#BUT HERE WE ARE WITH ARTHUR RIDING THE HORSE HE STOLE FROM DEATH

[unmaskthewriter]

Home {Charles Smith x Native!Reader}

A/N: This story went through so many ideas. I couldn’t decide, especially because I just feel like my writing isn’t good enough right now, especially bc I try to keep my writing short bc I am not creative enough for long stories and I’m stretching for ideas because I love to write. Thinking about taking requests. Also reader is gender neutral. Might edit this to be an OC fic later on. Also I apologize if this is a little OOC. It’s my first time writing for Charles.

Warnings: canon typical violence, fluff, angst, mourning/grieving, canon character death

Word Count: 1.8k

1899

You met him one afternoon when he entered the reservation to speak with your father and brother. He was a dark skinned man with a long, black braid down the center of his scalp, ending towards the middle of his back. You were sitting alongside your father.

“Father, when will we draw the line? They’ve stolen our horses, they attack our women—“ Eagles Flies ranted.

“Enough, son. We can have our horses returned without fighting.” Rains Fall tried to dissuade his son. You made eye contact with the strange man.

“Rains Fall is right. I will not start a fight over some horses.” He spoke firmly. Eagle Flies lets out a frustrated sigh, storming from the tent. You quickly follow, witnessing through the flaps of the tent as Eagle Flies mounts the strange man’s horse and rides off into the night.

“He stole your horse.” You state plainly, a small smirk playing at your lips.

“My child, please take Charles Smith and find your brother. He is running toward a dangerous situation.” Rains Fall explains from across the tent. So, Charles is his name.

“I know, Father.” You nod and lead Charles to the hitching posts. In front of you stood a tall, warped brindle Arabian.

“Kiona.” You spoke softly, drawing a carrot from your satchel and feeding her. Quickly mountain, Charles mounts behind you.

“A beautiful horse.” He compliments as you follow the trail out of the reservation.

“Found her just outside the reservation. Tamed her myself.” You smile, lightly gripping the reins. Silence passes.

“What do you think about living here… on the reservation, I mean?” He questions.

“It’s not terrible… but my people have suffered. If I could help them escape, I would but with the U.S Army breathing down our necks, it’s impossible,” You respond, “My brother has good intentions, he just… doesn’t always think things through… why don’t you tell me about yourself, Mr. Smith?”

“I know a few men like that,” Charles chuckled, “and please, call me Charles. Mr. Smith is my father. My mother was Indian, and my father a black man. We lived with her people for some time, until one day, some men took her and never came back… my father was never the same after that.”

“I’m… I’m sorry to hear that.” You respond quietly, a frown tearing at the edges of your lips. Up ahead, Charles spotted his horse on the edge of a camp. After reuniting with Eagle Flies in the camp that Charles and his friends inhabited, your brother gathered a small party to reclaim the stolen horses.

“Arthur, we must go with them… to try to stop things from getting… out of hand.”

“I guess… come along. We can get them more horses.” The older man, Arthur, agreed. Charles turned to you, placing a hand to your shoulder.

“Please, return to your father. We will get the horses back.” Charles reassures you.

“Do not worry about the horses, just bring my brother home safe.”

“I promise.” Charles nods to you before mounting his horse and following the others into the night. You did as Charles had asked, and waited at the reservation for the return of your brother.

Hours passed before you witnessed Eagles Flies, Paytah and Charles leading the horses back into the reservation. Rains Fall watches from the entrance of his tent as you approach the group.

“Don’t run off like that again.” You tell Eagles Flies as you wrap your arms around his slender frame. He chuckles, returning the hug.

“Do not worry about me, little one. I am the one who has to protect you.” He spoke softly before pulling away and walking towards your father. You looked at Charles who stood back a few feet. He mounts his horse as you approach.

“Thank you, Charles… for bringing my brother back safely. I’m… my people are indebted to you.” You declare, gently taking his hand. He squeezes it gently before pulling away and leaving.

You should have expected the U.S Army would retaliate.

They came in the night under the cover of darkness, capturing young men and women of the tribe, you amongst them. With a sack pulled over your head and hands and feet bound with tight rope, you couldn’t see or move. All you could feel was the butt of the gun smashing against your head and knocking you unconscious.

For hours, you drift to and from unconsciousness. The sack had been removed from your head, but you were still bound, suspended from the ceiling. Occasionally, soldiers would come and land a few punches and kicks, trying to elicit a response before giving up.

It wasn’t long before you could hear shouting and… gunfire? You hang there, looking around drearily. One of your eyes was swollen shut, bottom lip busted and bruises littering your frame.

“They’re in here!” A familiar voice shouted and weakly you lifted your head to see Charles breaking the lock on the door. He rushes to your side, carefully cutting the ropes to release you. Swiftly, you fell to the ground with a small groan.

“I’m sorry, come on. Are you alright to walk?”

“… ‘m fine.. where’s my brother?” You asked as Charles wrapped an arm around you and helped you to walk.

“Don’t worry, Arthur has him… come on, let’s get out of here.” He encourages you, mounting his horse and carefully lifting you up. You sit behind him, slumped against him. A gunfight ensues during the escape, but you’re too tired and weak to care.

“Alright, we’re at the river. Let’s get you in a canoe.” His sweet voice explains to you, carefully lifting you from the horse and placing you down in the canoe. You laid back against the seat, too tired to sit up.

“Are they okay?” A voice called out as you closed your eyes.

“We just need to-“

And you were out cold.

It was midday when you awoke, the sunlight bleeding in from the tent flaps. You look around slowly, noticing your bloody clothes had been removed, and replaced with a clean tanned leather dress. Underneath, you were bandaged. You could barely see from your left eye, and upon licking your lips you tasted old blood.

“You’re awake.” Charles entered the tent, kneeling down beside you.

“How long was I out?” You ask, gently rubbing your temple as you sit up. He extends a cup of water, to which you graciously accept.

“Half a day. You were beaten up pretty bad. Eagle Flies is okay, he’s recovering.” Charles answered any questions you’d have. You relax slightly as you drink the water he provided. A moment passes between you both.

“Eagle Flies will not let this go, Charles.” You tell him, setting the cup down on the small nightstand.

“I know, I know… just rest now. It’ll be alright.” He comforts you as you lay back down on the bed to rest and recover.

Days had passed before you and Eagle Flies had recovered from your wounds. You returned to your duties, helping the sick and elderly. It wasn’t long before Eagle Flies demanded justice for those who were hurt by the U.S Army.

“Today, we ride! No longer will we be abused and killed by the Army, for sport, for oil!” He shouted, leading a small war party from camp. You watched as father looked on with a frown before mounting his own horse, and following.

It was a quiet day within the reservation. Eagle Flies had fled with some of the brave warriors of the tribe to strike the heart of the tribe’s issues — Cornwall Kerosene and Tar.

He’s your brother, although sometimes it doesn’t feel as though that’s the case. While he was brave and headstrong, you were more calm and peaceful like your father.

With the galloping of hooves outside, you and your father emerge from the tent. Arthur, pale and sickly, dismounts his horse while Charles follows, carefully helping Eagle Flies down from the horse. You take a small step forward, frowning.

“Bring him to me.” Your father commanded, watching as your brother was transported to the small enclosure. You follow, sitting down beside your father as the men carefully place Eagle Flies down. Rains Fall takes hold of his son’s hand as you place a gentle hand to your brother’s cheek. Tears begin to roll.

“My son.” Rains Fall whispered as his son took his final breath. You sobbed, leaning over your brother’s body. Arthur and Charles left the tent, speaking amongst themselves for a moment.

“I’m sorry, but we must pack and move…”

1907

With the changing of the seasons and the passing of the years, you grew into a young adult. It was shortly after the tribe’s arrival in Canada that Charles Smith left to return to his friends.

“Charles, please, wait!” You call out, following him to his horse. You pull something from your satchel, holding it out to him. It was a trinket adorned with a small moose antler with a coyote fang on one end, and a cougar fang on the other, “Take this.”

Charles carefully takes the trinket, examining the craftsmanship before looking at you, “Thank you. This is… amazing.”

“You are one of us.” You reassure him as he puts on the trinket, mounting his horse. He leans down, taking your hand and squeezing gently.

“Until we meet again.” He tells you before releasing your hand and riding off.

It didn’t take you much longer to leave as well, the pain of your brother’s loss being too much to bear. You wandered across the states, never staying in one place for too long. Your mind often wandered to all those years ago, the people you met, and the people you lost. No matter where you traveled, you always felt like something was missing, never feeling at home. Saint Denis was never your cup of tea, but it was a good place to gather supplies and clean up. The sound of a trumpet filled the streets between the random conversations throughout town and noises from the railroad you had overheard. You were standing outside the post office, sliding a letter over the desk.

“To Rains Fall in Canada,” You mention as you glance to your right for a moment. In the distance, two familiar men were crossing the cobblestones street to the docks. Quickly, you pay the man in the window before leading Kiona to the men.

“Charles?” You called out softly, slowly releasing Kiona’s reins. He stopped, and turned on his heel to face you. He looked different — his hair was no longer shaved and braided but instead splayed freely around his shoulders. He wore a collared shirt and vest that had seen better days. There were some bruises and scarring to his face and knuckles but he was still the man you met all those years ago. Before you knew it, you both were running toward each other to embrace. He lifts you into his arms, taking a slow, deep breath.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” You cry quietly, remembering all too well the day he left.

“I’m here now.” He spoke softly into your neck, his hot breath hitting your soft skin.

Home wasn’t with the tribe. Home didn’t have four walls and a roof. Home was in his arms, you knew that now.

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption #charles smith #charles smith x reader #john marston #dutch van der linde #rdr2 spoilers

[rcrisdraws]

Bethink yourself before taking possession of another man's horse, for not all will go willingly.

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption #rdr tag #rdr fanart #this goddamn Missouri Fox trotter was so hard to get and then talking with blind man cassidy he said that #yeah the game really didn't want me to have this horse #BUT HERE WE ARE WITH ARTHUR RIDING THE HORSE HE STOLE FROM DEATH #TO WHOM HE MUST HAVE IT RETURNED

[ode-to-fury]

Winter Thorns and Iron Crowns Pt. 13

Summary: This is sort of a fast forward through Robert’s Rebellion. It’s set up. It’s background. Its characterisation.

Pairings: Arthur Dayne x Reader, Stannis Baratheon x reader

Disclaimer: THERE ARE DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND BLOOD PLEASE BE CAREFUL IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE!!! yeah there a part set in king’s landing after the sack…

No, she thought, panic taking her, Robert was supposed to be here, Robert was supposed to face him.

And yet there he stood. The red three headed dragon of house Targaryen was visible on his breast, made of rubies that sparkled in the sun.

It was a strange day, Y/n thought, for the fate of the seven kingdoms to be decided.

The ford where the two armies had met was a beautiful piece of the Trident. The river sparkled, clear and crystal blue as armoured feet splashed in the shallow water and men screamed and shit themselves as they bled out. A day like this should have been spent hawking, or riding, not fighting.

So much fighting. The thought made her feel bone weary. She’d seen so much blood. Would there ever be an end?

Rhaegar had ridden at the head of his forces, and Robert Baratheon was not there to end him. She was no match for him, she knew. She was barely a match for the worst of the kingsguard, and Rhaegar had not fought the gruelling battles she had faced in the last weeks at Stoney Sept and after that.

Yet somehow it did not matter. She strode toward Rhaegar. She would never get her father back, or her brother, but this she could have. This one chance she could take. There was so much blood on the ground that her boots slipped in mud as she walked, and yet there must still be more. So much blood, all for the man in front of her.

Anger, white and blinding, surged through her. His fault. All of it was his fault. Her father, Brandon, Lyanna, Arthur, Stannis. Everything. His fault. She rushed forward. She had been thrown from her horse that was not Vermithor in the initial assault and had had no time to look for him.

Rhaegar met her blow for blow.

Their swords sparked as they met, such was the ferocity with which they fought. No longer did she fight for peace, for an end to this war. Now it was vengeance. Their swords crossed, and Rhaegar held her, his height and strong arms kept her still, try as she might to disengage.

“Of all of them,” his voice was hoarse as he spoke from beneath his helm, “Of all of them I thought you were the one I could trust.” She did not have the breath to speak, her arms were shaking already.

“You do not know half as much as you think you do, little winter rose. You were a sister to me. The sister I never had.”

“Is this how you love, your grace?” she managed to pant, anger giving her strength. How dare he? “She was my sister! Flesh and blood, we shared a womb, we shared everything, and you stole her!”

“I love her.”

She screamed in rage and managed to drive his sword away from her.

“You have no right!” she said as they circled.

“If you could but understand,” he said. She wished she could see his face. Wished she could look in his eyes as he broke her heart.

“I believed in you!” She yelled. “I trusted you! You were supposed to make everything better!” She darted forward again. Her legs were aching, her arms and shoulders even more so, but she managed another furious flurry of blows. It was only the two of them. Men were screaming and dying around them, but to her there was only Rhaegar. Rhaegar and her anger. The riverbed sucked at her boots as she moved.

“My father died because of you; my brother died because of you. Do you call that protecting the realm? All this death?”

“I call it necessary,” he said coldly. Again, their blades met, and despite her anger, she was too tired. Too slow. Not enough, never enough. She twisted away as his sword swung down, and it sheared through the mail on her back.

White hot pain rent across her back from shoulder to hip, and the breath was knocked out from her as she fell. Water splashed in her face, water that was pink with the blood of the dying by now.

There was a fish swimming by as she waited for the next blow. A trout, she thought, though it may be too small. Instead of a blow, there was an ear-splitting bellow. Large, armoured boots splashed by her, and she heard metal ring against metal above her. It was faint, however. Everything was faint, even the pain in her back which, moments before, had been blinding. I am a Stark of Winterfell, and I will not be afraid.

She pulled together all the strength she could and sat up, the motion making her dizzy.

Robert’s hammer rose up above his head too slowly, and came down even more slowly. Rubies flew into the sky, and the sound of bones breaking was sickening. Rhaegar’s helm flew when he landed, and she wished for a moment he had killed her properly, because he looked into her eyes, and she saw fear in his purple orbs. The hammer came down again and again and again, and the sound was worse each time. Eventually, the prince lay still, blood trickling from his mouth, chest crushed beneath Robert’s hammer. Bile rose up in her throat, and she retched into the river, the sight of his broken body was too much for her. Rhaegar, she thought, delirious. He was my brother. He was my king. There was yelling, and trumpets sounded around her, but the edges of her vision were getting dark. She lay back in the water, looking up at the sky. The cloud floating above her looked almost like a bear, and she smiled at the thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ned was sitting next to his sister’s makeshift sickbed in a tent after the battle was ended. The Targaryen forces had not long lasted the death of Rhaegar Targaryen by Robert’s hammer.

Ned had not cared for one moment whether they won or lost, because Robert had brought his sister’s corpse to him, pale, cold, and with a gash along her back that dripped blood.

Yet she had not died, and the gash had been sewn shut, and she was resting now, and he was sitting with her, neither of them speaking. Neither of them knew what to say.

Rhaegar Targaryen was dead, but so was Brandon and their father. Lyanna was still gone.

The tentflap opened behind him, and he looked up to see Robert squeezing into the tent.

Ned got up and ambraced him tightly, recieving as tight an embrace from Robert. From his king.

“Spare me,” Y/n’s weak voice came from her sickbed, and Robert pulled away as he laughed heartily.

“Someone already did,” he chuckled.

“Help me get up, Ned,” she said, lifting an arm toward him.

“The two of you are stinking up my tent.”

“The Maester said you must keep still as much as- “

“I don’t care. I need air.”

He sighed, but together he and Robert helped her up and supported her outside, and he winced everytime she winced.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside, she closed her eyes as the sunlight hit her face, already feeling better with a cool breeze on her face and the stuffy interior of the tent behind her. Her back throbbed with every heartbeat, and her ribs seemed to send searing pain through her body with every breath, but the wind rustled her hair slightly.

Strange, how the world could both end and continue. Strange, how she was still breathing, without her father. Without her brother. Brandon. Brandon who had always wanted her. Who had always made her smile.

There was a commotion from between the tents, and the three of them turned towards it, slowly. Roose Bolton walked in front of a column of men. Prisoners, she assumed. It was terribly difficult to feel anything but disinterest.

That changed, however, when she saw who was at the head of this column of men.

“My lord Robert,” Lord Bolton deposited ser Barristan Selmy before them and her heart filled with a rage unlike she had ever before felt in her life. The knight was wounded and half dead, and she hated him.

Roose kicked him harshly in the side, making the older man let out a grunt of pain and bend forward.

“I thought you might want to dispose of him yourself.”

Robert looked at ser Barristan a long while, and the old knight kept his head bent forward.

Y/n watched him, waiting for the moment Robert’s hammer would hit home, waiting for that one more bit of vengeance for Brandon and her father.

Instead, Robert let go of her arm, and Ned made sure to support her more so she would not fall.

He walked forward and held out a hand for ser Barristan to take. The old knight looked up in surprise and awe, and took the offered hand, letting Robert pull him to his feet.

“No!” Y/n yelled, unwilling to believe what she was seeing in front of her. Rage lent her strength as she ripped Ned’s sword out of the sheath at his side, having no weapon of her own to use. She lurched forward, bringing the sword up over her head, seeing nothing but ser Barristan’s exposed neck, hearing nothing but Aerys’ cackling laughter as the man in front of her and five hundred others did nothing.

She swung, but rage could only give her failing body so much power, and the swing stopped when Robert caught her wrists in strong hands.

She fought as much as she could to free herself, and tears of frustration and anger and heartbreak streamed down her cheeks when she made no progress.

Eventually she slumped against him, her strength gone.

“Perhaps, my lords,” a quiet, cool, calculating voice came from behind her. “The lady Stark is correct.”

Roose Bolton stepped forward once more, and she thought for an inane moment that he perhaps was not so much of a bastard after all.

“This man is dangerous,” he continued. “A loyal member of Aerys’s kingsguard. Perhaps it would be better for everyone if he were taken care of.”

To his credit, ser Barristan stood his ground and lifted his chin slightly, exposing his neck more.

Robert stepped forward then, and again held out an arm for ser Barristan to take. The man was swaying almost as badly as she was.

Good, she thought savagely. I hope he suffers tenfold.

“I will not kill a man for loyalty,” Robert said then, and Y/n’s head whipped up toward him, not believing for a moment what her ears were hearing.

“Nor for fighting well.”

Ser Barristan dipped his head slightly, and lifted his hand toward Robert’s.

“I don’t want to kill him for fighting well,” Y/n hissed, and the only thing keeping her from lashing out at him again was Robert’s strong arm. Ned stepped forward again as well.

“I want to kill him for being a coward.”

“That is not your decision, Y/n,” Ned said quietly but sternly.

“He stood there, Ned!” She shouted, whirling on her brother with his own sword. Her head spun and she almost fell, but her rage kept her standing.

She pointed the sword at ser Barristan.

“He stood there whilst Brandon and father died, and did nothing! He stood there while his king murdered men in cold blood and did nothing!”

“The kingsguard knights are sworn to obey their king- “

“I don’t care!” The tears were coming in earnest now, and if she were not so immersed in her sorrow and hatred she might have felt her various wounds.

“You were not there, Ned! You did not hear father screaming, you couldn’t see Bran- “

“Killing him will not bring them back,” Ned said softly.

“Killing him will kill him!” she snarled at her brother, unwilling to believe the words that were coming from his mouth. Was he just like them, then? Blindly following the word of a man because he had sworn an oath?

Her chest heaved with sobs and angry breaths, but she was still coherent enough to know when she had lost.

She whirled on ser Barristan, throwing Ned’s sword to the ground.

“Then live, ser. Live, and know for every moment of your miserable life that you are here in the stead of better men. That the world is less for having you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She didn’t look at them. Not even the shrouds. The first look had been terrible enough.

Her fists clenched at her sides, and she bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood so that she would not cry. So she would not break.

“I want him dead,” she said softly.

Tywin Lannister, Gregor Clegane, Eddard Stark and all their bannerlords looked at her where she stood over the three corpses on the ground in front of the iron throne.

Ned stepped toward her.

“Y/n…” he said hesistantly, reaching for her. She whirled away, her body screaming in agony at the movement, her heart shattering and burning and aching.

“I want him dead, Ned!” She snapped, pointing at Gregor Clegane where he stood next to Tywin Lannister. Tywin’s green eyes, as hard and cold as emeralds, held hers for a moment.

“Y/n that is not my decision- “

“Do you see this?” She yelled at him. He flinched back, and a savage spike of pleasure rared through her.

“Two children, Ned! Two children raped! Murdered! Elia- “

She choked on the princess’s name. She couldn’t recognise her. If Tywin hadn’t told them who it was…

“I want him killed, or at the very least castrated.”

“Y/n,” Rickard Karstark spoke from behind Ned. “They won us the city.”

She stared at him for a moment. She wanted to rip into his face with her nails.

“I see,” she said, keeping her voice carefully calm, turning back to Ned. “This is what the honourable Ned Stark calls justice? Murdering children and raping innocent women?”

“Y/n, please- “ Ned’s voice held a heavy resignation, and that was the last straw. She marched past him, needing to leave, needing air, wishing she was dead on the floor instead of Elia.

She stopped next to him and said, softly enough that only he would hear.

“If Brandon was alive he would be dead.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She stumbled out of the city gates. A red haze filled her vision, whether it was sadness, anger, or some sickness she had picked up from a corpse, she didn’t know.

She was so sad, so angry, so hurt that she didn’t feel it any more.

The sight of Elia, princess Elia, her friend who had given her dresses, and strange gifts from Dorne, and books, the sight of her with her head caved in, her body defiled, broken, lying next to her children, two little children, who hadn’t done anything, just as broken as their mother.

Her head was filled with death, she saw all of it flash before her eyes. She heard her father’s screams, she saw Brandon’s blue lips, she felt her sword as it tore through some unnamed soldier’s flesh.

Please, let me live.

And the two children’s faces did not leave her vision. She couldn’t breathe, and she sank down onto her knees on the road leading from King’s Landing. She realised she was sobbing, her body convulsing, she tried to get herself under control, but couldn’t stop the bile from coming up.

There was not even a comfort to be found in the thought of Arthur, of her sweet, beautiful knight, because he was a lie.

She cried even harder, and couldn’t rid herself of the image of his purple eyes.

She didn’t know how long she stayed there in the road, on her knees, but eventually the tears stopped. Her body convulsed a last time, and she could breathe again.

She got up unsteadily, feeling so tired she could sink in on herself. She didn’t feel angry anymore, or sad. The red haze still filled her vision, but she was numb.

You do the job that’s in front of you.

Stannis’s voice. Of all the people she could have thought of for comfort, her mind gave her Stannis Baratheon. He was still in Storm’s end, under siege, they were due to set out the next day to relieve them.

You do your duty. You make your decision and that is your path, no matter what.

Stern, unforgiving, iron. She needed iron.

And it did calm her. She could imagine him scoffing at her tears.

This is a war, Y/n, what were you supposed to do? Throw Rheagar a feast? Get them buried decently, the dead won’t hear apologies and you can’t change history.

She wiped her face with a shaking hand, still covered in dirt and grime, and walked straightbacked to the gates, still numb, but determined to ride to Storm’s End at first light. Then... who knew, perhaps she would leave. Sail away to somewhere where the sun always shone, like she’d dreamed of doing since she was little.

Maybe she could even convince Stannis to go with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n was lightheaded. The stitches in her back had torn during the harsh ride to Storm’s End, but she hadn’t told Ned, because he would have wanted to stop and have them seen to.

So she held on to her horse as she and Ned walked through the folding Tyrell and Redwyne banners. The animal seemed to know she was close to collapse, and he dipped his head so she could throw an arm over his neck. She’d named him Tempest, in her mind.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, and he snorted at her.

“Go and tell the defenders the battle is won,” Ned said to her. He was Ned the Lord today, stern and capable and hard.

“I’ll speak with the lords.”

“They should be beheaded,” she told him.

“Robert gave the order that any who surrender and bend the knee are to be spared,” he said flatly.

“Robert is a halfwit.”

“He is the king we chose, and you would do well not to argue with him.”

Coward, she thought. First you let the Mountain walk, now you let these treasonous cravens free. Coward. Both of you.

She did not argue further with Ned the Lord, however, because there was someone she needed to see.

She sucked in a sharp breath as she mounted Tempest and felt two more stitches tear. By now the blood was soaking through her undershirt, hot and wet.

“Almost there, boy,” she said, patting his neck. It was more for herself than for him.

A garrison of men and two supply wagons broke off from the main column and followed her at Ned’s orders.

“Blow the horns,” she said to Rickard Karstark when they reached the gate. No doubt Stannis had been informed of their arrival and the surrender of their besiegers, but he would not open the gates unless he was absolutely sure.

“Of course, my lady.”

The Stark horns blew, loud and clear, and she heard the answering shout from the keep before the gates of Storm’s End opened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stannis was one of the last to walk out to them.

So far, she’d stayed on Tempest so she would not keel over from blood loss. Shapes were swimming in and out of focus already. The second she saw him, however, she vaulted down.

“Stannis!”

Her legs buckled when she hit the ground, but she managed to catch hold of the saddle, head spinning.

“Y/n,” Stannis had come rushing up to her. He was so thin the clothing he wore hung from his large frame like rags, and the bones of his face were clearly visible beneath the skin, eyes sunken. He looked half dead, and twenty years older than when she had seen him only a year ago, but he was alive. He was alive and in front of her. Alive.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, for once not caring about her dignity, or his for that matter. Her chest was hurting, and her back, and her head was spinning, but he was here, alive, with her. Tears she hadn’t realised she was holding back came spilling over her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” he said, and she held him tighter.

“No,” was all she could manage. Nothing is alright, nothing.

“You’re bleeding, my lady,” he said, trying to pull away. The motion made her panic, so she clutched him to her more tightly.

“No,” she said again. Don’t leave, not you too.

“Get the Maester,” she heard him say over his shoulder. “Damn you, fetch Cressen, now!”

“I’m alright,” she managed, finally pulling away from him. Her head was spinning properly now, and she saw his hands were red from where he’d touched her back.

“You are bleeding, you stubborn- “

“It’s a scratch,” she frowned at him. “Don’t coddle me, I just saved your life.”

“Some scratch, my lady,” that was Rickard Karstark, frowning at what she assumed was a blood stain on her back.

Despite her words, she did catch a hold of Stannis’ arm as her head spun.

“Cressen will see to you if I have to tie your ankles together,” he almost growled. “I’ll be damned if I survived a year on boot leather to have you die now.”

“Please,” she scoffed at him. “My death won’t be this dull.”

Stannis frowned at her, and she wanted to smile at the expression. How many times had she dreamt of seeing it again?

There was a commotion, and Maester Cressen pushed through the crowds around the supply wagons.

“About time,” Stannis grumbled, but he did not let go of her arm. She would never admit how grateful she was for him.

“My lord,” Maester Cressen said, he too, looked about ten years older than she remembered. “My lady.”

“Maester Cressen,” she tried to sound lighthearted, and almost succeeded. “My back hurts.”

He managed a tired smile. “I bet it does, my lady.”

“Inside, if you would, my lady.”

Stannis was about to start walking with her, but she stopped him.

“Rickard can take me,” she said, and the young lord stepped forward quickly to take her other arm. “Eat.”

“I have held out a year- “

“And if you die from stubbornness now, I will never forgive you.”

He scowled at her, but she was used to his scowls, and eventually, he spared a scowl for Rickard and let go of her arm. She hoped he was going to eat something.

He would be the one to die from being too stubborn.

#stannis baratheon x reader #arthur dayne x reader #arthur dayne imagine #stannis baratheon imagine #got imagine #got fic #stannis baratheon #robert baratheon #ned stark

[nikkzwrites]

Oh, Danny Boy | Thomas x F!Reader | One-Shot

I normally write my x Readers in second person, but I decided to try out a third person x Reader fic! I hope you like it!

Prompt: No Prompt, but the fic is about a woman who lost her childhood love in World War I and the consequences Thomas Shelby has for being... well... Thomas Shelby.

Genre: Angst. Just a WHOLE LOT of Thomas Shelby Angst.

