeah, well,” the man behind the bar starts. “If you’re lookin’ for a drink, you’re gonna have to go elsewhere. We were drunk damn near dry last night.”

“Can I ask what the occasion was?”

The woman lifts her head to answer. Albeit, in a way that shows her displeasure with the events of the night before. “Two gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, decided to throw their money around our small town like they was big men. Bought drinks for the whole bar all night. Caused a few fights, too.”

“Two men, huh?” Arthur scratches at his jaw. “They happen to say where they was staying at?”

The man and woman share a look before the man answers. “They stole from you, didn’t they?”

“Why do you say that?” Arthur asks.

“There’s only two reasons men flaunt their money like those fellers did last night. They’re either high born or they’re spending someone else’s money. And those men certainly weren’t no royalty.”

“Well,” Arthur walks forward and leans against the bar in front of the man, “if you’re right, then you shouldn’t have a problem selling them out. Thieves like that.”

“I knew them men was trouble the second I laid eyes on ‘em.” The man shakes his head. “Cabin. Just north of here. I overheard one of ‘em saying that to a whore.”

“Charles!” the woman chides from across the room.

“Well, that’s what she is!”

Arthur digs out a coin from his satchel and sets it on the bar. “Thanks, mister.”

As the old couple continues to bicker, Arthur turns to leave the hotel. He mounts Sparrow quickly and rides off to the cabin the bartender told him about. It’s not too far from the town, so it should be just a short ride to get there. The problem is that it’s back in the woods, so Arthur takes a few minutes to actually find it.

He dismounts his horse, leaving her back amongst the trees so any occupants of the cabin won’t see his approach. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he slinks up to one of the boarded up windows and peeks through a knothole inside. Seeing as the windows are covered, it’s rather dark inside. One lantern sits on the table in the middle of the room, casting just enough light for Arthur to make out all the important details. One of those being the large pile of money and a few gold bars sitting next to the lantern. He can see two men sleeping, apparently the men Arthur’s been after. The bigger one is face down on the bed and the skinny guy is sprawled out on a chair with his hat covering his face.

“Dumbasses,” Arthur mutters to himself as he walks up to the front door.

Taking cover to the left of the doorframe, Arthur reaches out and turns the door knob, pushing the door open as he ducks back behind the wall.

“Huh?” One of the men stirs awake. “Who’s there?” he calls out. “Joe, I think someone’s out there.”

Arthur doesn’t move a muscle, so as not to give away his position.

The other man wakes up with the commotion. “Go check it out then, Cleet,” he bites back.

Cleet reluctantly rises from his chair and walks to the door with his gun drawn. He’s not the only one, though. Arthur has his revolver up, right about head height, fully cocked. As soon as Cleet peeks out of the doorway, Arthur shoots him right through the temple, fast enough that the man is dead before he even realizes it.

Arthur rushes into the cabin, thinking he’ll catch Joe off guard still in bed. Unfortunately, the man is much closer to the door than Arthur thought he’d be. Before Arthur can turn to shoot at Joe, the man barrels into him, sending the two of them crashing into the table. The old wood splinters easily under the combined weight of them, sending what was atop it to the ground.

Joe gets in a few good punches to Arthur’s face before Arthur manages to flip them both around, gaining the upper hand. They exchange a few more blows, both too involved in not dying at the other’s hand to notice that the lantern that had been on the table had crashed to the ground, spreading the oil across the floor and leading a flame to the bed, which quickly lights up.

As they wrestle on the floor, Arthur finally manages to get his hand on his revolver. He brings it up under Joe’s chin and pulls the trigger, killing the man instantly. Arthur takes a deep breath, but it’s choked with smoke. It’s then that he realizes that the cabin is quickly burning up around him. He shoves the dead man off his chest and turns to where the money should be.

“No!” he yells as he sees nothing but flames on what used to be the cash he had come there for. He manages to pick up a few stacks that had fallen away from the flames before running from the fully engulfed building.

He takes a moment out in the fresh air to catch his breath. This had been a fool’s errand in the end. And now he has to tell Dutch that he failed in getting the money.

