#(ignoring how many she eats in breaking dawn shh it's fine)

[the-most-pathetic-edge-marquis]

what can Bella Swan actually cook?

armed with LegalTM pdfs, control f, and my theory that Bella doesn't actually like cooking she was just written by a mormon housewife, I have determined every specifically named meal Bella cooks in the Twilight Saga!

In summary:

15 total named meals (7 in Twilight, 3 each in New Moon/Eclipse, and 2 in Breaking Dawn)

13 unique meals (lasagna & fried chicken repeat across books)

Presumably she's also cooking literally every other day (when they aren't ordering pizza, which is apparently the only takeout Charlie ever gets), but it's not relevant to her narrative.

my main conclusion is that she eats way too much cereal, but for the purposes of this i've decided that cereal doesn't count as cooking.

Bella Swan canonically knows how to cook:

Twilight:

Steak and potatoes, plus salad (pg 15)

White people enchiladas (p.36)

Fish (marinated), with “salad and bread left over from the night before” (p.68)

Cold-cut sandwiches (p.70)

Grilled cheese (with tomato) (p.111)

Lasagna (p.118)

Fish, using Harry Clearwater’s fish fry (p.169)

New Moon:

Fried chicken (p.70)

Lasagna (p.82)

Casserole (p.197)

Eclipse:

Spaghetti, (rescued from Charlie)

Grandma Swan’s stroganoff recipe (p.29)

Hamburger (p.43)

Breaking Dawn:

Sunny-side up eggs (p.75)

Damn rancid chicken Fried chicken (p.80)

#my meta #bella swan #so i guess she can cook but uh... #this is. very boring. lmao #at one point she says that renee likes to 'experiment' and sometimes it's inedible... #DO YOU MEAN RENEE MAKES FOOD WITH FLAVOR #BECAUSE I FEEL LIKE THAT JUST MEANS RENEE MAKES FOOD WITH FLAVOR. #sorry not to be a renee apologist in the tags #but also this specific search made me SO MAD at charlie so #eclipse is really the worst book. character assassination for EVERYONE #also oh my god she eats so much cereal #you guys? you guys #are there people out there who eat that much cereal??? #that can't be good for you!!! #she eats cereal every day!!! #except for the first when charlie makes her bacon and eggs and she asks to take over the cooking #bella!!! #i think she must not like eggs #(ignoring how many she eats in breaking dawn shh it's fine) #page numbers are all from my pdfs but hopefully they at least kinda map onto the actual books

[slightlycrunchy]

"don't freak out" with de-aged Dadzawa to Shinsou

I think I took this in a different direction dear...but I hope you like it XD

WC 1900~, rated T, de-aged aizawa, references to child abuse and implied child abuse, happy ending, dadzawa&shinson

There’s a new little boy today.

Hitoshi stares from behind Miss Tanaka’s legs, gripping at her dark blue skirts tightly. He knows she won’t like this, but for now she’s occupied with welcoming the new kid and Hitoshi will take advantage of it for as long as possible.

The boy is dark; dark eyes and dark hair, dark lashes that fan out across his cheeks. Pale skin. It’s been a while since a new boy has come to the orphanage, and this one looks to be about his age. Hitoshi just turned six this year.

“What’s your name, dear?” Miss Tanaka asks in her sickly-sweet tone, the one she uses with certain people that don’t include Hitoshi. It won’t last long. She really likes to yell an awful lot. “What did your parents call you?”

“Shouta,” the boy says immediately. Hitoshi blinks. The boy doesn’t seem shy, unlike most new orphans. Hitoshi is still shy, and he’s been here as long as he can remember.

“Found him in an alley, poor thing,” the social worker says. Hitoshi can’t remember her name. He startles when the boy—Shouta—speaks again.

“I don’t belong here. I have a home—”

“Yes, yes dearie, that’s what they all say,” Miss Tanaka dismisses. Hitoshi looks up at her when he feels her gaze find him, and he fights his natural instinct to cower. Her eyes go cold when she sees the wrinkles his fists have left in her skirt. “Hitoshi, dear,” she grits out between clenched teeth, “why don’t you take Shouta with you upstairs? Show him the boy’s room, yes?”

It’s phrased as a question but Hitoshi knows it isn’t a request. He nods frantically, immediately grabbing one of Shouta’s small wrists in his clammy hand. “Come on, this way.” He can do this. He can be good, useful. They won’t hurt him if they can use him, he’s sure of it.

The boy doesn’t come willingly and yet Hitoshi perseveres, stomping his small socked feet up two flights of stairs to the younger boy’s room; the girls have their own and the older boys as well, across the hall. Every step brings more struggle from the boy behind him but Hitoshi won’t stop, can’t stop when this is him being good. He has to be good.

“Hey kid, stop—”

“No, we have to listen. You’re new here, but I’m telling you, ya’ have to listen or you’ll get in trouble—”

“Kid, stop.”

“My name is Hitoshi.”

“Hitoshi, it’s okay. Just—calm down.”

He hadn’t even realized just how hard he was breathing, and it only dawns on him as they come to a stop in his—theirs, now—slightly rectangular bedroom, filled with bunk beds from corner to corner, with a wide open space in the middle kept meticulously clean. Hitoshi takes a deep breath as he whirls on the boy behind him, the kid’s dark eyes half-hooded with obvious apathy.

Did Hitoshi ever look like that, or was he always afraid? Shouta doesn’t know enough about this place to be scared of it, but fear keeps Hitoshi safe, so he will teach the boy. He’ll teach him. He ignores Shouta’s suggestion that he ‘calm down’.

“You sleep when they say, eat when they say, and play when they say. Do your lessons when Miss Ro says so, and wash behind your ears. They check, believe me…” Hitoshi says darkly. Shouta’s eyebrows are slowly knitting together; that’s fine. It means he’s taking Hitoshi seriously. “It’s alright here, if you follow the rules and stay out of the matrons’ way. The older kids are pretty nice. They’ll help you, if ya’ ask. ‘Specially the ones who have been here a while. They get it.”

Hitoshi wants to tell him about the dark room and the belt, the sly fingers that yank and pull at ears and cheeks and skin without warning, leaving red crescent marks and sometimes blood—but he’s hoping the other boy will never have to experience that.

“I’ll help you. You’ll be alright, with me.” Hitoshi tries to smile reassuringly.

Shouta doesn’t smile back or look relieved like Hitoshi had hoped; if someone had told him this when he first arrived, Hitoshi thinks he himself would have appreciated it. Learning on the fly has ended in too many nights with a raw bottom or aching back when the matrons get too heavy handed with the belt. He cringes inwardly.

Shouta’s face is smooth, impassive. Hitoshi doesn’t like that he can’t read the other boy easily; is that normal for kids their age? Hitoshi can’t seem to hide a single thing from the grown-ups.

Shouta shifts his weight, his eyes narrowing in apparent suspicion. Hitoshi flinches. Did he mess this up, too?

“Do they hurt you, Hitoshi?”

He feels the blood freeze in his veins. Is he that obvious? Oh well, he supposes there’s nothing for it now. He’d rather shelter Shouta from the hard truth of it, but if he already sees it written in the lines of Hitoshi’s tiny body and the sound of his frantic words, then...well the matrons are always telling him to be honest, aren’t they.

“Yeah...but it’s alright. You just gotta be better than me, Shouta. You can do that, right? It’s not so hard. I’ll still help you, I promise, just follow my lead, okay? You don’t have to be scared.”

The thing is, Shouta doesn't look in the least bit scared.

He looks furious.

Hitoshi is about two seconds away from cowering back and finding his bed where he can hide under the blankets and pretend he has some semblance of safety under them. How did he mess this up already? How is Shouta mad at him before he’s even had a chance to get to know Hitoshi?

“Hey, hey kid, no- I…” Hitoshi looks up to see one of Shouta’s small hands, reaching out to him. It’s slow, and this is about the only thing that keeps Hitoshi held fast in place. Once again, he can’t help but think that this boy is strange; he doesn’t hold himself or talk like any other kid Hitoshi has ever met. The confusion only heightens the sense of wrong that all of this brings and it welcomes hot, unbidden tears to his eyes. But it’s been a long time since Hitoshi has let himself cry, so he holds them back and they burn all the more.

Shouta sighs, the little sound echoing out across the bare wooden floors around them. He stares Hitoshi down with a quiet strength that Hitoshi doesn’t know what to do with. “If I tell you something, you have to not freak out, ok?” Hitoshi nods, though he’s not sure if he’ll freak out or not. Shouta nods back resignedly. “I’m not truly a child. My name is Aizawa Shouta and I’m actually...big. A grown up,” he says slowly, as if trying to find the right words to explain himself. Hitoshi on the other hand feels his jaw drop to the floor. “I got hit by a quirk that made me small and I got turned around in the confusion. That stupid woman brought me here, but I’m not an orphan. I’m a pro hero. Eraserhead.” He finishes off by jutting a hand forward, his small fingers poised into a clear invitation for a handshake.

It’s this last detail that settles the thought in Hitoshi’s mind: Shouta is telling the truth.

Hitoshi knows this with every trembling bone in his body for multiple reasons. One, no kid his age has ever talked the way Shouta does, with slow pauses and thoughtful phrases, with fire in his words ready to stand up to even Miss Tanaka downstairs, lacking any and all fear of authority that Hitoshi has quickly learned to cultivate.

Two, the story seems like it could be true. People are affected by quirks all the time and accidents happen a lot. Hitoshi has been on the receiving end of too many quirks to not believe Shouta when he says this is what happened.

And three...well, three is the most convincing of all.

Because Hitoshi knows of Eraserhead. Hitoshi loves Eraserhead.

Hitoshi thinks back to when it happened. He's pretty sure he was five, though the days tend to all run together. Measurements such as weeks, months, years mean very little to him, but he’s almost sure he’s right. In the summer, the matrons find themselves busier than usual--with school being out and all--the kids running rampant with boundless energy. But not Hitoshi. No, he had taken the opportunity to slip away, out the front door and down the street, where the city was somehow blissfully quiet and where he had gone to enjoy his time alone. Well, not entirely alone.

“You back again, kid?” Eraserhead had asked. After the second time of meeting in the alley, the man had finally introduced himself, though Hitoshi never did return the favor. Hitoshi had been floored when he learned the man was a pro hero. Hitoshi nodded in response, kneeling down to observe the real reason the both of them ever found themselves in that alley that smelled of hot, sweltering garbage.

A mother cat had birthed kittens a few weeks back and Hitoshi was fascinated by them. Eraserhead was too.

And now, Eraserhead is a boy with dark hair and dark eyes that Hitoshi recognizes and oh my god it’s real, what are they gonna do--

“Shh, shush, it’s alright Hitoshi.”

The boy pales. “Do you...do you remember me?” He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Shouta says no, it might just break what’s left of his half-starved heart. This is Eraserhead--Shouta, a pro-hero who now knows what happens to Hitoshi in the dark corridors of this place, and he had always wanted to tell Eraserhead but he could never seem to strike up the courage. But now Shouta knows and what if still nothing changes--

“Yes, I remember you, kid. I took one of those cats home, did you know? Never saw you again after that last time.”

Hitoshi didn’t know. One day he went back and the cats were just gone.

“Took the rest to a shelter. They were old enough to be separated from their mother and it just didn’t feel right leaving them on the streets. Bothered me I couldn’t tell you that,” Shouta sighs. Hitoshi blinks, still trying to reconcile the silhouette of the man he had begun to know and bond with, with the figure of a small boy before him. He feels like he needs to sit down.

“Listen, kid,” Shouta begins, his tone leaving no room for argument, “I’m not staying here. I’ve got people out looking for me and for all I know, this quirk has a time limit.” A small hand comes to rest firmly on Hitoshi’s shoulder and he looks up from where he had unknowingly been staring at his shoes. “And when I leave, I’m taking you with me. I know these places aren’t great but...mm," Shouta shakes his head. "I’m not just gonna leave you here, kid. Hitoshi. Do you want to come with me?”

Hitoshi feels numb, his fingers tingling weirdly, but not unpleasantly. He can’t quite get his mouth to work.

For a moment Shouta looks nervous. “I named her Sakura. She’s the one with the blue eye, remember?”

The cat. Shouta is talking about the cat. Hitoshi feels a small smile break onto his face, stealing space like a creeping shadow. Shadows. Hitoshi would like to leave behind his shadows. He finds himself nodding. He licks his lips, voice cracking when he speaks.

“Sakura. I like that name.”

Shouta smiles.

send me prompts!

#and then they lived happily ever after #i dont know what this orphanage is lollll #my writing #dadzawa #age regression #bnha #my hero academia #fic #hurt/comfort

[c-rose2081]

Mess Not With a Resting Dragon

Love Like Dragons AU

Bevie | Huma | Gildry | Mal & Audrey BROTP

—

Audrey the Aurorian Dragon wasn’t a fan of being cold. Unlike Mal — Evie’s five-year-old Isle Dragon — who loved lurking around corners, under furniture, and inside cupboards; Audrey was quite opposite. She spent her lazy afternoons basking in warm sunlight on clear branches or at window sills. She lounged by the oven door when Evie was baking, played in rolls of fabric left behind while Evie was designing, and slept at night on a well heated perch next to her and Ben’s shared bed. The creature was very much her husbands little Princess, and Audrey was sure Evie knew this as well.