Word Count: 2.7k

When Arthur said that he had another Shelby to inform of John’s death, Thomas bided by, yet he didn’t quite know what his elder brother was speaking about. All he knew was that if they were important enough to alert about John’s passing and about the possible danger, it would be best to get them here so that they couldn’t be used against the family later. When he went down to greet the small family that Arthur had informed to come over, Thomas was taken aback. There before him was a young boy, unmistakably a Shelby, with a woman, who he had not seen for at least the same amount of time as the young boy, next to him. The boy even walked like a Shelby. His head held high and proud of himself. He was frozen as he watched Arthur walk down to greet them.

The year was 1919. They had just gotten back home and were helping families prepare funerals for the men who didn’t make it back. There was one family that had lost a father and brother, but the girl, not much younger than John was there mourning three lives; one of her father, one for her brother, another of her childhood sweetheart. She couldn’t have been much older than the youngest legally allowed into the war when it first started. Then again, that boy was one of the youngest in their squad at the top of the war, so it made sense. At first, she was just another one of the thousands to Thomas, until she opened her mouth to sing with a few of the other widows. Her voice was so gentle, yet overwhelmingly filled with grief. It was as if listening to an actual angel endure the heartbreak of humanity’s downfall. If he were not back from France, had he not gone, he would have broken there, but, alas, he had seen it. He was there on the ground of France. He was never going to be that man again. 

His blue eyes watched as when she went to thank everyone for coming. People were slowly trickling out to make their way to other funerals. This was the Shelby boys’ last stop, though so they stayed behind with her. Arthur grabbed hold of her and cradled her as if a precious being. Before she was the picture of graceful sorrow, but once the towering man’s arms were around her, holding her close to him, she completely let every built agony out. She was alone in this world now. The only anchor she had right now was them. He watched as she clung to his brother. 

Arthur held the poor girl. One arm around her waist and the other massaging her head. “It’s alright love, let it out,” Arthur cooed to her, “I know, I know.” He kissed the side of her head, “Cry it out, love. Get it all out so you can carry on.” He looked towards his brothers and said, “John, stay out here with me. We’ll finish this stuff out here. Tommy, go on in with her, can you make her a bit of tea and send her off to bed?”

Thomas nodded, “Right.” He snaked his arm in between the girl and his elder brother, “Come on, love. We’ll take good care of ya.” He wrapped his arm around her waist to help walk her into her house. 

They walked into a large empty house. Thomas actually preferred it this way, the maids, workmen, everyone else were away until the next morning. It was just going to be her, her horses, her dog, and the Shelby boys for the night. He helped her into the kitchen and sat her into one of the chairs. He chuckled and started to look through the cabinets, “So, I don’t think a girl like you would know where they kept anything, do ya?”

She giggled and wiped her eyes. She slid past him and stood on her toes to grab a tin, “I actually know where everything is. After my father and brother left, I cut the staff down considerably. We only have one cook, one footman, a maid, and the stablemen and farmers.” She turned and started to prepare the tea.

Thomas laughed, “Oh, so only you and like eight people. Okay.” He watched her do her work. She started to stare off though. Thomas knew that the glassy eye look well. He walked up behind her and whispered, “Hey.” He let his arms slide around her waist again. He leaned his head down and kissed right under her jaw, “Aye, love, come on.” He took her hand and said, “Let’s get you into bed.”

Her doe eyes looked at him. He could tell she was looking at someone else rather than him, but Thomas didn’t mind. He understood what that feeling was like, wanting someone else so badly, but accepting any love you can get because that person could never give you that love again. She moistened her lips and nodded, “I can go start the fires in the guest bedrooms.”

He shook his head. He spoke in a rolling soft voice, “I’ll take care of everything.” He kissed behind her ear. He pulled her close to him and asked, “Would you ask him the same thing, hm?”

She laughed, “Well, he didn’t have two brothers to worry about and he’d be sneaking in through the window to avoid my father.”

“Well, you can go upstairs and I can climb my way up,” He kissed her forehead, “you heard me, go on up.”

She started up the stairs, turned back to him, and smiled gently, “He had a pretty, beautiful Shire mare. White as the newly fallen snow. She should still be in the stable if you want.” She turned and headed back up the stairs.

Back in his right head, Thomas wondered what happened to that horse. It was a beautiful mare. He greeted the woman and the young boy. The boy’s piercing ice-blue eyes bore straight through him. That was no question his son. His wavy near unruly, from what Thomas could tell, dark hair was only being tamed by it being cut so short. He looked at the boy and asked, “So what’s your name, son?”

“Daniel,” the boy responded, “I’m named after my father.”

Thomas laughed and shook his head, “No you aren’t. But I’ll talk to your Uncle Arthur and your mother about this. Go on inside. You can meet ya brother.”

Daniel looked up at him, “Uncle Arthur says you have horses. Can I go see em? I’ve been training my own foal.”

Thomas made a face. He was such a straightforward boy. Strong boy. A boy who didn’t follow directions well, but was a boy used to negotiating to get what he wanted. The boy was just like him. Thomas growled, “You don’t want to meet your brother?”

“I don’t have a fucking brother,” Daniel replied with a frigid glare.

The woman looked down at the boy, “Language, Daniel Thomas.” She turned her head up and stared into Thomas’ eyes, “Mr. Shelby, my son adores horses. Could you please allow him to stay with them? Danny has a hard time adjusting to new places if I, Arthur, John, or his teacher are not with him.”

Thomas sneered and asked without taking an eye off Daniel’s mother, “Ada, can you take Danny-”

“Daniel,” The boy interrupted. He readjusted to stand taller as if that had something to do with it, “My name is Daniel, Mr. Shelby.”

“Can you take Daniel to the stables,” Thomas pleaded through gritted teeth.

Ada nodded and put an arm around the boy. She smiled and commented, “Daniel is such a handsome name. You know you are just the age of my son, Karl. Would you like to play with him as well?”

Daniel looked up at her, “Maybe. Does he know how to ride a horse? Or does he know how to shoot?”

Ada looked at Tommy surprised then down at the boy again, “No. He grew up in London, but he knows chess and other fun games.”

Daniel shrugged, “Later then. After dinner perhaps.” He walked with Ada to the stables.

Right when Thomas knew the boy was out of earshot, he turned to Arthur and the mother of his eldest son. “When were you going to FUCKING TELL ME that I had a son,” Thomas growled approaching the younger woman.

Arthur started to try to intervene but she held out an arm and stood her ground. She sneered and stared straight at him despite him trying to tower over her, “Hopefully never. I was banking on this conversation taking place in Hell.”

“Come on you two,” Arthur pushed Thomas away from the woman. He stood between them and tried to reason, “What much better would it have done if she did tell you? Eh?”

“COME OFF IT,” Thomas roared, “You know I would have made it right Arthur!”

“Made what right,” She yelled at Thomas, “Marry me? My heart was buried in the ground! I always was going to love someone else! I had fucking money!”

Arthur turned and pushed her away from Thomas, “Yeah, and look at Daniel. He’s an amazing boy.”

Thomas stormed up to get into her face once more, “For all you know, that could have been my only child! You robbed that boy of a father!”

“FRANCE STOLE THAT BOY’S FATHER,” She yelled pointing down into the ground. Her chest heaving from the screaming match. Seeing his eyes genuinely hurt by her actions, she stopped fighting. She panted out her frustration and took a deep breath. She calmly looked up at him, “But luckily he wasn’t, huh, Mr. Shelby?” She shook her head of her malice. Her voice changed to a softer, more gentle tone, “I’m sorry for your loss. She was a kind woman. She lived up to her name. Now, thank you for inviting me to John’s funeral. May I go now?”

Thomas seethed. He, too, slowly let his anger out from his breath. He could tell her honesty from the way she spoke. He nodded then called to her back, “Be downstairs as soon as you get settled for the family meeting!” He watched as she turned around. He cocked an arrogant smirk, “You are a Shelby after all. You had that blood in you for a time.”

She turned back to her mission into getting into the house, “I’m sorry sir. I believe you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” She walked into his house with two small bags to go and get settled.

Thomas turned to his brother, “How long have you two fucking known about this?”

“Johnny didn’t know until after Danny was born,” Arthur explained.

“And you,” Thomas questioned.

Arthur took in a deep breath, “Since the day she knew she was pregnant.”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Arthur?”

Arthur looked at his brother sorrowfully, “Because she wanted to keep em, Tommy. She wanted to keep em and she didn’t wanna marry you. She had enough money where she could raise him no problem. Look at him, Tommy. That is a well loved boy.” He pointed towards the stables.

“Does he know anything about me,” Thomas asked miserably. He waited for Arthur to respond and when he didn’t he asked again, “Does he know ANYTHING about me Arthur?”

Arthur nodded solemnly, “That’s why John and I would go visit em, Tommy. We wanted to make sure he was a proper Shelby boy. She’s done so much for him. That boy can probably outshoot Finn and definitely out race him. He’s a really smart one too.”

“That doesn’t mean he knows me, Arthur,” Thomas hissed.

Arthur sighed, “Aye, but he does. He knows you from the papers and from me sitting him down and tellin em about you. He doesn’t quite care for it, to be honest.”

Thomas took out a cigarette, moistened it by rubbing it against his lips, then lit it to smoke, “Me neither.” He turned to walk back into the house.

Later that afternoon, after John’s funeral, Thomas sauntered into her room, “Thank you for staying.”

“Didn’t have much choice,” She said, “Arthur asked, I stayed. Nothing to it more than that.”

He nodded, “I saw you, after the gunshot. You stood and drew a pistol. Where’d you learn to shoot?”

She shrugged, “Picked it up after my Papa and Georgie died. I had a Shelby boy and if anyone found out, I needed to be able to protect myself and him until he could shoot for emself.”

“You could’ve eaten with us,” He told her. He poured both of them a glass of whiskey.

The woman shook her head, “I’m not a Shelby. I didn’t belong there.”

“You belong there, because I say you belong there,” He growled as he took a sip.

She shook her head, “I don’t belong anywhere, Mr. Shelby.”

There was a cry. Both of them turned their heads. Daniel walked in with Charlie crying behind him. The boy huffed at the two adults and walked past Thomas to lead Charles to his mother, “He couldn’t sleep.” He walked back out to go to their room. 

Her heart melted, “Oh darling boy.” She scooped up Charles and asked, “Darling, Charlie, would you like me to help you get to sleep?” She pet the boy’s head so that he could rest it into the crook of her neck and started to hum. She stood and walked into the hall to sing to the boy. She sang softly and danced slowly with him until he was completely asleep.

Thomas stood in the doorway watching her. His eyes watched every small twirl she made as she sang to his younger son the spices of Scarborough Fair. Her barefeet against the wood made it easy to gently sway Charlie to sleep as she sang to him. Thomas stared at her, but he was looking at his late wife.

When she returned from putting Charlie to sleep, Thomas’ forlorn eyes pleaded with hers wordlessly. She calmly walked into the room and closed the door behind her.

One morning, he went on a ride with Charles and Daniel. He took in the misty air of morning. For the first time, in a long time, he felt as if he could grasp it. Everything he ever wanted was just there in his veiled vision. When they rode back, he spotted it, the car that dropped her off. He handed Charles to Mary so that she could walk the boys in. Thomas walked to Daniel’s mother, who was putting the bags into the car.

He grabbed her arm roughly and walked them a bit away from the car, “Where do you think you’re going?”

She turned to the man, “Back home. Danny and I belong back home.”

Thomas shook his head, “You said you didn’t belong anywhere. Well now you do. You belong to me and Charlie.”

She sighed, “Thomas.”

“Don’t you dare Thomas me,” His eyes squinted from the searing pain of tears building. His nostrils flared, “Danny deserves a father and Charlie deserves a mother. It’s perfect, ain’t it? This?”

“Tommy-”

“No,” he roared, “Don’t fucking Tommy me when you’re taking my fucking son away from me again.”

“Lizzie’s pregnant, Tommy,” She somberly forced a smile with a shrug, “What do you want me to do?” The news punched him. His head reeled. He blinked, shaking his head. Why did this have to happen now? Thomas took a step back from her as her voice bubbled back to the surface of his understanding, “- were never going to work. You and I. We both love someone who isn’t there, Tommy. It’s unfair for us to act like anything different. Charlie can still have a mother. You don’t have to worry.” She let tears fall from her eyes.

Thomas was silent as he watched Danny and the woman who gave him Grace again drove away. He gripped Charlie’s hand as Charlie waved them goodbye, completely unaware of what it meant. Thomas closed his eyes and whispered under his breath, “And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be, For you will bend and tell me that you love me, and I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.”

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x oc

[bagelboys-withcreamcheese]

Red Dead Redemption x modern!reader (Irish edition)

This is just Reader’s and Sean’s chaotic dumbass energy (idk why but there’s a lot of singing

•Sean, drunk: “I got way more bitches than you-“

•Reader, singing: “Fuck no baaaby~”

——

•Reader, yelling at a duck that swam to close to camp: “Hey duck! You’re no good duck!”

•Sean: “You’ll never be sHIT!”

•Reader: “You’re Just. Like. Your. Father”

——

•Reader, singing to Sean and trying to play Javier’s guitar that they stole: “I love you biiiitch! I ain’t never gonna stop loving you-“

•Sean, pretending to fan away tears: “Oh my god.”

•Reader: “-bITCH”

——

•Reader, singing: “When I think about my worries and I think about my strife, here is what I simply saaaay~”

•Sean, bursting out of the bushes: “AHHHHHH-“

——

•Sean, walking up to reader: “Smack cam!”

•Reader, grabbing a knife from Pearson’s wagon: “Bitch I hope the fuck you do, you’ll be a dead son of a bitch I’ll tell you that-“

——

•Reader & Sean, teaching Jack how to ride a horse:

•Reader: “Your horse is your partner! You can’t do anything without your horse!”

•Sean: “Your horse can kiLL YOU with its owN BODY!”

——

•Sean & reader, playing make-believe w/ Jack:

•Sean, pretending to be a damsel in distress while wearing a dress he stole from one of the girls: “Please help! Someone at our ball has been killed!”

•Reader, wearing a police uniform that they stole from Dutch that’s way to big: “Calm down, we don’t want to panic at the disco!”

•Jack: *wheezing*

——

•Sean, pointing at readers shoes: “What are those?!”

•Reader, who cut a pair of boots to look like crocs: “They are my cROCS-“

——

•Sean & reader, sneaking around the back of the doctors office in Valentine to rob it:

•Reader, quietly singing: “don’t be suspicious, dooont be suspicious~”

•Sean, dancing: “Don’t be suspicious don’t be suspicious dun dun~”

——

•Sean: “Hey, how much money do you have?”

•Reader: “uh 69 cents.”

•Sean: “oh, you know what that means!”

•Reader, crying: “I don’t have enough money for chicken nuggets.”

——

•Sean & reader, standing on the table while everyone is asleep:

•Sean, whispering: “ready?”

•Reader, also whispering: “Yeah!”

•Sean & reader: *inhale* “tOP OF THE MORNIN TO YA LADDIES!!!”

•The gang: *jolting awake and grabbing their weapons cause they think they’re being attacked, Dutch & Arthur fall off their cots, Swanson screams*

——

•Reader, running back to camp with a big ass snake: “Guys I found a snake! What should I name him?”

•Arthur: “You found a what-“

•John, backing away: “no no no no no-“

•Sean, doing a gesture like the spongebob imagination thing: “William Snakespeare!”

——

•Reader & Sean, singing: “When the duck walked up to the lemonade stand-“

•The O’driscoll that kidnapped them: “stoP SINGING THAT SONG THIS IS THE 15TH TIME-“

~Bonus~

•O’driscoll, dragging Reader & Sean back to the gang by the collar of their shirts: “takE THEM BACK IM BEGGING YOU!”

——

•Sean & Reader, making food:

•Sean, singing: “Making pancakes. Making bacon pancakes. Take some bacon and I put it in a pancake. Bacon pancakes. That's what it's gonna make. Bacon pancaaake~”

•Reader, using a wooden spoon as a microphone: “in New YOOOORK! CONCRETE JUNGLE WHERE DREAMS ARE MAAADE OF-“

——

•Reader, singing: “I am the left brain, I am the left brain I work really hard until my inevitable death brain. You got a job to do, you better do it right and the right way is with the left brain's might!”

•Sean, dancing on top of the table: “I LIKE OREOS AND PUSSYYY-“

#Red Dead Redemption #Rdr2 x reader #Sean Macguire #Jack Marston #Dutch Van Der Linde #Arthur Morgan #Swanson #John Marston #Javier #Vine #Tik Tok #Jacksepticeye #Tumblr shit posts #That one Harry Potter art that I reblogged #Bo Burnham #Irish lad #My fucking bABY

[therookieking412]

Do you still want writing prompts? If so, heres one - knights at the round table/ King Arthur

There was, of course, no question about it. 

She wanted to be a Knight, just like her father before her. 

He was strong, and brave and sat at King Author’s round table, and he promised her that he would take her when she was older. 

It was a promise she kept close to her heart. 

She remembered, the day he left, and kissed her mother good-bye, and the day the oxen came, with a flat cart where Sir Lohengrin laid, wrapped in burial cloth. 

It was bitterly cold, and she held her mother’s hand - her husband’s shield in the other - as King Siegfried himself told Lady Gardenia that she was welcome in his courts whenever she wished. 

Ahiru remembered pulling away from her mother’s grasp, and watching her reflection ripple on the unfrozen pond. It took all her heart not to give up hope, but she knew it was what her father wanted, for her to chase her dreams. 

She lived on the farm, feeding chickens and oxen, riding her horse and doing everything she could to train to one day be a knight, and take her father’s place at the round table. 

That was her plan, until Excalibur was stolen. 

Until he came. 

Ahiru wanted to go, to find the sword and return it to the king and she could finally prove herself, but her mother disapproved almost.

“No, Ahiru, you’ll stay here, where your safe.” Lady Gardenia touched her cheek, and smiled sadly, it was her way of telling Ahiru she couldn’t afford to lose another.

But then, Lord Drosselmeyer came and didn’t give her a choice. 

He came with magic and an army of rogues, he took her mother and she escaped, but not before she saw the monster. 

It appeared to be a giant black bird, descending from the sky. 

“Well, where is it? Where is my present?”

Even as Ahiru hid beneath the bridge they walked upon, she could see his curling grin, his eyes widening with glee.

She wondered if that’s how he looked when he murdered her father.

“I was attacked, Lord,” The bird said, his voice a low gravel, like the earth itself was speaking. “By a crow-”

“A crow?” She could see it too, the grin falling, but his teeth bared. 

“And I dropped the sword into the forbid forest.” No, not the earth, like a powerful wind blasting through skeletal leaves and bare branches.

“My magnificent creature was foiled by a pesky black bird.”

“A crow, my Lord, you must know of their intelligence-”

“This is something you will pay for.” Anger leeched into his voice, and she wondered if his eyebrows came down before his eyes. “Where is it?”

“It fell in the forbidden forest, lord.” The thick sound of a raspy voice, an old man on the verge of death was the monster’s voice. 

“Fool! How will- nevermind. Gather the men, if I can even call them that now, we shall make our way to the forbidden forest.”

Ahiru left her eyes widen, realizing for the first time that they would go after it. 

The whispered words of her mother filled her ear, go to Camelot, to King Siegfried and warn him! Go, Ahiru, now!

But she couldn’t, she had to get the sword before they did, or else. 

She stole her horse and galloped away, she heard them yelling and knew they weren’t far behind her as she lead her steed to the forbidden forest. 

She was thrown off, and while it hurt she couldn’t stop, not with two goons after her, she ran through the forest, her bright hair acting like a beacon, but she fell into a pond and there was a man there. 

With the help of a crow he beat the goons and walked away.

“Wait!” She called out, chasing after him. “Thank you, for saving me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Oh, well thanks anyways.”

He kept walking, but she chased after him, surely he knew his way around the forest, perhaps he had even seen Excalibur falling...

“My name’s Ahiru, what’s yours?”

“Fakir, now stop following me.”

He had to help! If he only knew what had happened...

“Why won’t you look at me when I’m talking to you? That’s very rude, don’t you know?”

“I’m blind.” Fakir said, walking along, the black crow sitting on his shoulder. 

“Well, Excalibur was stolen! We have to find it!”

“We?”

“Yes! I heard that it was dropped in the forest somewhere, and you must know it pretty well! So if we work together-” 

“I stand alone.”

“Okay, but-”

“If Excalibur if here, we’ll find it, right?” He shrugged one shoulder, and the crow cawed. 

“Well, I’ll go with you!” 

No matter what Fakir said, he couldn’t shake her, besides, how far could a blind man get? 

They moved through the forest, Fakir seemed to know where he was going, but Ahiru felt lost, and she was sure they were going the wrong way when they entered dragon country. 

The air was warmer, and sky was yellow and there was a smell in the air that wouldn’t leave her nose...

The oeace didn’t last long, and soon dragons were flying overhead, but not before he dragged her into a hiding place after the crow cawed. 

“We should be safe here.” He said. “Do you see any-”

“Dragons!” Ahiru shouted, pointing across them there were two, lurking behind a broken egg much in the same way they were.

“Dragons! Where!” One voice called, sharp and shrill. “Have they come to eat us at last! Oh No!”

“Can it, or they’ll find us!” Said the other, but suddenly Ahiru was face to face with a two headed dragon. 

“Don’t eat us! Please!” The shrill one cried, but the other rolled her eyes.

“It’s just two humans, and a stupid bird.”

The crow cawed.

“Humans?” 

It was a stout little dragon, with pale blue scales and green tummy, the shrill one had a long neck and two horns that curled out from the side of her head. “I’m Lillie.” And the other had a short neck, and one single horn protruding from the top. “And you can call me Pique.” 

“We should get going,” Fakir said, “We should stay here long-”

“There they are!”

Ahiru turned and suddenly, like a nightmare, there was Drosselmeyer and his band of marauders.

They started to run, but Pique and Lillie pulled them down a dark tunnel that let out in a cave, and as they walked towards the light they were released from dragon country. 

It was getting dark and they agreed to rest.

Except for Ahiru.

“No! We can’t! If my father were here, he’d-”

“He’d tell you to rest to.” Fakir said, who had suggested take a break, who was the one she had to fight with.

Lillie and Pique were trying to start a fire behind her with little success as all the twigs possessed the ability to get up and run away. 

“My father was a knight of the round table and he knew better than to just stop when-”

“Who was your father.”

“Hmm?” Ahiru looked at Fakir, he was facing the setting sun, and she wondered if he knew that, if he could feel it’s warmth on his face even if he couldn’t see it’s beauty. “Oh- my- my father was Sir Lohengrin.”

Fakir nodded, his hands resting on his staff. “He talked about you.”

She looked at him now, her heart quaked. He knew her father? 

“I was a stable boy, in Camelot, I took care of horses and the like, but one night there was a fire, I did my best to free the horses, but they were so frightened,” He paused and she looked into his cloudy eyes, seeing that at one point they could have possibly been green. “When I woke up, my eyesight was gone. I had given up on myself, but your father hadn’t. He trained me, even though I couldn’t see. He was my only chance of becoming a knight.”

“He was my only chance, too.”

“Come with me.”

Fakir lead her between the trees to a place where living plants grew ten feet tall, he prodded it until it unfurled. “You wait until the last possible moment, and then you strike.” The plant swayed before shooting out at it’s adversary, Fakir stayed until the crow cawed, and then he stepped to the side, and hit it. 

“Now you.”

He handed her his staff, she poked the bud, but she attacked to soon, the vine hit her stomach and sent her flying back into his arms.

“You moved to soon.” He smirked, but there wasn’t a trace of mockery or rudeness.    

There was something in his eyes, something she couldn’t see, but then he convinced her to rest. 

“We’re getting close.” Fakir said, although Ahiru wasn’t sure how he knew that. 

The crow cawed, however, as they moved closer to a forest of brambles as tall as oaks, her mouth fell up, her eyes on the tallest needle point, but she tripped and fell.

“Woah, be careful.” Fakir said, pulling her back up.

“A giant!” The two-headed dragon said, but while Lillie said it full of glee, Pique said it with a hint of exasperation. 

“A giant? Does a giant have it?” Ahiru asked, never once considering them to be real. Even as she talked to a two-headed dragon. 

“There’s only one way to find out.” Fakir forged ahead, entering the brambles, he crotched before a foot print, running the tips of his fingers over it.

 Ahiru spoke, they should hurry, they shouldn’t be wasted time, but Fakir hushed her, and she thought they were beyond point, but he hushed her again, begging her to be-

“There they are!” 

Something flew past her, but she could only watching as Drosselmeyer came running in, she heard Fakir groan, and then she realized that they were being attacked. 

But so did the brambles around them.

The creatures opened their eyes and attacked the intruders, allowing Ahiru to hoist Fakir up onto her shoulder and allowing them to escape.

They found a cave, and Ahiru couldn’t think or see as tears streamed down her face, but Fakir comforted her. 

His hand on her cheek, he asked her to describe the sky, to describe the stars, and he smiled at her. 

She leaned over him, holding his hand, the crow placed a purple leaf on his bleeding side and it healed in a blinding light. 

His hand was on the back of her neck. 

“I’m fine.”

“I’m so glad!” She smiled, and his thumb wiped away her tears.

They tried the giant again the next day, they entered his lair, and found him relaxing, he was using Excalibur like a toothpick. 

They waited until the giant fell asleep for a nap, and Ahiru was lowered down, her ankles in Fakir’s hands, and his own in the hands of Lillie and Pique.

“Hurry up!” Pique called. 

“Oh, if only we could fly! Then we could go down and get it ourselves!” Lillie bemoaned. 

“Shh!” Fakir called. 

But Ahiru grabbed it, they made a mad dash, but then she heard Drosselmeyer, like a never ending nightmare, he was across the ravine, shouting at his men to go after her, but he had woken the giant.

“We’ve got it! We’ve got it!” Ahiru shouted running as fast as she could, the sword and scabbard in her hands, she circled back to Fakir, and took his hand, “We can return it, together.”

He gave her a half-hearted smile. 

They walked to the very edge of the forest, and there it was. 

Camelot. 

And Fakir left her. 

Ahiru did her best not to cry, finally seeing a clear blue sky for the first time in days. He had made his choice, and he didn’t choose her. 

It didn’t mean anything. 

Perhaps she could go back, make him come! Make him see that-

but then, a hand was around her arm, and Excalibur was ripped from her grasp, she watched in horror as Drosselmeyer attached the sword to his hand. 

A permanent fixation that made her stomach flop. 

She was thrown in the back of a carriage with her mother. 

Drosselmeyer came and told them, Lady Gardenia would lead them into the city, and if she refused, Ahiru would die. 

Ahiru was gagged, her wrists bound, she wiggled and writhed, and listened as they opened the gates for Lady Gardenia, to alert the King. 

Ahiru found a rusty nail that stuck out of the wood, and with her hands behind her back, she started sawing at the ropes, and as soon as she was free she pulled the gag from her mouth and leapt out of the wagon. 

“IT’S A TRAP!”

The world was pandemonium as Drosselmeyer revealed himself and so did his band, surrounding those who walked through the courtyard. 

Ahiru lead her mother to safety, but she had to get inside and warn King Siegfried. 

What she didn’t expect was Fakir to suddenly appear, with Lillie and Pique flying at his side.

“You’re flying!” Ahiru said in disbelief. 

“Yes, we’re frequent fliers now!” Lillie said proudly. 

“Come on, I know a way inside.” Fakir took Ahiru’s hand.

He lead her to a secret passageway that ran under the castle, Sir Lohengrin had showed him, and they come out in a large room, the room that held the round table.

Ahiru gasped when she saw Drosselmeyer leering over King Siegfried, he was already injured, his arm in a sling, as he crawled away from Drosselmeyer and his own sword. 

The roof had been burst open, presumably from when the monstrous raven tried to steal Excalibur, and so wood tied to pully systems that would lift it up to where it needed to be placed laid all around her.

“Drosselmeyer!” She called, and he turned his crazed gaze on her, allowing Siegfried to get away. “I will not serve a false king!” 

She’s not sure how she did it, but she pushed off, holding onto the rope, and for a moment she was flying, soaring through the air, and she thought her father would be proud of her.

The plank hit Drosselmeyer’s chest and sent him soaring through the window, and Ahiru stumbled after him, falling to the grass and standing as quickly as she could, mist covered the sky and grew thicker.

He was taunting her, she knew that much, but she couldn’t think about that as she hid, playing cat and mouse, and she was waiting for him to spring the trap.

She ducked the sword, and landed in front of the stone. 