“Dammit!” Arthur kicks at the ground. He stands there for several minutes, just watching the cabin and the money inside burn.

The whole ride back to camp, Arthur thinks about what had happened. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks this wasn’t just a random event. This was planned.

When Arthur hitches his horse, Micah walks by him, headed for his own mount.

“It looks like you ran into trouble,” Micah teases upon looking at the cuts and bruises on Arthur’s face.

“Shut up, Micah,” Arthur mutters, walking further into camp.

Dutch notices Arthur’s approach and meets him at the table close to where Arthur has hitched his horse. “Did you get the money, son?” Dutch asks nervously. He knows Arthur very well and the look on his face isn’t screaming “success”.

Arthur shoves his hand in his satchel and pulls out the money he managed to save, about $1000, tossing it onto the table in front of Dutch without saying a word.

Dutch waits a moment before speaking. “Where’s the rest of it?”

“Gone,” Arthur answers gruffly. “Burned up.”

Upon hearing that, Micah stomps back over to them. “What?!”

“What do you mean ‘ burned up ’?” Dutch almost growls.

Arthur starts to explain. “The money wasn’t where you left it in that cemetery,” he directs at Dutch. “It was taken by two fellers. I followed ‘em up to a cabin just north of Strawberry. I killed ‘em both, but a lantern got upset before I did. The whole cabin burned up.”

“You gotta be shittin’ me!” Micah picks up a nearby chair and throws it across the camp in anger.

Now everyone in the camp is looking in Arthur’s direction. Dutch just glares at Arthur for a moment as he thinks this development over.

“It’s all gone?” Dutch asks, hoping Arthur will tell him something different.

“Maybe the gold’ll still be there. In the ashes,” Arthur comments.

Dutch throws his hands up with a growl after a moment. “I need to think!” He stomps off to his tent, closing the flaps to give him privacy.

As Arthur’s attention is on Dutch, Micah come up from his side and shoves him hard, almost sending him to the ground. “Are you that much of an idiot you’d let all that money burn!?”

Arthur shoves him right back. “What the hell was I supposed to do?! It was covered in burning lamp oil! I barely made it outta that damn cabin alive!”

Arthur and Micah are pulled away from each other by Javier and Charles before they can start to tussle.

“Let me go!” Micah yells to Charles, but the bigger man keeps ahold.

Arthur doesn’t fight against Javier, but that doesn’t mean he’s done. “This is your fault, Bell!” he calls out as he aggressively points to Micah. “That ferry job was a stupid idea!”

“How would you know, Morgan?!” Micah spits back. “You ain’t been here! I’ve been here, making money for these parasites to live off of!” He gestures to everyone standing around.

“That’s enough!” Hosea’s booms, his usually calm voice replaced with something more authoritative. “Micah,” he points to the man, “go cool off. Charles, ride out to that cabin and see if there’s anything left. Arthur, come with me.”

Charles lets go of Micah, the man still fuming as he stomps off toward his horse. Charles lingers a moment to make sure Micah doesn’t turn back before heading out per Hosea’s orders.

Arthur follows Hosea over to the cliffs at the edge of camp. As soon as Hosea turns back to him, Arthur starts.

“I didn’t set that place on fire on purpose. I wanted to get that money. Those men-“

“I know, Arthur,” Hosea cuts him off.

“Those men knew where that money was, Hosea,” Arthur says more quietly. “I know it. They didn’t just come across it. That money was dug out.”

“You think someone told them where our money was.”

“Yeah.” Arthur nods. “I don’t how. Me, you, and Dutch was the only ones to know where we kept our money.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Maybe. Or maybe they saw us put it there.”

“And waited a few weeks until the day I got out there to pick it up?”

Hosea thinks a moment. “That is suspicious. But we don’t have any proof.” He scratches at his clean shaven jaw. “Why don’t you keep these thoughts to yourself, for now. We don’t need the group tearing itself apart to find a rat. Especially if there ain’t one to begin with.”

“If that’s what you think we should do...” Arthur replies with a shrug.

“We’ll keep a lookout. If we see anything, then we’ll know someone’s being disloyal. Then we can bring it to the group and we can deal with it accordingly.”