Currently, Ben was out of town. Evie had been watching both dragons closely, as Mal had only just recovered from a Dragon Cold. It had taken only a few days of Ben’s week long getaway for Evie to notice something weird going on with Audrey. Though she would be there in the morning on her perch, as always, she seemed lethargic and snappish. She ate regularly though, and played a bit. So Evie thought perhaps she was simply missing Ben, as he very rarely went away without her.

In the mornings, Evie would let the Dragons out, and leave the door to the porch open while she worked on her designs in the Den. Mal came and went often — nothing weird there — but her pink counterpart often stayed outside all day long. This was unusual, because the weather was getting colder as Summer began its annual shift into Fall. Evie was well aware that Audrey was a priss about her body temperature, and it was odd of her to stay out so long without even coming inside to eat. Halfway through the week, despite a late Summer drizzle rolling in from Atlantica’s direction, Audrey refused to come back inside. Period.

Evie tried to wrestle her out of the garden, but was shocked to retrieve a sharp nip on the hand. It wasn’t a malicious bite; Mal’s play wrestling was often far worse. But it was a bite none the less, and Evie had never been bitten by Audrey before. As she had when Mal caught a cold, Evie began her usual routine of worrying. What if something was wrong? What if Audrey caught something from Mal? What if she died while Ben was away and came home to find his Princess gone?

At once Evie was filled with dread. She wanted to call her husband, to tell him what was going on and how she didn’t have Uma’s number to call her for help. But he trusted her to watch the ‘kids’ (as he referred sometimes), while he was away. And Evie didn’t want to disappoint him. After all, it was only a week. She should’ve been able to handle a week at home by herself.

Instead of calling Ben, Evie dawned her bad weather gear and began watching. The rain didn’t let up for days, and Audrey still refused to come inside. She had taken up residence in one of the rose bushes in the garden; one so dense and prickly that there wasn’t any way for Evie to get her out, or even see inside. Mal, who Evie hadn’t noticed at first, was able to slip into the bush just fine. The pair would make a bit of noise, as though they were conversing, and Mal would leave and fly off.

After a day of watching said bush, freezing her butt off but determined not to let anything past her, Evie still wasn’t sure what was going on. Mal, her dear spiky fiend, would visit the bush at least five times a day. Sometimes she would have things that she found around the house. The first time it was a dishcloth, the second time a spool of thread, the third an old sock belonging to Ben that had been behind the washing machine. And so on and so forth. Evie hadn’t ever seen Mal so keen on playing fetch; not like she was ever keen on playing to being with.

Audrey herself wouldn’t come out of the bush, not once. And only when Mal brought a dead mouse from the shed did Evie understand why the Princess hadn’t come back in. She wasn’t starving; as Evie had first thought. Mal was feeding her wild catch. Thoughtful; but weird as the two so often bullied each other. As darkness fell and the storm grew heavy, Evie was forced into retreat. Of course she was worried about the dragon in the bush, but she didn’t need to get sick either.

Evie didn’t get much sleep that night. She tossed and turned as thunder rolled overhead, and rain assaulted the windows. She was only just beginning to doze off when Mal began to scream. It wasn’t a sound Evie had ever heard come from her best friend. It was a horrible, desperate wail, as though she were in such great pain that she might just die on the spot. Leaping out of bed, Evie stubbed her toe in the dark but ignored it. She shoved on her Ugg boots, tucked into her jacket and bolted down the stairs phone flashlight in hand.

She found Mal at the door to the patio, flapping and scratching at the glass in panic. She banged her body against the panes, forcefully rattling the hinges, desperate to get outside. Evie fell over herself getting the door open, and Mal bolted out at breakneck speed. And as Evie followed her into the storm, she knew something was horribly wrong.

The sounds coming from the garden were like war. Growling and hissing, whimpers, cries and thuds. Skidding to the shed, Evie was already soaking wet as she turned on the floodlights, illuminating the entire backyard. Two rather large bodies circled Audrey’s rose bush, the leaves and branches trampled and broken down. One dog and Audrey were engaged in a fierce battle, the dragon’s back forced down into the muddy grass by a large brown paw as she used teeth and claw to swipe at the stray dogs nose.

The other dog was now engaged with Mal, the purple dragon pissed and tearing into its fur and flesh with her toothy maw. Startled by what she saw, Evie entered the shed and grabbed a shovel from the wall. She was just in time to keep the German Shepard from biting Audrey’s neck, swinging her makeshift weapon hard and striking the animal with its flat face. There was a horrible BANG of metal on skull as the dog was knocked to one side, whimpering in pain and running away into the hedges where it had come. The other, realizing its alpha was retreating, followed suit.

Breathing hard, Evie’s heart was leaping in her chest as she dropped the shovel with a clatter. Audrey had managed to get back to her feet, but walked with a hard limp and many cries of pain. She looked horrible, covered in bites and scratch marks. One of her wings appeared to be torn slightly, and part of her topmost ear was missing. She went straight to the bush, crawling through the debris. Evie’s composure shattered when she heard the most heartbreaking wail.

Hurrying to where Audrey now stood crying, three eggs sat in a nest made of various items from around the house. There used to be four eggs; four little baby dragons which Audrey had no doubt been incubating for the past several days. But one of them had been pulled out of the nest by the dogs. One baby dragon had been lost.

Crumbling to her knees, Evie trembled in the night and the rain as Mal pulled Audrey close with a wing and held her tight with both arms. The new mother continued to wail with grief and pain, the sound echoing like a ghostly song on the wind. That’s where Ben found them all when he returned home later that night, weeping in a ruined garden with Evie unable to speak past blue tinted lips. Ben immediately carried his wife upstairs to warm up and dry off, and then called Uma.

He returned to the back garden not long after, wielding under his arm a large plastic tote lined with several old, fluffy blankets. Gently, he moved Audrey from the broken down nest into the box, followed by her remaining clutch of eggs and what he could salvage of the nest. Mal had already gone upstairs to be with Evie, keeping the woman warm with her own body heat as she slept fitfully and tearfully.

When the bluenette came down the next morning, her eyes bruised and body sore from the night prior, Uma and a man she didn’t recognize stood with Ben in the living room. Gil was also present, one massive wing draped protectively over a basket which held the remaining eggs. Mal went to meet him, crawling to sit on the table above the basket, as to have a better view.

Uma currently had Audrey on the table, stretched out across a red stained towel. The man she was with wore elbow length leather gloves, holding the poor thing down as his partner made expert movements with a needle and thread. Audrey cried all the while, the sound breaking Evie’s still fragile heart.

“Hey, you don’t need to be in here for this,” Ben whispered upon seeing her, tugging his wife along to the kitchen. She began to weep again, but Ben silenced it quickly.

“Shh, it’s ok. It’ll be alright, E,”

“B-but it’s not,” Evie managed, “I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I-I should’ve done more.”

“Love, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Ben pleaded, “you should never mess with a nesting dragon. You did the right thing leaving her be,”

“B-but she’s hurt now because of me. I should’ve stayed, I should’ve called...”

“Why didn’t you call?” Ben asked, squeezing her arm gently, “E, I could’ve been back. I could’ve been here to help,”

“This trip was so important to you, Ben,” Evie insisted, stomping her foot slightly in tired frustration, “I’m a full grown woman. I’ve lived on my own since High School. Yet the minute you go away...” waving towards the living room where Uma was working, Evie sighed heavily, “I wanted to show you I could handle it. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Oh, Evie...no, no,” pulling the woman to his chest, Evie let him run a hand through her hair, closing her eyes at the feelings of comfort it brought, “you could never disappoint me. I love you so much. I’m just glad you’re all safe.”

Nodding weakly against her husbands broad, warm chest, the two glanced up as Uma entered the kitchen from the other room. She was sweating a bit, resting both hands on her hips as she exhaled.

“So what’s the word?” Ben asked wearily, cringing at the possibility of bad news. Uma, thankfully, didn’t seem ready to give it.

“She’ll be fine,” the woman nodded, “must’ve put up one hell of a fight though. You said it was a Shepard that did this?”

Evie nodded in confirmation as Uma scoffed and ran a hand over her braids, “right, well. Keep her off that leg for a while, I’ll prescribe some meds to keep her sedated until she heals up. Keep an eye on that wing too, we don’t need it getting infected,”

“And the other eggs?” Ben asked, “they’re all ok?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Uma answered, “one of them has developed a crack, but it didn’t hurt the integrity of the egg. May just end up being a dragon runt,”

“Dragon runt?” Evie questioned, “what does that mean?”

“Runt of the litter,” Uma explained, folding her arms as to find a better position, “it might come out funny looking, or small. In the wild, dragon runts are left behind by their mothers to fend for themselves or get eaten. But since Audrey lost one, she may just accept it anyway.”

“She’ll grieve, then? I know Aurorian Dragons are supposedly quite emotionally sensitive.”

“For a few weeks I think,” Uma confirmed, “it’ll probably be best for Gil to stay here as emotional support. He is a father after all, and Coastal Dragon males are left to watch the eggs in the wild,”

“How do you know so much about dragons?” Evie wondered curiously, “is there like, a manual for this stuff?”

“I worked at a sanctuary for a bit, before I met Harry,” Uma admitted, nodding to the living room. Speaking of Harry; the man in question entered the kitchen. He placed both hands on Uma’s shoulders, and Evie immediately noticed the two missing fingers on his right hand.

“Well, lil blighters are all resting up, now,” he spoke though an accent, though it was one Evie couldn’t really place in her hazy, sleep deprived brain, “we best be goin’ soon, luv. I got a shift t’nite at the yard,”

“Right,” Uma agreed, “you guys call me when you start seeing movement in those eggs, I want to be here when they hatch.” Uma insisted, taking the hand Ben outstretched for a shake, as he wasn’t ready to let Evie from his arms just yet.

“Thank you, Uma. I can’t thank you enough. If you ever need anything...”

“Call you. Yeah, I know,” Uma laughed, waving for Harry to follow her out. When the front door clicked shut, Evie let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“See,” Ben said gently, “it’ll be ok.”

Swallowing the rock in her throat, Evie let Ben guide her back out into the living room. Audrey and the eggs had been moved back into the plastic tote, folded up in blankets to keep her warm. Gil — left behind by Uma and Harry till the eggs hatched — sat sentinel by the box, one wing stretched over its top. Mal still lay draped over the side of the table, chin rested on a folded arm, watching the both of them, “come on, Evie. Let them rest; you need your sleep,”

“Mal,” Evie said, causing the purple haired dragon to lift her head slightly, “you watch over them. Ok?”

And Mal, cranky as she was, snorted a plume of smoke and returned to her former position of watchman as Ben and Evie went upstairs for a midday nap of their own.

#disney descendants #descendants fanfiction #descendants #dragons #fanfiction #alternate universe #audrey rose #mal bertha #ben florian #evie grimhilde #uma daughter of ursula #harry hook #gil son of gaston #love like dragons au

[marvel-redemption-omega]

Of Outlaws and Family

https://marvel-redemption-omega.tumblr.com/post/620348987402256384/of-outlaws-and-familyChapter Seven: Ride of Passion

A/N: AHHHH I am happy we are here! This was such a treat to write! Being this is a story, obviously things are not at all accurate (you’ll see what I mean once you read it) buuuuut it is a story so, yeah. Shh we’ll just play it off as super high pain tolerance? Yeah, that’s what we’ll do, lol. Don’t judge me for my choices, I’m living vicariously through my own writing okay? Oh, guess I should mention this is High Honor Arthur, it’s the only way I’ve played him. Haven’t done my Low Honor run yet. Unbeta-d, all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: Cursing, gang violence, sexual references/innuendos, domestic violence, threats, character injury, character death (O’Driscolls), worried/protective Arthur, protective John, asshole Jessie, 18+/sexual themes: ADULT THEMES; IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 TURN AROUND; GO AWAY; DO NOT PASS GO; DO NOT COLLECT TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS

Start here: https://marvel-redemption-omega.tumblr.com/post/620167374619951104/of-outlaws-and-family-chapter-one-new-beginnings

Last Chapter: https://marvel-redemption-omega.tumblr.com/post/620348987402256384/of-outlaws-and-family

Please enjoy! Hearts and repubs are greatly appreciated!

My work is not to be posted elsewhere; I will post it to my AO3 and dA if I so choose.

Word Count: 11,300

“Want me to ride with y’all part of the way? I ain’t got nothing to do the rest of today and nothin in the mornin,” Jessie offers as he helps James into the saddle of his grey-blue Arabian between Fancy and Shamrock. Scarlet climbs into her saddle on Shamrock, glancing over at him.

“Can he, Ma? I’d like to spend some more time with Pa,” James asks, chocolate eyes warm and happy. She feigns an irritated sigh and nods, gesturing to Fancy.