The stone that harbored the sword until the true king came. 

Fakir was behind her, defending her while she sat transfixed to the glowing stone. 

He pulled her to her feet and they moved until their backs hit the stone. 

“Wait for the last possible second.” Fakir whispered.

Ahiru nodded, Drosselmeyer couldn’t hear above the noise of his own prattle. 

He raised his sword, “Two for the price of one!” Ahiru watched the sword coming closer, she could see her breath fog the blade before Fakir pushed her to the floor and the sword sunk into the stone. 

She watched in horror as Drosselmeyer screamed, thinking he would be stuck for forever, but something worse happened. 

He turned to dust, and his spell was broken.

Ahiru wore the white dress her mother made her, her long hair out of it’s braid as she and Fakir were knighted with the sword they recovered. Her mother smiled, Lillie and Pique wept tears of joy, and Ahiru watched the crow on the King’s shoulder transform into a young woman in wizards robes, she smiled at Ahiru, too.  

Ahiru danced with Fakir the entire night, her eyes never left his face, and his hand never left her waist. 

“Isn’t this everything you ever wanted?” She asked him. 

“Not quite.” He said, and before she could pout and fight him, he kissed her. 

They left the place, seeking their next adventure, but finally, finally she was a knight of the round table. Just like her father. 

#prompt #quest for camelot au #fakir #ahiru #rue #pique #lillie #lohengrin #seigfried #princess tutu #writing #my writing

[imaginesforallkindoflove]

Not me writing this in one hour and it is past one am now.

Anyway enjoy a mythical fix it fic with Arthur Morgan and my self insert. It is only platonic feelings yall, and Arthur lives :) sorry for any mistakes i wrote this without glasses on my phone and very late at night. Maybe I should sleep??

Arthur didn't know how he escaped death.

He was doomed. He had known since he started to cough, and the doctor he saw in Saint Denis confirmed that. He was sure he was done for. When Micah left him to die on that mountain, when he started to make his way with intense difficultly toward the edge, feeling the warm sun welcoming him, as if God or any higher being was there with open arms, forgetting him. He remembered how he closed his eyes, clutching at his hat and snatchel. He had forgotten to give someone something to remember him by. But... somehow he was happy with that: he will be faded into history. No one will remember him. Maybe that photographer, Albert Mason... or that widow, Miss Balfour... Or that strange and French painter...

French... Like the little maid they picked up from the burning Braithwaite mansion. Hosea took her out with him, arguing with Dutch and some others -mainly John who told him she deserved to die for being with the people who kidnapped his son- as she was just some girl servant trying to survive. The old man cared for that little maid, he really seemed to be fond of her. She was so shy and quiet, so frightened by that new life and by them. Sometimes he watched her, making sure no one was bullying the poor girl. She made fiends with Kieran and Sean... Molly even liked the girl more, doing her hair and being like... a mother figure of some sorts. All her friends were dead when he thought about it.

Arthur entered her life pretty late, but he defended her from Micah, that rat. The way the man was staring at her was disgusting and he knew he had to step in. After that event, she stayed with him when he was around the camp. Calling him words in her language he didn't understand... She was a breath of something new, of love, of... renaissance and redemption, a gift perhaps for him. Arthur had lost his son a long time ago but he found in that girl a little figure of a daughter. He took her fishing and hunting and riding... He took her to Saint Denis and bought her a fancy dress for the hell of it. He taught her how to ride a horse. He had taught her a lot of things...

He hoped she had made it out.

She never had commit a crime. If Milton or one of his agents laid a hand on her, he swore to whatever was hearing him that he would haunt them.

She didn't deserve to die, unlike him.

However, to his surprise, he opened his eyes and breathed deeply.

His lungs...they felt free of anything blocking them. They didn't feel like a burning fire ravaging a forest. He could breathe normally, without coughing himself to blood. He was still very thin and pale but... he was alive. A voice was speaking a few meters away from him. He knew that strange voice full of slangs he didn't know of... Who was it?

He eventually found the strength to stand up, walking with wobbly legs toward the voice. The person seemed to tell jokes or funny stories, because a second voice laughed and chuckled. Oh god, he knew that voice too. He reached a door and opened it, stumbling on the ground.

"Arthur!"

It was her. She was alive. She was alive. That little maid had run off to him and hugged the poor man hard, he moaned in pain and she released him with a pained look on her face. His hands travelled to her face and he caressed her cheeks lovingly, just like a father would do.

Her brown hair was neatly tied up like Molly had taught her, she was wearing the dress he had bought that day in Saint Denis and she... she looked so joyful and so relieved to watch him breathe.

"Na... Naomie..." He finally said, a smile creeping on his face.

"I thought you would die!" She exclaimed, tears streaming down her face quietly.

"I am not... I don't know... What happened?"

"Well... it was the least I could do to thank you mister Morgan."

Behind her was again a strange and unknown man he had helped a few months ago. He didn’t remember his name clearly, but the man had tasked him to find rock carvings and the ending was like a dark fairytale. He didn’t question it, because he felt like an idiot. The man with the birthmark smiled warmly at him.

"Glad that young and elegant miss found me on time. Actually... I had a bad feeling about you mister. I decided to... visit when I encountered poor little Naomie crying and riding while clutching your body for dear life. Luckily for you, I had medicine to treat your illness and we cared for you while you were delirious." He explained proudly.

"He is fantastic!" The girl exclaimed.

"Yeah yeah... I am sorry but I forgot your name-"

"Francis Sinclair."

"Right. Thank you mister Sinclair..."

"I will leave you two to your found happiness. Don't forget to leave in a week or two or else the law will catch you both and I am afraid I won’t be here to save you this time if it happened." Francis Sinclair stated before bowing and taking his leave. "Mister Morgan, this is a thank you for helping me." He declared before disappearing again.

Arthur sat down to write in his journal, then would sleep for hours and ate a lot over the days. He felt much better but the words of Sinclair was still fresh in his head: they had to leave soon. He looked in his snatchel and found all of his money. A few dollars were missing tho but he didn't care.

Naomie entered the little home they shared and unlike any other day, Arthur decided to ask her about what happened after he left the camp for the last robbery with the gang. The young woman sighed deeply, seeming embarrassed.

"I would rather not speak about it."

"I want you to tell me what happened. I need to know. I have the right to. I was dying then I came back to life. Naomie, please." He begged.

"Dutch had two keys for the money box. I... stole his, that one poor miss Grimshaw was keeping. I took the box and hide it somewhere. Then, Pinkertons came and they took Abigail. Tilly and Jack escaped and Miss Grimshaw was nowhere in sight." She started. "So... I felt like it was time for me to leave. I took the box and ran as fast as I could. I came across a barn and I remembered that you had a horse stored there... I lied that you were my father and the man believed me."

"You took Alexander out? That big horse?" Arthur asked, impressed.

"Yes." She nodded. "I found mister Sinclair next. He led me here and I hide the money again. Then he suggested I go looking for you and I did! Something... Animals were on the road, waiting for me. I think it was a coyote and a stag... they led me to you. You were still breathing and no soldier was present so I took your body and ride as fast as Alexander could." She stopped to take a breathe. "Then, I brought you back here. Mister Sinclair gave you some medicine and you felt much better immediately!"

"You saved me." The man breathed out. "You saved me."

"I would have been so lost without you... you are like... like a father to me." She looked at him. "And I have lost so much people in my life. I couldn't afford to lose someone else."

"You... You did good. So good. Come here." He took her in his arms and she looked so small compared to him. Then he released her and started to become serious. "Francis Sinclair is right. We should pack it up, and go somewhere else. Somewhere where no one will find us. And not an island. I was thinking... California?" He suggested, suddenly reminding of the doctor's words. "With this money, we will be able to have a good life. I will find a job... maybe as a deputy or some shit and you... you will have a good education. I will make sure of it."

"Really?" She sounded so excited.

"Or maybe Canada? Maybe we will find Charles and the natives... I hope so." He mumbled.

As he started packing Alexander outside, Arthur saw something strange. He stopped what he was doing. It felt so... dream like.

A stag and a coyote were present, watching intensely. The coyote was siting, its black fur not matching with the golden ray of the sun but its piercing eyes were staring inside the former gunslinger's soul deeply. Meanwhile, the stag was magnificent, dominating the forest with its giant antlers and stood tall, looking at the man too, and he seemed to approve his new life.

Slowly, Arthur tipped his hat off to them, and he didn’t have any peculiar reasons to do that. But... he wanted to thank them. For some reasons.

Arthur Morgan was redeemed. He had acquired his redemption and was reborn through his ashes.

*Many years later...*

They didn't feel like they aged a lot. But here they were, settled in California for many years. It was the end of the first wold war, and Arthur Morgan didn't participate in it, as he didn't fill any of the requirements for the US army. He was glad he didn't go to war, or else Naomie would have been left alone and he would have hated that.

However, he cared for the young and old soldiers. Some came back disfigured, scared by endless fights and traumatic experiences. He tried everything he could to help them, and even invited other rich people to do the same. He worked in the police now, and was a respectable deputy chief. Soemtimes, he laughed at his condition. When they arrived, he still was doing some bounty hunts then a deputy offered him to take a place and here he was.

He entered the home he shared with his now legally adopted daughter, with a smile on his face. He hung his coat himself, as maids and other servants were hurrying to prepare dinner and doing all kind of chores. He paid them well and was kind to them. Hosea would have done the same, he thought.

Some years after they settled in, Arthur Morgan was able to contact most of the people he helped, even Mickey the fake war veteran who died three years ago. He helped him, finding him a simple job and home. Charlotte was well too, a little old by now but she had nephews and nieces as well as grand nephews and grand nieces to take care of. Albert Mason reached to him first, inviting him to his new exposition whereas Charles Châtenay came back one day, knocking on Arthur's door.

He didn’t had contact with any of the old gang members, except maybe Mary Beth. He would buy her books and read them avidly, feeling proud on how far she had come. One time, he even had tears when she wrote a serie about them. The characters looked and thought as them, and he felt proud again. He grinned when he thought about that brave captain Monroe who would sometimes visit them. He had found a wife and had children on his own. Also, they would often tour in those states to visit the graves of their fallen members as well as the native son of that chief. Arthur felt the need to see them every two years. He didn’t want to forget about them and would write any new memory in his diaries.

They didn't age, he quickly noted. They both stayed in the state Francis Sinclair found them. Perhaps that mad man gave them something, but he was glad it was not toxic or anything.

Naomie was a good student, scoring high in female universities but couldn't access to more as she looked too young for anything and was a woman. That was the only downside, he believed. She was mad of course, but with time, she seemed to be more interested in so many things and began to write numerous essays and books under a male name.

They were comfortable. They were safe. No one was asking about their shady past. He hoped John and his family were still alive as well as Karen, Tilly and Charles. He missed Charles a lot. However... He hoped Dutch was feeling miserable, as miserable as himself was when he thought he was dying that evening.

One day, a man working for him came finding Arthur in his office, saying a young black haired man was searching for him.

"What is his name again?" Despite being high in society, Arthur stayed the same.

"He said: "Lancelot Milton". A rubbish name if you ask me sir. Do you want me to do anything about it?"

"I swear if this is another man asking for my daughter's hand, I will put a bullet through his skull." The man spoke as he went to see who send for him.

He opened the door and saw a man tending to a beautiful horse. He was wearing a familiar hat, Arthur thought, and from the back, the strange man reminded him of someone he knew but the memories were blurry. He cleared his throat and the stranger turned. Then the older man knew and it took his breath away. The eyes, the face, the hair...

"Hello, my name is Jack Marston. I believe you knew my father?"

#n speaks #my f/os #f/os #self shipping #self shipping community #my s/i #platonic fo

[zodiyack]

Princess

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x petite/scrawny!princess!reader

Warnings: mentions of death, swearing, smoking and alcohol, changing things from the movie, spoilers??, a sexual word, violence, fluff

Note: ANASTASIA AU CAUSE WHY NOT LMAO || So the movie Anastasia takes place in 1926, Anastasia was 8 (1916) when Rasputin cursed her family and killed all of them but her and her grandmother. She ran with her grandma to the train, falling and hitting her head before she could get on it. Watch the movie, I can’t explain it for you oof || AGAIN, AS I SAID, THIS IS A BIT DIFFERENT BUT STILL SOMEWHAT SIMILAR

Words: 5713 I’m sorry

masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

It was currently 1919. Tommy and his brother Arthur had heard news of a princess, who was assumed dead, being alive and missing. They knew it was a true rumor, and boy were they determined to find that girl...or at least a girl to play her.

Polly and Ada were training the girls on how to act formal. And when the time was right, each girl would audition. Tommy always turned them down though. He claimed they were nothing like the princess.

“How’d ya even know the princess anyways, Tommy?” Arthur questioned, with the intent of teasing and out of genuine curiosity.

Closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, Tommy remembered. It was like it was yesterday.

1902 was the year it happened. Her family’s demise. The young Shelby boy was only 10 when he met the princess. Now, he was 12 and rescuing the 8 year old girl. He admired her greatly. The princess met him in a peculiar way that most people would deem unladylike;

She was riding her horse without a saddle when she was thrown off and landed on none other than the infamous Thomas Shelby. Of course, she didn’t know who he was, or what a boy his age was doing by himself.

“How rude!” She tried her hardest to seem serious about the situation. In all honesty, it was to distract from her red cheeks. She stood up and brushed the dirt off her body. “A girl lands on you.. and all y-you do is stare?”

“A lady wears trousers and all I do is stare, ma’am.”

“O- oh... Please, don’t let word of this reach the palace.”

Tommy’s eyes widened. She was the princess- that’s where he knew her from. “Of course your highness!” He knew she could sense the sarcasm coming from his voice by the way she visibly tensed.

“Whatever... You may know me, but who are you? I’m Princess Y/n L/n. But please, call me Y/n. I like being..well not a princess every once in a while.”

“Thomas Shelby ma’am. Please, call me Tommy.”

They had met every day, her telling him stories of what happened in the palace, and him telling of his family. She was fascinated by the peasant life. It was odd. Normally, Tommy would dream of being the richest man alive, but the fact that a princess, who could do almost anything she wanted, dreamt of being a commoner...that was strange.

However, her strangeness was something he needed to put aside currently. He may have thought it was one of her best traits- but now he needed to think of her safety. The sorcerer Rasputin had cursed her family and was after her wishing nothing but death. Tommy would not allow that. The commoner grew feelings for the princess he had met two years ago. Of course, he wasn’t sure she felt the same way, but he wasn’t going to let her die.

As he lead the two females through the secret door Y/n had showed him, he whispered his goodbyes. Then, right then and there, she stole his first kiss before she ran with her grandmother to the train station. He touched his lips for a second, then realizing where he was and running behind her shortly.

“Tommy?” Arthur’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “What, ya cut ya lip or somethin’?”

Tommy removed his hand from his face and inhaled. He actually missed the princess, and he wasn’t even sure he would ever see her again. “No. Back to the auditions, the girl who’ll be her must be 25, and she must have h/c hair with e/c eyes. I wanna say.. a soft voice. Oh yes, and she must have a serious side.”

His brother made a face at the demands, but added them to the list. The auditions went for an hour or two longer, and none of them were the ones Tommy wanted. Some were either too dramatic, some nowhere close to the description of the princess, others were.. well just plain scarring. It was disappointing, to say the least, but what the Shelby boys didn’t know, was that Y/n herself was waiting to be found.

. . .

“Now get out!”

“Alright alright, no need to yell Sarah. I’m out, okay? Goodbye kids!” Y/n ignored the mean old orphanage lady as she said goodbye to the kids she grew up with. She was finally leaving the place to search for her family. If she had one...

All she could remember was waking up on the train station ground and being lost. The only sign she had of family, was the necklace that never came off her neck. It read, “Together in London.” London was her only clue, and her only hope to be happy.

“Wish you luck finding your family, Y/n/n.”

“Reall-”

“No.” The gate was then shut in her face. Sarah cackled and mocked Y/n’s necklace and dreams. That didn’t really have an effect on Y/n, for she was already walking down the road.

Humming an oddly familiar tune, she skipped in the snow. When she stopped at what used to be a wooden post, it was wrecked and covered in snow. They were her directions. She didn’t own a map, nor did she know her way around England having never left the orphanage.

She gave up and groaned. Sitting on the snow soaked ground, she muttered words of annoyance. She really thought she could find a way to London on her own. Y/n actually had hope and courage and now all she had was-

“Bark!”

She had bark? No that wasn’t right- Just as quickly as she had sat down, she stood up and searched for whatever had made the noise.

“Bark Bark!”

A dog?

When the small animal came into Y/n’s view, she could see that it was a little brown dog. It was adorable. But what was it doing out here by itself? The dog came closer, allowing Y/n to see that it- no he, had no collar or tags.

“Aww poor boy... Do you miss your family?”

The dog tilted it’s head. Could it be answering her? Nope. He rolled over and stuck his tongue out again.

“Hm.. Well I’ll call you Pooka!” She took the dog’s cheerful barks as a good sign. “Do you know where I’m supposed to go, Pooka? ...Of course you don’t. You’re a dog-”

Pooka bit down onto her scarf, dragging it around and off of her and heading down the path to the left. Y/n grunted and chased after her new friend. This was probably normal, after all, dogs wouldn’t know how to understand humans...would they?

Only minutes after following Pooka, did Y/n realize she was headed out of Lichfield and to Birmingham. It would take hours, and she knew that. But ‘a few hours’ wouldn’t stop her from finding her family. So she followed the dog. And besides, a girl her size wouldn’t make it in the snow if she were to wait for help. In the orphanage, it wasn’t much. The meals were not always even and nor were they filling. The older kids would often tease Y/n, saying how she would fly away if she were to stand in the wind a moment too long.

The trip of following the dog turned out to be useful. She made it to a station where she ate and asked around. An odd lady told her to look for a Shelby family in Birmingham, and to not let anyone know she had told her. So off she went, now nearing the unknown place of Small Health. Every time she mentioned the name “Shelby” to the people, they shuddered and didn’t have much to say. Some women smirked but still didn’t speak.

Next, Y/n tried the Garrison. It was full of men. Like, FULL. The only women were accompanied by other men, or were..well whores. It didn’t make Y/n uncomfortable, but she was distant from everyone. Distant as in, avoiding making contact with the people in the pub. She’d only drank alcohol once, and it was after she had a small breakdown at the orphanage. Her friend Jill telling her the drink would wash away her sadness.

This time, the responses to her question about the Shelby name were answered by the man serving drinks.

“What do you want with the Shelbys? They’re not the best people to be looking for.”

“Oh...well I was told that they would have a way to London? Specifically Thomas and Arthur Shelby?”

Harry sighed. He knew what she was talking about, sadly. So did the two men standing right behind her.

“That would be us. Or, for a proper greeting, I am Tommy Shelby, and this is my brother. If you want to go to London, I’m afraid we have no more auditions available.” A deep, but soft, voice spoke into her ear. It gave her chills and made her shiver.

“I don’t know what you mean by auditions. I just want to go see my family, or whatever family I have left. They’re in London and I have no way of getting there. No money, no nothin’. Not even memories.”

Arthur glanced Tommy. The two held the widest grins on earth. “Alright...but you must be the princess in order for us to take you.” They hooked their arms through hers and led her to a corner of the pub. “See, are you her?”

Y/n observed the well made painting that rested on the table. The child looked familiar, but Y/n didn’t believe it. How could she be a princess? She didn’t even look as fancy as the people in the pub!

“Me? A princess?”

“Well you do look quite like her, dear.” Arthur walked around Y/n. “What’s your name? How old are you?”

“Y/n/n and I’m twenty-five... why?”

“Perfect! That’s the age the princess would be now!”

“But still, I can’t possibly be her, I mean look at me!” To prove her point, Y/n pulled at her dress. It was practically a large ratty coat and a belt tied tightly around her small waist. The brown tights-like-pants hugging her legs were the only supply of warmth she had. A princess would be well fed and dressed in fancy clothing. To Y/n, she looked nothing like a princess would. Her hair was knotted and frizzy, a princess’ would be combed and neat.

“Ah...how sad. Well, we must be on our way then.” Tommy turned around with the painting in hand. He walked rather slowly, and don’t even start on Arthur’s expression. She was the perfect actress for the princess, why was Tommy walking away from a good deal?! The younger Shelby elbowed his older brother, “walk slower. Three. Two. and-”

“Wait.”

“One.”

“So what if I am this princess you speak of? I can’t remember, so who knows, I could be her. That is a possibility. And hey, if I go with you and figure out I’m not her, we’ll at least have made friends, right?”

Tommy let a snarky smile slip onto his face. It was obviously aimed at Arthur 'cause disappeared when he faced the young woman. “Right. Well then, come along Y/n/n. We have a train to catch.”

. . .

“What the fuck are you doing.” Y/n looked up from her journal to see Tommy glaring at her.

“I’m writing...” She was a mess. The ink from her pen was smeared across her cheek and she was slouching. 

“No. I meant that.” He gestured to her legs, which rested underneath her bum. “Sit normally woman. No one would ever think you’re the princess with your bad posture and childish sitting.” He handed her a cloth. “And clean your face while you’re at it.”

“Oh leave her alone Tommy.” Polly chuckled, not looking up from her own book. “She still has time to learn.”

Ada, Polly, John and Finn joined their family with Y/n on the train. Ada had made it her duty to teach Y/n, Polly offering her assistance. And the other boys were probably just eager to meet her. Either way, they were preventing Tommy from making an ass of himself in front of the poor woman.

Or...at least trying to. Tommy growled and left the car, going to smoke in the smoking car. Y/n had only met Tommy a day ago, and she thought he was nice. Now that she saw this side of him, she was rethinking her opinion.

“Is he always such a dick?”

Polly laughed once more and finally looked at the girl in front of her. “Yes dear. I’ve known that boy most of his life, and trust me, he’s not changing. Especially after the war.”

“Did he serve in it?” Pol nodded, looking back down with sorrow. “Oh my..that must’ve been hard on him..”

“It really was. He said that he loved a girl when he was younger. And that the war was not only something he needed to help in, but a way to prove to himself that he could possibly be worthy of that girl’s love.”

“I personally think that the girl made the right decision, getting away from him. He’s so mean and grumpy.”

Polly shook her head. Her final laughs of the ride escaped her mouth. The reason for them being final was unknown to the two women. 

Y/n fell asleep, and Polly went back to her book. Tommy joined them again, refusing to apologize. He saw Y/n and admitted she was beautiful, although he would never deem someone as beautiful or even more beautiful than the lost princess who owned his heart.

The reason of Polly’s laughter being the last of the ride was being shouted by John. He told his family how they had the wrong papers and needed to hide away in the baggage car before they were booted off the train. Tommy went to wake Y/n, earning himself a shocked punch in the jaw. After he collected himself, he rushed Y/n to said car, only causing her curiosity to grow.

 This was the last time she trusted a stranger claiming they could supply her with a ride to London. And they were only around forty minutes away! 

“Alright, will someone please explain to me, what the fuck is going on?”

“Well, Y/n/n, Tommy and Arthur here decided to get the wron-” Slap! “Wrong car! Now, we are um.. moving cars! You shouldn’t have to sit in there worth all those filthy commoners. And- wait what’s that sound?” John didn’t even finish his sentence before he noticed something was wrong. Y/n and the others heard it too.

Before anyone could do anything, the train was jerked forward and the door to the dining car was ripped off. The other half of the train faded into the winter background. Everyone had fallen over, Tommy landing on Y/n with a large box in his arms.

“Get off of me!!”

He sighed and threw off the case, pulling Y/n up. She mimicked him as she brushed off the imaginary dirt from her clothing. It reminded him of his Y/n, if only he realized Y/n/n was not actually the mysterious girl’s real name.

“Uh Tommy..”

“What is it now Ada?”

“Someone’s um...flambeed our engine.”

“What!?” Tommy pushed over to where Ada was looking. It indeed looked like sabotage. He pulled off his coat and climbed to the front of the train. Sparks and coals were flying everywhere. It was burning hot and no one was driving the train. They would need to jump off.

He noticed the bridge for the railroad tracks was broken in half. It would cause their deaths if they were to continue in any of the cars, or even in the train itself.

First, his mission was to separate the car him and his family were in from the front two. After telling his family of the plan to escape, he hopped back to the part connecting the cars. It was somehow frozen over, so he demanded a tool to break the ice. No tools worked, he was tempted to just get up and find one himself. Luckily, Y/n saved the day, handing him a dynamite and winking.

“That’ll work.”

Once they were safe and off the train, into the snow, Y/n laughed. It made Tommy’s heart warm. Again, the warmness didn’t last long. Tommy told himself that she wasn’t actually the princess, and he was saving his heart for the real one. The chances of finding her were slim, and he knew it.

“Tommy?”

“Yes Y/n?”

“Promise me we’ll still be friends after I become queen.”

“I promise. Promise me you’ll invite me and my family to the palace?”

“My family and I.”

Tommy turned to the princess and gave her a short glare. She only corrected her grammar when she was being a form of somewhat serious mixed with worry. The fact that she doubted his loyalty to her in their friendship hurt him, but he understood. The royal family already had trust issues, and he didn’t plan on giving the princess more.

“What would happen if I were to... maybe leave England?”

“I would journey with you, Y/n. To all ends of the earth. No matter how crazy the adventure may seem.”

He watched the smile find it’s way onto her face. A similar smile appearing on his in response. She didn’t reply for what seemed like years. That was until she hopped off the tree branch that posed as a two person seat. 

“I would do the same for you, Thomas Shelby. For even just one adventure with you is the only adventure I could possibly dream of.”

. . .

Now on their way to the cottage of Helena Williams, Ada tried her best to train Y/n. She was teaching her posture, showing her how to walk like a lady. It wasn’t going to well. The book tactic didn’t work, Y/n dropping it off her head and into the dusty path multiple times.

Pol had even given Y/n a new dress. It was a sight any man would love to see. The color matched her eyes and her hair was styled in a way- well really everything about her look acted in a way that made the dress seem like it was made specifically for her.

She looked more and more like the princess. Thomas refused to admit it though. In his eyes, no one could ever make him feel the same way about them as he did about Y/n. There was a chance she was still alive, and Tommy wanted to be the one to find her. He would take the reward money and set off on an adventure to all the places Y/n told him she wanted to explore. London was first, as Y/n’s grandmother lived there and waited for her granddaughter.

All Tommy had left of Y/n was his memories and the music box that her grandma gave her before they escaped. He knew it could be the key to finding the real princess. If only he could open it.

“Tommy?”

He grunted. Tommy was in no mood to speak.

“Are you sure I have a chance of being the princess?”

‘No. Your chances are nonexistent, love.’ “Yes. I believe you might be her. Just maybe.” He let the lies escape his mouth.

“I guess that’s enough to give me some form of confidence.” She went back to her training, this time actually doing better. She mastered the wave and walk, perfected the bow and fake smile. She even knew how to dance.

They arrived at the cottage and Polly rushed to Helena. The two women shared a hug, it was much need with the years they spent apart. Helena saw Tommy and walked to him, pinching his cheeks while mumbling something about not seeing him since he was a wee lad.

“And who might this be?” She was done greeting the Shelbys, now raising and eyebrow at their guest. “Another Shelby?”

“No ma’am. I’m Y/n/n.”

“Helena, this is someone we brought to see if she’s the princess.”

“Oh but... come right in!”

Helena sat down and poured cups of tea. She had a Russian accent and a high pitched voice. Her hair was short and blond, poofy and moving every time she moved her head. She had curves that complimented her body, and her purple dress only made it better.

“You certainly do look like Y/n...but so did many of the other girls.” She inhaled and sipped her tea. “Where were you born?”

“At the Buckingham Palace.”

“Correct! And how does Y/n like her tea?”

“I don’t like tea. Just hot water and lemon.”

“Good!”

Some time past, and Y/n was answering the questions honestly, giving answers that were correct.

“Finally, you may find this an impertinent question, but indulge me. How did you escape during the siege of the palace?”

It was the one question Tommy knew she couldn’t answer. If she got this wrong, she would never meet the queen and he would never get the reward. It was game over. Well, until she opened her mouth for a response that made him rethink everything.

“There... was a boy... He opened a wall, and I kissed him. He was my friend..or at least I think... He.. no. That’s ridiculous, walls opening?”