“You know who it would be,” Arthur says pointedly without actually saying the name. “Ain’t nobody else would sell us out like that.”

Hosea lets out a breath. He knows what Arthur is saying, and he may even agree with him, but being hasty in this situation would lead to unnecessary bloodshed.

“Like I said, I’ll keep my eyes open,” Hosea reiterates.

Arthur nods. Hosea usually always knew what was best for the group, so he’ll go along with what he says.

“Alright,” Arthur agrees. “I need to head out again, though. For a little bit at some point.” He wants to check on Emmeline and make sure that she’s okay, since he’s been gone for a couple days.

“Ah,” Hosea nods with a little smirk on his face. “The ‘down-on-her-luck’ woman Dutch has you helping.” He uses the words Dutch did when he explained why Arthur wasn’t at camp anymore.

“Yeah,” is all Arthur says.

“Would this woman be Dutch’s daughter?”

Arthur’s head snaps up to meet Hosea’s gaze. “How-“

“I’ve run with Dutch for twenty years, Arthur. And I’m not an imbecile.”

Arthur shakes his head with a chuckle. Of course Hosea would figure it out. “Dutch doesn’t think you know.”

Hosea nods. “I decided years ago that I’d let him come to me with that information. He hasn’t yet.”

“How’d you even know about her?”

“I knew Dutch was real sweet on that red headed farm girl. He made us stay in New Hanover for months because of her. Then, one day, we just left. And he never mentioned her again. A couple years after that, I found myself in Valentine. I don’t even remember why, now. But I went into the general store and I see none other than that red headed farm girl, next to her blond haired husband, carrying a raven haired little girl about two years old. Didn’t take a genius to put it all together. And when that woman caught me looking at her baby, she rushed outta there so fast, like she didn’t want me to realize what was going on.”

Arthur lights up a cigarette. “Dutch didn’t tell you because he said you’d think poorly of him for not takin’ care of the girl.”

“He’d be right,” Hosea says simply. “But it was his choice.” Hosea pauses a moment. “Is the girl sick? Is that why he sent you out there?”

“No. She ain’t sick. She’s just alone. Her father, or who she thinks was her father, died some years ago. Then the mother. Before she passed, she sent a letter to Dutch asking him to take care of Emmeline. The girl...” he scratches at the stubble on his cheek, thinking of what to say. “Her mother kept her home. Told her she’d get murdered if she left, pretty much. She wouldn’t go into town by herself. She didn’t even know how to hunt or fish. She woulda starved in a month without me there.”

“What’s she like?” Hosea asks. Hosea has always been curious about what kind of a woman she grew up to be. Even though Dutch hadn’t told him about her, or even acknowledged her as his own, in the back of his mind he’s still always seen the girl as a part of the family.

Arthur thinks it over. “She’s sweet. Innocent. Real gentle. She didn’t even want to kill a fish when I took her out fishing.” He shakes his head with a chuckle. “Reads a lot. Must get that from Dutch. She writes little stories, too.”

Hosea smiles. “She sounds like a fine woman.”

“She’s naive, though. Believed every word that’s come outta my mouth.” Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t want no one takin’ advantage of her.”

“I don’t want that, either. If Dutch isn’t gonna take care of that girl the way she needs, I’m glad you are.”

Arthur nods. “You gonna talk to Dutch about that money?”

“Yeah. We were already planning what we’d do with it. Guess we’ll have to change our plans.” He claps Arthur on the shoulder then walks back into camp.

Arthur stays around camp for a little bit, catching up with everyone and eating some of Pearson’s stew. Mostly, he’s just waiting for Charles to come back to see if he salvaged anything. When he finally does, he brings with him a few gold bars and some gold nuggets. That’s very good news, but it isn’t anywhere near compensation for all the cash that was burned. That fact is made more pointed by the fact that Dutch retreats back into his tent immediately after seeing the gold.

Arthur waits until most of the camp is asleep to head out. Emmeline’s house isn’t a long ride away, so he should be able to spend the night to make sure she’s okay and get back to camp in the morning before anyone really notices. It’s not that he’s really trying to hide what he’s doing, but maybe some people would expect him to stay in camp, given the recent developments. If they knew he was leaving, they might question his loyalties.