“Might as well since you’re here. I hope you know I can’t take that Arabian with us. I have too many horses as is,” she explains as her son’s father slings himself into the saddle, making Fancy prance to the right to keep from stumbling into the Arabian.

“I think I’m gonna call her...Storm!” James cheers as the filly tosses her head.

“I can’t believe you bought him a new horse. I get that you wanna be in his life more but he won’t be ridin by himself anytime soon, surely you know that? An I can’t keep anymore, be it for him or not. I have full stables,” she angrily whispers to Jessie over James’ head. He shrugs and pets Fancy’s neck.

“Come on. We have a long way back from here,” he answers, brushing off her concern. James hesitantly kicks the Arabian and holds tight to the reins as she starts to walk forward. Fancy, seeing James moving, immediately follows and rides beside him. Scarlet gives Shamrock a kick, her spurs digging in more than her heels could, and rides on the other side of the Arabian so James is blocked in by them.

“Yeah, that’s cause someone wants to live in Saint Denis to be close to his parents,” she snips as she unties her hat from the saddle and puts it on. A red neckerchief, her rodeo gift from Arthur, sits proudly around her neck. Jessie sighs, not knowing exactly what life she’s been living, after reading about her burned down house.

They ride in silence from Saint Denis until they reach Rhodes. As they enter Lemoyne, Scarlet notes the Raiders watching them and talking rapidly to each other in hushed tones. One of them points and she feels her stomach twist.

Jessie is currently teaching James how to train Storm to listen to neck-reining, demonstrating on Fancy. The bay mustang snorts and flattens her ears at him, biting at her bit, but listens if only for James’ sake. James follows the instructions and laughs when Storm listens.

The farther into Lemoyne they go, the tighter the knot in Scarlet’s stomach gets. She slows Shamrock, grabs Storm’s reins and halts her too, much to the Arabian’s dismay. Fancy and Shamrock flick their ears and look around, both side-stepping closer to James and Storm.

“It’s too quiet. There’s not even any birds. No owls, no deer,” Scarlet murmurs as she looks at the setting sun. Rustling to their left startles the Arabian and she bolts with James on her back, yanking the reins from Scarlet’s hand.

“James!” Jessie and Scarlet yell as they kick their horses to follow. Fancy and Shamrock sprint after Storm, crossing the border of Lemoyne and New Hanover.

They run up on a small group of riders in front of James, who is trying to see past the horses of the men blocking him from his Arabian. Scarlet tenses as she notes their coats. There’s at least twelve of them.

“Storm? Storm!” James cries for his horse.

O’Driscolls, she thinks. Dread seeps into her bones as she pulls up on Shamrock until he’s trotting. Fancy follows Scarlet’s orders, despite Jessie urging her to a gallop. They stop when one of the riders, the leader of the group, slips off his horse, pistol in hand. Scarlet’s hand grabs her revolver out of reflex, slowly un-holstering it as he steps close to James.

“What’s the matter, Boy?” The man asks, nodding his head to the men behind him. Two of them break off and head to the left, where Scarlet glances and sees Storm eating grass. The duo lasso the Arabian and start to lead her back.

“My horse, she got spooked and ran then threw me. I need her so I can go back an ride with my parents, Mister,” he meekly replies, stumbling back with each step forward the man takes.

“Oi! Leave my boy alone!” Scarlet yells, making Shamrock walk forward. James turns around and smiles, a happy shout of “Ma!” from him as he sees his parents. The man takes two quick steps and snatches a hold of James, gun pointed to his head.

“Mama!” James cries, eyes wide as both his parents ride closer. The man behind him cocks the hammer and presses the barrel into his temple. He whimpers and keeps his eyes on his mother. “Don’t let them take me, Mama.”

“Well, well, well boys, would ya look at what we got here. Miss O’Hara, didn’t know you had a son, nor a husband,” the O’Driscoll man sneers and starts to drag James back towards his horse. The other men laugh as the two from earlier ride up with Storm, filtering into the back of the group.

“Give me my boy and the horse and maybe I’ll let you snakes go,” she seethes, hammer cocked as she brings it up to aim at the man, straight between his eyes. Jessie stares in horror, eyes about as wide as his son’s, as he watches Scarlet slip off Shamrock’s back and walk forward.

Shots ring loud as Scarlet pops off three shots. Three men fall off their horses, who all spook and run off, dragging their dead riders as their feet are stuck in the stirrups. The man with James aims his gun at her and fires, the sound momentarily deafening James. He brings his hands up to his ears, around the man’s elbow grip on his throat; he stumbles as he’s dragged backwards even more. Scarlet slides behind a boulder off to her right, peeking out and aiming at the two who have Storm.

Storm rears and starts bucking, yanking the two men from their horses as she bolts. They grumble and holler, letting go of the rope, figuring the horse a lost cause. They scramble to their feet and draw their rifles from their horses. Scarlet curses the Arabian’s fear and sends her last three bullets into the closest O’Driscoll.

Fancy keeps her gaze on James, ignoring Jessie’s many attempts to get her moving. She stands firm even when he digs his heel into her side, snorting in warning. Shamrock rears and stomps the ground, neighing and riling up the other horses who weren’t spooked by the gunshots. Fancy snorts and neighs angrily as the man shoves James to one of the men in the back who hogties him and tosses him on the back of the leader’s horse.

“Not a chance. You want him, you can join him or come and get him. I’m sure Colm will be rather pleased to see you. We’ll be at Dead Man’s Keep, out by Hanging Dog Ranch,” the leader jeers and shoots at the rock, barely missing Scarlet as she ducks just in time. She pops her revolver open, dropping the hot and smoking shells, and fumbling to add another six. A string of curses flies from her lips as she clicks it closed and spins it. She drags the hammer back and aims at the leader, shooting him between the eyes. There’s a storm raging behind her eyes and she drags the hammer back again, moving to aim at one of the others.

A loud crack echos through the valley and Scarlet tumbles back. Searing, scorching, burning pain races from her shoulder and down her arm and chest. She cries out and glances down to her right shoulder. Blood’s soaking through her shirt and staining the blue material. She looks up and locks eyes with the man who shot her, he climbs onto the leader’s horse and snaps the reins as he turns the horse.

Scarlet stumbles back to Shamrock, left foot in the stirrup as she starts urging him to go. Fancy tosses her head and starts galloping, leading the stallion. Scarlet swings into the saddle and curses as she struggles to holster her gun. Once she does, she snatches the reins and snaps them, kicking Shamrock at the same time. He whinnies and turns his gallop into a run. Fancy follows on his heels, reins pulled from Jessie’s hands. He’s frozen in the saddle for the most part, his reality shattering as the realization dawns on him that his son’s been kidnapped. He grabs the reins and posts himself to Fancy’s run.

“I’m gonna get him back. I need you to get someone for me. Fancy!” She yells, turning slightly to look at the duo. The mustang flicks her ears towards her owner, patiently waiting for orders. Scarlet purses her lips and lets out reverse wolf whistle. Fancy stretches her stride and breaks off from Shamrock, taking the trail to the left.

“You can’t go alone!” Jessie yells at her as Shamrock slows for a moment.

“I have to. You ain’t got any guns! You’d be useless to me!”

“You just got shot!”

“I’ll be fine. I’m goin to get my son back. Just tell’em that O’Driscoll’s ambushed us got James and I went after them. Tell’em to meet me at Dead Man’s Keep! HYAH!” She squeezes her thighs while simultaneously kicking Shamrock. The mustang-thoroughbred tosses his head and sprints away from Fancy, the mare picking her run back up as they separate.

Jessie struggles to keep in the saddle as Fancy only seems to be going faster with each stride. He can hear her panting and tries to slow her a few times, only for her to turn her head and nip his his foot or leg and continue her relentless pace. He throws one arm up as a shield as she runs right into a section of trees. Twigs snap under her feet and brittle branches break on his arm, leaves smacking him in the sides and face. He vaguely hears someone shout out a warning and then he’s on the ground.

Fancy’s bucking and causing a riot. Jessie notices there are other horses that are getting stirred up and joining her in her chaos. He glances around and swallows as he sees all the tents and wagons around, one he recognizes as the one he got Scarlet. He looks back at Fancy.

“What in Sam’s Hill?! Dutch growls as he hears Sean yelling for someone to stop their horse before he shoots. He, Hosea, and Arthur share a look and get up, guns drawn as they head over to the horses. Dutch motions for Abigail to get Jack to the back of camp.

“Hey, that’s Fancy. Where’s Scarlet? And who the hell is that?” Arthur mutters crossly.

“Dunno, but we’ll find out,” Dutch responds and readies both his pistols. Arthur nods and heads over to the horse, knowing Dutch and the others can handle the one man, who he assumes was the one who rode Fancy into their camp.

Jessie feels the gun before he hears the click of the hammer. He slowly stands when instructed and turns to face the assailant. His eyes bulge when he turns and comes face to face with none other than Dutch Van der Linde and his gang. He looks over at Fancy, who’s being called by a man in a tan jacket and black hat, a hat that looks similar to Scarlet’s. He watches for a moment as the man easily grabs Fancy’s reins, pulls her from a rear, and has her calm in a matter of seconds. She snorts and paws at the ground, nudging the man and then pulling towards Jessie.

“Who the hell are you?” Dutch’s voice is thick with malice as he keeps his gun trained on the man.

“Jessie.”

“I don’t care about your damn name, Son. Who the hell are you? Why are you ridin Scarlet’s horse?” He growls in warning, cocking his pistols. Jessie holds his hands up as he backs away from Dutch, into the cold barrel of Sean’s rifle behind him.

“I-I-I, umm, there was this gang! We was riding an one of the horses spooked and we ran from Lemoyne to here but were ambushed. Just outside Emerald Ranch. Please, Mister, you gotta help me get my boy back.”

“That still don’t tell me who you are, Boy. I won’t ask you again,” Dutch warns as he and the others press close in a circle around him. Jessie looks around the group of men, eyes settling on the man who calmed Fancy.

“They said they’d be holding them up at Dead Man’s Keep! I don’t know much about this country. I’m from Saint Denis, honest! Uhh, the name of the gang...she said O’something… O’Malley?” He stutters, trying to remember the name of the gang Scarlet had shouted at him.

“Dead Man’s Keep?” Arthur mutters to himself, trying to figure out why that name sounded familiar.

“Strike one, enamigo,” Javier trains his gun on the trembling man’s chest.

“Umm, O’Desry?” He tries again.

“Strike two.” Sadie states; a few other guns cock as Jessie looks back around the group.

“Fuck! Scarlet said to tell y’all she was goin to get James back! Said them damned O’Driscolls got him!” He snapped and took a step towards Sadie. Dutch lowers his guns, but just barely. Arthur grabs Jessie by the front of his shirt, balling it up and bringing him so they’re face to face.

“So you let her go alone?! What’s wrong with you?! Why didn’t you go after him and send her here?!” He bellows, face red in anger. Jessie blinks and tries to pull himself free of Arthur’s grip.

“I didn’t let her do nothing! She did one of her special fucking whistles and Fancy took off! The damn mare wouldn’t listen to me! I tried to stop her but she almost bit me when I did!” He yells back. He stumbles and falls on his ass when Arthur shoves him away.

“Dutch, please?” Arthur’s hands tremble in anger as he moves to the gang leader. Dutch puts his guns away, everyone else following suit, some reluctantly. “Let me go after her?”

“Go. Take who you need. Get her and that boy back in one piece. And take him with you. I don’t want him left in my camp. Send someone back if you need more people than you’re taking,” Dutch replies, eyes hard and cold as they glare daggers at Jessie.

“John, Sean, Charles, Lenny, Kieran, will you ride with me?” Arthur asks, voice projecting as he stalks towards Smoke. Fancy prances behind him, nickering and nuzzling his back. Arthur turns to pet her, carrot in hand. There’s a chorus of cheers and positive hollers as the five all whistle for their horses and mount up.

“Arthur!” Sadie walks up to him, gun in hand. He raises a brow but waits to see what she’s going to say. “Let me ride with you. I’m a good shot and I can help you. Besides, she’s my friend!” Arthur nods, he knows the duo have grown close.

“Oh alright. Get your horse.” Arthur pets Fancy, stroking her neck. “I need a favor if you can, Girl. Think you can ride with us to get your owner back? Jessie here needs a ride,” he asks the mare. She flattens her ears as she looks at Jessie and perks them up when she looks back at him before bobbing her head in what Arthur takes as a yes. He motions for Jessie to climb back on, who hesitates for a second, and Arthur pulls himself onto Smoke. “Let’s ride. Hyah!”

“Ahah! You really thought we would let you follow us here without se’tin up somethin?” One O’Driscoll laughs at Scarlet. She pulls on the rope that’s cutting into her wrists, throwing her body forward. The man holding her laughs as he easily holds her back. When she stops walking, he shoves her forward, he kicks the back of her knees when she doesn’t budge. Her knees buckle and he lets her hit her knees in the mud.

“Where’s that husband of yours? Some man,” another jeers as she is dragged back to her feet and pushed towards the house. She clenches her jaw as she slowly moves, her whole shoulder throbbing. She takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and lets it out slowly. She hasn’t seen James since she got here and she can feel her heartbeat nearly out of her chest.