Tommy’s jaw dropped. He stopped pacing and stared at the girl. He knew she couldn’t see him, but he didn’t care. It was really her. The girl he fell in love with and was waiting to meet. The reward didn’t matter to him anymore, for his reward was sitting right in front of him.

“So...is she a L/n?” Polly was the first to speak up.

“Oh well, she answered every question!”

“You hear that my dear?! You did it!” Arthur picked up Y/n and spun her around. The Shelby family cheering with joy. Y/n even let a few giggles of her own come out of her mouth. “So, when do we see the empress?”

“I’m afraid you don’t.” The family stopped cheering.

“Come again?”

“The empress simply won’t allow it.” Upon seeing their annoyed and sad faces, she smirked. “Oh! Do you like the ballet? The Empress and I see them every time, they preform in the Kingsley Room. You should check the place out, the empress loves to sit in the top rows.” She winked and walked off with her tray of tea.

“...Anyone want to go watch some ballet?”

. . .

Y/n ripped and ripped at her paper. She was nervous, and the ripping only proved her point. Tommy tried to stop her, taking the paper from her, but she kept getting it back and tearing more pieces off. Tommy hadn’t told her that she really was the princess, he was saving the reveal for her grandmother to tell her.

That unfortunately, did not happen in the way he expected. After the show, the empress refused to see Tommy or his family. She turned them away and explained how she was done hurting. Calling the guards was something she had to do when Tommy broke his way into the vip section to get her attention.

He shouted at the empress. He demanded that she at least look at Y/n. He told her that he was in the castle when it all happened, and how he was the one who helped them escape. “I’ve heard of you Thomas Shelby. You and your gang. You will quit looking for my granddaughter..if she’s even alive. All you men saying you’ve found her...I’m done hurting. My heart has had enough.”

Not long after that, she called in security. They threw Tommy out of the room. He thought the surprises were over, but there sat Y/n with a red face and puffy eyes. “You! You used me! You just wanted to get that poor woman’s money, didn’t you? I’m done with this!” She stormed off, leaving the Shelby man in his own regrets. 

No. He would not just sit around and cry. He was Thomas Fucking Shelby. He stood up and raced outside. The empress was sitting in the car, waiting for her driver. Tommy took the opportunity and pushed the driver out of the way, climbing into the driver’s seat. He sped down the road, ignoring the empress’ demands of slowing down and stopping. 

He looked into the mirror, “Sorry ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t do that.” She gasped and spewed insults. He didn’t slow down, only going full speed. “I’m not going to stop until you listen to me!”

“Fine!”

The car halted with a jerk. Tommy got out and slammed the door, opening the empress’ on the other side. He pulled out the music box from his coat. “Recognize this?”

“W-where did you get that, boy?”

“You should know, I told you the truth after all. I was the boy who helped you guys escape. Y/n/n really is Y/n. I knew as soon as she told the story of her fleeing. I love her and I can’t stand to see her suffer, so please. Just go talk to her for once. If she’s not her, you can throw me in jail for all I care. I don’t want a reward, I just want to see her smile.”

The empress tilted her head at Tommy’s determination. The fire in his soul and heart that made his love for Y/n indestructible. She could see the anger and hurt in his eyes. The same look she had in hers when she turned him down. He denied the reward she had offered, most men would not.

“Alright. But if she’s not Y/n, expect my guards to be at your doorstep.”

. . .

‘Knock Knock Knock’

“Go away Thomas.”

‘Knock Knock’

“I thought I told you to-” She stopped packing and opened the door to find the empress smiling at her. “Oh, I’m sorry.. I thought you were-”

“Thomas Shelby? I’m not dear, but I would like to speak to you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You.” The woman walked over to the chair in front of the vanity, taking out the small box. “You are Y/n right?”

“Y/n/n. I’m not the princess, I’m sorry.”

“Ah. What a shame. I thought I’d be with her in London...”

“Wait!” Y/n was fiddling with her necklace. It caught the woman’s attention when she turned around.

“What is that, dear? Come here.” Y/n did as she was told and sat down. The woman grabbed her necklace and read it. “Together in London...” Her eyes sparkled as she turned to Y/n. She took the necklace and unlocked the box, a melody playing softly.

“Hear this song and remember

Soon you’ll be 

home with me

once upon a December”

The woman joined in singing with Y/n, crying and wrapping her arms around her. “Oh Y/n. My Y/n.”

It was a sweet moment. However, the women could not see Tommy as he stood outside, blowing a kiss to Y/n’s room. His brothers and sister asked him if he was sure. He said yes, and started on his journey back to Birmingham.

. . .

“It’s beautiful grandma!”

“Yes my darling...It is...”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well Y/n...somethings are also beautiful. Like the love between a princess and a bet maker.”

Y/n scoffed and rolled her eyes. “He’s not like how he was when we were kids. He’s probably enjoying spending all of his reward money on whores and alcohol.” She was dressed in a crown and fancy dress, her hair done like she had imagined. She was living the life she was meant to live, and the man she thought she loved was probably living the one he wanted.

“...He didn’t take the reward money, my love.”

“He didn’t?”

“No. He said he just wanted to see you smile.”

“I guess I was wrong about him...”

“Y/n. Go after him. While you still can.”

Y/n nodded at her grandmother’s words. She was about to head out to find him before Pooka ran off into the maze behind the palace. Y/n groaned and searched for her dog. The maze was...off. It sent chills and uneasy feelings to Y/n. She started to notice it. The walls would close behind her, blocking her way out and others’ ways in.

Less than twenty minutes later, Y/n was greeted by Rasputin. She thought he was dead. He was. Well, somewhat. His body was decaying, limbs popping off and acid bubbling in his stomach. He was falling apart yet still aching to finish his curse and kill Y/n.

Rasputin threatened her and mocked her. He brought up the curse, refreshing Y/n’s memory on the matter. And when she didn’t respond the way he wanted, he had some of his spiritual minions claw and bite at her dress, tearing shreds off the once beautiful gown.

“I am not afraid of you!”

“I can fix that!” He growled loudly. “Care for a little swim..under the ice?!!”

A green light flashed from the glass his hands, the bridge crumbling on the side Y/n was on. She was falling, and her crown had already fallen off into the freezing water. Before she could fall herself, Tommy had appeared, his jacket off and his face red. He grabbed her hands and pulled her up with a groan.

“If we live through this-” She groaned as well. “Remind me to thank you.”

“You can thank me later.”

“How enchanting! Together again, for the last time!” Rasputin sent a cursed stone Pegasus flying Tommy’s way, picking him up and bucking him off into a part of the bridge that stood up on it’s own.

“Tommy!” She was halfway over the edge, only her arms and head showing. Y/n was struggling to pull herself onto the bridge, the struggle growing more intense when she cried for Tommy. He grabbed a metal rod and was fighting off the stone statue.

Rasputin walked to Y/n, grabbing her by the part of her ponytail that touched her neck. He lifted her slightly, “Do svidaniya, your highness.” The bridge section that was hanging underneath her fell. “Finally! The last L/n dead!” She screamed but caught a grip onto the remaining bridge in time. Tommy watched her, a newfound courage taking over, his strength coming back to him as he fought off the cursed statue.

The sorcerer was about to kick her hands off the bridge, when Pooka bit his ankle. Pooka and Rasputin were pretty much playing tug o’ war with Rasputin’s legs. More of the bridge Y/n was hanging onto fell, and she grabbed for the only thing she could. She was now hanging over icy water, clinging to a metal rod that was stuck in the side bridge.

He watched Pooka tumble away when he kicked him off his leg. When he looked back, Y/n was nowhere in sight. A splash sounded and the water rippled. “Yes!”

“No! Y/n!” Tommy raced to the water, preparing to dive. The Pegasus had other plans. Darting into him and shoving him to the other side of the bridge.

“Long live the L/ns!” Rasputin cheered.

“Right!” He kept laughing, opening his eyes and turning his head to the voice. Y/n stood her ground. “I couldn’t have said it better myself!” She ran at him and tackled him to the ground. She was wrestling him for the source of his power; the glass vile-like-thing.

He pushed her off of him, sending more minions after her. Pooka saved the day once more, biting it out of his hands and rolling it to Y/n. She stomped on it, causing the Pegasus to break into rocks. One of the rocks hit Tommy's head, knocking him unconscious. She gasped before turning to Rasputin with an angered expression.

“This is for Tommy!” She stomped on the vile. Red light glowed from it.

“Give it back!”

“This is for my family!” She rolled it backwards with her foot and stomped on it another time.

Rasputin tugged on the bottom her dress. “I’ll tear you to pieces!”

“And this. This is for you.” She stomped on it one final time. The vile exploded and the red light flashed. Both Y/n and the sorcerer were blast backwards. He started to melt, disappearing into nothing.

Tommy woke back up and searched for Y/n. When he saw her, he spun her around, kissing her before he set her back down. She giggled and kissed him again. He found his princess, and she found her commoner.

. . . 

“And on the boat back to Birmingham, I kissed her over and over.”

“Ew! Gross papa! You didn’t have to tell us those details!”

Tommy chuckled at his 5 year old son’s disgusted expressions. His daughter, Nevaeh, was nothing like Charlie. She simply smiled and clapped a the ending of the story. Her brother had heard it every year, and this was the first time the 2 year old girl got to hear it for herself.

Y/n walked into the room, smiling at her children and husband. Seeing Charlie’s face was all she needed to see to know Tommy had told their story. 

“Alright. Off to bed now, you’ve got tea with your Gran tomorrow. Be on your best behavior and remember to be formal.” She waited and smiled at her children’s confused faces. “I’m kidding. But seriously, please behave for your Grandma.”

“Oh it’s okay! Nana won’t care! She loves us!”

“Yes, while that may be true, you still need to listen to your mother, prince Charlie.” Tommy tucked his firstborn into his bed. Going to his other child, he whispered something into her ear.

“Mommy?”

“Yes my love?”

“Can you sing us that song? December or something?”

So that’s what Tommy said...”Of course dearest, only if you two agree to sleep afterwards.”

They nodded and lied down. Tommy walked around Y/n, kissing her before sitting on the chair next to the door. Y/n sang the kids the lullaby-like melody from her childhood. When the song finished, she noticed they were asleep.

“Goodnight, my little goblins.” She turned to find Tommy asleep on the chair as well. She giggled to herself. “Goodnight to my little and not so little goblins, I guess.”

Y/n grabbed her husband and carried him to their shared bedroom, struggling, but managing to do so. She was now Queen and she was glad that she had her peasant to rule alongside her.

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[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Promises Not Kept Part 4

Summary: Tommy Shelby made a promise to Jonah Ward while in the war. A promise he didn't keep. But it comes to haunt him when he tries to drown out his sorrows with a young woman.

Part 4: Tommy and Leah spend the night together at the Garrison.

          The Garrison’s lively hum was muffled from the outside. Bright, golden light poured out into the gray streets beckoning any Brummie passerby.

           Tommy paced a short track in front of the pub. His cigarette smoke trailed after him like a ghost. He continued to ruminate on the idea that he hadn’t been out formally with a woman since Grace. He wasn’t necessarily nervous about it, he was more uneasy about the circumstances. The Blinder was pretty good at taking what he wanted and winning people over. And yet Leah felt strangely off limits to him.

           But he stopped worrying when he noticed Leah walking down the street towards him. When she came into better light, he realized how utterly fucked he was.

           Leah had reclaimed some of the self-esteem she had lost over the years. She held her chin a little higher than before and stood taller. As far as Tommy was concerned, Birmingham didn’t deserve the woman in front of him.

           “Did I keep you waiting long?” Leah worried she had taken too much time getting ready. She had finally settled on a simple blue dress that hung just above the knees.

           He shook his head, jostling his brain out of the fog clouding up his train of thought. “No, ‘course not.” He cleared his throat. “You look very nice.”

           She smiled. “Thank you.” It was a fairly nice comment coming from someone who had seen her naked twice.

           Tommy went to open the pub doors but paused. “My brothers are here.” He warned. Of course, it was rare the Shelby boys weren’t occupying the pub on the weekends. “The won’t bother you if you’d rather not meet them now.”

           “No, that’s alright. I’d like to meet them.” She nodded earnestly. John and Arthur had been mentioned in Jonah’s letters as well so she was keen to meet them.

           “Right,” The Blinder wasn’t sure what sort of grief his brothers would give him when they learned he was on a date. But he wouldn’t tell Leah that. So, he walked into the Garrison with her. The pub was crowded as usual. Mostly regulars lined the bar. Others in the area were too afraid to venture into one of the gang’s dens.

           “Alright, lads.” He approached where John, Arthur, and a few more Blinders sat at the bar.

           “Tommy boy, though you were avoiding us tonight.” Arthur clapped his brother on the back.

           “This is Leah Ward.” Tommy touched the woman’s shoulder ever so slightly. “Her husband served in the 179th with us.” He gave the men a look meant to keep them in line in her presence.

           “Jonah was a good man.” John nodded to her. “Shame what happened.”

           “Very good man.” Arthur echoed. “N’fact, let’s toast to him.” He waved for another round of drinks. John handed Leah and his brother a glass of whiskey as Arthur began. “A toast to Jonah, he gave his life for this country. We won’t forget him.”

           “And a toast to his wife,” John added. “God bless her for being seen out with Tommy Fucking Shelby.” It was clear the man was already drunk.

           Tommy glared at his younger brother but Leah smiled. She raised her glass. “Cheers.”

           “Cheers!” The Blinders echoed and threw back the whiskey.

           “Right, I’ll find us a quieter spot.” Tommy wanted to leave before John or Arthur said anything else. He led Leah to a free table a good distance away from the rowdy bar.

           “They seem nice.” She said politely as he pulled out a chair for her.

           “I’ve yet to hear anyone call my brothers nice.” He sat close to her so they could hear one another amidst the din of the pub. “I won’t tell them that, it’ll only inflate their egos.”

           Leah chuckled and shook her head. “So, Beth said you own this place. It’s beautiful.” She stole a look of the gold embellishments. It was certainly not reminiscent of the city it was in.

           “My brothers look after it more nowadays.” He replied. “Used to come about more but I’ve been traveling.” He flipped open his cigarette box and offered one to her.

           She accepted and leaned closer so he could light it for her. “She also said she knew Grace when she worked here. I guess before you two married. Is that how you met?”

           He nodded slowly and took a long drag. “She sang here.” His eyes moved instinctually to the spot where his late wife used to stand. “Only person in the world who could make this place silent on a Saturday night.”

           “Beth said everyone loved to hear her sing.”

           His eyes moved from the spot before he began to picture Grace standing there. He downed the rest of his whiskey. “Do you sing?” He asked.

           Leah held her cigarette over the silver ashtray. “I think all the cats in Birmingham would show up if I tried singing. I’ll spare your ears.”

           Tommy smiled and felt relaxed by her presence and the burn of whiskey running down his throat. For the first time in a while, he felt comfortable where he sat. There was only so much he could worry about at once, and Leah dramatically reduced that number when he looked at her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           The night wore on and both Leah and Tommy were throwing back drinks like it was their last night alive. They were both looking to loosen up and to feel more self-assured. It did the trick though because a few hours in and they were talking openly without any of the mental blocks they usually had. Leah was thrilled to actually see Tommy genuinely smile and to hear his lovely laugh.

           Arthur jabbed John and pointed across the room. “Fuck. What?” John groaned. He was about ready to call it a night after being goaded into multiple shots and a line of cocaine.

           “Have you seen him smile like that since his wedding day?” Arthur asked.

           John spotted Tommy and Leah sitting close together. The two were laughing like they were old friends. Indeed, it had been a long while since Tommy had such a happy look on his face. “Hell, I ain’t seen him smile like that since Greta were alive.” He told his older brother.

           “Think it could be something?”

           “Nah, s’just the whiskey and a pretty face.” John shook his head. “He’ll be back to good ‘ol Tommy by the morning time.” He predicted and filled Arthur's glass again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           “You can’t always be working.” Leah accused and jabbed Tommy playfully. “There has to be something you enjoy doing for fun.” She held up a hand before he answered. “And drinking doesn’t count.”

           He chuckled and let his head fall back for a moment as he thought to himself. His liquor-addled brain was delaying all of his responses. “Well, we’ll go hunting sometimes in the country.”

           “Ooh, that’s posh.” She giggled and leaned towards him, nearly slipping off her chair in the process.

           He rolled his eyes but grinned. His head lolled to the side to look at her with an amused glance. “I tried golfing, fucking hated it. So m’not that posh.”

           “So, hunting’s your thing then?” Leah mimicked holding up a rifle made a bang sound effect.

           Tommy’s hand pressed to his chest, pretending to be wounded and slumped back into his chair. “Got me.”

           It drew a laugh from her. “A man who likes the thrill of a hunt.” She mused. “I could see that about you.”

           He shrugged and finished another glass of whiskey. “Just prefer riding out in the country, really. Grew up with horses so I’ve always liked them.” He told her the personal detail without much hesitation.

           “So, you’re a horseman then? A British cowboy?” Her voice lilted with affectionate teasing.

           “Only when I’m in Warwickshire.” They had run through his cigarettes so they’d been passing the last one back and forth. He offered it to her while he spoke. “When I’m here, I’m focusing on horses that’ll make me money on the track.”

           Leah let the smoke pass by her red painted lips. “Back to business then, eh? You’ll work yourself to death if you're not careful.”

           “I have some time. Gonna teach Charlie to ride when he’s a bit older. He can’t wait, always asks when he’ll be able to. Want to buy him a horse soon, maybe for Christmas."

           The affection in the father’s eyes was clear. There was nothing more important in the world than Charlie. “You must miss him when you’re away.” Her voice sobered up a little despite the nicotine and booze.

           “Well, I’d be a monster if I didn’t.” He took the cigarette back from her and finished what was left. “Better he’s raised there than here.” It was the justification he used for leaving Charlie behind in Warwickshire. The boy would not grow up the same way he had. He promised Grace he’d keep their son safe.

           There was undeniable sadness in his eyes so Leah decided to ease off his heart. “I’ve never ridden a horse.” She admitted. “My mum was afraid of them.”

           “You’re fucking kidding.” Tommy huffed out a laugh. Growing up as Romani, he just assumed everyone was familiar with horses. Being in the city meant that wasn’t always the case. “Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve ridden at least once.”

           “A horse, you mean,” Leah smirked and bit her lip.

           It took Tommy a quick moment to catch onto what she meant. “Cheeky.” He tutted and shook his head. “C’mon.” He suddenly stood up. The room swayed a bit but he righted himself.

           “Where are we going?” Leah snatched up her coat and purse. She was less stable on her feet and nearly tripped over her own feet.

           “Gotcha, gotcha.” He steadied her before she could fall over. He secured an arm around her waist as they walked out of the Garrison. The air mixed with a bitter chill and the overwhelming smoke. It was sobering after a few minutes of traveling down the streets of Small Heath.

           “Where are we going?” Leah asked again.