Arthur is surprised to see light coming out of the windows of Emmeline’s cabin once he rides up. Normally, she would be asleep by now. In actuality, though, she was having trouble sleeping. To try to tire herself out, she had grabbed her book and sat at the table writing a story. She is almost finished with it when the door starts to open. Emmeline is instantly on her feet. In her mind, only one person would be walking into her home.

“Arthur!” she calls out as he takes his first step into the room.

“Miss-“ That’s all he gets out before Emmeline jumps at him, throwing her arms around his neck. He instinctively wraps his arms around her torso so she doesn’t fall, considering her feet aren’t even on the ground.

“I missed you!”

Arthur walks the two of them into the room, kicking the door closed behind them. “I weren’t gone that long.” He sets her down and pulls away from her.

“You’re hurt!” she exclaims once she gets a good look at his face.

“It ain’t bad,” he dismisses.

“Let me help you.” Before he can object, she pulls his satchel off, throwing it on the table, and pushes his coat from his shoulders.

“I’m alright-“

She pushes him down to sit in the chair, then goes over to the cabinet to grab a small bottle of alcohol and a clean rag. “Stay still.” She comes to stand right in front of him. “This might hurt a bit.” She douses the cloth in the alcohol and leans over Arthur to dab at the split in his eyebrow.

He winces a little at the sting, but stays still just like she asked.

“What happened, Mr. Morgan? Was it bandits?”

He thinks of what to tell her. “Nuthin’ like that, Miss Emmeline. Just a... a feller had too much to drink in the saloon. Thought I was talkin’ about him. Took offense,” he lies.

“You need to be careful, Mr. Morgan.” She tilts his head up so she can tend to the cut on his cheekbone. “You have the most wonderful eyes,” she comments as she looks down at him. “But that bruise takes away a bit of the beauty.” She lightly touches the newly purple skin under his left eye.

He blinks and tries to look away. “I, uh...”

“Hold still.” She gently puts his face back to where she wants it and dabs at the small cut in his bottom lip.

He keeps his eyes closed after that, thinking if that he doesn’t see her, somehow she wouldn’t notice the heat blooming in his cheeks. He feels her pull the cloth from his skin, but then her soft lips are lightly kissing his left eyelid. He relaxes automatically, bringing his hands up to her waist without thought. He can feel the warmth of her skin seeping from the light shift she always wears to bed. It fills his mind with thoughts that he shouldn’t be having. How easy it would be to wrap his arms around her and squeeze her body close to his. How he could run his hands over her exposed thighs and under her dress. When she pulls away, though, he snaps out of it and opens his eyes.

“What was that for?” he asks quietly.

“My mama always said a kiss would make it better.”

When she bends forward again, he doesn’t stop her. Not until her lips just barely graze his bruised bottom lip. At the contact, that voice starts telling him he doesn’t deserve her. Before she can fully kiss him, he pushes her back gently.

“I’m fine, Miss Emmeline. No need to fuss.”

She swallows hard as she stands fully. “Okay.” She backs away from him, corking the bottle of alcohol and putting it back where it goes. “Well, goodnight, Mr. Morgan.” She hurries into her room, closing the door behind her.

Being that close to Arthur stirred up feelings in her. She had never been with a man before, but she’s read stories of courtship and love. Could things be like all that for her? Could she fall in love with this man that came into her life at such a low moment? The thought makes her smile, though it sours when she thinks about the way he pushed her away.

She hadn’t really meant to kiss him. Not in that way. She was just doing what her mother always did to make her feel better. But maybe he took it a different way. And maybe he just saw her as the girl his boss asked him to look after. Maybe he was just a nice man making sure she was okay and that’s it. That realization makes her let out a heavy breath as she gets back into her bed, hoping that sleep will come quickly.

As for Arthur, he stays seated for a few minutes after Emmeline left the room, thinking things over. He reaches across the table to take his journal out of his satchel and starts to write.