“Not my husband…just a friend,” she manages to breathe out before she’s backhanded. She grunts and spits out blood as she steadies herself again and readies herself to go up the stairs of the porch. She’s only partially thankful for the man walking behind her, partially disgusted. He keeps brushing his hand on her lower back, hips, and ass and she’s about ready to punch him when the door opens. Colm walks out, dragging James by the arm.

“Well if it isn’t Scarlet O’Hara! What a wonderful surprise! An isn’t he just another great surprise. Tell me,” Colm drawls as he walks up to her after passing James to one of his lackies. He grips her chin harshly and forces her to look at him. “Was he born before or after the first time I met you an you denied me? Is that what that mutt a yer’s come runnin out from the bedroom to bite me fer? He why you shot my men?”

His breath smells of rotten tobacco, so she tells him as such. He backhands her hard enough she falls to her hands and knees. He snatches her up by her hair and brings her close to his face, grinning as his eyes light up with something she can’t quite place.

“How bout you come spend the night with me? After all you did ride into my camp here,” he drags her inside by her hair, stopping momentarily in the doorway. “Make sure he’s taken care of; food, water, whatever he needs. Keep him somewhere for a while. Me and Scarlet here’s gon’ have some fun.”

“Mama?” James whimpers, the man holding him by the arm pulls him back as he tries to run to her. She looks at him, eyes watering from the constant tugging of her hair, and smiles.

“Easy, my son. We’ll be ok soon. We’ll be safe, I promise you. They’re coming, they’re on their way for us,” she bites her tongue as Colm yanks on her hair, pulling her into the house. She tries to keep as close to him as she can so he isn’t tugging so hard she loses hair. Colm thinks she’s slowly caving, finally. He herds her through the hall and up the stairs to the master bedroom.

Arthur puts his binoculars away and turns Smoke to face the others. Sadie sits up straight on the blood bay that Scarlet gave her. John and Lenny look up from cleaning their guns. Kieran, Charles, and Sean all climb off their horses and join the others, all stocked to the teeth with their guns and ammo; Arthur slips off Smoke.

“Alright, they’re takin James to the barn. I’m not sure what they’re plannin on doin with him. Lenny, John, Kieran, and Jessie take the barn. Sadie, Charles, Sean, you’re with me. Remember, we don’t know what they’re gonna do if they find us here. Keep it quiet, move fast, and let’s get Scarlet and James outta here. Let’s move,” he  relays his plan. Jessie furrows his brow as he tries to comprehend what was just ordered. Lenny pushes a pistol into his chest, letting go once Jessie has it.

“You do know how to use that, right?” He asks as he leads John and Jessie down towards the barn. Jessie scowls but nods, gripping the pistol.

“Course I do,” he rolls his eyes. Kieran glances back at him and scoffs at his pompous attitude. John pulls out several throwing knives from his pocket and hands them to Jessie.

“We go in quiet first. Don’t wanna kick any trouble up if we can avoid it,” he tells them as they hide in the uncut wheat, bow drawn.

John leads them around the back of the barn to some wooden scaffolding. He helps Lenny climb up before following, Kieran and Jessie in tow. They slip in through the hayloft door and make their way to the edge of the loft, waiting for the O’Driscolls and James.

It’s not long before the barn doors are pushed open and the man shoves James forward, making the poor boy trip and stumble into the hay. He whimpers and turns to face them, crawling backwards as the few gang members press in on him. “Mama!” He yells, scared. They close the barn doors.

“Now’s our chance! Let’s go,” John whispers, motioning for everyone to get into position. He draws his bow, Lenny his knives, Kieran his hatchet, and Jessie the knives John gave him. “Steady.” He waits for the five men to move into range. “Now.” He releases the arrow, dropping one of the guys, knives and hatchets following and downing three others. The last one whirls around and aims his pistol into the loft, firing four shots into the hay. John and his team all lean against the bales and hold their breath in wait.

“Where are you?! You’ll pay for this! Either with your life! Or the boy’s!” Jessie goes to leap up but John yanks him back down, shirt clenched tight in his hand.

“Listen to me!” John hisses, keeping his voice low to keep their position secret. “He’s trying to draw us out. I understand you want James ba-”

“How could you possibly understand?! You don’t know wh-”

“I have a son!” John snaps, yanking Jessie closer, sneer on his face. “And I know that if Arthur told us to keep quiet it’s for good damn reason! Now sit down, shut up, and let me work on a plan to get your son, my nephew, back!”

Jessie stares wide eyed at John, his words sinking in and striking a nerve. He clenches his jaw but nods as John shoves him back into the hay. He points to Lenny, “go scope out the other side with Jessie here,” he orders and peeks over the bale. He points at Kieran as he drops back down when a bullet flies by. “You’re coming with me. We’re gonna try and flank this sunovabitch,” he urges Kieran to their right as the four split and make their way silently among the hay bales.

“I’ll give ya to the count of three to come out! Then the kid gets lead right between his pretty green eyes,” the O’Driscoll calls as he holds one pistol trained on James and another scanning the loft. He fires another shot as he sees movement between some bales. He quickly reloads his revolver; James is curled up in the stall with Storm, the grey mare nickering and nudging the boy in comfort.

Arthur leads his small group towards the front of the homestead. There’s a cattle pen full to their right and a sheep pen full to their left, Arthur sends Sean and Charles to the right and tells Sadie to follow him through the sheep. They slowly make their way up to the house, silently taking out any O’Driscolls they see.

He has Charles stay behind to guard the door to the house as they move in. Sadie paves their way, checking each room before waving Sean and Arthur through. She halts them as she slowly pushes the kitchen door open, revealing four O’Driscolls at the table, drinking and playing poker. She puts a finger to her lips and draws her knife. Arthur follows her lead and pulls two throwing knives from his pouch.

“Sean, get your knife ready,” Arthur orders as they get into position. Sean nods eagerly and draws his knife as he goes where Sadie tells him. Arthur sinks his blades into the chests of two of the four as Sadie and Sean grab the other two and stab them until they go limp in their arms.

“What the hell?!” The trio whirl around at the yell, an O’Driscoll standing in the doorway. He glances over his shoulder to the stairs and makes a break for it. Sean leaps at him, being the closest one to him, and tackles him. Arthur and Sadie cringe at the loud thud that resounds throughout the house. Sean rams his knife into the man’s neck as he struggles to get free.

“Best ta get goin, Boss. T’at ruckus probably alerted whoever was upstairs, Art’ur,” Sean ushers Arthur passed him and up the stairs.

“Now you know ain’t no one coming for you, why would you say something like that to the boy? Get his hopes up?” Colm coos, though it’s anything but sweet. He runs a hand down her chest, over the dress he’s forced her into. Scarlet scrunches her nose in disgust, looking up at him from her spot on the bed, the rope cutting into her wrists, binding her to the bed frame.

“He needed to know that I would be fine with the likes of you. Needed to be told somethin so he’d stay calm. Don’t want him hurt. Forgive me for tryna keep my son calm,” she snips at him, eyes defiant. Colm turns to her with a glare.

“Don’t you disrespect me!” He snarls and stalks over to the bed. She struggles to pull herself up as he backhands her again, causing her to yelp in pain. He smiles as he leans over her. She leans back as far as she can from him, her back and head pressing against the wall. A loud thud echos upstairs and Colm jerks away from her as the door busts open.

“Colm! You gotta go! Dutch’s Boys are here!” One of Colm’s men shouts. Colm grits his teeth and shoves off the bed, grabbing several bags and his pistols. He turns back to the bed and starts for it, bringing his right hand up. He swings down as his man drops dead in the doorway, intentions set on knocking her out and taking her with him. Arthur, Sadie, and Sean all appear just as Colm looks up, the diversion making his hand move lower than he wanted and cracks Scarlet good in the chest.

She gasps as the air is forced from her lungs and pain spreads like wildfire through her veins. Sean’s the first to get a shot off, missing Colm as the gang leader whistles and climbs out the window. He jumps onto his horse and kicks it, making it rear and run away from them and homestead. Arthur runs over to her, knife making quick work of the ropes as Sadie and Sean cover him, Sadie shooting out the window at Colm’s shrinking figure. She growls as he disappears from sight, several men on his tail.

“How’s the Lass?” Sean asks as he slowly moves towards the bed, hearing Scarlet’s heavy breathing as she tries to get a full breath. She waves the Irish man off and grips Arthur’s jacket tightly as he scoops her up in his arms.

“She’ll be fine. Just cover me,” he barks and makes his way down the steps, cradling Scarlet carefully against him, minding her head and legs as he passes through the doorways. Charles greets them outside and stares in disbelief at Scarlet, earning a glare from her. He chuckles and nods to the rest of the group, all walking from the barn. Jessie has the Arabian mare on a lead and John is talking with James, arm over his shoulder as they bow their heads in conversation.

“James?” Scarlet croaks, pulling Arthur’s attention. He glances at her and nods, gesturing with his chin to their right. She sighs and closes her eyes, breathing still a little ragged.

“Scarlet,” Jessie breathes a sigh of relief.

“Mama?”

“She’ll be alright, but we need to get back to camp. And you need to go back to wherever it is you live,” Arthur growls to Jessie, hold on Scarlet tightening slightly. Jessie glowers at him and gives a stiff nod. James breaks away from John and rushes Sadie, murmuring with her, trying to see what was wrong. Sadie doesn’t tell him, offering comfort by telling him his Ma is just tired. They all follow Arthur to the tethered horses.

Arthur helps Scarlet onto Smoke, the thoroughbred nickering in question to the semi-conscious female. She mumbles something to him, as she slumps down onto his neck, breathing still slightly labored. He follows her quickly, sitting behind her in the saddle, and pulls her so her back is to his chest. She opens her eyes and murmurs something he doesn’t make out.

“Hey, c’mon. Eyes on me,” he tips her head back so he can look at her face. Her green eyes meet his and she smiles, relaxing back against him. “There ya go. You good?”

“I feel like shit. He hit me pretty good,” she rubs at her eye, flinching slightly at the pull in her chest. He takes off his jacket, slipping it over her and takes her hand, leading it to the horn, where he has her hold.

“Yeah well don’t worry bout him. Little shit ran when he saw us comin. Now let’s get you guys back to camp. Dutch was pissed when you sent your….sent James’ father to camp on Fancy.”

“He’ll get over it. I have some information for him anyway. Dumbass O’Driscoll was prattling on bout some money, sounded like a lot,” she murmurs and let’s her eyes close. “I wanna sleep, please?”

“Alright. I’ve got you. It’s a long ride back to camp anyway,” Arthur agrees and takes the reins in his left hand, right arm around Scarlet, hand on hers to help keep her steady. His right hand holding hers on the horn. “Let’s get!” He calls to the rest of the group.

Sadie helps James onto Fancy, takes her reins, and ties them to Buckeye before climbing into her saddle after tying Scarlet’s bedroll onto Smoke. She just winks at John when he gestures to the bedroll. His eyes widen a bit and he tries to cover his slip of laughter into a cough, smirking as he looks between Arthur and Scarlet.

They ride in silence, everyone worn down from the raid. James and Jessie are the only ones talking, well Jessie tries to but James just asks why he didn’t try to help his Ma when they were shooting at her. He asks why he didn’t come after him in place of her. Arthur’s still alert, his adrenaline still rushing as his mind plays over different outcomes that could have been. He tries to slow his racing heart so he doesn’t wake Scarlet.

Scarlet startles awake, having only been in a very light sleep anyway, and groans as she leans back against the warm chest behind her, closing her eyes again. She reaches her left arm back and rests her hand on his thigh; opening her eyes as she realizes it’s not Jessie she’s riding with. Quickly, she tilts her head and shyly smiles up at Arthur.

“Hey, you,” she blinks.

“You alright? Took a nasty hit with that pistol,” he says softly, glancing down at her.

“Yeah, he hit my sternum. Still feel like shit though,” she manages and rubs his thigh, squeezing when Smoke abruptly sidesteps and whinnies. “Shh, hey boy, you’re good. It’s just a snake,” she soothes, letting go of Arthur’s leg to reach up and pat Smoke’s neck. He tosses his head and turns his head a little to see her, ears forward.

“That’s my boy,” Arthur murmurs to him scratching his back just in front of the saddle so he doesn’t lean on Scarlet. Smoke straightens and resumes his trot. “But you’re alright otherwise?”

“Yeah. I’ll probably be bruised but I think I’ll be fine. Bout as bad as bein trampled,” she shakes her head as she leans back into Arthur, grateful for his warmth. “I did get shot in the shoulder though, that hurts like a right bitch.”

“I’ll bet,” Arthur shifts behind her slightly, pulling her closer to him in the saddle. “If you want, we can stop and I can take a look at your shoulder, see how bad it is. You need to get alcohol on it so it don’t get infected.”