           “Me uncle’s yard.” Tommy’s accent was slipping off; dropping the ends of words and finding himself back as the rough and tumble boy. The lanky kid who got into at least one fight every day, rode horses with reckless abandon, and snuck out late at night to visit Greta. Such a simpler existence. “We keep the horses there, ‘til they’re sent off to be trained for the track.” He explained. “Got a filly in recently.”

~~~~~~~~~

           Leah followed Tommy to Charlie’s yard. It was dimly lit in the late hours, but they managed to make their way through to the stalls. The chestnut filly raised her head when she heard them approaching. Her nostrils flared and the warm-blooded horse spooked to the side.

           “S’alright.” Tommy stepped inside and held out a hand to the horse’s muzzle. “Just me. There ya are, that’s a good girl, eh?” He soothed in a steady voice. Leah lagged behind, watching him interact with the large animal. The same tenderness was there when he interacted with Karl or spoke of his son. The man wanted to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves. “Good girl.” He stroked the horse’s neck, praising her slowly. His blue eyes moved to Leah and gestured her over. “She’s harmless, just a little skittish with loud noises. Usually, are when they’re young.”

           She carefully stepped forward, minding her feet. The last thing she wanted was the long-legged filly to step on her toes. “It’s like she’s listening to you.” She murmured quietly as she observed the horse’s ears flicking back and forth in response to Tommy’s voice.

           “They’re smarter than people think.” He took Leah’s hand and placed it on the filly’s cheek. “Can sense the weather, danger, emotions.”

           Leah’s hand slowly ran over the filly’s silky coat. “That’s amazing.” She looked into the horse’s eye, the strangely shaped pupil gazing back at her. “What’s her name?” She wondered.

           “Haven’t named her yet.” Tommy shrugged and rubbed the horse’s soft muzzle affectionately. “We’ll give her a name for the track once she’s trained. Curly usually nicknames them but she just arrived.” She nodded and continued patting the horse, adjusting her forelock and running her fingers through her wiry mane. Tommy watched her for a moment. Her touches were tentative, almost how she touched him. She was afraid of being hurt by things beyond her control. A wild horse. A man with a devilish reputation. “Leah.”

           “Hm?” The dim lanterns cast shadows over her face but he could still see the faint sparkle in her eyes.

           The liquid courage was starting to wear off. “I uh…” He shook his head, pretending as if the thought had completely slipped his mind. “Sorry, forgot what I was going to say.” He lied. Of course, he knew what he was going to say.

           She smiled teasingly. “Maybe we had too much whiskey.”

           “I’m walking, aren't I?” He shrugged but decided to take a seat on a nearby bale of hay. He rested his head back and closed his eyes for a moment.

           Leah stepped away from the filly and cautiously walked over to him. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately because it was too early to tell, she was still free from most inhibitions. “Tommy.”

           “Eh?” He didn’t open his eyes.

           “Are you interested in me?” She chewed on her lower lip and rocked back and forth on her heels like an impatient child.

           “Yeah, think you’re interesting.” He looked up at her through half-lidded eyes. “Why?”

           “No not…I mean-”

           “Oh. You mean do I want to fuck you again?”

           Her cheeks burned because of his brash response but she gave an amused smile. “Yes, you could put it that way.” She stepped closer so her dress brushed up against his knees.

           Tommy straightened up and reached out to rest his hands on her hips. “Unfortunately, love, I can be a bit of an addict for certain things.” He murmured. “And you’ve been on me mind for weeks.”

           Leah’s heart sped up and she lightly grazed her fingers through his hair. "You've been on my mind too." She looked down shyly.

           But that wasn't acceptable. He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face back up so he could see her. “But this time, we’ll do it our way.” His eyes locked on hers, not letting her look away. “We’re not in that fucking hotel anymore, eh?

           She nodded in agreement. “Okay.” It sounded hopeful to her. There was less fear about Tommy merely using her for sex. Of course, if her friend were there, Bea would scold her. Tell her she was being foolish and naïve despite all her experience as a sex worker. She was just won over by a handsome face, devastating blue eyes, and a longing for attachment.

           But Bea wasn’t there to turn her away from the Shelby man. And Leah had craved his touch for what was far too long in her opinion. It simply wasn’t enough being in his company for the night. They were both itching for that high and they could push aside the impending questions of commitment. And they would delay it another night. Leah followed him back to Watery Lane and would be sewn into Tommy Shelby’s history for good.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla​ @giftofdreams​ @biba3434​ @kimmietea​

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelbyxoc #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #ofc #oc #arthur shelby #john shelby

[visions-from-reaver]

CHAPTER VIII: Finding John

First of all I want to apologize to the people who I have had to make wait for so long for this chapter! I am so so so so sorry! I lost motivation for a while and I also had a bad case of writers block on top of it all! -low key begging for forgiveness- Anyway enjoy this next chapter!

The morning sun brought a blinding white light shining through the dusty and cracked windows. Arthur groaned and blindly searched for his hat, which was on the table next to him. He placed his worn hat over his face to try and get some more sleep when voices outside his door caught his attention.

“So what are we gonna do now, Dutch?” Arthur recognized Hosea’s tired voice.

“We get strong, we get warm, we wait and when the storm breaks we move. But we’re safe here and warm enough not to freeze to death.” Dutch said, trying to reassure the older man.

“I guess.” Hosea didn’t sound so sure and Dutch seemed to pick up on it.

“You sound doubtful, Hosea.”

“I’m not doubtful, just worried.”

Arthur stood up and moved to lean against the door frame as he listened to the two men bicker at each other. They were both sitting in old, worn out, wooden chairs in front of the fire; trying to knock the chill out of the frigid morning air.

Dutch noticed Arthur and turned to address him “What do you think, Arthur?”

Arthur sighed not expecting to be called out by the leader “Well I wasn’t on that boat so hard to say, but I trust your judgement, Dutch, always have.”

“Thank you, son,” Dutch said, seemingly pleased with Arthur’s response before turning his attention back to Hosea. “We have been shot at before Hosea I don’t feel that this is honestly anything new.”

“I hope not…”

“We had a bit of bad luck, Hosea I’ll admit that. But then the storm covered our tracks, so now we wait a bit then we go back to Blackwater and we get our money, or we get some more money and we keep headin’ west.”

“But we’re heading east!” Hosea argued back like Dutch didn’t realize it himself.

“For now, Hosea. For now. But we got this. We’re safe!” Dutch paused as he stood up from the chair and laid his hand on Hosea’s shoulder “Stay strong, Hosea, and Arthur…” The leader turned once again to face him “Well you know me, son, I am just gettin’ started, and once we get some money...well they’d better send some good men after us, ‘cause they ain’t never gonna find us...but in order to get out of here we need money.”

Arthur nodded without hesitation “Of course, Dutch.”

Dutch stepped forward and placed his hand on Arthur’s shoulder “Thank you, son, for your strength. It means a lot to me...especially right now.”

“Sure.” Arthur said, “Oh, by the way, that kid from yesterday...there’s somethin’ strange about her.”

Dutch paused on his way out the door “I’m assuming something stranger than what she told us last night?” Dutch was confused, what could possibly be more strange than having someone tell you they were from the future?

“She knows about us Dutch. She knows we’re outlaws and I didn’t say nothin’ to her about that.” Arthur said a little frantically “She said she’d tell us this mornin’ but I..I jus’ don’t know.”

“So what do you suggest? That we just leave the poor girl up here to freeze? I raised you better than that, son.” Dutch’s tone was firm and condescending.

“No I ain’t sayin’ that at all I jus’...I jus’ think we should keep an eye on her. At least til’ we know for certain what’s goin’ on. I mean if…” Arthur stepped closer to Dutch so only he could hear him “If she is tellin’ the truth, and she really is from the future, then how the hell she even get here?”

“Did you ever think to ask her, Arthur? She might know about us, about who we are, but she is one girl. What could she possibly do to us?” Dutch had a point and Arthur knew it.

“I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Now come on, let's go talk to her.” 

The pair walked outside into the cold morning air “Ms.Grimshaw!” Dutch called to the older woman of the camp.

“Yes, Dutch?” She replied as she hurried over 

“The young girl that we brought into our care, where is she?” Dutch asked as he looked around. 

“Ms.Heather?”

“Yes.”

“She is in that building with the rest of the girls. I think she is still asleep.” Ms.Grimshaw pointed to the old schoolhouse that sat across from the cabin that Dutch, Arthur, and Hosea were currently staying in.

“Thank you, Ms.Grimshaw. Arthur, you go in there and get her, I am gonna check on the others.” 

“Sure,” Arthur responded as he headed into the smaller building and directly into a hushed conversation.

“He ain’t been seen in days, the weather hasn’t let up…” Abigail said in a worried tone.

“He’s strong, and he’s smart.” Tilly Jackson said, trying to bring comfort to the distraught woman.

“Strong at least,” Abigail said in a spiteful tone, one she used only when talking about John Marston.

Arthur made his way over to the small fire burning in the fireplace as he looked around for Heather. He saw her sleeping in the far corner of the room, alone.

“Hello, Arthur,” Abigail said, trying to get his attention.

“Abigail,” Arthur responded shivering.

“Arthur...how you doing?”

“Just fine Abigail...and you?” He could tell she wanted something from him.

“I need you to…”

Arthur sighed and lightly rolled his eyes. He knew this was coming, whenever John got into any sort of trouble he was always the one to save him or clean up his messes.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m  sorry to ask but…”

“It’s little John...he’s got himself caught into a scrape again.” Arthur lightly brushed her off.

“He ain’t been seen in two...two days,” Abigail said frantically, trying her best not to become angry with Arthur.

“Your John’ll be fine. I mean, he may be as dumb as rocks and dull as rusted iron ...but that ain’t changin’ because...he got caught in some snowstorm!”

“At least go take a look.”

Arthur turned around hearing Hosea’s voice come from the door, it annoyed him a bit, but he wouldn’t voice it.

“Javier.”

“Yes?” An annoyed answer came from a Hispanic gentleman with a strong Mexican accent, sitting across from Arthur and Abigail.

“Javier, will you ride out with Arthur...to take a look for John? You’re the two best-fit men we’ve got right now.”

“Now?” Javier asked in almost disbelief, he had only just woken up himself.

“She’s…” Hosea turned to Abigail for a moment “We’re all worried about him.”

Arthur looked over at Hosea in annoyance giving him an old fashioned ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look.

“I know.” Javier sighed out “If the situation were reversed...he’d look for me.” He handed Arthur a sawed-off shotgun and headed out the door. 

Arthur grumbled and took in the room with a sigh “Alright, fine, but when the kid wakes up, tell her to go find Dutch. She’s got some explainin’ to do.” He then turned around and followed Javier out into the snow.

*****Two Days Prior*****

This was the biggest mistake that John Marston would probably ever make. He was lost and caught in the storm with hardly any food, on the back of some random horse he stole on the way out of Blackwater. Dutch had sent him and Micha to scout ahead of everyone else, things were fine but they got separated when the storm blew through. So now here he was, on the side of some mountain somewhere, huddled by a pathetic campfire that was hardly anything more than a few burning coals, freezing to death.

He searched in his satchel for some food, but could only find provisions for the poor stolen horse. He took a bite out of one of the oatcakes and nearly choked on how dry it was. “How can you stand to eat this stuff? It’s horrible.” He grumbled to the horse who was totally ignoring him. “Look at me, talkin’ to a horse, maybe I really am as stupid as everyone says?” It was then that he realized the situation he was in, he was going to starve out here if he didn’t find something to eat.

Arthur had tried to teach him how to hunt when he was younger but gave up pretty quickly when he obliterated a rabbit with a shotgun slug. He was around twelve at the time; hadn’t ever really been hunting. Most of the food he ate was what he dug out of the trash in the towns, or stole from the General Store when no one was looking. But now it seemed he would learn, or he would die. That, and there was another problem, there was no fresh water around him, which meant no fish, which would be the easiest thing for him to catch out here.

He ate half of another Oatcake, giving the rest to his stolen horse when he heard howls in the distance, which meant only one thing, wolves. He kicked some snow over his measly fire and mounted his horse spurring her in the opposite direction of the howls. These were going to be the longest two days of John Marston’s life.

**********

He was able to find a river, after about a day of travel. It was frigid cold, but clean and as clear as a crystal. He was able to catch a few fish with a makeshift spear made from a branch. “At least I can fish, unlike Arthur,” John said to himself as he cooked the flaky meat over the fire. It was bigger this time so it actually kept him warm, and hopefully, it would keep any predators away from him. A sound and movement in the distance caught his eye. He couldn’t exactly make out what it was, since it was dark and the only light was the burning fire, but it looked like the outline of a horse.

He quickly got to his feet, maybe someone in the gang had found him? “Hello! Is anyone there?!” Silence answered him in return “You’re goin’ crazy Marston…” The shadow came closer and his stolen horse spooked and reared. “Easy girl!” John shouted to try and calm his steed down. He looked back up to where he saw the shadow of the horse only for it to be gone. “Yep...you’ve officially lost your damn mind.” A howl rose in the distance, not too far from where he was now. A chill ran down his spine at the sound, the wolves had followed his scent and they were getting closer.

He quickly mounted his horse, not bothering to put out the fire. His horse spooked as he mounted the saddle and bolted across the river and up the side of the mountain. “Woah girl, easy!” More howls pierced the air, they were close this time, way too close. “Come on, faster!” John yelled as he spurred the mare in the side.

Snarls sounded at their backs, along with the sound of snapping jaws. John's horse squealed, bucked, and toppled over onto her side, throwing him into the snow. Pain tore through John as the wind was knocked from his lungs. As he struggled to get up he was knocked onto his back. Pain raked down the side of his face as a snarl ripped through the air and into his ear. John yelled and fought the wolf off with a struggle, when he looked over his horse was on the ground, its intestines spilled out into the snow. He clumsily got to his feet and stumbled away from the gruesome scene and up the side of the mountain.

He heard snorting behind him, thundering hooves in the snow. But that wasn’t possible, his horse was dead. John spun around to see what was running up behind him. A large black stallion slammed into him, its eyes a pure moonstone white, its hooves a deep silver, and its teeth sharp as daggers. He fell back down into the snow as the beast stood over him, facing the direction he ran from. He was too afraid to move, afraid of being trampled under this horse’s hooves. He heard the howls in the distance. The wolves, he was gonna die, he just knew it, he could feel it in his gut.

The horse above him was calm, rigid, but calm, like a guardian. He saw the wolves now, running up the hill towards him at full speed. The stallion reared onto his hind hooves. He then charged the wolves at full speed, snapping at them almost like a dog. John didn’t wait around to see what happened to the horse, he got up and continued sprinting up the side of the mountain, disappearing into the storm.

*****Present Day*****

“This way. Last I know, John was headed up the river.” Javier said as he led Arthur north up the mountain.

“For all we know...he kept riding north and never looked back,” Arthur said as he drove his stolen horse into the snowstorm. He was annoyed, annoyed that he was having to once again go and clean up one of John Marston’s messes.

“He wouldn’t leave. Not like that.”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”

The pair rode further up the mountain in silence, the wind, though it had calmed down considerably from the day before, was biting and tearing at their bodies and lungs. 

“Hey!” Javier called over the howling wind, “I see some smoke. Come on, let’s take a look!”

“Sure, let’s just hope it ain’t more of O’Driscoll’s boys!” Arthur responded as he spurred his mount to go just a little faster through the snow.

“Well…” Javier climbed down off his horse as they got to the smoldering campfire. “...Seems somebody left….” he stuck his hand down close to the ashes and felt they were still warm. “...recently….and they went...that way!” A pair of hoof marks left the fireside and across the river, followed by what seemed to be several considerable-sized paw prints. 

“Sure, well, come on then!” With a slight sinking feeling in his gut as he followed Javier across the river. “So, do you think it’s John?”

“You tell me. Those are horse tracks for sure, but it could be anyone. Let’s see where they lead us.”

Arthur had a burning question. He wanted to know what happened back in that town back in Blackwater. “So….you were there, Javier, what really happened on that boat?”

Javier was silent for a moment before he answered. “We had the money, it seemed fine, then suddenly they were everywhere….”

“Bounty hunters?”

“No. Pinkertons. It was crazy. Raining bullets.”

Arthur had heard tell of the Pinkertons. The Pinkerton Detective Agency. If bounty hunters and sheriffs couldn’t stop the gangs of outlaws, the Pinkertons were called in to take them down. It wasn’t peaceful either. Everyone would be killed.

“Dutch killed a girl in a….bad way. But it was a bad situation.”

“That ain’t like him, though,” Arthur exclaimed. Sure they were outlaws, criminals, but Dutch Van Der Linde never killed anyone in cold blood, never. 

They came across a large ravine, and the horses whinnied and tossed their heads.

“Easy boy, it’s okay, you’re alright.” Arthur patted the horse’s neck, trying to soothe him.

“The tracks lead around it, to the other side, see?” Javier said as he pointed in front of him. “I don’t know why he’d come all the way out here, though, especially in this weather.”

“I saw some paw prints alongside the horse tracks a ways back,” Arthur said as he guided his horse alongside the ravine.

“Do you think they are wolves?” Javier asked, concerned.

“Possibly, I don’t know of any coyotes living this far north,” Arthur replied.

“We need to hurry then. He could be hurt. He’s already been shot!” Javier called as he spurred his horse to go faster once it was safe to do so.

“He got shot during that whole mess?!”

“Yeah! So did Mac! We still haven’t heard about what happened to Sean!”

“Damn…I knew John was hurt, just didn’t know he got shot.” Arthur’s mind whirled at the new piece of information. Just because he and John had a falling out, didn’t mean Arthur wanted the man dead.

“To be honest with you, Arthur, I’m surprised we escaped at all.”

“What you mean?”

“By the time you and the boys showed up from the other side of town; we were only just holding on…”

“Damn...that was some bad business alright. I’m glad we made it out alive...for the most part anyways.”

The weather only got worse the farther up the mountain they went.

“Damn snow is comin’ in hard again!” Arthur yelled

“I know, we need to move fast!”

They reached a pass that seemed to cut the top of the mountain almost in half, the snow was much thicker here, untouched, which made it hard on their horses.

“Come on boy!” Arthur said, trying to encourage his horse. “The horses are getting tired, Javier!”

“I know, there's a lot of fresh snow here!”

The tracks they were following only moments ago were completely covered by the freshly fallen snow.

“I don’t know about this, Javier. W-We can’t follow nothin’!”

“Let's push on a little bit, we might be able to pick up the tracks again.”

The path curved up and around, cresting at a somewhat flat area that seemed to connect to the side of another mountain. Just down that path was something that neither of them wanted to see.

“Arthur...do you see that?” Javier sounded concerned as he spurred his horse into a canter “John was riding that horse when we left Blackwater.”

“Oh...thats…” Arthur didn’t even want to finish his sentence. The horse was gutted, its entrails covered in snow and ice.

“He couldn’t have gotten too much further on foot, let's see if he can hear us.” Javier pulled out his revolver and shot up into the air, the crack of the shot echoing off the sides of the surrounding mountains.

**********

John was freezing, he had barely escaped those wolves with his life intact and he now found himself huddled on a cliff edge, alone. Or at least he thought he was alone. The sudden sound of crunching snow behind him told him otherwise. He carefully turned around to face whatever was behind him, his body screaming in protest with the effort it took. There, in the cleft of the overhanging rock stood the massive stallion from earlier. It pierced him with its coal black eyes and John felt a chill go down his back. What was this beast?

His thought was cut short when he heard the distinct sound of a gunshot ring out through the howling wind. He did the first thing his mind told him to; he yelled. “HEY! OVER HERE!” He continued to yell until he heard two voices he immediately recognized. 

“Marston, you hear me? Marston!” Arthur.

“John! Where are you? Can you hear us!” Javier.

“I’m over here! On this ledge!” John called back to them. “Over here!” John yelled as he saw Javier come into view, only to watch him stop dead in his tracks.

**********

“Alright. Pipe down, Marston.” Arthur grumbled as he ran straight into Javier with a grunt. “What’chu stop for?” He asked; catching the smaller man before he could fall over.

“Arthur….what is that?” Javier said as he pointed over behind John, in the cleft of the rock face, and straight at the large black stallion.

“Holy shit...how’d you get up here?” Arthur mumbled as he stepped around Javier.

“Wait, you recognize this horse?” John called over his shoulder at Arthur.

“Yeah. I know him. He belongs to the kid.” Arthur grumbled as he stroked the horse’s muzzle.

“Kid?” John questioned “What kid?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Marston. All you need to worry about is gettin’ the hell offa this mountain.” Arthur snapped in rebuttal.

“Looks like we can go back down that way.” Javier said as he pointed to what appeared to be another path down.

“Alright then. C’mon.” Arthur gently grabbed Reaver’s makeshift bridle and tugged him forward; clicking his tongue to get the beast to follow him. “Here.” Arthur grumbled as he reached Javier “Hold him still, and for the love o’ God don’t spook him.”

Javier reluctantly held onto the bridle, keeping the stallion still as Arthur bent down and grabbed John, pulling him up and away from the cliff edge.

“Don’t die jus’ yet cowboy.” Arthur grunted as he put John on Reaver’s back.

Reaver startled and snorted, lightly rearing onto his hind legs. “Woah! Easy!” John yelled and gripped onto the rope that was used in place of reins with as much strength as he could muster up. “Where’d you say you found this horse?” 

“In a barn back where the rest of us are holed up.” Arthur murmured as he soothed the stallion, grabbing the bridle and tugging him forward along the path down the mountain.

“Has he even been broken?” Javier asked as he walked alongside them.

“No, I don’t think so. He don’t like bein’ spurred'. Bastard tried to throw me when I used ‘em.” Arthur replied.

“He don’t like wolves neither. Ran straight at them!” John exclaimed.

Arthur laughed “Y-haha! You mean to tell me a horse had to save your sorry hide from wolves?”

“I know it sounds crazy but it’s true!” John argued

“Sure! I believe you, Marston. I believe you jus’ about as much as I believed that ferry job in Blackwater was gonna work.” Arthur growled out, “I told Dutch not to send you out on the scoutin’ job once we got up in the mountains, told him you weren’t the right man for it.”

“Yeah...guess you were right on that one.” John grunted in pain.

“‘Course I was right! Jus’ look at you! You was almost wolf food! Best be glad that Abigail was worried ‘bout you, cause I wasn’t.”

“If you hate me so much just say it Arthur.” John murmured

“Alright, Marston.” Arthur quipped as he spun around to face John “I-”

“We’ve got a problem…” Javier said and pointed up to a cliff. Three wolves were staring them down, some already looked pretty mangled up, ears torn and bleeding, or favoring one leg more than the others.

“Aw shit....you two get on outta here. I’ll deal with the rest of John’s friends.” Arthur handed the reins over to Javier as he pulled his sawed-off from his holster, pulling the hammers back. “Come and get me, you bastards.” Arthur growled as the wolves charged down the hill.

Arthur aimed at the first wolf and pulled the trigger. A spattering of blood sprinkled the pure white snow as the wolf went down. The others hesitated for a moment, hackles raised, lips pulled back in a menacing snarl. 

“Well?! C’mon then! I ain’t got all day!” Arthur snarled through his teeth at the beasts.

Two more wolves lunged at him, one straight on, the other lunging at his arm. BANG! The shotgun went off again as a second wolf hit the snow in a pool of fresh steaming blood.  A cry ripped from Arthur as the other wolf latched onto his arm “Get the hell offa me!” He yelled as he hit the wolf in the head with the muzzle of the gun. The wolf let go and fell into the snow with a yelp. Arthur quickly reloaded the gun and shot the beast, only stopping to catch his breath after he made sure it stayed down like the others.

“Arthur, are you alright?!” Javier called 

“I’m fine! Just got bit, I’ll live!” Arthur called back as he made his way over to Javier and John. “Lets get outta here and get John back to the others.” 

“Sounds good to me.” Javier exclaimed as he whistled for his and Arthur’s stolen horse before mounting up and looking over his shoulder. “You okay back there John?”

“I-I don’t feel so good…” John answered

“It’s just a dog bite, you’ll be fine.” Arthur grumbled as he mounted his stolen horse.

“Knew a fella who got bit by a dog, he died two days later.” John said.

“Yeah well, that ain’t gonna happen to you. We wouldn’t get lucky enough.” Arthur mumbled the last bit to himself as he tied Reaver’s makeshift reins to the back of his horse’s saddle. “C’mon lets get a move on, we’re losin’ daylight and I’d prefer not to be stuck out here all night.”

“You and me both.” Agreed John.

“Shut up Marston.” Arthur ground out as he spurred his stolen horse forward and back towards Colter.

#OutlawLegends #ReaverBeingAGoodBoi #arthur morgan #john marston #javier escuella #abigail roberts #hosea matthews #Dutch Van Der Linde #chapter 8 #MyGodThisChapterIsLong #SorryForTheWait

[myfairgunslinger]

Title: Red Dead Revenge: Kiss of Death  [Part 3]

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OC x John Marston

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Cursing

Summary:  After Arthur saves a woman's life he takes her back to the Vanderlinde Gang where she can get the help she needs while he runs a couple errands.

A/N: Hey guys I’m back with another chapter, a little shorter than the others.  Don’t got too much to say other than hope you’re all doing okay! And enjoy!

Chapter 3: While You Were Sleeping

Two Days Ago

John had been sitting around the campfire with Javier, chatting as the other man strummed his guitar.  Ever since he came back everyone here has been either giving him dirty looks or not really speaking to him, especially Arthur.  It felt like he down right hated him with every bump with his shoulder that was made when walking by, calling him names or throwing insults in every direction to John.  It wasn't long until John heard Arthur riding back in and calling out for help from Mrs. Grimshaw.

He got up to see what was happening and saw the man holding a woman in his arms, his heart had stopped when he saw her paled face that had mud on the side.  Arthur set the woman down on the cot, lifting her bloodied shirt up to look at her gunshot.  There was bunched up rags that were soaked, showing Arthur tried to stop the bleeding.  Strauss was there next to him getting ready to clean up the sticky mess.

John's heart was beating fast as they worked on her.  This couldn't be the same girl he knew in Blackwater, not his Maeve.  She looked like she had been to hell and that Arthur pulled her out of the deepest of pits.  John had to know.  He stepped into the tent, eyes not leaving the girl, "Who is she?"

Arthur glared at him, "Why do you wanna know, Marston?" his tone was harsh.  Mrs. Grimshaw pushed herself past John holding a rag and bucket of water.  John backed away still staring at her then noticed there was a familiar bay colored horse next to Arthur's silverdapple fox trotter.  He stayed around the tent until Arthur had came out, "Arthur-"

"What do you want?" the larger man said irritated by his presence, John held up a hand showing he wanted peace between the two along with some answers, "Where did you find the girl?"

"Met her in Blackwater, alright?" John's eyes were frozen, his voice uttering, "Blackwater."

Arthur stared at the man, "Bath maid, sweet girl.  Don't know why she was gettin' shot at the way she was.  Anyway, couldn't leave her," he took out a cigarette to light it up, eyeing John to figure out what was going on in his head, "You look as if you know her," he called out John.

"I--I don't.  Never seen her.  Just wonderin' why you brought a shot stranger to us and if we should worry," John managed to say.  Arthur observed his brother inhaling the cigarette, he knew when he was lying.  "Don't worry yourself, you can always run away again," Arthur spat before going over to Dutch's tent to let him know about the woman he brought to camp.

"Do you know who it was that wanted to kill her?  Can't have anyone following her trail and starting trouble with us," Dutch said to Arthur.  He had shook his head, "Didn't really get a good look when I shot 'em.  Probably some small time gang lookin' to do a house robbery. Could ask her when she wakes up," Arthur mused as Dutch was busy loading his pipe with tobacco while coming up with an idea, "Wonder what it was they were lookin' for. Now you said there was no one else that came out of the house?"

Arthur shook his head and watched Dutch scratch his chin, "What are you thinkin'?"

"I'm thinking," he lit a match, "You go back there and collect, Miss..."

"Milley," Arthur helped with a name.

"Go collect some of Miss Milley's items.  She's gonna need clothes and we can use the provisions--."

"And whatever money is layin' about, right?  Just go raid the shot girl's house," Arthur said sarcastically.  It didn't feel right to him.  Dutch puffed on his pipe, "Arthur, what good is Miss Milley's stuff if it's not with Miss Milley?" He had a point, "All I'm asking is for you to go back there, get some of her stuff because I doubt she'll wanna go back, and maybe she'll be grateful enough to give us some of her things.  You said she was sweet."

Arthur scoffed a laugh, "I guess.  Alright, I'll stop over there when I get done with that stage coach robbery Bill and Mac are workin' on." He had walked back over to Susan who was cleaning the mud off Maeve.

"How she doin'?" He asked as Strauss washed his hands off in a bowl of water, "She will pull through.  Just needs rest," the man said.  Arthur looked over Maeve's rested face, admiring her pleasant features.  He cleared his throat to say to Susan, "Make sure, she don't leave."

"That was never gonna happen," she looked up at him.  Arthur gave a soft nod then headed towards Boadicea to mount her.

Over the next day while Maeve was unconscious, John took care of Liability.  He would brush her off, feed her when he fed Old Boy.  The mare would press her snout to the side of John's head, knocking off his hat which gave him a chuckle, "Always teasin' me... no doubt you're her horse."

Abigail walked by with a basket of laundry, "What are you doin' with that horse?" she stopped in her tracks watching John pet Liability.  He looked over at the woman, "Someone's gotta take care of it."

Shaking her head and rolling her eyes, "You're such a sucker to horses," she then started to walk off back to camp.  John didn't know how he was going to tell Abigail about Maeve.  Ever since he got back, he didn't discuss what he did while he was away for that year, especially not to Abigail.  While he thought about wanting to make things right with his 'wife', every time he tried Abigail would say something nasty or he'd do something stupid in her eyes.  Then there was confused little Jack who didn't understand why the man he believed to be his father was acting so distant. The whole reason John left his family was he couldn't cope with fatherhood with the doubtful thoughts that Jack wasn't even his son lingering in his mind.

He was as Maeve said. Lost.

Maeve. John thought of her plenty after leaving her in Blackwater.  A small smile came to his lips thinking of all the conversations they had, staring at the stars all night with whatever alcohol they had, staying awake until the sun came up to reflect off Flat Iron Lake.  While he never talked much about his life, John felt free when he was around Maeve. He could be whoever he wanted with her. Now that was all just a summer memory.  John peaked into the tent she was in still seeing her unconscious.  He didn't feel that freedom now when he looked at her.  He felt scared, scared that Maeve was gonna die in her sleep or worse, wake up and see him.

_____________________________________________________________

Riding up to the yellow house farthest from the town of Blackwater, Arthur observed the area.  There was a wind mill off to the side and a small boat leaning against the front wall of the house.  He got off Boadicea, walked up the dirt path to see that no one has come by since that night.  Crows were picking at the dead bodies of Joe and Gus starting at their faces.  As Arthur walked up the porch steps, the black birds flapped their feathers to fly away going Caw!

"Pipe down!" Arthur spat at the crows while walking into the house.  First he saw a bollard hat with blood on it, he was shortly met with the rotting body of Darren staring up at him, at least what was left of his head, "Yeeesh."

He looted his body to find revolver ammo and a pair of gold earrings, "Hello there..." Arthur looked around to see pools of blood on the floor that had drag marks leading to the back door.  His eyes landed on a busted painting then followed to where it used to be, hung up on a wall to cover a now open and empty safe.  His first theory was that someone had came along and stole whatever expensive items these Bollards were trying to rob.  Second theory was there was more of them that had went a head with said expenses.  Which begged another question, how long until someone noticed these gangsters were dead?