  Got into Blackwater just fine. Guess the law ain’t after me after all. The only problem is, the money weren’t there. I ended up finding it, along with the guys that took it, in a cabin up by Strawberry. They ended up dead and the money ended up burning to ash as the cabin lit up from a broken lantern. Stupid. I managed to save some of the cash and Charles went out to collect the gold, but it’s a mere pittance of what it was. Some $150000 turned into about $3000. Jenny and those Callander brothers lost their lives for nothing. Not to mention, the gang’s wanted dead or alive in Blackwater.

That ferry job really were foolish.

I talked to Hosea about it all. I think someone in the camp talked about that money and that’s how those two fellers came across it. Either someone overheard Dutch talking about it and was stupid enough to get overheard talking about it in return or someone wanted that money for himself. And that’s what I’m betting on. And I have my suspicions that it’s Micah.

I don’t got any proof yet, but it makes sense. He’s been whispering in Dutch’s ear for months. It don’t put it past him to get the location of our stash out of him. Or maybe he just overheard. Regardless, I’m gonna have my eye on Micah from here on out. Hosea will, too, I’m sure.

I went back to check on Emmeline. She made a fuss about me being hurt. Rubbed alcohol on my cuts, then kissed my bruises. She went to kiss my fat lip, but I stopped her. It was at the last second, but I did stop her.

I thought about it, letting her kiss me. Kissing her back. But I know it wouldn’t be right. I can’t give her the kind of life she deserves. Starting anything with her would just be wrong. I don’t want to bring her into this life I’m living. And I sure as Hell can’t share her life right now. I’ve lied to her so much already. How could I tell her that I have to leave her to go rob a train? Break someone out of jail? Swindle money out of folk?

I tried to settle down once before with Mary and it failed. Miserably. I just ain’t meant for that sort of life.

Emmeline’s better off without me.

 After he sketches the burning cabin on the next page, he sets his journal down on the table next to Emmeline’s book. This has been one long day and it’s taking its toll on Arthur. He stands from his seat with a sigh and walks into his bedroom to get some rest.

[roninishere]

My Recovery ∆  one   ∆

(I don’t own the gif)

My Recovery

∆∆

   The beating sun was torturous, just drowning the electrolytes and water out of everyone's system the instant they walked outside the cool air conditioning. Let's also not forget the awesome humidity that follows around this time of the year in this god forgiving state. 41% of humidity. Yeah no.

   Last Monday Night Raw before the first ever Paper per view Great Balls of Fire on Sunday. Today also was the young woman's first day back to work in over a month. Her sparkling blue green eyes scanned over the Talking Stick Resort Arena, downtown Phoenix.

   Monday night raw and Tuesday night Smackdown were here in Phoenix, Arizona. It'd give the woman a couple of hours to let loose in town, and she couldn't wait. With a deep breath, her anxiety settled in realizing all eyes would be on her.

   ‘Gotta go in sooner or later.' She told herself before she extended her suitcase holding it in her right hand as her left stroke her wheelchair wheel and pushed it forward to the back of the resort arena gain access backstage.

   On her way there, her hands and arms grew tired, indicting how much she wasn't use to being in a wheel chair and how weak her upper body strength was. It was very frustrating for her, she wasn't use to any of it, and was just learning as she went.

   “Ma'am, ID please." The two security guards were posted at the back door of the stadium where the talent and WWE staff would enter through.

  Pulling the backpack that was squished between her back and her seat, pulling out her employee ID from her wallet getting the okay as they opened the door for her, and quietly tell her to have a goodnight. Sliding her ID back in her wallet, she entered backstage wondering who'd she run into.

   “Is that Miss Carter I'm seeing?!" She could recongize that voice from anywhere. WWE Veteran wrestler R-Truth (real name Ronnie Killings), who had this excited smile on his face seeing it was indeed one of favorite people I'm the company “It is you Miss Carter! My god girl! Look at you! I'm digging this."

   He moved his hand up and down refering to her wheelchair making her smile tug at the corner of her lips. R-Truth was the best making even the most sad and negative things, and bringing the positive out of it. Isabella knew her accident could have been worse, so why making it all depressing and a sob story?

   “I do too. At least I can bump into people with my wheelchair and pull the innocent card."

   The male wrestler burst out in laughter relieved she could joke a bit with everything right now.