“Mm, nah. Let’s get back to camp. Don’t wanna be out here with them still milling about,” she attempts to scoot closer to him, shivering when she feels him, half hard against her rear. Her heartbeat flutters and she lets out something between a whimper and a moan. “Why, your jeans are rather tight Mr. Morgan. Are you alright?” She lets her hand fall back onto his leg, mindlessly drawing random, invisible patterns. Her head slides to his left shoulder, tilting back so she can look up at him. She smiles when she hears him curse under his breath and slows Smoke to a walk. He’s made his decision.

“Hey, Charles! Make sure everyone gets back safely? And make sure he doesn’t follow. You heard Dutch, he don’t want him back at camp. We’re gonna stop so I can tend to her shoulder; she got shot,” he explains as Charles moves up in the formation. Charles nods and takes Arthur’s position.

“Stay safe and stay warm,” Sadie hollers as she passes them, winking at the duo. James waves to them as Fancy follows Buckeye, nickering at her owner. Shamrock’s following easily behind Fancy, nickering and nudging his mother every so often.

Jessie stops the Arabian by them, eyes angry at Arthur before softening when he turns his gaze to Scarlet. John and Lenny bring up the rear, passing by Jessie as they catch up with the group, calling out to be safe and hurry back.

“I’m sorry you were shot. Do you want me to stay and help?” He offers sincerely, prepping to dismount.

“No. No thank you. Why don’t you just go back to Saint Denis? I’ll, uhh, I’ll write you when James wants to see you again. Arthur’s got me covered,” Scarlet answers for him. She squeezes his leg again as he rocks into her back slightly, looking as though he were shifting in his seat.

“Oh, umm, yes. Alright. Okay, I’ll do that then. I’m sorry, Scarlet. This isn’t how this should have gone,” he apologizes before clicking his tongue and kicking the mare.

Once he’s out of sight she rocks back against Arthur, hand rubbing down his thigh to his knee and back. She repeats this as Arthur moves Smoke into the clearing on their right.

“Can I get the tent and our bedrolls set up at least?” He groans, the uneven ground causing them to grind against each other, she whimpers.

“Sure. Maybe that will give me enough time to wash in the creek. I feel dirty, feeling his hands on me,” she retches, sticking her tongue out as she fake gags.

Arthur nods and stops Smoke, slipping from the saddle. He picks Scarlet up and sets her on her feet, handing her one of the shirts he has stored on his horse. She smiles and thanks him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before wandering down to the creek.

The water is just high enough that she can sit comfortably and rinse off the dirt, grime, and blood from her chest and shoulder. She takes her time as there’s still a pull when she reaches too far with her left arm. When she’s done, she shakes the water off the best she can, using parts of the dress she cuts to press against her shoulder as a makeshift bandage.

Arthur sets up the bedrolls and pitches the tent. Once he’s done, Scarlet walks over in just his long sleeve shirt he handed her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. It’s big on her but his heart still jumps a little at the sight.

“C’mere,” Arthur says, hand held out in invitation as he holds open the tent flap with his other hand. She takes it and follows him into the tent, minding the small fire he has going just out front of it. Arthur shuts the flaps and pulls her to him, catching her lips in a searing kiss. It stuns her for a moment before she’s pressing herself against him, hands roaming his chest above his shirt.

He pulls back and sits down with his back to the back of the tent, a tree just on the other side stabilizing him. He gently pulls her down into his lap and cups her face, kissing her again. She pulls back from him, hands resting on his shoulders as she pulls her knees to either side of his legs, lowering herself to sit back.

“Thought you was gon’ help me with this wound?” She teases, taking his hat and tossing it onto the bedrolls on the side. He lets his head fall against her chest as she runs her hands through his hair. He grumbles and presses kisses to her left collarbone.

“Fine. Come on then,” he pats her thighs, signaling her to get off his lap so he can grab what he needs. She complies and sits on her bed, waiting as he steps out the tent. She can hear him rummaging through his saddle bags, muttering to himself. She laughs as she makes out ‘damn woman’ and ‘why she gotta tease’. He pushes the flaps aside as he maneuvers back inside. He pats his lap when he gets settled, his pouch sitting open beside him. She moves back to him, straddling him.

“Whatcha got there?” She wonders aloud, watching as he takes out an unopened bottle of whisky. He passes it to her and pulls out some cloth and wrap.

“Drink up, I’m gonna need to use some of that to pour in that wound, clean it out,” he explains as she pulls the cork out with her teeth. She stares at him, eyes widening.

“That’s gon’ burn like hell.”

“Unfortunately. Then I’ll cover it and wrap it,” he starts undoing the buttons on his shirt she’s wearing. Scarlet takes a large gulp of the alcohol, coughing slightly at the after-burn in her throat. She passes the bottle to Arthur, who sets it aside for now.

She goes to help him unbutton the shirt, but he lightly smacks her hands away, catching her eye. They stare at each other a moment, the only sound being the rustle of clothes as Arthur continues to pop the buttons. She can see how dark his eyes are, pupils dilated almost completely. He’s staring at her with lust, adoration, and something she isn’t quite sure. She knows he can see lust and adoration in her eyes too, hoping the love and bliss is contained.

Her breath hitches slightly as his hands undo the last few buttons at the top. Arthur murmurs softly to her, keeping her gaze as he slips his hands under the shirt and gingerly slips it off her shoulders and down her arms. She pulls her wrists out and he tosses it by his hat. Arthur tries not to let his eyes wander, but it’s hard when she’s bared to him, in his lap. He gulps and brings his hand up to her right shoulder, resting it on the top as he inspects the bullet hole. She rests her left hand on his shoulder and lets her right hang by her side so he can move it if he needs to.

“It’s a clean shot, went straight through. It’ll scar but you should be fine,” he assesses and reaches for the whiskey. She moves off his lap and leans back, on the opposite side of their beds. She nods when she’s ready and he moves over her, slowly pouring some of the alcohol on and in her wound. She bites her lip as she whimpers at the burn; it’s nowhere near what she felt when the bullet ripped through, but it still hurts. She pants as he dabs at the excess whiskey and puts one of the cloth pieces over the front. “Turn over for me? I need to get the back,” he whispers softly to her, brushing her hair behind her ears.

She nods and takes a second before rolling herself onto her stomach, holding herself up from the ground. She feels his scruff on her back before the burn, his lips trailing soft kisses along her left shoulder and neck as he cleans the exit side of the wound. She lets out a shaky breath when he presses another piece of cloth to the back, dabbing at the excess liquor and blood, helping her back into his lap.

“Shh,” he soothes, running his hand down her back as the other holds the cloth in place on her shoulder. He removes the cloths and grabs a small, metal file from his bag. He lets her rest on the bedrolls as he steps back out the tent, coming in a few moments later, the file red and hot. Her eyes widen a bit. “I need you to trust me, okay? Come here, this is gon’ hurt,” he soothes as best he can, rubbing her side when she crawls back into his lap.

She rests her left arm around his neck, bringing her shoulder and body close as she waits for him. He presses a few kisses to her face before holding her tight with his left arm about her waist. He works the file into her shoulder, making sure there’s nothing left in the wound. She whimpers and cries out against his shoulder, her muscles tightening as she clenches her stomach and legs, letting out a baited breath.

Arthur sets the file aside and pulls a bullet from his satchel, prying it open. Scarlet lets her head rest against the crook of his neck, her heart racing. She can feel the blood pumping through her veins, feel the rush as it pounds through her head. Arthur shifts her to his side to leave the tent. He returns with a small branch on fire. When she looks at him, puzzled, he gestures to the opened bullet and then to the burning stick. Her face pales a bit and she swallows, her throat feeling dry all of a sudden.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on, I’ve got you,” he soothes as he pulls her back to his lap, letting her sit with her back to his chest. He dumps a little of the gunpowder in her shoulder, bringing the flame to it. There’s a soft popping sound and Scarlet slumps against Arthur, chest heaving. He soothes her by pressing kisses to her temple, cheeks, and neck, whispering praises and telling her how good she was doing for him.

He turns her so she’s facing him again and repeats his previous steps, cradling her as she loses consciousness for a moment from the shock. He takes the moment to toss the burning stick back out into the fire, readjusting Scarlet against his chest and packing his tools. He leaves the cloth and whisky out.

It’s a few moments before she’s back with him, her body aching, coming off the adrenaline rush. She groans and opens her eyes, looking up at him. She can feel his growing excitement under her legs, as he has her sitting sideways across his lap.

“You ready for me to wrap it?” He asks, voice quiet as he nuzzles his face into her neck, nipping and leaving sloppy, teasing kisses. She shivers in his arms and nods her head once.

“Arthur,” she whimpers, turning so she’s straddling his hips again. “Wrap my shoulder later. Please? I just- I can’t- I need-” she struggles to find the right choice of words. Luckily he seems to understand as he lets his right hand hold her left hip, rolling his hips up into her as he gently pulls her down for another kiss. She whines against his lips, her hands making their way under his vest. He helps her get his vest off,  his bandolier going with it, leaving him in his shirt and jeans.

Her hands are on him again immediately, popping the buttons on his shirt. She pulls the bottom from his jeans to undo the last few, trailing kisses down his neck. He lets his hands fall naturally, one on her hip and the other tangled in her hair at the back of her head, cradling her to him as she grinds down against him. He grunts and pulls her head back, bringing her back to him to kiss. She slows her hands, taking her time in unbuckling his gun belt, minding the pull in her chest when she pulls the belt from the buckle.

Arthur licks her bottom lip, silently asking for permission. She groans against his lips, parting hers for him. He curls his tongue around hers, coaxing her to a fight for dominance. She responds, hand moving to tangle in his hair while the other works on getting his suspenders undone. Arthur pulls back and rests his forehead against Scarlet’s, both breathing heavily.

“We can stop if you want, if your shoulder,” he starts. She shakes her head, removing his suspenders and pushing his shirt back and over his shoulders.

“Don’t wanna stop, wanna feel you,” she breathes, eyes locking with his. His breath catches in his throat, seeing her green eyes blown with lust makes him moan. He nods and toes off his boots, shrugging out of his shirt.

“Okay, okay,” he replies, nodding as he gently pushes her from his lap, “we’ll keep going.” He strips out of his pants and underwear as she moves to their beds, sitting up on her knees.

“Are you okay, Arthur?” Her tone is teasing and she looks as though she’s about to jump him. He nods and moves his shirt to join the rest of his pile of clothes, leaving his hat on the bedrolls.

“Better once you get over here again,” he mumbles, motioning for her to lay with him in the middle of the beds. She shakes her head and lets him lay down first, straddling him again.

“This won’t pull so much,” she shyly admits, eyes bright with something Arthur’s not familiar with.

“You sure you don’t wanna lie down? You’ve been through a lot in the past few hours,” Arthur murmurs against her ear, licking the shell of it. She shivers and he smirks; he knows it’s not from the cool breeze seeping into the tent. He trails his hand down her stomach, but she smacks his hand away lightly, shaking her head.

“No teasin, don’t wanna wait, been too long,” she grumbles, hand slipping between them to stroke him a few times. He groans at the contact, letting his head fall back against the pillow. He pushes himself up onto his elbows, watching her as she pushes to stand on her knees, lining him up with her entrance. He swears as she sinks down onto him, moan slipping from her lips as her hands fall to his chest where she digs her fingernails in.

“Christ,” Arthur breathes as he moves one hand to rest on her hip, holding himself up with the other. “How long is too long?” He slowly rolls his hips up when she grinds down on him. Green eyes meet his for a split second before she’s looking at the bed to the side of him.

“Shortly after James was born,” she quietly admits, raising herself before sinking back down. “Now hush that mouth before I do it for you.” She leans forward to recapture his lips, tugging on his hair when he sucks on her bottom lip. She feels the vibrations of his chuckle through his chest and against her own at her keen moans he’s swallowing.

She keeps her pace in rhythm with their kisses, slow and drawn out. Arthur seems content with it as well, bucking and rolling his hips every other time she lowers herself back onto him. He groans when she shifts her weight and bounces on him, moving one of her hands from his hair to brace against his forearm.

He has one hand on her hips, the other gently stroking up from her navel to her breasts. He runs his thumb over one bud, watching as it hardens when he takes the warmth of his hand away. Scarlet whines when he tweaks it, rolling the hardened bud between his fingers. When she’s mewling and arching her back into his hand, he switches to give her other breast the same treatment.

“Arthur,” she moans, widening her legs to pick up her pace. He lets go of her hip, slowly letting his hands rove from her side up to her shoulder, down to her stomach, finally cupping her breasts, squeezing them gently. She curses under her breath as she looks down at him, nails digging into his arm, surely leaving crescent shape indents.

She grips at his hair, tugging gently to pull his gaze from where they’re joined to her face. He smiles up at her, face and chest flushed with heat. She smiles back at him and leans down, meeting him halfway for a kiss. He gives her boobs a final squeeze before reaching over and grabbing something with his left hand. He holds her gaze until he drops his hat on her head, smirking up at her mischievously.

“Show me how well you really ride, Cowgirl,” he orders, grabbing her braid and tugging. A strangled moan leaves her lips as she stutters above him.