Arthur started to look at some of the photos that were in the living room.  He picked one up, it was a formal family portrait with Everett on the right, Cecilia on the left and sitting between them was a younger Maeve.  He put it in his satchel while recalling Maeve, mentioning her folks the night she left the saloon.  Arthur followed the blood trail to the back door, opening it up and letting out a disgusted noise.  He saw the corpses of the people in the photo, Maeve's folks, laying side by side.

The man frowned seeing their death blows, all he kept thinking of was how that poor girl at the camp now had to watch her world fall apart.  Next to their corpses there was a hole that starting to be dug and a shovel that looked like it was thrown down.  Arthur picked up the shovel and started to dig.

____________________________________________________________

As the sun started to set Arthur had patted the shovel on top of the dirt pile, he was done burying Mr. and Mrs. Milley.  He managed to get some sticks and made crosses out of them to mark the graves. It wasn't much but he wouldn't feel right leaving them out for crows to eat.

He went back inside to, for lack of a better word, raid the kitchen.  It wasn't fully stocked, but there were canned goods, most of the canned fruits were strawberries.  Arthur took whatever her could carry then went upstairs to go find some clothes for Maeve.  When he reached the top of the stairs he walked into the first room which was the larger of the two. He figured it's where her parents slept but it was a complete mess.  The bed sheets were torn and tossed around on the floor.  There was blood that stained the hard wood he stood on.  

Arthur was feeling uncomfortable being in the room, feeling something horrible happened here, so he stepped back into the hall to go down to the last room.  When entering he saw her room had some drawers pulled out and her wardrobe doors opened up, but other than that the room wasn't too messed up.

He went to the wardrobe and picked up a bag that was next to it then took out the first few things he saw which were shirts, pants, a few skirts, stuffing them in.  Arthur found a hair brush that was on a night stand with a framed photo.  He picked up the brush to collect it then inspected the picture.  

It was of Maeve at the Tenth Annual Bird Shooting Contest. She had on that bright smile that he liked while holding a rifle.  As he kept looking at the photo he noticed something on the side that was cut off, someone that was there.  Part of a face of a man that was on his list of people he couldn't stand right now, "That's where you were," Arthur said to himself.  He took out the photo from its frame and put it in his bag.

Just as he was about done here, he glanced out the window to see there were three men with Bollard hats on dismounting their horses.  They were coming in from the back of the house where Arthur buried the Milleys. "Great," he got down next to the bed to stay hidden from their view, he then saw something shinny under the bed frame.  He reached under to take out a box of rifle ammo that had some money bills stuffed in the box.  When he reached under again, Arthur smirked at what he felt, he pulled out a bolt action rifle, "You have excellent taste Miss Milley."

Downstairs the men came in seeing the mess, "Boy, they sure had fun--Oh God!  That's Darren!"

"Found Joe!" another one said at the front porch then saw the other dead body in the yard, "And I'm pretty sure that's Gus...can't tell cause his face is gone."

"Shit!" the third man said, it was Bob.  He was glad he left when he did, "Twins are gonna be pissed."

"Maybe they shouldn't have left Darren in charge of killing off this family, cause from the looks of it someone got the upper hand," one of them said.  Bob assumed it was Everett, watching his wife die along with whatever Darren did to his daughter must have broke him which was surprising considering how much of a coward Bob thought he was.

"Let's get back to Saint Denis," Bob started to go to his horse. The man that he was talking to started to follow, "What? You don't think Everett Milley is lookin' for us do ya?"

"No, but I don't think we should be 'round these parts," truth was if Everett was a broken man who knows what he was capable of.  Getting revenge would be on Bob's list of things to do if he was in his shoes, "Joshua!" Bob called out for the last man, "Let's go!"

Joshua went into the house so he could go through the back door to meet up with the others.  As he went by the stairs, a rifle went off from the top of the stairs, shooting Joshua in the chest.  His body fell down as he coughed, looking up at Arthur as the barrel of the rifle was placed right between his eyes.

BLAM!

The other two men outside panicked, but Bob stayed on his horse while the other man ran back to the house, "To hell with this!" Bob whipped the reigns on his horse, getting out of there.  Arthur rushed outside to shoot the man in the backyard, he aimed for the neck then pulled the trigger right when the man drew out his gun.  As he fell, Arthur saw Bob on his horse hauling ass out of the area.

"Damn it!" he cursed himself going back to his horse.  As he trotted down the rode he saw a couple of gold diggers walking along the side, "Howdy Mister!" One of them called out.

"Oh hey there partner, how you been since that wolf attack?" Arthur asked him.

The gold digger patted his own arm cheerfully, "Doin' great!  Say, did you ever go through with that 'tip' I gave you about the stableman?"

Arthur shook his head, "Nah, some other bastards beat me to it.  Y'all stay safe now," he then pulled at the horse reigns to get going back to camp.

_____________________________________________________________

Now

It was late in the night as Maeve looked up to watch the stars, searching for all the constellations she remembers learning about in school.  Mrs. Grimshaw attempted to feed her stew, but the girl didn't want any

"You have to eat something. I can see your bones."

"No, thank you!" Maeve rejected to go sit outside of camp.  Susan walked by John who was watching them.  She said to him, "Will you try talking some sense in her?  She hasn't had any food since being here."

"What makes you think she'd listen to me?"  John asked her.  She placed a hand on his shoulder, "Think I haven't noticed you two looking at each other?" his breath was still as Susan says, "Now's your chance to get friendly with the new girl."

"Uh...what about Abigail?" Susan rolled her eyes, "Oh John, I'm not asking you to sleep with her, just make sure she eats or there will be hell to pay!" She walked off to go check on the others.  John watched the back of Maeve's head before sighing out, She already hates me.  He took a gander at what Pearson had to offer on the food wagon and he smirked when seeing a particular canned fruit.  He plucked it off the wagon then went over go stand behind her.

John cleared his throat and she turned her head slightly, keeping her face forward while knowing who was there, "What?"

"Can I join you?"

"No!" Maeve said not even glancing at him.  John sat next to her anyway and she let out an irritated grunt, "What is your problem?" she asked him.

John shook his head, "I don't got one."

"Ya kinda do?  One minute you don't know me, the next you're beggin' me to help lie for you, then you're over here sitting with me.  Just--" her voice broke as it fell to silence, "What do you want from me?" She stared at him with those big brown eyes.

There were a lot of answers to that question for John, but the one thing on his mind?  Forgiveness, for putting her though his cold shoulder to even hiding some important information about himself when they met.  But that's not why he's here. He held out the can to her, "I want you eat something."

Maeve's eyes blinked to look at what was in his hand before blinking once more to look at him, "Come on, Mae.  They're your favorite--," She snatched the can from him to open it up.  As the lid peeled back the scent of strawberries invaded her nostrils.  That was her favorite part of eating canned strawberries, that and the sweet syrup it made at the bottom.  She plucked a berry out with her fingers, popping it in her mouth.

Out of the corner of her eyes she could John staring at her with a smirk. Damn him for knowing my greatest weakness. After popping a few more in her mouth John reached over to try and pluck one out.  She slapped his hand away, "Back off, Marston!"

He had a chuckle stuck in his throat, "You know you can share those."

"Cold day in hell before I share these with you," Maeve told him before turning her attention back up to the sky.  John joined her in observing them, it already was feeling like old times for him, "What you lookin' at?"

"Cepheus, he's that collection of stars," she extended out her arm to point at the bundle of stars that formed a constellation.  John found it, nodding softly, "Who's he?"

The girl shrugged, "Some king that had a pretty daughter and a mouthy wife.  They get their entire kingdom cursed with floods and a big monster will destroy everything unless, the king feeds this monster his daughter."

John stared at those stars wondering how anyone could come up with that, "That's sounds scary."

Maeve shrugged, "Yeah but then there's this hero that comes in. Perseus."

"Really? What's he do?" John wasn't looking at the stars anymore, he was getting lost in her.  The way the night sky reflected off her dark orbs, the pale moon light washing over her skin.

"Ya know, hero stuff," she smirked, "Kill the monster, rescue the girl, save the day.  All that happy shit."

John chuckled, "Where's his constellation at?" Maeve winced her eyes trying to find it, but her eyes were getting heavy, "Somewhere up there.  I was looking for him, but my eyes are getting sore from squintin' so much." She put her head down, her mind clearly on other things.  John could see that as guilt started to rise within him.  Word had gotten to him about what happened to her, if he didn't feel like a horse's ass then, he did now, "Maeve?"

"What?"

"I...I'm glad you're here," Maeve chuckled as if it was a joke, "I doubt that."

"No, I really mean it, Maeve.  I'm just sorry it was under these circumstances," her eyes were on him, biting her bottom as to not say something so rash at this time.  Her eyes welled up as tears over flowed her lids, "I really wanted you to be that person I can go to when I had a problem or needed to talk about all this," she sniffled , "Like we used to."

John shut his eyes, "Maeve...Abigail and I, we're going through things.  I want to try and get on her good side but if she sees me around you, she'll get the wrong idea.  She can be pretty jealous and make anyone feel small."

"Sounds like a real keeper," Maeve's voice was laced in sarcasm, even with glossy eyes, "Go on and make fun, but I do want to try with her...but that also means you and I can't go back to the way we were."

She went to stand up, "John, I get you wanna do all that with Abigail...but I didn't want anything more than being a friend with you,” her hand raised up expressing how disappointed she was when it dropped to her side, “ I just wanted someone to help me with this."  Maeve then started to walk off, "Mae," he turned back to see her, "Go to your wife, John."

The sad girl had passed by Abigail on the way back into camp, "Hey," the mother greeted and Maeve stared at her, "I didn't get a chance to introduce myself," her hand raised up to have a hand shake, "I'm Abigail."

"Um..." she struggled on how to react, "I'm Maeve," she reached out to shake the hand.  John was on his way back when he saw them both talking, his heart started to pound.  Abigail saw him while noticing Maeve's reddened eyes, "I see you met John, tell me what smart thing did he have to say?"

Maeve inhaled a breath, her head turning over to see the man she loved greatly at one time.  She could tell all of the truth and ruin so much.  But what would that do for her? "He was makin' sure I had something to eat.  He's nice that way," she felt hallow as Abigail smirked, "John, nice? You clearly don't know him like I do."

Her eyes looked at the woman, "You're absolutely right about that," she made a nervous chuckle that quickly died as she stared at the mother.  While she couldn't help feel pangs of jealousy towards the woman, it was in no way her fault.  Abigail wasn't the one that lied to her. Still it wasn't a good idea for them to be friends, much less talk in risk of Maeve saying something she might regret, "Excuse me...I'm tired." Abigail gave a soft nod indicating she understood.

As Maeve went back to her bedroll she saw a light in the distance, getting closer through the darkness.  Could it be who she really wanted to talk to?  The light was coming closer when the sky began to drizzle a bit of rain.  She recognized the frame of the man on the horse as a small smile formed upon her lips, "Arthur."

#arthur morgan/oc #john marston/oc #arthur morgan #john marston #red dead redemption 2. #rdr2

[reddeadmort]

“10 measly dollars”

So this isn’t a request, but an idea I had that I wanted to write. It’s not an x reader (my first one), as it describes the moment of Eliza and Isaac’s death. You’ll probably all hate me for this! There is some fluff at the start, and I have written a slightly fluffy ending (I couldn’t bring myself not to), but the middle is not a pleasant read; I’m aiming for tears here. Can also be found on AO3.

Characters: Arthur Morgan/Eliza/Isaac 

Guidance: Fluff, violence, death (including of a child), fluff again. 

Words: 1.5k

It was a lovely summer’s afternoon as Eliza sat on the front porch of her little home, watching her son play with his new wooden toy horse. His dad had brought the horse on this latest visit, and little Isaac couldn’t be more pleased with it. He’d tried to name it after his Dad’s horse, Boadicea, but after many failed attempts to pronounce it, had settled on Boady. Eliza smiled, listening to Isaac describe him and Boady’s latest adventures, leaping across ravines (small stones) and crossing deep rivers (a small tub of water Isaac had insisted she put out so that Boady could have a drink).

There was a clatter from the shack behind her, followed by some muffled swearing.

“You alright in there Arthur?”

The tall, broad man emerged from the small, one-room building. He was a handsome man, the afternoon sunlight making his dirty blonde hair seem lighter than normal.

“Yeh, fine thanks Eliza. You know I just struggle to move around in there, everythin’s too close together” he grumbled, making Eliza chuckle.

“You got everything you need?” she asked, standing up and leaning against one of the porch supports, still keeping an eye on her – their – son.

“Yeh, think so. Don’t really want to leave though.” Arthur moved to stand next to Eliza, hands resting on his belt, watching Isaac as him and Boady made another daring leap into a raging torrent, according to the commentary.

“I know, Arthur, I know. But you’ve been here 5 days already, I’m surprised they haven’t sent a search party out for you.”  

Arthur sighed before placing his new hat on his head and turning to look at Eliza. She’d given that hat to him on this latest visit; it wasn’t expensive, and she’d mostly bartered for it using some eggs and vegetables from her garden, but she was glad she had. It suited him, and she suspected it was the only gift Arthur had received in years.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring more money Eliza.” Arthur looked ashamed, like he’d done something terrible. Eliza placed a hand on his arm and gave him a reassuring pat.

“It’s okay Arthur, it really is. You brought enough food to last us for at least 3 months, and I don’t think Isaac is ever going to put that toy horse down.” Eliza smiled, gazing up into Arthur’s soft blue-green eyes. “You know you don’t have to bring anything anyway, just make sure you don’t leave it too long between visits; Isaac gets anxious when he doesn’t see you.”

“You can say I don’t need to bring anythin’ all you want Eliza, I still will” Arthur chuckled, before growing more serious again. “I know I ain’t much, and you deserve better than what you got, but I will do right by you and the boy.”

“Mr Morgan, you always talk as if I wasn’t a willing participant in our little tryst.” Eliza said as she playfully tapped his arm. “We both knew the risks, and every time I look at that little boy I know I wouldn’t change a thing.” Her and Arthur hugged; on each fleeting visit they got to pretend that they were a normal, little happy family, but the visits were always over too soon, too far apart.

“You two be safe, okay?” Arthur said as he pulled away.

“Stop worrying Arthur, we’ll be fine. Mr Marshall from next door always makes sure to stop in to check on us on his way back from town, and his wife loves to babysit Isaac when I need to go and get something. Now hurry up or you’ll be riding through the night.” Arthur smiled before heading down the steps, stopping to say goodbye to Isaac. Isaac always got a bit upset when Arthur left; as Arthur got on his horse and rode off, Isaac ran over to cling to his mother’s skirts.

“It’s okay sweetheart, you know he’ll come back soon. Come on, let’s get you some dinner sorted.”

-----

Eliza had just put Isaac to bed when she heard voices outside and the sound of horses. This didn’t alarm her too much, her house was quite close to the road, but it was unusual for people to be passing at night. She moved to the door, reaching for the deadbolt Arthur had installed. Before she could get there, the door was kicked open, sending her flying backwards, knocking her head hard against the kitchen table.

Eliza tried to get to her feet as the two men barged into her house, but the blow to the head had left her dizzy, feeling like she was going to be sick. She tried to concentrate, to stop the room from spinning; as she did, she could just make out one of the men reaching for a shocked Isaac. Eliza tried to scream but a hand suddenly clamped over her mouth.

“Woman, don’t you dare. You just tell us where the money is, nice and quiet, and we’ll leave you two alone. Make a noise and we’ll give your son something to really cry about.” Eliza’s eyes grew wide as she saw the other man roughly pull Isaac out of bed and hold a knife to his throat. She gulped and nodded slightly before the man removed his hand from her mouth.

“It’s just there, under the sink. Please, please don’t hurt my boy” she begged. The man pulled open the cupboard doors, knocking over the carefully stacked supplies of food, pulling out the little box where Eliza kept her money.

“10 dollars? That it? You’re lying to us missy!” The man rounded on Eliza, smacking her across the face, causing Isaac to start crying. “We know you’re Arthur Morgan’s little whore, him and the other Van der Linde lot stole a score from us recently, we know he comes here to hide the cash. Now tell us where it is you bitch!” Another blow to Eliza’s face accompanied this last sentence.

“That’s everything I have, I swear! Arthur only brings a few dollars for us, enough to look after the boy, we’re nothing to do with the gang, I promise!” Eliza was panicking, she had nothing else to give these men, no jewellery, nothing.

Suddenly, the man holding Isaac screamed; Issac had bitten him. He released the boy, and Isaac ran as fast as he could across the room and out the front door. His captor chased him, and Eliza scrabbled to her feet after them; she didn’t make it out the door before she was grabbed from behind by the other man.

“You little brat!” Eliza froze, stopped struggling, as a shot rang out. Time seemed to slow as she saw the crumpled body of her little boy fall face forwards into the dirt and stay there, perfectly still. The scream that emanated from her was raw, animalistic; the pain spreading through her chest made her feel like it was her that had got shot. She struggled again, harder, fighting back viciously, as the man holding her tried to silence her again with his hand over her mouth.

“Oh will you just shut the bitch up! We’ll have to move quick anyway, someone was bound to have heard that. Won’t take long to tear this place apart, if she’d got something hidden we’ll find it, with or without her.”

Eliza finally broke free and launched herself towards the body of her son. She only made it a metre or two before another shot rang out, sending her sprawling. She felt a sharp pain in her chest which quickly spread; she was so close to Isaac, she could almost touch him. Everything had gone quiet; the edges of her vision were slowly fading to black as she dragged herself towards her dead child. She reached out, managing to touch his little fingers, before her head hit the ground and darkness enveloped her.

----

Eliza woke to the sounds of knocking at her front door. Bright sunshine was flooding the cabin, like it did every morning; Eliza couldn’t remember the last time it didn’t. She wasn’t too sure how long she’d been here, but she didn’t mind; it was quiet, and peaceful, and Isaac and her always had a perfect day.

When she opened the door, a familiar face greeted her. The woman had a slightly golden glow to her, just like everything did here; she was the one that had first greeted Eliza when she arrived, whenever that was.

“Eliza, my dear, we have a visitor for you. We’ve known he’d be coming for a while, though we weren’t sure when; but, he’s arrived now, and I think he would like to see both of you.” The woman moved to the side as a man stepped into view. He was tall, broad, with a familiar looking, albeit very worn, hat clutched in his hands. As Eliza looked at his face, into those blue-green eyes, she smiled.

“Do you think you can stay for longer this time?” she asked. The man stepped forward, placing a hand on her cheek.

“Yeh darlin’, I think I can.”    

#arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan imagine #arthur morgan fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #my work #my writing #my fic #red dead fanfic #fanfic #spoilers #eliza and isaac #arthur morgan eliza #arthur morgan isaac

[galadrieljones]

A Funeral: Chapter 18 (Arthur Morgan x Mary Beth Gaskill)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2 | Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth | Rating: Mature

Content: Existential Angst, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nature, Touch-Starved, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Fake Marriage, Epiphanies, Backstory, Banter, Deep Emotions, Sharing a Bed, Swimming, Arthur to the Rescue, Forests, Abduction, Angst, Heavy Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Sexual Themes, Adult Content, Canon Divergence, Found Families, Brotherhood, Fatherhood

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life is full of uncertainty and complications, and in their desperate search for meaning together, they endure a number of trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to the insidious dangers of the natural world, as well as to one another, and to their future.

Credit to @bearly-tolerable for the banner!! Art is my own.

***For the rest of this story, you can visit the masterpost or AO3, both linked in the replies to this post and also at my blog.***

Chapter 18: The Storm

That night, a storm rolled into the swamps. It was big, and the black sky ripped open then stitched back with huge lightning deformities and the whole world filled with the sounds of the thunder. Arthur and John were taking a long time to get back from their fishing trip. Mary Beth was reminded of the storm up near O’Creagh’s Run and was struck with anxiety and could not bear to be alone. So she sat in with Abigail and Jack in their room, and Jack had fallen asleep already to the sounds of the storm, while Mary Beth sat by the window, trying to read, but it was no use. Abigail sat knitting quietly, lacking in distress. Sometimes, she would hum little songs. Mary Beth didn’t understand how she could be so calm, but she did not feel like making a big deal or flying up with worry. That was a nuisance. So she just stayed quiet.

The rain was coming down hard. She knew they’d probably built a tent somewhere to wait things out, or maybe they’d stopped in Rhodes to have a drink at the saloon. They were grown men, used to weather. They were smart. They were okay. Her instinct was to get on her horse and go out and try and find them, but she knew that was a dumbass idea of which nobody, not even her conscious mind, could approve. Hosea, Lenny, and Dutch were in St. Denis. Out on the perimeter, getting battered with the rain, were Charles, Bill, and Sadie. She’d seen Kieran ride off sometime in the early afternoon on Arthur’s old horse, Diana, but she didn’t see Diana back with the others now, and she thought it could have just been she was hidden, but Mary Beth was worried he had never made it back—that he, too, was out there, somewhere, festering in the storm. Karen was downstairs, snoring drunk, and Tilly was asleep, too, and Molly was in the other room, and about an hour before, Mary Beth had gone in to see if she’d wanted to come join her and Abigail, but she was not interested. She was not interested in the other women of the camp at all.

At some point, outside, they heard a sort of ruckus. It was Micah and Pearson, and they’d gotten into a sort of spat. Mary Beth spied while Abigail just rolled her eyes, until Charles came slopping in out of the surrounding trees, up to his knees in muck, and he clocked Micah over the head with the butt of his sawed-off until he was all but crawling back to this tent. Pearson had already taken a bad hit to the jaw and was rolling around in a puddle, holding his face. Charles checked on him and hauled him back to one of the covered wagons. The rain was starting to slow down now. The storm finally moving over the water. Mary Beth could feel her chest physically loosen, and at some point, she must have sighed so loud that Abigail looked up, set down her knitting, and became concerned.

“You all right?” she said.

“It’s just this storm,” said Mary Beth.

“You worried about the boys? They’re fine in this, Mary Beth. It’s just water.”

“I know,” said Mary Beth. “I just—there was a storm when we was up north. Some bad stuff happened. I’m feeling anxious from it.”

“What happened?”

Mary Beth kind of glanced out the window where Sadie was coming back to the house with a lantern. She told Abigail about what had happened, with the Murfree Brood. Abigail didn’t know who they were, but she seemed to instinctively understand the concept of backwater murderers. When she saw how it affected Mary Beth so, she seemed to get an idea, and then she reached under the bed and took out a bottle of bourbon. She poured them each a short glass and said, “Let’s go out and sit on the porch. Get some fresh air.”

So they did.

Meanwhile, Arthur and John were holed up in Arthur’s tent—which was actually Hamish Sinclair’s tent—on the shore just north of Braithwaite Manor, passing a bottle of rum they’d found while out exploring the river banks of the Lanahachee. The storm had snuck up on them pretty fast, but they were not strangers to this sort of adversity in the weather, and in some ways, it made it feel like old times.

Their talk on the river had rekindled them as friends again in unexpected ways as they remembered what it was like to just exist in cooperation with one another. Sometimes, running with Dutch was like a competition, in which the concept of loyalty took strange shapes and would phase in and out of importance, focusing all your energies inward, depending on what exactly he had planned, and his chimeric brand of expectations for the day. Over the years, as Arthur got older, he began to feel the lack in the age difference between himself and Dutch, and how Dutch was filled with idealism that had once appealed to him on the level of youth and poverty of the soul, but this had ended. Spending time with Mary Beth, to whom he could actually communicate his feelings and frustrations without fear of being doubted or belittled, and now spending time with John, which was uncomplicated and natural in major ways, he began to see just how little need he had left for Dutch’s philosophies of salvation.

Still, he dreaded the conversation. He had a deep-seated guilt inside him, typical of the eldest child. Even as Dutch was not his father, and he never seemed as such, it was a paternal role he had played in Arthur’s life at a very young and vulnerable age. Arthur often felt mixed up. He did not feel free. He seemed to miss a life that he could no longer remember and possibly had never experienced at all. At some point, John went out to patrol the perimeter of their camp, out of instinct, and Arthur took out his journal to try to wittle away at these feelings he was having.

If I listen to Hosea, he wrote, and that is all I have ever strived for, then I am doing the right thing for myself and for the love I have found, so unexpectedly, while traveling north with Mary Beth. There is a nice Sister in St. Denis—Sister Calderon—to whom I should call for further guidance, maybe. I am sure she would encourage me to commit acts of goodness, the only acts of which I can presently identify being those that involve leaving Dutch and starting fresh with a life that I can be proud of, far away. I never been a religious man, and I don’t fancy becoming one, but sometimes, looking up at things don’t feel so bad. It’s raining here. I hope Mary Beth is not too worried. It reminds me of that bad night up at O’Creagh’s Run when everything felt hopeless for a while. But it turned out that night at Hamish Sinclair’s may have be the first night of my entire existence. Here I go, sounding like a teenager again. Who knows. In any case, the rain seems to be letting up some, and we’ll ride out of here as soon as we’re able. I hope she’s okay. She needn’t worry, but I think she does. It’s so endearing. I just need a ring, then I’ll marry her. I will. That is, if she don’t get too sick of me first. I am confident she won’t, and that I am a fool for even having written this, but we shall see.

When John got back, he said the sky looked like it was calming down. Arthur put away his pencil and his journal into his pack and got up to start putting things away onto his horse. It was nearly midnight, but they decided to ride in anyway. On their way south, past Braithwaite Manor, they ran into a couple stranded klansmen who looked like they’d got caught in the rain. One of them asked Arthur for a lift into Rhodes and caught a boot to the face while John dispatched of the other with the butt of his shotgun. It was too late to start outright murdering, and neither Arthur nor John was in the mood for bloodshed, so they ditched them unconscious by the side of the road, stole their clothes and valuables, which they tossed into the swamps on their way into Shady Belle. They didn’t want to go back to the girls with blood on their hands if they could avoid it, no matter the sort.

They got into camp about half past one. Mary Beth and Abigail were on the porch, drinking whiskey with Sadie. The rain had stopped, and the yard was sloppy. Cain barked as the men got in, and Charles echoed a welcome as they hitched their horses up with the others. When the women on the porch saw what was going on, they all rose up to say hello, and Mary Beth tossed her whiskey cup and then hitched up her skirt and took off through the mud of the lawn and ran straight into Arthur’s arms, colliding with him hard so that he stumbled back a few steps as he caught her, mid-air, her legs wrapped around him tight.

“Hey,” he said, real low, and she tucked her face deep into the scruff and curve of his neck and took a long, deep breath. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“I know,” she said.

He kissed her on the temple and carried her all the way back to the house. At some point, he turned back to look at John, gave him a sturdy nod.

“We’ll talk in the morning,” said John.

“Sounds good,” said Arthur.

“Night, lovebirds,” said Sadie, tipping her hat.

Arthur smiled, but Mary Beth was very weary and would not even bring herself to look up from his collar.

They went inside, went up the stairs, to Arthur’s room. He closed the door, still holding her.

“I’m sorry we got so held up,” said Arthur into her hair. “With all the lightning, we didn’t wanna risk it.”

“It’s okay,” she said, still hanging on.

“You were worried,” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “I know I’m overreacting. But the storm.”

“I know.” He sighed, deeply, pushing the hair off her shoulders and off her face. She looked at him, her eyes drooping. She was tired, he could see. “It’s been a long time since I had someone worrying about me like this.”

She just smiled.

“I don’t want you to worry,” he said, “but I will admit, I like coming back from somewhere, anywhere, to you.”

She looked like she might either fall asleep or start crying. She kissed him instead, revived somehow, and he kissed her back till it turned passionate. Hurried, they undressed each other piece by piece and made love in the bed, full of wanting and relief at being together again. She begged him for his seed and told him stories about their future lives. He said nothing—strong and silent—just loved her, obeyed her, listened to her, until he was done and loose inside of her, and they went slow, then very still, and he fell asleep almost immediately with her running her fingers through his rain-damp hair, and he was sinking like a heavy stone with her smells and her hair and her skin all around him. He was safe.

After Arthur had drifted, Mary Beth slipped away, wrapped in a sheet, and she went outside to pee. It was quiet out there, besides the weird birds and the nighttime noises of the swamps. The whole camp was asleep and at peace around her, and she could hear Pearson snoring in one of the covered wagons and Cain having his whimpering puppy dreams on the porch. What would become of her, of them, of this place, this magical palace of Americana and dying dreams? She turned around to go inside.

But then, she realized she wasn’t alone out there. She saw Sadie. It was a surprise that she was still awake. Did she ever sleep? She was way out in the mud, close to the water, flinging knives at a Tupelo tree and crying. She was unaware of Mary Beth’s presence, stifling her tears to her sleeve and angrily trying to hide it though as far as she knew, there was no one there to see her.

Mary Beth was filled all of a sudden with an indescribable sadness and a huge sense of pessimism and fear. What had become of them? It was terrifying. Sadie was so tough and so strong and so mean sometimes, like one of the men almost. It was easy to forget that she was  a widow.

Mary Beth went back inside then, to Arthur. He breathed steadily in his sleep, on his stomach, face buried in the pillow. So peaceful and long and big and full of life. She tried not to think of Sadie, though it made her guilty, made her sore. She placed her hand on Arthur's wide, warm back, absorbing his presence with her own. She hadn’t talked to god since Kansas City, but that night, she decided that she would do it again. She had a reason now, making her burn. She just thought, Let him be okay. Let him be okay. Please? And that was all, and then she turned down the lamp on the windowsill, and she lie down beside him in the quiet sheets. She closed her eyes. She waited.

Meanwhile, John and Abigail lie together in their bed not far away, with Jack asleep on his cot by the window. Abigail had fallen asleep as well a little while before, but John was still worked up from his conversation with Arthur by the river. He was a simple man and his mind could change quickly, and he knew now how right Arthur had been, how close they were to freedom if that is what they so chose in this world. He was filled with terror and excitement, staring up at the ceiling, listening to Abigail breathing by his side. It was the first night they had slept in a bed together in a long, long time, and he knew this had to mean something. Something big. He had almost forgotten what she felt like, how small she was, how much he actually loved her, needed her. Without her, he was just a fuckin balloon, blowing around, getting caught in bad places and nasty heights and horrifying situations in which he kept facing death, always.