   “See! A blessin'!" Um, she guessed. “Where you headin'? Creative meeting?"

   Giving him a nod, he said “I'll take you there,” Hooking her suitcase on her handles behind her seat, he gently pushed her as he was heading to the direction of catering. “I'm meeting up with Gold and the Hardy Boyz in catering. Just admire the dessert, torture ourselves."

   A small smile was on her lips as they appeared in front of the door with a piece of paper that posted CREATIVE TEAM, indicting the two needed to say goodbye, for now. “Well, tell them I said hello, and thank you for accompanying me.”

  “Don't thank me! See you later girl!"

  Entering the creatice team room, there were more than just the other four members; Stephanie McMahon, Hunter, and Kurt Angle. Those three definitely meant that things were bad. Stephanie and Hunter meant 'We need to get our shit together'.

  Which honestly doesn't surprise her, due to the point Monday Night Raw has one of the worst ratings on the USA Channel that she's ever seen in almost TEN years. That's what happens when she's not there for a month. Shit falls apart.

   Everyone turned to see the young woman, completely surprised to see her back so soon. Hunter was first to welcome her back, helping her unhook her suitcase on her wheelchair "Isabella, not that I'm not happy to see you, but you didn't have to come back if you weren't ready."

  "I'm fine, hate hospitals always. I'm good, I promise."

   Glad to hear someone that he's grown close to over the years was ready to get back into work. Stephanie smiled with a respectful nod "Glad to have you back Isabell," addressing the dirty blonde woman with a nickname she gave her first day here, and she went into her professional boss mode after Kurt stood next to Isabella giving her a hello as Steph got started. "Now, if you haven't noticed, our ratings are incredibly low, the lowest they've been in I want to say fifteen years. We need to fix that, immediately. Now we're here to hear what you guys have to offer."

    "We could put Bliss and Nia in a tag match agaisnt Bayley and Sasha." The 'awesome brilliant' head of raw creative suggested making Isabella roll her eyes in annoyonce and frustration being reminded on shit the Raw Womens Divison currently was in.

   Hearing some more teribble ideas they've ALREADY done, the youngest woman cleared her throat, her hands resting on her lap as she adjusted herself where she was sitting up straight "What we should do with the womens divison is have Sasha and Alexa hash it out on the mic. With their real life differences and hate for one another, it'll engage the audience.

   "Have the Miz and the Miz tirage Maryse of course, go out for Miz TV, Ambrose claim a rematch. Have Heath Slater come out and as for a title match. Ambrose has his rematch Sunday and have Heath and Miz have a title match to spark the ratings. Have Lesnar and Joe have a backstage fight," Pausing for a moment, Stephanie and Hunter grinned at one another knowing she still have her mind in work while gone.

   "Emphasis on the Wyatt and Rollins match because I'm confused why that's even happening. Broken Gimmick needs to happen like yesterday, and lastly, we need to have more of the women superstars involved on Raw, since we have three hours I'm thinking Dana and Emma fued soon. Also see about Summer coming back and fued with Sasha. Alicia and Mickie happen."

   She threw out a lot of information that she aslo had typed up in her folder. Edward Lang, the head of raw creative; male in his early 40s, tall handsome, pretty blye eyes, and could probably get any girl in his bed without breaking a sweat. He had anything but a pleasing look on her face glaring at her "Nobody wants to see Dana and Emma, Mickie James, or the rest of the divison. There's a reason why we've been standing with the four girls."

   Even this guy had a boss. Road Dogg. Yeah, and he was even a bigger asshole.

   "People want to see it, anyone but the four women. That's the point of a Women's Revolution. What's the point have having the Mae Young Classic when there are five women on Raw that haven't had a chance to shine because they aren't one of the four horse women with the exception of Alexa and Nia? It makes them," pointing at Stephanie, Kurt, and Hunter putting somw truth out there "look like a bunch of hypocrites."

   Now, this was a little too much authority for the twenty nine year old who felt her heart racing and if she lifted her hand, it be shaking uncontrollabley. She hated how the Womens Divison was treated on Raw, and how they have some like Brock Lesnar, who yes she respects a lot, as a champion who is a part timer. Raw roster was getting the shit end of the stick and they were desperate at this moment.