“Fockin’ ‘ell,” she swears, adjusting his hat so it won’t fall off before she shifts her stance to ride him faster. He tugs her braid again, rolling his hips up into her as she moves down. She gasps and tilts her head down at him as he repeats the action, hand tight on her hip. He rocks up into her in time with her movements, one hand cupping her jaw and forcing her to look as she lowers herself down. She lets out a groan at the sight, one hand pressing on his stomach as her back arches. “Fock, Arthur! There,” she whimpers, scratching down his chest. He moans at the feel, watching as her nails leave white streaks on his flushed skin.

“Darlin’, you keep ridin like that an I ain’t gonna last much longer,” he bites out, panting as he meets her eyes. She nods and slams down on him, throwing him off her pattern. He easily picks it back up, yanking on her braid. He slides his hand to the start of her braid and buries his hand, tangling it in her copper strands.

She only hums in response and tightens her stomach muscles as she slips off him, making him yank her hips back down as he slams up into her. She smirks down at him until he clenches the hand in her hair into a first and tugs her head back and to the side. He leans up, pulling her close as he holds her head back, nipping at her throat, teeth dragging across, leaving angry, red marks.

“I don’t know what you just did, but you need to not do that if you wanna finish first,” he growls, kissing her hard, their teeth scraping together. She lets out a few whimpers as their tongues fight for dominance; she gasps when he angles his hips, hitting her just right and dragging sweetly as he pulls back. She allows him the win as she breaks the kiss, panting and opening her eyes to look down at him.

“You mean this?” She asks coyly and clenches her stomach so she tightens around him as he’s pulling out. A string of curses leaves him as he thrusts his hips faster, pulling her down with a little more force when she moves.

“Scarlet, I- where-?” He can’t get his words out, but she seems to understand what he’s asking. She clenches around him again and nods her head.

“Wherever you wanna, Cowboy,” she murmurs, earning a yank to her hair. She curses and stutters above him, losing her pace momentarily. She picks it back up easy enough and licks her drying lips, trying to hold in a moan.

Arthur slips his free hand to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips. She darts her tongue out to brush over the pad of his thumb, contentedly humming when he pushes it into her mouth; she sucks on it, running her tongue over it as she stares into his eyes.

“Gonna make you come undone for me,” he grunts as he bucks into her, earning a meek mewl around his finger. “Then I’m gon’ fill you up, so you remember who can touch you,” he growls into her ear as he sits up with her still in his lap. He tips his hat back on her head so he can rest his forehead on hers, their breaths mingling as he rolls his hips forward.

Maybe it’s the feral look in his eyes, or maybe it’s something about the possessive way he says it, but whichever it is has Scarlet gently biting down on his thumb as she slows down on him, her walls clenching tight around him as her orgasm rips through her. She’s aware of his hands on her hips again, feeling as he pounds into her, whispering praises to her.

“Such a good girl for me. Doing so well. Gonna take it all when I fill you up nice?” He coos to her, lips brushing against the joint of her neck and shoulder. She shivers and he bites down, his hips sputtering as he empties into her, her walls clenching and milking him for all he has.

Arthur holds her close to him as they come down from their high, their breathing slowly evening to a more normal rhythm. He kisses the mark he’s left on her neck, untangling his hand from her hair as he tilts her chin up to look at her. She’s smiling, lips parted in a slight daze, as she meets his eyes. She leans in and pecks his lips, sighing in content as he rubs a hand down her back, the other moving behind him for him to lean on.

“You good, Darlin’?” He asks after their breathing returns to normal. She nods and leans against him, her body pressing to his, her left hand gently scratching down his right side and tracing the path back up. She lets her hand repeat the pattern as she feels him soften and slip from her, a whine pulling from her throat as she feels the evidence of their activity dribbling from her core. She sets his hat by the pillows and shifts so she’s lying on one of the bedrolls. Arthur moves down to lay beside her, on his back.

“Y-yeah. I’m fine, we’re fine,” she murmurs against his chest, placing a light kiss to his collarbone. She wraps her right arm around his torso and snuggles against his chest, listening to the sound of his rapidly beating heart. His hand traces small circles on her back and he sighs as she nuzzles her face into the crook of his neck, laying almost fully on him.

Arthur wakes to a very warm body curled into him, his right arm wound about Scarlet’s waist where she’s holding his hand tight by her breasts, and a very noticeable friend. He kisses slow along her neck until he feels her push back against him, a small gasp leaving her. She rolls slightly so her right shoulder is almost touching the ground and brings her left hand up to his face, cupping his cheek and thumbing over his scruff.

“Good mornin.”

“Mornin, Darlin’,” he greets and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Thank you,” her voice is quiet as she averts her gaze, cheeks flushing bright red as she remembers what happened last night. She looks back up at him, eyes alight with mischief. “So about that round two?”

“Christ, Woman. We just woke up,” he laughs and rolls so he’s hovering over her, arms caging her head between them.

“Exactly. So I reckon we better call it round one then?” She teases and bends her legs so they’re on either side of his waist. “Besides, you look like you're rearin to go.” She glances down at him, lying thick and angry against her stomach, before meeting his eyes again. She bites her lip and he loses it, capturing her lips in a tender kiss.

They rinse off in the creek before getting dressed. He wraps her shoulder and hands her his blue shirt she partially wore last night along with a spare pair of jeans he had stored in his saddlebags.

The ride back to camp is a silent one, Scarlet riding just as she was the night before; on the front of the saddle, leaned back against his chest. Smoke keeps his gait even as he gallops, ears forward as he senses the utter contentment of his riders.

They make it to camp by noon, Arthur slowing Smoke so he walks up the path, calling out to Lenny it’s just him and Scarlet. They’re greeted by a few of the members, including Dutch, Hosea, Sadie, and Charles. They all flash knowing smirks at the duo as Scarlet slides up the saddle for Arthur to get off first.

She flushes and tips the brim of her hat down to shade her eyes. Arthur chuckles and helps her down, his hands lingering on her waist, something Dutch notes to ask him about later. He also notices she’s wearing a set of Arthur’s clothes, something he definitely wants to breech later.

“Glad to have you back, Miss O’Hara!” Dutch greets, pulling her into a hug by her bad arm. She yelps and pushes against him. He immediately releases her arm, eyes narrowing. “You’re hurt?” He inquires and ushers her to the medicine wagon, despite her protests. The small welcoming group follows, Arthur, Sadie, and Hosea at the front. Dutch gently pushes her to sit on the back of the wagon.

“I just-it’s just a gun shot. I’ll be fine, it’s cleaned-” she tries to assure Dutch but he won’t have any of it. He snaps and points at her, tapping the belt buckle too big for her.

“Shirt off, now. Let Miss Grimshaw an the others take a look at it,” he commands, tone leaving no room for argument. She huffs but pulls the fabric from her borrowed pants and starts unbuttoning it under his watchful eye.

“Yes, Sir,” she sasses, eyes meeting his in challenge until she flinches when she brings her arm up to remove the sleeve. Arthur moves to her side, holding her arm as he gently pulls the shirt from her right shoulder and arm, leaving it on her left side. The bandage he put on earlier that morning tinged red.

“Get those bandages off her, Arthur. We’ll get it cleaned and dressed. Sit tight,” he orders, pointing a knowing finger at Scarlet. When Dutch turns his back, she sticks her tongue out at him and blows a raspberry.

“I’m fine, really. This ain’t the first time I’ve been shot an pistol whipped” she grumbles, holding still as Arthur unwraps her shoulder, cutting the wrap from around her chest in the process. Dutch returns after a few moments, Susan in tow with the other females. Mary-Beth, Tilly, and Karen gasp at the dark bruising down her chest and the blotchy, red bruising starting around her shoulder.

“What’s that bruisin on your chest from?” Dutch asks, kneeling in front of her, tilting her head up so he can see how far it goes. He lets her go and turns to the females. “Get that gun shot wound fixed up, we can’t do much about the bruises,” he confirms, nodding for Arthur to follow him.

“I’ll find James, let him know we’re back and that you’re busy and will come see him as soon as you can, alright?” Arthur murmurs into her ear as he leans down, removing her hat. “Round three after you’re done here?”

Scarlet pushes his face away, laughing at his question. She shoos him away from them as the small group of females each look at the entry and exit holes. Scarlet slips her other arm out as they move her from the back of the wagon to Susan’s extra bedroll, leaving her chest exposed.

“I saw that mark, Arthur. Anythin you wanna tell me?” Dutch interrogates, pacing his tent as Arthur sits in the chair he provides. The outlaw looks at his father figure, confused at just what he’s getting at.

“Whatchu mean, Dutch?”

“That bite mark ain’t from no O’Driscoll. You do remember I know how you are after an evening of fun, right?” The gang leader questions, chortling as realization dawns on Arthur. He picks at Scarlet’s hat, pretending it’s a little more interesting than Dutch.

“And?”

“How long have you been together?”

“We’re not. Well, we uhh, we slept together last night but we’re not...we haven’t discussed what we are,” he expresses, finally looking up at Dutch. Said man stops pacing and moves to stand in front of Arthur, kneeling with his hands on Arthur’s legs.

“Son, she could be your second chance,” he muses, eyes bright like they haven’t been in awhile. Arthur still isn’t sure what Dutch is completely on about, but nods slightly.

“I don’t want another Eliza,” he whispers in admittance. Dutch leans back on his heels, nodding as he pushes to his feet. He stays silent, not sure what to say. Arthur gestures with Scarlet’s hat.

“I best find James, let him know we’re back and his momma’s alright,” he excuses himself with an approving nod from Dutch. He finds James with Jack by the horses, Kieran showing them how to properly brush a horse. He approaches and tells James the news, calming the excited child with promise to have her come get him when she’s done.

The ladies have Scarlet lay on her stomach but she shakes her head and tries to get away from them, struggling in their hold. She breaks free of everyone but Sadie, attempting to crawl under the wagon.

“What is goin on here?” Arthur’s voice makes her freeze in place. She looks over her shoulder at him, eyes pleading as she scrambles towards the wagon when she sees movement in her peripheral.

“I’ve already had whiskey dumped on this wound and now they’re trying to use moonshine!” She whines, hoping her crying will get him to help her. She sighs in relief when he picks her up and pulls her to his chest. She startles when he lays her back down on the spare bedding, chest up with his hand on her sternum -minding the bruising- and on her hip to hold her. “Traitor,” she says.

“Would ya just let’em help ya?” He asks as he holds her gaze, distracting her as Sadie pours moonshine on her shoulder. A sharp yell leaves her lips as she turns to glare at Sadie, curses flowing freely.

Once Susan and Sadie give the okay, Arthur helps her back into his shirt and he picks her up, carrying her over to his wagon, sitting her on his cot. She rubs her sternum and winces a bit, shaking her head.

“Where’s James?”

“He was with Kieran and Jack by the horses when I left him. Want me to go get him?” Arthur asks, kneeling in front of her, removing her hand from her bruised chest. She nods and lets out a deep breath, closing her eyes.

“He hits like a kid, the gun hurt worse,” she manages as he helps her rest back against his wagon. He hums and pushes to his feet, heading for the horses. James is brushing Fancy down, the mare bouncing her head and pawing the ground.

“Hey, James!” He calls, waving the boy over. James pauses in his brushing, even Fancy looking up at him. “Your Ma wants to see you. She’s over at my wagon, if you wanna go see her,” he offers, patting Fancy.

“Sure! Thank you, Mr. Morgan,” the boy squeals in delight and passes him the brush as he rushes across camp.

“Slow down!” Arthur hollers after James, chuckling in amusement at his enthusiasm to see his mother. He picks up where the boy left off, getting the last of the dirt off Fancy’s back, seeing as how James couldn’t reach. Fancy nuzzles him after he puts the brush away in her saddle bag. “Good girl,” he coos to her before heading back to Scarlet and James.

“You good?” He asks, hands up and holding on the awning railing. James scrambles off the bed and wraps his arms around Arthur.

“Thank you, Arthur. Thank you for coming to rescue my momma, and for sending Uncle John, Bubba Lenny, and Bubba Kieran to get me with my Pa. I was scared,” he whimpers into Arthur’s stomach, hands clenching tight onto the back of the cowboy’s shirt. Arthur looks at Scarlet, whose eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and his arms automatically wrap James up tight, letting the child cry against him.

“Of course, Son, y’all are family now. We’ll always come for you,” he reassures the distraught James. He locks eyes with Scarlet, nodding to her. “Come on, let’s let your Momma rest, alright? How’s bout you an me go play dominoes?”

“S-s-sure. Can I, Momma?” He pulls away from Arthur, drying his eyes with his sleeves. Scarlet holds out her hand, a silent order to come here, and pulls him close when he takes her hand. She presses a kiss to his forehead, then cheeks, then his nose, causing him to laugh.

“Of course. You behave for Arthur, ya hear me? And if you see anyone who was there, send them my way please?” Her request is for Arthur, who nods his agreement. James smiles and thanks her before walking over to the table and setting up the dominoes.