He was conflicted, too, with irrational anger for Dutch. It was huge and consuming him, this anger at having been somehow swindled out of a life he could respect, and yet he also knew that this was not Dutch’s fault, that he needed to take responsibility for his own bullshit, and this was a crippling dilemma. He was a goddam idiot, and it was time for him to see this for what it was, accept it, and make a choice. Arthur had already made his choice, which was monumental in scope, thought John, considering the fact that Arthur, of all the people he’d ever known in his whole idiotic life, had always seemed so set in his ways—more so than anyone, it was remarkable. To see him moving forward like this. It was almost enough to give John hope for a future he had never even considered before, let alone considered as a real possibility for himself and for his family.

Abigail stirred then, like she could sense his epiphany in her subconscious dreams. He turned onto his side to face her, cupped her hands in his own. She didn’t wake. He felt the nerves building inside of him. What was he so afraid of? When he realized that it was nothing, that was when he finally felt tired, and he went to sleep.

The next morning, Dutch and Hosea met out on the upstairs balcony of the high saloon in St. Denis. The air was clean and crisp, cleansed from the storm, with the sun coming down and drying the streets, making beautiful colors in the foliage. Dutch was reading the paper when Hosea came out, smoking a cigar and nursing a cup of coffee with added cream. Lenny was downstairs, in a poker game, as the ensuing discussion between the camp elders did not concern him. Hosea took his seat, poured himself a cup of coffee, while Dutch took a puff off the cigar, ashed it into a crystal ash tray on the table. All around them were the sounds and sights of the bustle in the city. The clanking of the trolley cars, the horse hooves on the cobblestone. Elegant women spoke in French accents while their American suitors smoked by their sides. Hosea sipped his coffee, surveying all the morning held in store. He slouched back in his chair with one leg crossed over the other and sighed.

“A fine day,” he said.

“Indeed,” said Dutch. “As soon as young Lenny finishes up the pot downstairs, we should head back to camp.”

“That reminds me,” said Hosea, taking a sip from his cup. “Arthur and Mary Beth returned from their hunting trip, the night before last. ”

Dutch glanced up, over the top of the paper. “You’re just telling me this now?” he said.

“It slipped my mind,” said Hosea, smiling.

“Well, it’s about time,” said Dutch. “I was starting to worry.”

“Me, too,” said Hosea.

Dutch went back to his paper and his cigar. Hosea sipped some more of his coffee, set down the cup, and lit a cigarette. “We need to talk, Dutch,” he said.

“I know,” said Dutch, shaking his head.

“Do you?"

“I know you’ve got feelings about this…Bronte business,” he said. “It ain’t my cup of tea either, Hosea, but we’ve got to play the hand we’re dealt here. Just...trust me. I'm working on a plan. When it comes through, you'll see.”

“This isn’t about Bronte,” said Hosea, smoking, staring off the balcony into the blue sky. It was filled with smog. “Though I do have opinions about that as well. We can cover those back at Shady Belle.”

“Well then, what do you want to talk about?” said Dutch.

“I want to talk about Arthur.”

“What about Arthur,” said Dutch, again consumed with his paper, sipping his coffee.

“Arthur and Mary Beth,” said Hosea.

“What about Arthur and Mary Beth.”

“They’ve found love.”

Dutch glanced up, curious, surprised. “Excuse me?” he said.

“They’re together,” said Hosea, smoking. He was looking right at Dutch now. “It’s serious.”

“How serious?”

“They’re gonna get married,” said Hosea, almost casually, “and they’re gonna have a family.”

Dutch set down his paper. He leaned forward with his hands folded together on the table. He looked confused, hurt even, like he couldn’t wrap his brain around what he was hearing. “Is she pregnant?” he said.

“That much is unclear,” said Hosea. He smoked, ashed the cigarette into the crystal ash tray on the table. “She could be.”

“I’m—this is news to me,” said Dutch, looking down at his hands. He was shaking his head, exasperated, like he’d missed something, something huge. “Arthur and Mary Beth? When did it happen? All on that trip of theirs?”

“According to Arthur, it was latent for a while. The trip brought it to the surface.”

Dutch sighed. He stared off into the distance, past Hosea, into some infinite nothing. “I did not know,” he said. "How is it possible that I did not know?"

“I didn't know either,” said Hosea. “Not until he told me.”

“He told you?”

“Only after I asked him, of course. Yesterday. Arthur isn’t a particularly forthcoming man when it comes to his personal life. You know this.”

“Yes, I do.”

“There is a change coming, Dutch,” said Hosea. He smoked. “A real change.”

“What sort of...change?” said Dutch, softly, still staring past him, real far away—almost like he knew.

“That is what we need to talk about,” said Hosea.

Dutch blinked, looked back down at his hands, which he flexed and studied for a moment. Then, he fussed with the ring on his finger, and he looked up. They met eyes, seriously. Hosea lifted his chin, still slouched, still smoking. For the first time in many months, he felt good. He had Dutch's attention. For the first time in a while, Dutch was listening.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x mary beth gaskill #mary beth gaskill #mary-beth gaskill #a funeral

[missblissy]

Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

((Hello, I had to get this chapter put up because I had so much fun writing it!! Reader/MC is here!! I will have the next chapter up very soon!! The next chapter will also be in second person POV!! Future chapters will go back and forth between Reader/MC and Arthur!! Things are about to get really good!! I can't wait to get the good parts when you and Arthur start falling in love~~ That's so far away still >:) Have fun reading until then.))

Description:

Dutch put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gave a squeeze. He had this sad look on his eyes and he said, “You know what to do,” And walked away to finish taking care of the parents of this poor girl. Arthur held the girl as she cried and thought about Dutch’s words.

....Because it’s the right thing to do.

He had to pry her away from him. She held on like it meant life or death. It was so bizarre because he was a total and complete stranger to this girl but she had gone from hating him to loving him in just a second. He could never see himself trusting someone so easily. Then again he wasn’t a child anymore.

“What’s your name, miss?”

She rubbed her eyes to clear away her tears, “(Y-y/n)… (L/n)…”

____________________________________________________________

How long… has it been? The lantern was barely flickering alive. It could die any second. This train just didn’t want to stop. As each moment passed, whether it was an hour or a few minutes, it got colder and colder stuck in that train car. It had to have been more than 20 hours, possibly more. Arthur was tried, he couldn’t sleep. He was hungry and regretted not eating much the day before.

Dutch was sitting beside him with blood covered fists. He took the rings off his swollen knuckles. It had been so long that his wounds had scabbed over, rock hard. He punched the walls so hard trying to escape that he was pretty sure he broke a finger. He couldn’t feel it though, so it didn’t matter that much.

There was a God though because Dutch had a flask he kept in the pocket of his vest. So it wasn’t all that bad, “Should of brought a book,” He joked while passing the rum to Arthur.

Arthur chuckled, “Yeah, like I can even really read one,” His voice dripped with dark humor as he tried to laugh at his own shame. The satchel at Arthur’s side had burned him with the thoughts of the book he had in there. It was his mother’s journal so there was no way he was going to share that with Dutch, “If only Hosea was here… He has that stupid pocket watch on him he stole from that funeral.”

They both chuckled at the memory. That was a very unfortunate day… for the family they robbed. Well, Dutch and Hosea robbed them while Susan provided get away. Arthur got to watch from where they left him near a saloon, he had only been with them a few weeks at the time. He was the one that found out that tip that a funeral was happening soon and told Dutch about it.

A shiver cut Arthur’s memories in half. The cold started to become painful. He looked to Dutch you seemed unfazed, “Can I have some more of that rum?” Dutch passed him the flask, and to Arthur’s surprise, it wasn’t empty.

He took a swig and cringed as the dark liquor burned on the way down. Thankfully it warmed his belly and soon the rest of his body too. The cold was still a problem, just less of one for now.

“Where do you think we are headed, Dutch?”

The older man took in a deep breath and brought his hand up to his chin, “North. That’s for sure. It’s February. It’s not spring yet. But I know its only this cold up in the most northern parts of this god damn country around this time of year.”

Arthur let those word sink in. How far north was north, “Like… Illinois?”

Dutch shook his head.

“….Ohio?”

Another no.

“How far, Dutch?”

Before he could answer the train’s whistle called out while bells rang. They were coming to a stop. Dutch and Arthur shared a glance and stood up at the same time. They had been sitting so long though, Arthur could barely feel his legs. The cold rushed in again and Arthur wobbled forward. Dutch caught him before he could fall.

Dutch pushed Arthur towards the front of the car so they were hidden in the dark corners behind the ladder. There was an unsettling scream as the breaks of the tracks fought against the cold. There was an echo that rang far and wide that Arthur could hear even inside the steal and iron car. His gut told him he was far from home, and his heart hoped his gut was wrong.

Several minutes passed while the listened to muffled yelling. It made Arthur’s heart sink every time he heard a burst of powerful wind slam against the train. Finally, after what felt like forever, someone had started walking above. The hatch was slowly peeled open and as light pooled in from the cold snowy world outside, Dutch and Arthur held their knives close. If they could get out of here without making a sound, they could probably live to see another day.

A man started climbing down the latter. He was covered in layers of clothes. Arthur shivered and held back groan when the icy winds whooshed inside. The man didn’t see them, but he saw the mess they made. He started to call for one of his friends but he was cut off as Dutch jumped forward and slit his throat. Thanks to the corners of darkness, Dutch and Arthur could hide from sight. His friend was already on his way coming down the ladder so Arthur was forced to be smart. Staying unseen, Arthur waited for the second man to get to the ground. He jumped from the side and tackled the man to the ground, stabbing him quickly in the neck while covering his mouth to muffle his screams.

Bloody and cold, they took the chance to swap clothes with these guards. It felt nice to put on heavier clothes. Too bad they had blood on them. It didn’t matter at this point.

They weren’t doing this to blend in they were doing it to stay warm. Dutch was torn between taking the money or the gold bars. He knew he’d need as much as he could to get them back to the open west. He hated the thought of not having enough to take back home to Hosea and Susan.

He chose the money. It was the easiest to hide. He stuffed as much as he could in each pocket and had Arthur do the same. They had about a thousand each on them. There was thousands more they had to leave behind. There was no way they could walk around hauling bags and satchels full of money without horses to escape on.

Dutch climbed up the latter, keeping his pistol ready to fire if need be. He poked his head outside and had to squint at the blinding whiteness that was his view. The sun was in the middle of the sky and slowly rising. He looked around and noticed they were stationed at a town that was busy despite the weather. No one was around so Dutch took this as the chance to escape. He waved Arthur to climb up while he kept watch, “Go!” He whispered, “Jump down in the snow, get as much blood off you!”

Arthur nodded and crawled to the side of the train. The jump intimidated him but he didn’t have any other choice. He flung himself into the snow and hoped it would break his fall. It did, but not really. His knees buckled when his feet crashed into the icy ground under a couple feet of snow. He was knee deep in snow and he fell to his side in pain. At least he was getting the blood off him.

Dutch landed less gracefully than Arthur but fought through the pain. He brushed snow up and down the dark coat he was wearing. Arthur was unfortunately in a gray coat so it was harder to hide the stains. He did his best to hide them or wet the rest of his coat with snow.

After a few minutes, they rushed away from the station and towards town. Arthur groaned at the sight before his eyes. It was busy and packed with people. Brick roads and light pools. Horses and carriages. It wasn’t a city. But it was a town on the verge of busting at the seams.

There was a sign on the walls of the train station. Arthur slowly tried to read it. He whacked his hand at Dutch and pointed to the sign, “New York,” He said.

“Dunkirk...” Dutch’s voice was barely above a whisper. The second some walked by he snapped out of his frozen gaze and approached the man with an unfordable about of smoothness. With a smile on his face he asked the man, “Excuse me, friend, can you tell me where I am? I miss my stop a few miles back, where is Dunkirk located in New York?”

“It’s about a four your train ride south of Buffalo, sir, ” The man was so helpful. It was like he got asked that question a lot. He kept his frown on his face though and then pushed aside to get back to his day.

Dutch wasn’t done though. He sidestepped and blocked the man again, “H-how far from Pennsylvania?”

“Three hours north by train,” The man was not happy but Dutch let him go. He got his answers.

“Arthur!” He ran over to Dutch’s side quickly. Something was very wrong. Dutch looked like he saw a ghost. He stared hard at the ground the franticly looked around, “New York!” He said sharply under his breath.

“H-how we gonna get back?” It scared him being this far north. Arthur had never been this way, he knew trouble was up here. He knew there was so much law that if anyone of these pricks knew his face they’d turn him in for the sheer joy of it.

Dutch didn’t say anything but he made a sharp turn into the train station. Arthur followed close behind him. The heat in the station was welcoming but the smell inside was spoiled by the number of people in there. It was cluttered with folk getting on and off trains. Waiting for trains. Waiting for carriages to avoid the cold. Seems everyone had the same idea. This wasn’t a problem for Dutch, he just shoved his way past people. He made it to a window after cutting in line. The teller was startled and taken aback when Dutch smiled at him.

Funny how Dutch looked like a crazy mad man and he didn’t seem to notice. Arthur was sure he was watching the man have a break down of some kind. Dutch did his best to keep his cool and ask, “Do you have a train that would be heading southwest? Texas? The Arizona territory?” He tried to speak slow, but his words still mumbled together.

Arthur watched from a few feet back as the teller shook his head, “Not for another three weeks, no. Can’t go that way with the weather right now,”

Something snapped in Dutch and he almost lost his temper. Again, he spoke slowly, this time with an underlying irritation to his tone, “How in the hell did that train from Arizona get here?”

“It came in as the storm hit, sir. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s more snow here than we know what to do with. No trains are allowed to leave the state until the weather has let up,”

Dutch stood there for a few seconds. He didn’t want to take this as his answer, but he had no choice. Arthur rushed to follow him outside. He could hear Dutch muttering under his breath.

“Fuck!” He said sharply. A few people looked at them. Arthur did his best to ignore their stares, “I hate New York,” Dutch said more quietly. He started walking into town.

Arthur followed close by. He couldn’t keep asking the same question. He knew he had to give Dutch time to thing. He for one was at a total loss and found himself helplessly and totally dependent on Dutch to survive.

They went into a general store and Dutch and Arthur bought some much-needed supplies. Dutch asked the owner if there was any place in town to buy a horse or a wagon. There was a stable but they were closed for the winter season.

For now, they got some cans of food, some booze, a map that the store offered of the local county, and two leather-bound empty journals. As they walked out of the store, he handed one to Arthur. For some reason, he thought he had escaped the role of being a school kid. But to his disappointment said to him, “It’s gonna be while until we get home. You should write. I know you ain’t good yet but you can keep up the practice. It’s something to do at least,”

Arthur didn’t argue like he normally did. He took the smooth black journal with a slight nod of his head in thanks. He tucked it away in the new satchel he got. He traded it for half the price of the old one which was falling apart. This one was made of wolf fur.

“Got a plan yet?” Arthur finally asked as they worked their way around this upbeat town.

“Yes and no,” Dutch said, “We can’t sit around waiting for the weather to get good. My face is too well known in these parts. I’m thinking we steal a horse… just one. We ride out on it and find some kind of.. farm. A ranch. There has got to be some even up north. We’ll get a wagon and ride back west to Cleveland. Get on a train there and see ourselves home,”

It sounded easy enough. But Arthur knew he had a few weeks ahead of him living on the road. As the walked further into town Arthur found himself looking at something truly spectacular. It was one of the great lakes. Erie, infect. The entire lake as far as he could see was frozen over. It looked like an icy wasteland out there. Dutch pulled him from his thoughts once again.

“We need to get word back to Hosea that we’re alive,” They set off for the post office. Arthur had to go in because they could have had wanted posters of Dutch inside. Arthur was only wanted in one state and they stopped searching for him a while ago. Dutch was much more popular with the government though.

Arthur sent out a letter to a man by the name of James Henry Garrison. It was the current pen name they had set up to keep in contact with one another. Arthur chose it when he joined the gang. His vocabulary was limited and his handwriting looked like chicken scratch. Arthur shook his head while he started the letter, pushing down his irritation at himself.

Dear brother, Me and Pa made it to New York. It’s colder than hell here. Talked to the teller about another train heading west. Says no trains will be leaving N.Y until the weather lets up. The factory didn’t pay Pa. So we don’t have a lot of cash. Just enough to get us back home. Tell Ma to not worry and if she has to clean up and move around then let her. Won’t be home for a few weeks. Gotta head to Cleveland by horse. We’ll be taking the next ride west from there. Hopefully. Will write back when we make it to Cleveland.

- Brandon

Arthur hoped the letter would make it to Hosea safe and sound. And hopefully soon so that he and Susan didn’t have to worry too much. The letter was short and sweet, it wasn’t like he could really write more because he didn’t exactly know how.

Back outside again, Arthur and Dutch meet their next task of stealing a horse. Dutch had been eyeing one while Arthur was in the post office. It was a large workhorse, strong enough to tread through the thick layers of snow. The huge horse was black with white spots and had a crazy mane. It looked nastier and meaner than any outlaw they’ve ever come across.

“How in the hell are we going to steal that thing?” There was a hint of attitude in Arthur’s voice. He wasn’t looking forward to being bucked off a horse two feet taller than him. Seeing as he would be riding at the hind end anyways, “Let’s say we get on it, then what? Walk out of here with all these people around?”

Dutch had a plan, he always had a plan. He shook his finger and went, “Ah, ah. Have faith in me, boy. Follow my lead,” The horse was hitched outside some kind of barn.

Arthur could smell the molten iron leaking from inside the makeshift blacksmith's barn. The horse was already agitated and didn’t seem pleased to be out in the cold. There were some low lives scattered around here an there but none of them seemed to be paying attention to anything. Dutch had started sneaking across the road, walking fast and quickly to the side of the barn. He waved Arthur over and the two stood there looking around the corner. Dutch had picked up a rock from the ground and tossed it a few times in his hand before took all his strength and pelted it at the window across the street into someone’s upstairs store. The two of them quickly hid behind the barn’s walls and watched the show start.

The store owner came running outside and instantly started yelling at the low lives that had been loitering around to behind with. It created the perfect distraction. Dutch gave Arthur a quick shove and rushed to the horse waiting to be taken. Within the chaos, Dutch mounted the horse and pulled Arthur up. As they left, someone noticed them stealing the horse and called out in alarm. Thank god this horse was huge and fast, they made it out of town before the law was able to show up and hopefully no one saw their faces either.

The wind bit at his neck and ears, and Arthur wished he had more clothes on. The horse that he had nicked name Bucky -because any second this horse would buck him- trotted through thick snowy paths. Arthur watched the coast of Lake Erie as they made their way west. The landscape changed from open fields to thick forests. He could still see the lake splashing out between pine trees. While Arthur was looking in the forest he noticed something.

“Dutch-” He tapped his shoulder, “Look. A house. I think it’s abandon. Or no one is home.”

Dutch slowed Bucky and gazed into the trees. There was a stone house that blended in making it hard to focus on. He squinted and spurred the horse towards the house.

There wasn’t any light coming from inside and the chimney was free of any smoke. There was little to no tracks, no horse, no sounds. There was a barn though that was busted slightly open. Dutch saw in there an unused wagon. He smiled and began to chuckle with joy, “Good looking, Arthur,” He praised, “Let's see what’s happened here,”

Arthur slid off Bucky while Dutch went for the wagon, “See what you can find inside. Get anything that seems useful,” Arthur followed orders and kicked his way through the snow to get to the house.

It was just as cold inside as it was outside. The door didn’t even need to be unlocked. Arthur pushed the heavy door aside and tried his best to see inside the dark house. It looked empty, but not in a good or safe way. As he pushed inside he found himself in a kitchen that was fully stocked. It was like who ever lived here had just up and left everything behind. There were pictures everywhere. Rugs, curtains. This was a house owned by someone rather wealthy but it was funny because it was so small and cute.

Arthur pulled out his revolver just in case some animals had snuck in, or if there was a chance someone was home.

He made his way into a living room and found a massacre. It made sense now, the house wasn't abandoned. It’s owners were killed in cold blood, left to freeze and rot on their living room floor, “Dutch!” Arthur called, “We got some dead folk in here!”

There were a man and woman, probably married from all the pictures hanging about. The looked high class in nice clothes but covered in frozen blood. They didn’t die peacefully. It looked like they suffered. Dutch had walked into the house. When he saw the bodies he let out a sigh that expressed grief, “A shame,” he said, “Snows too deep for the wagon,” It didn’t take him long to get back to business, “Seeing as our hosts are no longer with us… I don’t think they’d mind if we stayed a little longer. Go check the other rooms, see if anyone else is home.”

Dutch had gotten to work and removing the dead while Arthur searched some more. He found the master bedroom with the biggest bed he ever saw and a bathtub right there in the god damn bedroom. Right across the hall was a smaller bedroom. Arthur pushed the door open and was greeted with heat. He instantly pulled out his gun and aimed it blindly in the room. There was a lantern, lit and flickering, there were cans of open food on the floor. He saw something moving behind the bed.

It was hard to make out what he was looking at, at first. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he found himself looking at a child. A girl. She made it very obvious where she was hiding and she was even staring back at Arthur. When he pointed his gun at her she screamed loudly as if she was about to die. Arthur quickly lowered his gun and move into the room, “No! No! It’s okay! I put it away!” He stuffed his gun into his holster and raised his hands up, “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The girl stayed in her place and let out a cry, “Go away!” She sounded sick. His voice was high pitched and stuffy. She coughed a few times then yelled again, “Get out!”

The commotion caused Dutch run over. He stood in the doorway and caused the girl to scream again. She picked up a stuffy animal she had and threw it at them. Dutch dogged the toy and shuffled into the room, “Miss! Calm down! We ain’t here to hurt you!”

“That’s what the other men said!” She threw another toy, this time it was a wooden horse and it hit Arthur square in the chest, “They killed my mom!” She cried out. Arthur got a good look at this girl. She was young but definitely not much younger than him, “They killed my dad! They just killed them for the fun of it! You came back to kill me too!”

Arthur took a few steps towards her, he was trying his best to not snap at her for all the toys she hit him with, “We ain’t those men,” He said slowly, “We saw what they did to your mama. We ain’t bad like them,”

She clutched tightly to a doll that looked like a princess. She took a few steps forward as she started to calm down, realizing she was in no immediate danger. She broke into a run and threw herself into Arthur’s arms and cried, “They killed them!” She sobbed, “What am I gonna do now, mister?”

Dutch put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gave a squeeze. He had this sad look on his eyes and he said, “You know what to do,” And walked away to finish taking care of the parents of this poor girl. Arthur held the girl as she cried and thought about Dutch’s words.

Because it’s the right thing to do.

He had to pry her away from him. She held on like it meant life or death. It was so bizarre because he was a total and complete stranger to this girl but she had gone from hating him to loving him in just a second. He could never see himself trusting someone so easily. Then again he wasn’t a child anymore.

“What’s your name, miss?”

She rubbed her eyes to clear away her tears, “(Y-y/n)… (L/n)…”

She sniffed hard and coughed a few times. She seemed to be really sick, “How old are you?” he kept a hand on her arm, lightly holding it but also to keep her from clinging to him again.

“12,” He voice was so sad and raspy. He felt sorry for her. She was only three years younger than him but he could already see the innocents she had was gone. He almost saw himself in her. He remembered when he was 12 years old. He cried a lot then too, “I’m scared, mister,”

“It’s alright, (Y/n),” Arthur stood and as he did she took his hand in hers. It caught him by surprise but he didn’t make her let go, “We’ll take care of you. My name is Arthur,”

As they left her bedroom and made their way into the open end of the house, the bodies were gone but the blood remained, “He’s Dutch,” Arthur pointed at his mentor who was digging around in the cabinets.

“Why?” She asked, “Why take care of me?”

He stopped his snooping and Dutch met up with (Y/n). He gave that heartfelt smile of his. It was soft and only half a smile but it carried so much weight behind it. For a killer and outlaw, Dutch smiled a lot, “Because… It’s the right thing to do. You’re just a kid and you won’t make it on your own. I’ve always wanted children but no woman would stay with me long enough,” He and Arthur laughed at that, “You’re a lot like my young friend here,” He gestured to Arthur, “I plucked him from the streets too. He ain’t had nobody until I came along,”

She shyly hid behind Arthur’s arm and said, “Are you guys going to send me to the orphanage?” He remembered the building all the low live hung around back in town.

Dutch shook his head quickly, “No,” He sounded so sure and his words stood as firm as he did, “Not unless you want to go.”

(Y/n) shook her head quickly and clutched harder onto Arthur’s hand, “I don’t want to,”

“Well then, hello Miss (L/n). It’s my pleasure to formally meet you. I am Dutch Van der Linde, at your service.”

#red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #red dead #red dead head canons #red dead 2 #rdr #rdr 2 #arthur morgan #athurmorgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur x reader #Young!arthur #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #x reader #reader insert #you #/ you #/ reader #arthur morgan/ reader #slow burn #friends to lovers #fan fic #chapter #four #pre game #pre gang #canon times #head canons #rdr head canons

[radiojamming]

Cody in the rdr2 world being a gremlin

i’ve been nesting on this one since i couldn’t figure out if cody would be in the law or an outlaw. now i know, and i also thing she would be a glorious thing to behold in the rdr2 universe.

also, cameo of a friend!!!

- - -

Arthur looks at the paper, at the faint line of Valentine street dust collecting in the crease, right down the middle of the girl’s face. Girl is probably not the right word. She’s a woman, around thirty-two by the bounty’s estimate, but she’s wide-eyed and grinning like a child in the photograph. It looks like a candid shot, as though someone caught her mid-boast.

The deputy clears his throat, and Arthur can hear him shifting his weight on the floorboards. “That’s, uh… Well, I don’t know if you’ve heard of her.”

“Can’t say I have,” Arthur says.

“Miss Oakley. She’s been somethin’ worse than a terror around here.”

Arthur hums in acknowledgement, but his eyes fix on disturbing the peace. Of course, there are charges for larceny, cattle rustling, train robbery, and attempted murder; but if Arthur knows anything about the life of an outlaw, disturbing the peace can have all sorts of interesting connotations. He’s earned that high honor quite a few times in his life.

The deputy goes on, “Came through here about, oh, five weeks ago or so. Feller at the saloon said she drank through a whole bottle of damn near embalming fluid, stole two bottles of prize whiskey, drank one while walkin’ down the street, stole some gentleman’s horse, and took off westerly ways beltin’ out somethin’ that’d make the dogs howl.”

“That all?” Arthur says jokingly.

The deputy doesn’t seem to think it’s all that funny. Arthur turns to look at him, only to find a morose expression twisting his face. “I’m afraid it ain’t.”

- - -

“Now sir, I know you said you were a gentleman, and I am completely prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt. But, well–” There’s a decisive click of a revolver being cocked. “What you said ain’t so gentlemanly.”

The man on the ground whimpers like a scolded dog, trying in vain to scoot back while tied up tighter than a caterpillar in a cocoon. He only gets as far as the back wall of the cabin, and to his right side is the massive bear of man that’s been accompanying his captor. A heavy hand settles on top of the gentleman’s head, suddenly twisting it to face the revolver.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you,” says her friend, his voice like stone scraping stone. “If she misses, you’re gonna be in a world of hurt.”

“I didn’t do anything,” the man pleads. His voice wheedles out of him like some backwater farmer playing a reed. “All I says to ya was–”

“Oh, please do repeat what you so kindly said!”

He pauses, swallows hard, and feels sweat snaking down his back. “Th-that I wondered if–”

“Go on.”

“If you was red down th–”

- - -

Arthur finds bits of the poor bastard’s brain on the back wall of a cabin, but the campfire outside’s gone cold, and the bootprints circle around like Miss Oakley was trying to construct a maze, doing sprints in every direction. He curses, gets back on the horse, and tries again.

- - -

“I want it.”

“No.”

“No, wait, I need it.”

“You need food, water, shelter, and half a brain. I think you’re missin’ one of those.”

“Ye of little faith!”

A sigh. “I think I’m the only thing keepin’ you intact.”

“Ain’t so. I was doin’ alright before you came along.”

Another sigh. He’s going to wheeze himself to death, but he doesn’t deign a reply except for a more emphatic, “No.”

“Says you.”

A pause.

A longer pause. Her horse isn’t moving.

“Stop looking at it.”

“I’m gonna go get it.”

“Cody! Jesus Christ, get back here!”

- - -

The general store owner in Strawberry whistles through his teeth and stares at the ceiling in thought. “Yeah, yeah I think I might’ve seen her. Nice gal, really pretty, got a baby raccoon with her.”

Arthur frowns. “A what?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I can’t say I ain’t seen weirder things, but that was definitely a baby raccoon. Named it somesuch, uh–”

He pinches the spot between his brows. “But you did see her.”

“Oh, sure! Came in here, what, about three days ago? With a big, tall feller. Head nearly touched the ceilin’.”

“They take anything?”

At this, the owner gets a smile like a proud entrepreneur, ready to extol the virtues of his ventures. “Not a bit! Paid for it all right fair and square. Lady with the raccoon said they were spendin’ a windfall of theirs.”

He thinks of the corpse in the cabin, blown to kingdom come by a woman who is coming across more like a Heartlands twister than a human being. “Thanks, sir,” he says as he puts his hat back on.

“Wait! You gonna buy anything ‘fore ya go? Fair’s fair!”

Arthur grumbles and digs around in his pocket for change.

- - -

“Oh, I got a son in Valentine! Took him on and made him mine! Big ol’ eyes and a nice ringed tail! Eats outta the mayor’s garbage pail!”

“I don’t think that’s how the song goes.”

They’re riding up through the Grizzlies now, the horses huffing and pressing on through the snow. Inside Cody’s satchel, Jean-Jacques happily gnaws on an oatcake. In a moment, he sticks his tiny paw out of a fold in the satchel until she hands him another cake and coos at him like he’s a newborn baby.

Her friend sighs, adjusting his hat on his head and minding the dark clouds forming on the ridges above. “That’s a damn raccoon. Ain’t a pet.”

“You’re right, ‘cause he’s our son.”

“Your son– No. No, I’m not even gonna talk about this with you.”

They ride on, minding the twists and turns in the path, while the clouds get heavier and bluer with an oncoming storm. Finally, Cody grunts and hands Jean-Jacques the last of the oatcakes before drawing part of her duster up over the satchel to protect him. “Probably should make camp, huh?”

“Find a cabin, more like it. We’d wake up in four feet of snow.”

“That bad?”

He nods.

“Ugh, fine. Better for Jean-Jacques, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes. “And us, by the way. I know we’re inconsequential.”

- - -

The snowstorm has nearly cleared every single track that Arthur’s been following. Pursuing them this high into the mountains while fully aware the weather was due to turn bad wasn’t the brightest idea, but a bounty’s a bounty. The wind kicks up plumes of snow, shrieks through the pass, and chills him right through the heaviest coat he owns. It’s like Colter all over again, and Arthur’s determined to kick himself as soon as he gets somewhere warm enough to thaw his legs out.

The scent of woodsmoke draws his attention, and he turns his horse towards it. He can’t rely on sight at this point, with the snow coming down as a solid white curtain, blanketing his vision. “Easy, girl,” he tells his horse, running his hand down her neck. “Not much further.”

It turns out he’s right, as the cabin comes into view, jutting out of the mountainside like it’s as natural as the trees around it. There’s a small stable built off its side, currently occupied by an enormous draft horse the color of a new penny, and a sleeker, darker Arabian. There’s just room enough to hitch his own horse, and he hopes whoever the occupants are of the cabin, they won’t mind the liberty he’s just taken.