   "It's not that easy, the more time for them, the least for everyone else. Running this kind of show and getting the okay isn't as easy as you think it is. Thank you for your suggestions, I'll consider them." Code word for: Go fuck yourself Carter.

   Balling her hand into a fist, she knew he wasn't going to give a shit about what she said and contunie to run this company to the ground. Not able to say anything, well she could, she just didnt have the self confidence to do so, she put a fake smile on her face muttering "You're welcome."

   As their little meeting went on, Isabella found herself else where in her mind knowing this was never going to get better. Losing the best talent in the world like Austin Aries, who was not at all happy with his position in the company, that really says a lot about this company. She has dealt with this sexist and racist bullshit for years and it made her blood boil.

  Most of the time why she never says anything back was because she was afriad of getting fired; she loves the wrestlers and staff memebers here. They've been her family for a long time. What would she do with her life? This was her life, just not in the way she saw it.

  "Everyone's dismissed. Let's have a good show tonight."

   Grabbing her suitcase pulling it by her left hand, she used her right to move her wheel to leave just when Hunter started small conversation "So how you feeling?"

   "I'm doing good Hunter, just having a little of a hard time with sleeping positions. That's all."

   That wasn't exactly what he was asking, so he asked a similar question "You know Steph and I can see how much you care about everyone here. You've been here for what? Almost ten years? Ever consider maybe taking a step into a bigger role?"

   "Like as the Head of Raw Creative?"

   He gave her a nod only her be truthful "You know Vince won't ever approve of it."

   "He wouldn't, not without some convincing. I don't say this unless I believe it a hundred percent," Stopping in his tracks, she stopped when he set a hand on her shoulder and met his eyes "I see you as the Head of Creative, of both brand. Changing this place, and I have a feeling that you do too. Look, when you're ready, Steph and I will back you up but you need to find it inside that you can do it. Believe in yourself."

   Wow, okay. Fuck. That's a lot for her to take in right now. She felt her breathing get heavy and uneven but she gave him a look that she understood what he was saying, "Thank you Hunter. I needed that."

   "No problem kid, take it easy."

∆

   With Raw kicking off in under an hour, Edward Lang actually considered her ideas and is going through with most of them. Just of course not the Womens Divison one. Fucking asshole.

  He instructed Isabella to gather the talent together and tell them about the changes in the show. Doing that, she had everyones scripts and grew a nervous when she was giving weird looks in her new condition but she had this.

   'I got this,' She told herself as everyone's eyes were now on her.

   Ready go.

   "H-hello everyone. There has been quite some changes with tonight show and I wanted you to hear it from me and to make sure everyone's on the same page," They watched as she opened the folder on her lap.

  A certain superstar was curious and nudged his old friend "What happened to her?"

   "Renee told me that her and Paige had been doing some training in the ring. She took a bad bump and lost the feeling in her legs."

  A look of disbelief sat on the face of Seth Rollins, real name Colby Lopez "No," By the look on Jon's face, Dean Ambrose, his friend was dead serious "You're serious? That's crazy, I just don't see her trying to wrestle."

   "I'm pretty sure someones said that about us or just about everyone in this room." Ah, very vaid point.

   The two fell silent as the disable woman contunied on "Alright, bare with me everyone, I'm trying to unfuck everything, I'm gone a month and this place is going down to hell." Cracking a joke, some of the wrestlers chuckled at it agreeing, even making Colby himself chuckle.

   "Enzo, you've been moved to the opening of the show, go out there and pour your heart out on the microphone. Now, I've changed that because Rollins and Wyatt," She grabbed both mens attention "I know you two haven't been given a lot of time with this storyline, so you guys got fifteen minutes, do what you do best.

   "Miz, Maryse, and the Miz tourage will be on Miz TV, talking about Ambrose being a problem, Ambrose you come out demand a remath at Great Balls of Fire, god that is a horroble Paper per view name," She hated how it sounded and that was all they could best come up with? Chuckling softly she brought in Heath Slater "Heath, you and Ryno will come out, you say you want a title shot and you shall recieve one."