“Here,” Arthur offers, stepping close to her and helping her lie down and cover up with his blanket, “just rest. I’ll come wake you later when dinner is ready.” She grabs his arm when he goes to get up, preventing him from doing so. He turns back to her with a questioning look before she sits up slightly and pulls him down to press her lips to his in a quick kiss.

“Thank you, Arthur. Fer everythin you’ve done the last few days,” she smirks up at him as she lies back down, hand trailing down his arm. He smiles and pats her leg, as he gets up.

“You’re welcome, Cowgirl. Now rest. I’ll be by later, and I’ll watch James. Don’t worry,” he soothes as he goes to join aforementioned child for dominoes.

Swanson stops by to see her, Dutch having informed him of Scarlet’s condition. The reverend sits with her for a while before offering her morphine for the obvious pain she is in. He gets his things set up and has her stretch her arm out for him. He pats her head as she thanks him, arm curling on her chest, pulling Arthur’s blanket close to her as she finally drifts off into a content sleep.

#red dead redemption 2 #van der linde gang #dutch's boys #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #arthur morgan #john marston #jack marston #abigail roberts #karen jones #sean macguire #mary beth gaskill #tilly jackson #lenny summers #susan grimshaw #simon pearson #reverand swanson #leopold strauss #charles smith #javier escuella #micah bell #josiah trelawny #scarlet o'hara #james o'hara #jessie #uncle #bill williamson #arthur morgan x ofc #arthur morgan x scarlet o'hara #smut

[purechaos27]

Dynasty Chapter 2

A subtle breeze brushes through the air, sifting its way through the fiery-crimson locks of the two sitting on a rocky cliff overlooking the sea. Choppy waves crash against the rough edge of the cliff, sending up a misty spray that briefly obscures the view of the red dawn. Yona has never been to such a place in person, but she trusts her companion’s memory and imagination enough to know that the fine details down to the taste of salt in the air are accurate to reality. The former king gazes ahead. “Had fun today, Yona?” “Uhn!” Yona nods in enthusiastic affirmation. “Soo-won and I hid from Hak today during hide and seek, though I’m not sure if Hak knew we were playing…” Hiryuu finally turns away from the dawn frozen in time to smile fondly down at his reincarnation. “You pulled off the temper trick to motivate Hak to run after you and Soo-won, correct?” “Yep! His face was really funny! I thought his vein was gonna burst!” “And what about your lessons?” Sudden silence as Yona turns around and starts to sweat nervously. “Eh, well, u-um you see—” A raised hand cuts her off. “It’s alright Yona, I understand. I know that it can be quite frustrating to be forced to listen to so-called scholars preach about incorrect or at least incomplete teachings. However.” His stern look quells the budding hope in the princess’s eyes. “That does not mean you can show such disrespect to your instructors by completely ignoring them and even running away in the middle of your lesson.” “But Hiryuu—” “Listen, Yona. All knowledge is worthwhile, even the biased history that is all your instructors know to teach you. To understand conflict, you must know all sides to the story. I have and will continue to teach you the unbiased truth that I have observed from my time above the stars, but as the future ruler of this kingdom, you must understand your own people. A ruler who cannot understand and connect to her kingdom is no ruler at all.” Yona looks down in guilt, kicking her feet to give a reason not to meet Hiryuu’s eyes. The adult sighs softly and brings his finger under her chin, tilting her head so that their eyes can meet. “Yona, I am not angry with you. Yes, I am slightly disappointed, but you are six-years-old. It would not be fair of me to expect you to—” “But I don’t want to disappoint you, Hiryuu! You are the only person who has always been with me; even father doesn’t always have time. I want to make you proud and be a kind, wise, and strong ruler of Kouka kingdom. You already have so many worries—don’t try to say you don’t, I know you’re worried about the Ouryuu! You shouldn’t have to add my competence onto the list as well. I want to change things in this kingdom for the better, but no one ever listens to me. If I can’t even convince my instructors that they’re wrong, how can I ever succeed as a ruler? Father just treats me as a child all the time, and when I ask about how the kingdom is doing, he just pats my head and says that everything is peaceful and everyone is happy. I know that’s not true so why, why does he…?” The little six-year-old girl breaks down into choking sobs before launching herself into her previous incarnation’s lap. Hiryuu looks down at the little girl who resembles him so much helplessly for a bit before trying to sooth her by patting her head. “Shh, shh, it’s ok Yona, you don’t have to worry about me. The kingdom will run just fine for now; you don’t have to change anything just yet. Yes, I worry about you sometimes, but that’s only natural for me. Adults tend to worry about children a lot, I know, it’s silly of us, right? I know you want to change this kingdom, and I won’t discourage you from doing so, but there’s nothing wrong with starting small. Try to make someone smile. Help out a servant who’s struggling with carrying a load. Thank someone…” Hiryuu rambles on and on, trying to soothe the princess’s concerns even as his mind works furiously to figure out just how he managed to miss this up-coming break down. I never knew she felt so much pressure, was I the one to cause this? The dragon king glanced sorrowfully down at the sleeping princess in his lap. I never wanted to—I just didn’t want her to be ignorant! I didn’t take into consideration her own stubbornness and determination. To think that she’d be worried about me! I don’t want her to think she’s responsible for the entire kingdom before she’s even 10. But how? I suppose…yes, that would work. But first… Hiryuu carefully stands up, making sure the princess is secure in his arms. As he walks away from the cliff ledge, the dreamscape slowly fades away to a familiar room. The decoration is tasteful, Hiryuu thinks as he gently lays Yona down on her own futon. It isn’t the garishly bright pink that most stereotypically imagine a princess’s room to be. Instead, the walls are decorated with to show a beautiful forest. Gentle branches spread out starting right behind the futon in the middle of the back wall, climbing overhead onto the ceiling and reaching to both sides of the room. Among the branches, the only splashes of color are four majestic dragons painted protectively around the futon. The futon in the center of the beautifully decorated room is covered by silk sheets of the highest quality, sewn with the detailed image of a crimson dragon. It’s a miracle no one’s figured the truth out yet, but Hiryuu supposes most people believe the story to be a myth nowadays. “Yona” The dragon sighs, “I’m truly sorry to have burdened you with such a heavy destiny for being my reincarnation. Although I will try to prepare you for your future as well as I can, I fear that you will have many years of pain and loss to face. I know you will bring about the change you so long for. Not because you are my reincarnation, but because you are Princess Yona of the red dawn.”

“…na. Princess Yona. PRINCESS YONA!” “Up! I’m up! I’m—hm? Oh, is it morning already Jae-eun? I—” The princess cuts herself off as she breaks into a wide yawn. The sound of an impatiently tapping foot interrupts Yona’s morning leisurely stretching. “Princess Yona.” The red-head freezes and robotically turns toward her servant, who gives an unimpressed look at her innocent smile. “Yes, Jae-eun?” “Don’t give me that look, Princess Yona! You know very well that your history lesson is first in the morning. Now up, up, time to make yourself look presentable. The maids have already drawn a bath for you and if you take too long the water will get cold.” A dejected sigh. “Alright, alright” Hiryuu did say that I can learn from my instructors, so I guess I’ll give it a try. The stuffy old windbag is so booooring though. All he does is go on and on about how our majestic kingdom brought peace and prosperity to all—he doesn’t even tell the story of Hiryuu and the Four Dragon Warriors, the founding of our country! But I don’t want to disappoint Hiryuu… Yona quickly gets washed and dressed before eating her breakfast (chicken porridge!) and running to her lesson. Her teacher is an old man from the earth clan with squinty eyes, a balding head, and a long, white beard. He’s dressed in the black colors of all palace instructors with a fan in hand. “Ohoho Princess Yona you are on time today! Perhaps this time you will not run off in the middle of the lesson?” I want to turn around and walk back out. Despite various uncomplimentary thoughts running inside her head, Yona takes a deep breath and sits down. For Hiryuu, for the kingdom, and for my pride because I don’t want to lose to this geezer. “Today we will be discussing how the reign of the sky tribe lead to wide prosperity…” Nope, she can’t do this. “Ah, actually instructor, today, could we learn something different? You are from the earth clan, correct? Could you teach me how the customs there differ from at Hiryuu palace? What are women and men expected to do? What activities and festivals are common? What does the earth tribe respect?” “Oh,” Her instructor looks taken aback. “But princess, that is not included in the original curriculum…” “That’s ok, I’ve already learned everything from the original curriculum.” Don’t say it, don’t say you know everything better than a windbag could ever teach, restraint! “But your father,” He tries to protest. “I’ll talk to father. Besides, this way I learn what I want to know and you don’t have to worry about me running away! It’s a win-win solution~” “U-uh, he-hem!” Yona watches delightedly as the geezer tries to regain his composure. “Well, if it’s ok with the king, then I will change the lesson plans. As you know, I am from the earth tribe. We are a strong, stubborn people and admire those who…” A smile spreads across Yona’s face as her eyes start to sparkle at finally learning about her people. “What about yourself? How did you become a scholar?” “Although books were rather scarce in my hometown, I learned to read…” “Do you have family?” “Yes, I have a son who has given me two wonderful granddaughters. My son was a soldier, but with the war-ban…” “Wow, I never knew General Geun-tae was so respected!” “Indeed, he is an idol to much of the clan. But I still remember when he was just a brat long ago”

“Are you sure?” “Yes! I just passed by the room!” “But-but, I just don’t see how that’s possible, the princess has never enjoyed a history lesson since she first started them two years ago.” “Still, I’m telling you, I was walking by the Chrysanthemum room on my way to deliver the laundry and I saw the princess asking questions.” The maid’s mouth drops as she stares wide-eyed at her friend. “Asking questions?” She squeaks out. “H-how is that—what do you think might’ve caused such a change?” “That’s the thing, no one knows! She just woke up today and arrived on time to her lesson for once, and the next thing we know, they’re discussing the earth clan with active participation and interest on her part. I mean, I’m not going to complain because this makes our jobs easier—we don’t have to worry about chasing the princess down after she escapes each day, but don’t you think it’s a bit strange?” “Well, let’s just hope this change of heart holds for a while.” “Yes, I suppose that’s all we can do for now,” Both maids nod at each other and go their separate ways. Rumor travels fast in the palace and before Yona’s history lesson that day ends, theories as outlandish as spirit possession and a missing twin sister are flying around. Yona, oblivious to the chaos her drastic change has caused, simply skips her way to her father’s room to discuss alterations to her lesson plan.

#dynasty #akatsuki no yona #akayona #writing

[lasentimentael]

Her Home

From the crack of dawn till the late evening hours, Dolores was always working. She would wake up, kiss Santiago goodbye as he left to wash dishes at the Chinese restaurant a few blocks down, and make breakfast for Raul and Luna so that each tummy would be full and ready for learning. She would pack lunches for her family, walk the kids to the school down the street, come back, and walk Lady the Poodle immediately after. From 8:00 to 2:45 she would sweep, mop, pay bills over the phone, do laundry, then pick up the kids, cook dinner, listen to Santiago express his day’s frustrations, and wipe her counters again for a fresh start the next morning.

           Dolores did not get a break. Raul and Luna, seven and five, took up lots of time, each demanding attention and food and help on homework all while Dolores would peel potatoes and dice tomatoes and cook the chicken thoroughly so her children would not get sick. She would season precisely and evenly, listening to her children talk about what they learned at school, struggling to follow along when their homework instructions used English words she didn’t know. Then, they would be done with that and running around the house, playing and playing while Dolores continued her work.

Some days Santiago would come home a little late, sometimes past 6 and sometimes past 9. Dolores would feel a little guilty for being upset at his tardiness, remembering he said he would pick up extra hours at the restaurant whenever he could. Tired and dry hands would greet hers, the dish water and food stains adorning his plain white shirt, and he would walk slowly past the kitchen into the living room and plop on the couch as Raul and Luna would sprinkle in, yelling, “Papi! Papi!” As her children would talk loudly over each other, eager to spend time with their father who dozed off in front of the television set, Dolores would busy herself in the kitchen, finishing supper or cleaning her counters and reflecting fondly on their one bedroom apartment that she worked so hard to take care of.

The apartment did not stretch out infinitely nor did it have new windows or tiles, but the tiny kitchen with shabby wooden cabinets had charm and the dark brown carpet made it easy to hide spilled drinks and mud tracks. The blinds were broken and some were missing, the tile was cracked and the paint was peeling in many spots of the ceiling because of water damage. She, her husband, and her children made the most of the bedroom space and squeezed a small bunk bed and queen-sized bed, shoving one bathroom and one closet with what little belongings they had. Occasionally a roach would find its way inside their home and Dolores would squish it. In the hot summer months the ants would get busy and she’d frantically reprimand the children not to leave food out. And every so often, a mouse would try to hop through the various cracks and holes of apartment #A on the ground floor of 297 Alpine St. before she’d set out traps to kill the squeak. Yes, it was not much, and it was not perfect, but it was theirs.