Once she’s secure, he comes back around and stomps through the snow until he reaches the front door. Hesitation would only make him more cold and miserable, so he knocks twice. Waits. Waits.

The door opens, and there stands Miss Cody Oakley, Terror of Valentine, mother of raccoons.

She grins like he’s just given her the greatest gift in the world.

“Well,” she says, hands on her hips. Her auburn hair is in a braid running over her shoulder. “Was wonderin’ when you were gonna catch up.”

- - -

He’s staying the night with two hardened criminals.

That statement shouldn’t mean anything in his life. He lives at a camp with hardened criminals nearly every day on the calendar. He’s a hardened criminal.

But these two are in another, comparatively stranger league. That is to say, they’d fit in so well with the Van der Lindes that Arthur’s surprised that Dutch hasn’t snapped them up yet. Her friend is an ox of a man, apparently happy to sit in perfect silence and eerie stillness next to the fire that they’ve built up in the crumbling hearth. His eyes, however, stay locked on Arthur like a wolf sighting prey. As relaxed as he seems on the surface, Arthur gets the idea that if he wanted to, he could spring up and tackle Arthur in a second.

Cody, on the other hand, is all movement. She’s a flurry of copper-colored skirts, dancing from one end of the cabin to the other, pouring coffee into tin mugs, setting out a plate of biscuits, and then twirling over to where a tiny, tiny raccoon is curled up in a satchel on a chair, happily snoozing in the warmth. She leaves it another biscuit, next to its head like she’s a spirit of animal generosity. Then, she’s off dancing again.

“You get used to it,” her friend says, just as she presses a mug of coffee into his hands, kisses him on his scarred brow, and shimmies her way over to Arthur.

“Thanks, ma’am,” he hears himself saying to his bounty target.

“Of course, darlin’! Ain’t nothin’ but hospitality here!”

“Occasionally murder,” adds her friend.

She gapes at him like he’s said the most scandalous thing she’s ever heard. “No! Not to this gentleman! He’s been nothin’ but polite since we met him!”

“An hour ago.”

“Perfect amount of time to create and enforce an acquaintance. Mr. Arthur, sir, do you take sugar in your coffee?”

He blinks, then shakes his head, feeling a smile come to him faster than he can control. “No, ma’am. Thank you.”

“So sweet!” she exclaims, and then puts her hands on her hips and directs a pointed glare at her partner. “You could stand to learn from him, sir.”

“Duly noted,” he rasps.

- - -

Arthur leaves the next morning when the exact amount of the bounty in his satchel, happily provided by Miss Oakley and her moose of a counterpart, who just introduces himself as the Soldier. Arthur’s full of oatmeal, warm biscuits, and coffee, with a tin of oatcakes for himself and his horse. Cody sends him on his way with a kiss to the cheek, which fails to rouse the Soldier at all.

“Come hunt us any time,” she says, holding both of Arthur’s hands in her own. She’s got the callouses of a gunslinger, and he can’t ignore the powerful grip she has. This woman could choke the life out of him if she wanted to. Instead, she smiles, just as bright as the sunlight bouncing off the fresh snow. “We love the company!”

“You stickin’ around?” he asks.

She giggles. The scourge of New Hanover giggles like a schoolgirl. “God, no!” she exclaims. “I like my neck unbroken, thanks. Nah, you’ll find us.”

Another quick kiss, this time to the end of his nose. Then, Cody’s sashaying away through the snow, pausing only to draw her raccoon son out of his satchel enough to make him wave one of his tiny paws in a bon voyage gesture. Behind her, the Soldier rolls his eyes so far back in his head that he can probably see his own brain. After that though, he gives Arthur a short, curt wave, then puts an arm around Cody’s waist and kisses the top of her head before leading her back inside.

Arthur’s not sure what to make of it. He’s fairly certain that what he’s just experienced was a very vivid and long fever dream.

Even so, he heads back to Valentine, fully prepared to explain that Miss Cody Oakley successfully escaped justice. Too bad, condolences, we’ll do better next time, and all that. 

And he smiles the entire way back.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #oc: cody oakley #i lowkey ship them tho? #and yes! cameo! #who i also ship her with more! #prompt fill

[swlbarnes]

A New Home - Merlin x Reader

So I already post imagines on Wattpad and AO3 under the same name but since I hate myself I decided to post them here too. Here’s a little Merlin (BBC) x Reader for you guys! This was also posted to my AO3 account a while ago but I’m too lazy to write anything new now

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Your feet stomped painfully against the ground, and your heart felt as if it was pounding out of your chest. Your lungs were filled with fire and there was an aching pain in your side, but you refused to stop. You couldn't stop, especially not if they were still behind you. You couldn't be entirely sure whether they were still following you or not, but you would rather be safe than sorry.

You also couldn't be entirely sure how long you had been running, but you knew it had been a while. Perhaps a few hours? You knew your body couldn't handle much more, but you also knew that your body wouldn't be able to handle being burned at the stake. You wished you could cry, or scream, or do anything except for run, but you couldn't. Your throat burned too much to breathe properly, let alone scream. You had run out of tears to cry many miles back. Now all that you could do was run, run for your life and don't look back until you reach safety.

You burst out of the woods and came into a large grassy clearing. Your feet came skidding to a stop and your legs promptly collapsed underneath your body, leaving you in a quivering heap of cloth and limbs. Soon enough you felt the tears pricking at your eyes again, and you wanted to stand up and continue running, but your body refused. The best you could do now was curl up in the grass and hold your legs against your body in hopes that no one would find you any time soon.

Every crack of a branch or crunch of the leaves had your fingers twitching with the instinct to utilize your magic to its full potential. The familiar tingling in the palm of your hand was growing by the minute, and you kept forcing it down. It was magic that got you into this mess, and it would hardly be wise to use magic to get you out.

Minutes turned into hours, and soon night had fallen once more. The dim light of the full moon illuminated the clearing with just barely enough light for you to hobble to your feet and survey your surroundings. Your eyes widened in surprise as they settled on the looming structures in the distance. A grand stone castle kept watch over the buildings and forest lands below it. Your squinting eyes could barely make out the images of royal knights making their rounds to protect their kingdom, but you need not fret about your inability to see the emblem etched into their flowing red capes. You knew this to be none other than the kingdom of Camelot, ruled by the great Arthur Pendragon after his father Uther fell.

Your lips quirked upwards in the beginnings of a smile at this information. You had heard wonderful tales of King Arthur's never ending kindness and generosity, and you knew that Camelot was overall a fair and just kingdom. It was a well known fact that the use of sorcery was punishable by death, but that meant nothing to you now. You did not need magic to live. All you needed was a fresh start, and Camelot was as good of a place as any to get that. The only thing keeping your feet from moving forward, however, was the nagging reminder of the people you had left behind only a day or so before.

You were abandoned as a child after your parents realized that you possessed magic. They felt it unsafe to raise you in their own village because of the danger the other townsfolk would bring you, and thus they left you in the hands of the Druids. You were raised by the Druid people, and you spent so much time with them that you often thought of yourself as a Druid, though you were nothing of the sort. When Odin's men ransacked your quaint little corner of the forest in hopes of gaining more land for his kingdom, your adoptive family encouraged you to flee for your life.

You had heard quite wonderful things of King Arthur, but it came to a point that you realized his mercy had not been spent on the Druids. In his time as a prince he had been known as a great enemy of magic, and he had led attacks on peaceful Druid civilizations before. Could you truly live in a land and serve a king that held such a resentment against the people you grew to know as your family?

Part of your mind was pushing you to turn back into the forest and find someplace else to begin anew, but another part was reminding you that such an attempt was foolish and unnecessary. Where would you even go? You had no food, no water, and no means of protecting yourself aside from your magic, and you decided it best not to use your magic under the danger of execution. You had no where to go but forwards. No one to guide you but those you would soon meet. You had nothing, and perhaps continuing on would bring you something to hold on to.

With that thought in mind, you pushed your legs to begin shuffling forwards. You had lost your shoes long ago, so with each step came a sharp pain that shot all the way up your leg as the wounds on your feet came into contact with the ground. You were lucky to have found a river that ran towards Camelot for a good part of your journey so you did not leave a trail of blood behind you, but that fact did little to help your aching feet now. A gust of wind whirled around your body, causing a violent shudder to shake your entire frame. You could hear your teeth chattering together in the silence of the night, and all you wanted at that point was to mutter a quiet, "forebearnan," and relieve yourself of the chilly night air, but you refused to do so. No magic means no magic.

You were not sure at this point whether the shaking of your hands was due to the biting cold or the emptiness of your stomach, and truthfully you didn't care. The more you focused on your hardships, the more impossible they seemed to overcome. Instead you decided to set your sights back to the grandeur palace fitted perfectly to the horizon. It seemed as safe a place as any, and it looked far more secure than the bundle of trees you called home with the Druids.

You fell into a bit of a daze after that. Your thoughts circulated through different memories of your childhood and all of the wonderful things the Druids had done for you. Your body was practically on auto-pilot, so you didn't notice the pair of Knights riding up to you on their horses until one of their blades was pressed against the nape of your neck.

You sucked in a frightened breath as the cold metal pressed against your skin. Its brutally sharp edge threatened to slice into you with any slight movements you made. The pins-and-needles sensation returned to your hands with an overbearing ferocity, and it took everything in you to force your years of self defensive magic training into the back of your mind. You balled your hands into fists and squeezed them tightly before your knees buckled underneath you, forcing you to kneel. The sword traveled right along with you, much to your displeasure.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" A rough edged voice shouted. You winced at the man's tone. Growing up with the Druids was quite the peaceful upbringing, so this experience was a new one by far.

"M-My name is (Y/N), and I swear I mean you no harm," you managed to stutter out. Each word came out shakily, and your throat threatened to close up in fear.

The sword's force against your neck lessened ever so slightly. "What business have you in Camelot?"

"I was seeking refuge, Sir Knight. He killed them all, I had no where else to go!" You pleaded, squeezing your eyes shut.

Suddenly, the other knight spoke up. "Leon, let her up." The sword didn't budge. "Come on, what harm can she do? She can hardly remain standing, so I doubt she would be able to do any damage."

Finally, the blade was removed and you were able to breathe out a sigh of relief. Your once tense shoulders slumped in exhaustion, and your head followed suit in hanging tiredly. You slowly stood up on your shaky legs and turned to face the men.

One man had what seemed to be somewhat long reddish-brown hair, the same color as his beard. He held his sword at the ready, so you could only assume that this man was Sir Leon. The other man was muscular and tan, and his brown hair was styled into a buzz cut. He also seemed to have no sleeves to his armor, which seemed quite peculiar to you.

The man with the buzz cut gave you a soft smile. "I'm Sir Percival, and this is Sir Leon. Now, who is this man you are running from?"

You gave them both a quick nod before replying. "King Odin and his men. They ransacked our village and stole anything of value. My family, we refused to give them anything, and they began slaughtering us all. I fought as hard as I possibly could, but we are a poor people that cannot afford weapons of such high prestige. When I realized that... That my family was all gone... I fled." You peered up at the knights to find them both eyeing you sympathetically. Leon's sword was now sheathed, and you allowed yourself to relax further. "Please, Sir Knights. I wish only to live in peace. I have done no wrong, I swear to you."

The pair glanced at each other momentarily before Sir Percival extended his gloved hand towards you. You reached out and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull you up behind him on the horse's back. You wrapped a tentative arm around Percival's waist, only adding the second one when instructed to do so for your safety. He gave a quick nod to Leon, and you were off.

"So, (Y/N)," Leon spoke up a couple of minutes into your ride. "Would you prefer to go ahead and rest tonight, or would you like to speak with King Arthur now?"

Your heart began hammering in your chest, and your grip on Percival's armor tightened. "K-King Arthur? Sir Leon, I don't want to cause a fuss. There is no reason for me to speak with the King," you assured him with a feeble attempt at a confident voice. Percival chuckled.

"There's no need to be scared," the muscular knight informed you. "Arthur is nothing if not just. No harm will come to you. The only ones in danger at this point are King Odin and his men."

Leon laughed and grinned, nodding in agreement. "You should sleep for tonight. We'll bring you to the court physician then have Merlin bring you something to eat once you're settled in for the night."

You fell silent for the rest of the ride. As much as you appreciated their kindness, you knew you couldn't speak to the King. You had no doubts about his kindness, but you also knew that that kindness was often not extended to people of magic. Once he realized that the village that was attacked was one of the Druids, you would surely be executed.

Percival aided you in dismounting the horse as well. The men led you down the halls of the castle until you reached was you assumed to be the court physician's chambers. Sir Leon rapped his knuckles on the wooden door.

An old man with long white hair opened the door. He seemed to be in the process of making dinner, judging by the food laid out across one of the many tables inside. The room was rather large in reality, though the clutter on the tables and floor made it seem far smaller than it was. The scents of various herbs and tonics drifted into the halls.

"Gaius, she requires your assistance. She has been attacked by Odin and his army, and has been fleeing them for hours," Leon spoke up with a sense of urgency. Gaius's eyes scanned over your frame quickly before he stepped out of the way and hurriedly motioned you all inside.

Percival helped you to the bed and you laid across it with a light groan of pain. A violent shiver ran through your body once again, and Leon quickly tossed a blanket over you.

About halfway through Gaius's examination and treatment, a young black-haired man walked in. He donned a dark blue shirt with a red neckerchief around his neck, and a brown jacket to top it all off. As soon as his tired eyes landed on the scene in front of him, his face contorted in concern.

"What's going on?" He asked, tossing his jacket off to the side and scurrying over to join his friends. Gaius didn't even look up as he responded.

"Ah, Merlin! It's a good thing you're here. I need you to do something for me." The man continued to speak as he gave Merlin his instructions, but you didn't hear any of it. You were far too focused on the strange feeling stirring in your gut. It was... Magic. But from where?

You gazed in wonder at Merlin as he listened to Gaius's every word. Your thoughts floated back to the legends of Emrys you had been told as a child, as well as the far more recent stories that he was in Camelot. But there was no way that Merlin could be Emrys... Right?

You snapped out of your daze when Gaius applied some sort of cream to the torn soles of your feet. You hissed in pain as soon as the mixture touched your wounds, but Leon quickly reached out and grabbed your foot before your reflexes could retaliate. You sucked in a sharp breath.

"Sorry," you muttered in apology to Gaius, who simply gave you a quick smile before going back to work.

As Gaius finished his work, you allowed your mind and eyes to wander back to Merlin. There was no doubt that he carried strong magic with him, but the question was how. How could he work under the King of Camelot and possess such strong magic? This thought alone gave you hope that you, too, could survive and live happily in this new kingdom.

Around an hour and a half later, you were patched up as best as you could be and you had retired to your chambers. The room was fairly small, yet elegant and impressive nonetheless. The bed sheets were softer than anything you had felt in your life, and you couldn't help but sprawl out on the large bed like a starfish. A content sigh passed your lips, but soon you scrunched your eyebrows in confusion. You could sense magic somewhere close by, and it was drawing nearer.

A soft knock sounded at your door, causing you to quickly scramble off of the bed and smooth out your nightgown you had borrowed from one of the servants. "(Y/N)?" Merlin's voice called out from the other side of the door. "It's Merlin. I have some food for you, if you'd like it?"

At the mention of food, you rushed towards the door and flung it open. You were met by a surprised Merlin holding a silver tray. The scents coming from the tray filled your nose, and it took everything in you to keep from snatching it away then and there.

Merlin smiled and stepped into your room, placing the tray down on your table and getting everything set up for you. You were entranced by the look of complete concentration on his face, and the small smile that played on his lips sent your stomach into a frenzy. The scent of the different fresh foods he was setting out drew you closer as your mouth began to water.

"I hope you're comfortable in here," he commented on a friendly manner. He flashed you a quick smile as he peered up from his work. "If you need anything, just ask for me. I'll be happy to help."

You smiled pleasantly at him and nodded your head. "Thank you, Merlin."

A beat of silence followed your words as he finished setting up your dinner. He motioned for you to sit down, to which you happily obliged and began to slowly eat. He started to walk out of the room, when a word mindlessly passed your lips.

"Emrys..." You whispered softly. Merlin froze in place, his jaw dropping open in shock. Every muscle in his body was tensed, and your own eyes widened as you realized what you had done. "M-Merlin, I-" you tried to speak, but you stopped abruptly as the man whirled around to face you.

"Where did you hear that name?" He asked you in an urgent whisper. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you peered uncertainly up at his intense gaze. His eyes burned into you, and you wanted more than anything to get up and run down the halls, away from this situation.

You averted your eyes from him. "M-My family, they told me the stories of Emrys. They told me how he'll bring peace and unity to Albion, and they told me how he's the greatest sorcerer to ever live."

You refused to meet Merlin's gaze in fear of seeing the same fiery expression you had seen before. He tucked a finger under your chin and tilted your head up so you were forced to look at him. Your muscles relaxed ever so slightly as you were met with a pair of far softer eyes than you had encountered before.

"(Y/N), are you a Druid?" He asked you softly, his eyes scanning over your face as if he would find the answers to all of his questions etched into your skin. You shook your head in response.

"No," you replied, "but I was raised by the Druids." He remained silent, so you decided to continue. "When my birth parents realized that I had magic, they knew that they couldn't raise me safely, so they left me in the hands of the Druids. They're the only family I've ever known. They taught me everything I know."

Merlin blinked at your for a moment before he decided to pull out a chair and take a seat at the table. "So, they taught you magic?"

You chuckled and shook your head again. "I learned it from an old man on the outskirts of my village. I was only a child, so I didn't know that what he was teaching me was dangerous for me to possess. I haven't seen him in... Years. I know he taught me with the best intentions, but he never did explain the dangers of his teachings." You scratched your fingernail lightly over the wooden surface of the table, tracing the patterns of the wood.

Merlin smiled giddily as he sat up straight in his seat. "Well, I'm glad to have you here. It's been difficult keeping it a secret to everyone I meet. Be careful, though: magic is punishable by death, and I fear Arthur will go through with the punishment if you reveal yourself too early," he warned you, placing a careful hand on your shoulder. You smiled down at his hand.

"Of course, thank you Merlin. I have faith that you can change that soon. You alone can bring peace and equality to Albion. We will be free soon, I just know it," you proclaimed proudly, causing Merlin to chuckle lightly.

"I'm trying, but when the king is an utter clot pole, it's a bit difficult."

At this you let out a pleased laugh. "I don't doubt that for a moment."

"Speaking of Arthur," Merlin transitioned smoothly. "You can't tell him about the Druids. You know that, right?" He peered into your eyes with an intense and serious gaze. You swallowed carefully and nodded.

"I know. I know of the dangers of possessing magic in Camelot. The king seems like a kind man, but I fear his judgement is clouded when it comes to people of magic. His father's hatred consumes him," you muttered softly, turning your gaze to the food in front of you. You pulled off a bit of bread from the roll on your plate and popped it into your mouth.

Merlin turned his eyes downwards as well. "He isn't a bad man," he assured you. "He's really quite a great king, god forbid he ever heard me saying that, but he still lives in the shadow of Uther. He isn't his father, so please don't treat him like such."

A small smile graced your lips as you realized how much Merlin cared for the king. You glanced up at him and tilted your head to the side. "Of course, Merlin. Besides, in Uther's kingdom I wouldn't have been shown this much kindness. In fact, I would probably be dead by now." A soft chuckle passed your lips, and you let out a sigh of relief as Merlin also began to chuckle.

"I suppose you're right," he agreed with a nod of his head. You pushed the plate towards him a bit in an effort to not seem selfish, but you quickly snatched it back when he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "What are you going to tell Arthur tomorrow?"

You shrugged and popped a grape into your mouth. "Same thing I told the Knights, I guess," you replied simply. "I'll tell him that my village was attacked by King Odin and his men, and that I barely escaped with my life. Besides, it's not a lie. That's what truly happened, but I just won't tell him that my village consisted of Druids."

Merlin turned to you with a concerned gaze. "Are you not worried he'll learn the truth?" He asked warily. You peered back at him with a serious gaze, one that made him squirm a bit in discomfort.

"Are you?"

At your words, he pursed his lips and let out a huff. You finished eating and bid each other farewell, all the while with you hoping you had not lost his trust with your snappy remark. He left out the door with your now empty plates and allowed you to collapse onto the bed once more. You weren't sure what the morning would bring, and truthfully, you could not care less. All you wanted at that point was to rest. May God be with anyone that tried to disturb you from that.

You awoke the next morning to the sound of a door slamming. You jumped slightly from gut instinct, but soon enough your groggy limbs collapsed once more, allowing you to sink into the soft bed beneath you.

"Wakey wakey! Rise and shine!" Merlin's accent filled your ears with a cheery tone. You let out a load groan and grabbed the nearest pillow, pressing it against your ears. Merlin rolled his eyes and opened the curtains to allow the sun's burning rays to stream through. An annoyed grunt uttered in your throat and you chucked another pillow sitting nearby at the serving boy. He ducked easily and smirked. "You're almost as bad as Arthur in the mornings. Now, come on! The king is ready to meet with you!" He urged you to get out of bed, finally settling for grabbing the sheets and yanking them away from you.

"Hey!" You shouted, leaping up and trying to take your blankets back. He simply shook his head and tossed them onto the floor behind him with a satisfied grin.

"Good morning to you too," he joked. You huffed and rolled out of bed, being careful not to put too much pressure on your right foot. The bottom of your foot had been severely infected, and Gaius had warned you not to make it any worse. You couldn't promise anything, but you would at least try to listen for a day or so.

Merlin raised an eyebrow as he watched you hobble towards the wardrobe, which had been stocked with Lady Morgana's old clothing by the queen for you to wear for now. "You know," he began, "you could fix that quite easily with magic."

You sighed and nodded as you sifted through the various dress choices you had. "I know, but I can't do that. If I do, then everyone would only be more suspicious of me. If my foot suddenly healed, what would everyone think?"

Merlin smiled in approval. "Good to know you're being careful. You passed the test." You let out a light laugh. Of course he was testing you. "But really, none of the Knights are suspicious of you. In fact, they all feel quite bad for you. They've been buttering the king up all morning to keep him in a good mood for when you see him. They're all trying their best to keep you safe."

A soft smile rested on your lips, and you tossed him a glance over your shoulder. "Really? Is that true?"

He nodded with a smile. "Of course. Now, I'll let you get ready. Don't be too long!"

You waved to him as he left your chambers and began getting ready for the day. It was strange to be getting dressed into such upscale clothing. The dress you chose was an elegant (Y/F/C) dress that reached the floor. It had a gorgeous belt of jewels around the waist, and the sleeves reached around three fourths down your arm. You had no makeup of any kind in your room, so you decided that the king could deal with your bare face. Your hands worked carefully as you fixed your hair up into a mediocre up-do.

You took a step outside of your chambers and peered down the hallway. You quickly spotted the retreating back of a knight making his way down the halls, so you stepped all the way into the hall.

"Sir knight?" You called out to him. He immediately stopped and whirled around to face you, his shoulder length chestnut hair swishing in perfect unison with his cape.

His brown eyes filled with realization and he made his way over to you in a few long strides. He cast you a dashing smirk. "You must be the lovely (Y/N) I've heard so much about. I must say, you are somehow far more beautiful than I pictured you."

You fought the blush off of your cheeks and instead shot him an award winning grin. "I dread to think of how you pictured me before," you joked lightheartedly, causing the knight to chuckle.

He offered you his arm, which you gladly took. "My name is Gwaine, it's wonderful to meet you. I assume you're ready for your audience with the king?"

You gave Gwaine a nod. "I hope I'm not causing any trouble, Sir Gwaine."

He smiled and shook his head. "Of course not. Arthur would skin us all if he figured out that we allowed this to happen to you without doing anything in retaliation."

You sighed softly. "That's exactly what I'm afraid of," you admitted quietly. Gwaine furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"And why is that?"

"I just... I wish the violence between the kingdoms would end. Is there not already enough pain in this world? Why must we create more through war and battles?" You pointed out with a vague shrug of your shoulders. You didn't notice the proud grin on the knight's face as he looked down at you.

"You're going to fit in here quite nicely. I assume you've met Merlin?" He asked, turning his eyes ahead with the smile still present on his face. You nodded, knowing he saw you out of the corner of his eye.

"I have," you replied with a light laugh. "He really is quite the character. A bit of a mystery, from what I've seen so far."

Gwaine nodded quickly in agreement. "For sure! The boy, he's a wonderful man indeed, but he's a bit peculiar. In a good way of course, but peculiar. Arthur would never admit it, but we all know that Merlin is always one step ahead of everything. Not only that, but there's something about him that just makes you wonder who he truly is." The knight turned to you as you reached a set of doors and smiled. "Ah, well I guess we may never know. Merlin is Merlin, and hopefully that never changes. Are you ready?"

You were so caught up in your thoughts of last night's conversation with the young sorcerer that you almost forgot where you had been walking towards. Your eyes widened as they flickered from Gwaine to the set of doors. Gwaine, seeing your hesitation, placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

"You'll be fine, don't worry. Arthur might be a princess, but he's also fair and kind. Don't tell him I said that, though- don't want his ego growing any bigger than it already is." He cast you a sly wink before turning and opening the doors. You wiped the amused grin from your face as the doors opened into the large throne room. You swallowed the lump in your throat and stepped forwards, following Sir Gwaine.

"King Arthur," Gwaine called out the the young king sitting at the other end of the room. The man looked up at the knight and flashed a quick smile.

"Gwaine, it's good to see you didn't drink too much at the tavern," the king greeted teasingly. Gwaine chuckled and shuffled to the side to reveal your form behind him.

"This is (Y/N), as you requested her presence," the knight introduced you with a wave of his hand in your direction. Arthur's eyes focused on you and he nodded.

"I trust you slept well last night, yes?" The king wondered aloud, his questioning tone directed towards you.

"Yes, sire. Quite well indeed. I am eternally grateful for your kindness," you thanked him with a bow of your head.

"It was nothing, truly. If you would please, tell me what happened," he requested.

Your eyes glanced quickly around the room. Knights stood on either side of you, each one with a pleasant smile on their face as they looked at you. Leon and Percival flashed you a reassuring smile, each one nodding their head a bit to urge you on. Gaius stood to the right side of the room, his hands clasped together in front of him. He, too, was giving you a soft smile. Finally, your eyes reached Merlin, stood directly beside Gaius. He had hardly changed his outfit, you finally noticed, his neckerchief and shirt only having switched colors. He smiled as well, and even added in two thumbs up to keep you encouraged. A soft smile graced your lips at this, and you turned your attention back to the king.

You retold your tale to him, making sure to keep all references to the Druids and magic out of it. No one in the room dared speak while you were speaking, and Arthur began to lean forward about halfway through. His eyebrows furrowed together and he nodded every so often, a sign that told you that you were doing well.

Your words were cut off as you reached the point in your story that you had to flee. Your throat closed up momentarily as tears fought their way into your eyes. Your hands began to shake and you quickly clasped them together to keep them still. You tried as best you could to regain your composure and continue on, but it had just truly hit you that you were alone. Your family was gone. Your home was demolished. Everyone you knew was... Dead.

Before you could register anything that was happening, a pair of arms wrapped themselves around you. You happily turned and buried your face in the blue neckerchief you were met with, tugging Merlin closer to you as you wept. Gwaine placed a hand on your arm in reassurance, and Leon and Percival both stepped forward to console you as well.

When you finally regained your composure and turned towards the king, you were met with his pair of sympathetic eyes. Merlin's hand still grasped your own, and he squeezed it lightly. You wiped the tears from under your eyes and began to speak again, but quickly halted when the king raised a hand.

"I don't need to hear anymore. (Y/N), you have been deeply wronged, and I know you have lost much. I welcome you to stay in Camelot. You may serve under Queen Guinevere as her servant. I'm sure she would be delighted to have you." You smiled, and Arthur immediately  smiled back.

"Oh, thank you, my lord! I owe you my life, truly. Thank you all!" You cried joyously. Leon pulled you into a tight hug as he laughed happily.

"Welcome to Camelot!" He cheered.

You were met with a chorus of welcoming voices and an unceasing amount of hugs. Gwaine leaned down and pressed a kiss to your cheek, causing you to blush. You felt Merlin's grip on your hand tighten, and only then did you realize that you were still holding his hand. You finally turned to the warlock and smiled at him.

"Thank you, Merlin. Truly. I don't know how I could ever repay you," you spoke gratefully. He chuckled and smiled happily at you.

"Well, I have an idea," he began. You tilted your head in confusion. Seeing this, he leaned forward and explained, "You could have dinner with me."

Your eyes widened, but soon a smile spread across your face. "I think that's doable."

He grinned and tugged you closer to him and wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. You could hear the Knights muttering excitedly behind you.

"I told you they were perfect for each other!" Percival claimed in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Pshh," dismissed Gwaine. "You might have said it, but I made it happen! Did you see how jealous he got after I kissed her on the cheek?" He boasted proudly. Leon let out a chuckle.

"Well, I found her, so technically I did all of this," he pointed out.

"But you also almost drove a sword through her."

Merlin huffed. "I'll drive a sword through all of you if you don't shut up," he warned, not letting go of your embrace. You laughed and buried your bright red face in the sorcerer's chest.

Yes, you had lost your family and your home, but that didn't mean you were alone. Perhaps good can, in fact, come from the bad. It was without doubt that you would feel the loss of your family for a great time to come, but you didn't have to get through it alone. You had found a new home, with people who cared. You were hardly going to give that up very easily.

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin x reader #female reader #merlin x female reader #colin morgan #merlin imagine #imagine #what am i doing #stop me #worrying means queue suffer twice