   Mike and Maryse nod knowing their get there scripts after "Brock and Joe, we will do a backstage segnment and an interview will go south and basically y'all will kill each other," Paul Heyman really liked that idea with a giant smile on his face.

   "Hardy boyz, slowly show the broken gimmick. I'm really trying to convince Vince to go with it so do your guys thing. And lastly, ladies, unfortunately you're stuck in another tag team match; Nia and Alexa vs Bayley and Sasha. For all three divisons, I know your frustrated with booking, I'm frustrated too. Bare with me and let's show Phoenix how Monday Night Raw works. If there are changes in storylines and segments I brought up, I have scripts. You're free to leave."

   As everyone who got changes for tonight, naturally got in line as the others left the room. Standing behind Mike, Maryse, and the Miz Tourage, Colby's eyes flickered over at The Boss when she said a snarky comment to the creative woman who clearly didn't want to agrue. He rolled his eyes before he ease dropped in the conversation ahead of him.

   "Now Mike, if you don't any of these, perfectly acceptable. I trust you enough to put on a great segment."

   The Intercontinental champion scanned over the many script options she gave him very impressed "No, these are amazing. All of these are exactly what I need. You're the best Bella, oh! A bunch of the talent is going out tonight, you should join us!"

   Mike and Maryse had always liked and respected Isabella; especially will being here as long as she has been. She fought for the Mike's on screen character and well as Maryse holding the Divas Champion many years ago having one of the longest divas reigns in history.

  She had no favorites, and cared for everyone, wanting everyone to be treated right.

   "Yeah, thanks for the invite. I'll be there. Tell me the details after your segment."

   Being the last one, Colby took a step forward as she greeted him "Hey Rollins, how's the knee doin'?"

    "It's doing really good actually, thanks for asking," He took the script from her hand as he head the door open for her to exit "How about you? Haven't seen you in a while."

    That made her smile, and actually smile. He noticed when she wasn't around, wheeling herself out of the room "I'm hanging in there, it's a rough transition."

    "I'm sure it is. Well, if this helps, you look great."

    As he walked along side of her, he glanced over to see her dip her head in the other direction able to catch the bright red cheeks thinking it was adorable "T-thanks, it does help," she cleared her throat a little curious "are you going out later with the others?"         "Yeah, Ceasaro and Ambrose convinced me to do so. Are you?"

   Why not? Couldn't hurt to let loose "I'll go for a little bit, I'm going to the gym first," She then emphasized "Need to work on my upper body, of course." She fixed herself, even though he was well capable of figuring that out on his own.

  He really respected that; gym before going out. In her condition, staying in  physical fitness, was very important. "Hey, I hear you, that's great. I applause you, I'll see you later tonight then?"

   "Yes, good luck tonight Mr. Rollin-"

   "Please call me Colby, It's Isabella right?"

  Giving a nod, Colby, despite working in the same company for YEARS, she had no idea that was his real name. She liked Colby, it was different. "Colby I will refer you as then, and yeah Isabella; feel free to call me Bella or really anything but Isabella, honestly I feel like I'm in trouble or in business talk. Sorry I'm rambling on."

  "No, don't be sorry, I get it," He really didn't want to stop talking to her but they both had work to do. "I'll let you get back to work, thanks for the script. If I have any questions, where can I find you at?"

   Yeah okay, really just to see her. He has this unexplainable attraction to her that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

   "I'll be catering to think or either Glam Squad with the girls."

   Ugh, shit what to say no, he was very awkward at this point. He was terrible with women, just look at hia track record with them. Terrible. "Ok sweet, I'll see you then."

   "See you around Colby."

   Parting ways, Isabella spent more of the night of the show with many of the other wrestlers to talk about their scripts and she gave some pointers and ideas to help them suceed as Colby spent most of his stealing looks in her direction, not understanding why exactly he did so.

∆∆

∆ two ∆ 

  So yeah, thoughts? This has been my longest chapter ever. I hope y’all enjoyed and if you’d liked to be tagged, let me know! God I’m scared of what you guys think. Be gentle?

Love ya! xoxox

-Cammy