“Niños, por favor,” Dolores said one morning. It was mid-November and Los Angeles had finally begun to feel cold. Dolores had pulled out thick animal-print blankets that would keep them all warm at night, and now was attempting to get a hoodie through poor Luna’s head while her brother made faces and poked his unsuspecting sister, giggling as she shrieked in surprise. It was 7:16 on a Monday morning, and Chinatown was already awake. The honks were loud on Alpine St., and she thought to herself, if I close my eyes I can see an angry, impatient business man on the corner of Hill almost running over a middle aged mother and her two munchkins. But they were at the door of the apartment, and she was trying to get the kids out of the house so they would not be late. Only Raul and Luna were too busy being superheroes now.

“Mami! Ma! Look at me, I’m Superman!” Raul had half taken off his red sweater so now the sleeves were tied and the rest draped along his skinny body like a cape. He posed with his bony brown fist in the air just long enough for Dolores to see, and then he was off chasing Luna who had only just gotten her hoodie on. Dolores let the kids be kids, grabbing keys and her own sweater. She closed the door, never once sparing a glance at the disheveled, thirty-four year old woman the mirror at the end of the hall would show.

When she had dropped the kids off and walked Lady the Poodle, she came back to find a mouse trying to hop through the gap underneath the front metal screen door. This mouse zoomed out of sight the moment it saw her. Dolores quickly went inside, and began her routine. Based on eleven years she’d lived there, she knew better than to be unprepared. More than anything, she was disgusted and a little angry that they continued to be there in spite of all her cleaning, she thought they were gone. She set a trap out by the front door where she had first seen it, two at the foot of the couch, and one more underneath the stove. She put Lady the Poodle in the bedroom and locked the door behind her, and she could hear Lady whine and paw at the door. She ignored it. The little one would be caught in an hour or so.

At noon, Dolores decided to sew a missing button onto her husband’s only coat, a task that had been on her mind since February, when the button first popped off. As she worked on the couch, she remembered her life before her children, when Santiago worked less and would call her during his lunch break, of a life when he didn’t come home late even though the restaurant closed at 8 and his shift usually ended at 6, but no, she thought, I mustn’t overthink that, he said he was working extra hours. Never mind Rubí with the coquette eyes who waitressed at the restaurant. She looked around the living room, and she thought of all the times her children had playtime in makeshift blanket forts in that same room and sneaking away for a quickie with her husband once upon a time. She remembered when they were younger— he would take her out on the weekends, they’d go dancing to the salsa clubs and end up in the bed with clothes strewn across the floor and a million I love you’s in her ear.

           It was 1:10 when Dolores heard Lady bark from the bedroom and the front door unlock. She froze, afraid to turn around, ears straining for any other sounds. Almost immediately, the heavy boots she heard made her sigh in relief, and she turned around, confused, but happy. Santiago could be heard cursing “hijo de su puta ma-“ before the door closed, and his tall, bulky frame came striding through the hallway and into the living room.

           “Dolores, que pasó?” he said, tenor voice weary.

           “Viejo! Why are you back so early? Did something happen?”

           “It was too slow today. New management is impatient, and they only needed one dishwasher. The younger Santiago stayed. Fine by me. My hands need the break. Why are there so many traps out? Where is Lady?” Santiago’s Spanish was crisp as he pointed to the two traps he could see underneath the couch and his brows furrowed.

           “It’s okay, I only saw one. Lady is in the bedroom.”

           “Just one.”            “Yes, one.”

           “Last year we saw one, and it turned out to be two.”

           “Yes, Viejo, but I only saw one.”

           “Hijo de su puta madre, why are they here?”. Santiago went from the living room to the kitchen, through the hallway until he ended where he first stood, a convenient feature of the apartment’s tight layout that did little to separate each area from the next.

           “Just relax, Viejo, did you eat your lunch already? Should I heat it up?” Dolores stood up at once, leaving the coat on the couch and gesturing her husband to sit down.

           “I left the container in the car, it’s empty.” Santiago went off to get the container, outside. Dolores rubbed her eyes and briefly thought how it would be nice to not pick up the kids today, if Santiago went instead, for once.

When Dolores opened her eyes, she saw it. The thing was standing at the foot of the couch, right next to the glue trap as if it was not there at all. She held her breath. Its ears flattened against its head, nose wiggling and beady eyes looking all around. There it was! Small pink hands held each other as it took in its surroundings, before another crawled out from underneath the couch. Dolores watched in horror. Two!

Santiago then came in, door slammed shut, and a ruckus in the kitchen confirmed the used Tupperware was in the sink.      

“Shh!” Dolores waved her arms frantically, trying to quiet her husband.

Santiago, finally noticing Dolores, became stealthy at once and tiptoed closer to the living room, leaning on the counter to try and see the mice, which had now scurried back under the couch.

           From Dolores’ position, she could see the tails still poking out. She mimed this at her husband, who went to the kitchen to grab gloves and a plastic bag. Dolores was only panicking a little as the furry bodies scooted out once again and a third accompanied them this time. Three!

           “Hijo de su-“ And the mice went back underneath.

           Dolores shook her head, and desperately, silently pleaded with her husband to shut his mouth.  This time, Santiago and his big heavy-duty boots went back through the kitchen, down the hallway, and into the living room until he was right next to Dolores, who he now gestured to move towards the other side of the couch, right where the little heads had first poked out. He handed the traps that belonged to the stove and front door, as well as a broom for protection. He had his own broom in his hand and the look of a lion—curly, slightly peppered hair, frizzy and puffed out like a mane. Dolores mostly followed her husband’s cue, only settling behind the small coffee table that conveniently provided a bit of distance from the couch. For protection.

           They stood there, each guarding their post for a whole ten minutes before Santiago grew tired and wanted to take a break. Dolores shook her head, disappointed she had married a grandpa, although Santiago’s handsome face at the age of forty was anything but. So they coordinated again, this time adding old pieces of cardboard they found lying around and trying not sound off a barking Lady in the room next door. They set up the cardboard to block the back of the couch and the sides, so there was only one exit, right where Dolores was. They waited.

           “I’m tired.”

           “I’m not doing this by myself.”

           “Let’s just leave them, they’re kind of cute anyways.”            “You’ve got to be kidding me. Three!”

           “C’mon, Raul and Luna like them.”

           “Estás loco.”

           “We can name them.”

           Dolores didn’t even bother to reply. She glanced at the clock, 1:43. This needed to be over and done with. She had things to do. She was a busy woman.

           A long, brown body inched out, wiggly nose and all, followed by the three little gray ones that had come out before. The brown mouse, which looked like something had nicked its’ ear, bumped noses with the other three, before the tiniest of the grays went real fast from the foot of the couch closest to Dolores to the coffee table. Dolores couldn’t help but scream and the others went back under the couch. Four!

           “Now you shush,” Santiago retaliated, laughter bouncing off the walls of the living room and provoking a bark from Lady in the background.

Dolores drew herself up, and grabbed her broom a little more tightly. “Shut up.”

Santiago continued laughing and Dolores focused on couch, and the brown mouse that was still underneath the coffee table. It wasn’t long before a brave little gray one joined that one. Their noses bumped and the tinier one squeaked. Dolores cringed. They were communicating.

           Santiago and Dolores had cornered them, yes, but these mice were smart. The two that were still underneath the couch would poke out their heads, waddle around the traps before seeing Dolores and her broom and running back for cover. It continued like this for fifteen minutes until Dolores realized that she and Santiago had been so focused on the couch, that they had not noticed three more bodies underneath the coffee table. Seven!

           Two of three looked identical to the brown one, only neither had their ears nicked. The third of these mice was just as long as the brown ones, but gray like the others and twice as fat. It was the biggest of them all.

           “Seven!” Dolores whispered loudly, wild eyes looking at Santiago.

           Santiago said nothing, and walked away, through the hallway and into the kitchen, digging underneath the sink, and pulling out a stack of glue traps from the cabinets. He was serious.

           In total, they set 24 traps, each one placed right next to the other so that they covered the perimeter of the coffee table, and the space by the foot of the couch, dog food scattered here and there for lure. There was no way to escape.

           The first one fell pretty quickly, a tiny one she hadn’t seen before (or at least, she thought she hadn’t. She wasn’t sure anymore) stepped right onto the glue, squeaking desperately and becoming more stuck the more it struggled. Dolores and Santiago also watched as the second one tried to reach the kibble by walking over the body of the first only to lose its balance and get its face stuck right against the clear glue. More squeaking. It was 2:20.

           “Wow. We should have tried that sooner.” Santiago looked at his successes.

           Dolores, however, stared, and the gray one that had its face glued, stared back with one eye, the squeaking so loud that it made Lady the Poodle begin to bark and whine from inside the bedroom. It was cute. Small round ears and a tiny snout, whiskers that tickled and pink hands that were only looking for food. It was cruel, really.

           She moved to try and get rid of it, but couldn’t, her legs unresponsive. It was a mouse. She had picked them up before. She had picked up the ones last year no problem, Santiago hadn’t even been there when those mice fell for the trap. Dolores had moved quickly that time, swallowing her disgust and leaving no evidence, only a story to relay to Santiago when he came home late that night last year. Sure, Dolores had been angry for weeks, berating her husband for not helping around the house and with the kids and working too much and leaving Dolores alone at home, why did he get home so late again? Never mind that, the mice were dirty and proof she needed to clean more, that was it, she needed to clean and make do because they couldn’t afford to move.

Dolores stared at this mouse, watched it wriggle violently and get more and more stuck just like its brother, and she began to weep. It was innocent and it lived in this apartment as much as she did, had wanted no more than to live comfortably the way she tried to raise her children. It rolled around the same carpet her children ran over, searched through the same cabinets that she stocked and cooked from, and maybe, just maybe, would one day move away from its family across a border to start a new life with another little mouse. This little body did nothing but here she was, ready to kill it, and its’ family, and yet she could do nothing else. This was her home.

           “Oralé, Vieja, why are you crying?” Santiago could not cross over, for the endless glue traps remained in the way, but the concern in his voice was clear. It made her cry more. When was the last time he saw her cry?

           “Vieja, it’s okay. Look, I’ll pick it up okay? Then you won’t see it anymore. Would that make it better?” Dolores did not answer, but her eyes stayed locked on its beady eyes. She stared, breathing heavily and swallowing snot that had built up in her nose and travelled down her throat, as Santiago carefully moved just enough traps to get to the mice and folded the traps so that there was no chance of escape. She could still see its’ eyes as he tossed it in the trash bag.

           “Okay okay, how about we do this. Those five underneath the table haven’t moved, but they’ll have to move eventually, there’s nowhere to go. The couch is surrounded and the cardboard will hold up. It’s 2:25. Let’s pick up the kids together.” Santiago reasoned, taking off his gloves slowly and reaching towards Dolores for an embrace. Her grip on the broom was now loose, and she stood there crying still, looking in many ways, as small as Luna who had cried when her ice cream had fallen from her tiny hands the week before.

           They left. They washed their hands and dropped the brooms and walked all the way to the school with Santiago’s arms around Dolores, in silence. His closeness meant she could smell him as they walked, a faint combination of sweat and body wash. On the way back, Raul and Luna bounced ahead, sweaters tied around their waists, parents trailing behind them holding hands. When they got home, Santiago asked the children to head straight to the room, not wanting them to see the many traps that adorned the living room. Only Santiago and Dolores would see what was waiting for them at 3:07.

           It was more than five. It was more than ten. Dolores stopped counting at sixteen tiny gray bodies, amongst them three long brown ones, with one nicked ear as well. They piled on top of one another, small mounds of mice that had climbed over one another in a hopeless attempt to live. She saw tiny hands chewed off and tails with bite marks, and many, many, many, beady black eyes staring at her.  Santiago did what his wife could not, putting on gloves and tossing every single one of them inside a new white trash bag.

           He picked up all but one of the remaining glue traps, placing it at the foot of the couch, because even without knowing exactly how many they got, neither had seen the nasty gray that was twice as fat as the others.

           It wasn’t until after Santiago had taken out the trash, washed his hands—only after they had furiously and thoroughly cleaned the crime scene—that they let out the kids and Lady the Poodle. Santiago bought McDonalds as a treat for his children and wife. He listened to his kids whine that they were full but ask their mother if they could have her leftover fries, as Dolores nodded slowly, wordlessly. He helped the kids with their homework this time, struggling even more than Dolores usually did, and wiped down the counters like Dolores did even though no one had used the kitchen that day. His wife remained in bed with a momentary break for a shower, and at the end of the night, he crawled in to join her, closing his eyes and breathing in her coconut shampoo.

           “We set out twenty-four traps.”

           “It’s done. It’s over.” Santiago said, beginning to doze off already.

           “The big one is still out there,” Dolores was wide-awake, her face still a little blotchy from the afternoon of crying.

           “Go to sleep.”

           Dolores shifted in the bed, turning to face her husband. His mouth was slightly ajar as if he was going to say something but never did.

There was a pause. “The big one is still out there,” Dolores stared at her husband. Santiago was far-gone now. “Are you cheating on me?”

           Dolores waited a bit, knowing her husband would not respond, and then turned again so that she faced the ceiling. Eventually, Santiago’s arm found its way around her midriff, and she laid there, drifting in and out, the warmth around her tummy not enough to make her forget all the cleaning she would need to do in the morning. She did not rest.