#outlaw's bluff

[dailyadventureprompts]

Adventure: A Tumult in Towerford

The baron repeatedly asked the populace to bear with him through this difficult time. The malcontents took him up on the offer.

Whether through natural good fortune or some long forgotten work of magic, the lands around town of Towerford and the ancient elven spire at its center are famed far and wide for their bountiful game. In recent years, the town’s ruler, Baron Lozin Blotzco has attempted to reserve these lands for the exclusive use of the nobility, hoping to turn the bounty of his holdings into political influence. This has caused a clash with a section of the populace who’ve made their living hunting, trapping, and foraging within the woods for generations. These supposed “Poachers” have suffered increasingly steep fines, punishments, and even imprisonment as the Baron’s grip has tightened, creating a bone deep resentment that threatens to boil over just as the party stroll into town.

Adventure Hooks: 

In hopes of turning the wilderness into a place where nobles can course as they please the baron has posted several hefty bounties for various monsters throughout the region which has attracted the party and several other slayer bands. While some of these are quite run of the mill, others involve driving off otherwise peaceful inhuman denizens or culling predators in a way that any sensible hunter would know poses a risk to the environment. The party are likely to get heckled by the locals should they take one of these contracts, letting them know there’s more going on here than a simple payout.

Sometime after returning to town the party is caught in the public square as a hanging is about to commence. The old huntress Yilri Splitbough was one of the first accused of poaching, and ever since has been in and out of the baron’s cells as she flouts his laws on principle alone. Many consider her to be the unofficial leader of the malcontents, and the baron has decided to make an example out of her in the hopes of putting an end to all this rabblerousing. A last minute rescue attempt is made by the forest folk, but is obstructed by the baron’s guards, meaning the old huntress will likely die if the party does not intercede. If they do, it’s very likely that they’ll end up outlaws, but perhaps that’s worth it to do the right thing.

Early in the adventure the party will make the acquaintance of Countess Etoria of Ashfield, one of the many nobles Blotzco was hoping to win favour with and the first to accept his invitation. Charming, capable, and vivacious the countess and her hunting party might help the party out of a particularly nasty encounter in the wilderness, then treat them to drinks back in town to hear about their perspective on what’s going on. She’s a good friend to have, and a potential patron for future adventures.

Background: Constructed by a long faded elven court, the great spire which stands at the centre of Towerford is but the last of a series of constructions made to guard the river approach to the sylvan realm. While the rest of the spires have crumbled over time or become havens for unfriendly things, the towerford construction has lasted into the modern day primarily because of the non-elven population that took over the upkeep after the original owners moved on to unseen lands.

Located at the join of two rivers, the town is a minor trading hub for the region, specalizing in lumber and furs from the forest as well as leather goods and stone quarried from the nearby bluffs. While not as exciting as jewels or spices, these staples ensure a healthy stream of merchants in and out of Towerford all year round, making it a good place for adventurers to seek out while looking to pick up work or listen for some rumours.

Further Adventures:

Things escalate a week or so after the execution when the poachers ( with the help of a dryad who recognizes the risk to her forest) manage to sneak a direbear into his quarters several dozen stories up the spire. Knowing from allies within the towns craftspeople that the Baron is refurbishing his quarters in preparation for entertaining guests of a higher station, the poachers use a little fey trickery to polymorph the bear into an exact replica of a fancy chair and let the Baron’s own servants walk it past the guards. The party may hear about this account after the fact and be called upon to do something about the unbearable beast rampaging through the upper halls of the spire, though for added laughs consider the fun of having an outlaw party captured and dragged before the baron to awnser for their crimes, only to be suddenly faced with the dilemma of whether or not to rescue their enemy from a savage mauling or leave him behind as a distraction.

 After the Baron’s unexpected mauling Etoria will step up to take charge all smiles and understanding... atleast until her troops march on and occupy the town. The countess really has no issue with the poachers and sees reason in their plight, but their murder of one of the nobility provides the perfect excuse for her to lay claim to the area under the guise of putting down “rebels”. Once her men have found a few scapegoats and mounted their heads on pikes 

Unrelated to everything going on down below, it’s said that a group of elven mystics dwell at the top of the tower, having chosen to stay behind while their kinsfolk left, guarding some secret or contemplating some hidden truth. Seeking the advice of these sages could provide an excuse for why the party needed to visit Towerford in the first place.

#Forest #river #low level #settlement #outlaw #bandits #druid #fey #Assassin #monster hunt #patron #noble #politics #jailbreak #Dungeons and Dragons #d&d

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 9: A Friendly Game of Poker

Summary:  You agree to a game of strip poker with Sean, earning you some time with your favorite outlaw and leading to a major turning point in your relationship.

Warnings:  Swearing & language

A/N:  This one kind of got away from me a bit. The words just kept coming and coming! But there’s a lot of good stuff in here (I think) and it does lead to a shift in the dynamic, with more drama coming 

*This lovely image is not mine, but belongs to @queerhaw. check ‘em out!

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

"I thought you and Karen had something going?" you challenge back at Sean. He has been all wound-up for the last half hour with his attempt at flirtation with you again as a group of you sit around the fire after dinner as evening starts to settle in. His latest suggestion is a game of strip poker. Sean is always the trickster and quick to tease and joke, which is probably why he and Karen get-on so well together in the first place. But she never seems to mind him carrying-on with you, as she knows there's nothing behind it. Sean may be a flirt, but it is obvious where his heart really lies.

"We do!" exclaims Sean. "But there's always room for one more. Maybe we can make it a 'love triangle'," he winks at you suggestively.

This causes you to wrinkle your nose and furrow your brow at how ludicrous the idea is more than it is offensive to you. "Oh please, you can barely handle the one woman you sort of have, why confuse and disappoint another?" you reply with an air of exasperation. Your comment causes a snort of laughter to erupt out of Arthur who is sitting a few feet from you with a beer bottle in his hand.

"Baaaa" Sean waves you off. "You don't know what you're missin', Miss (Y/L/N)." He comes back at you with an impish grin as he nudges you with his elbow.

You look over at the slight-statured, red-haired man sitting next to you, thinking over how you want to handle this. Sean can be annoying, but he really is no threat to you. In fact, the two of you are pretty good friends. ”Alright, then" you finally say after a few moments of silence. Sean looks at you in confusion, not really sure to what you're inferring to. "If it will shut you up once and for all on the subject, then fine. Let’s play the game. I'm up for a little poker." And you abruptly stand up, looking down at him, and wait for Sean to do the same. Sean's eyes go wide in disbelief. "You are?" he asks incredulously, not expecting you to have called his bluff. Your only response is a single nod and slight grin. "If you win, I’ll bare it all," you spread your arms out as if to display yourself. "But if I win, you have to do all my work for Ms. Grimshaw.” You throw the stakes out there for Sean to consider, waiting for his answer with your arms crossed over your chest. Your fellow gang members let out a collective chatter, anxiously waiting to see what will happen next.

Sean gets a big shit-eating grin on his young face as he quickly stands up as well, bouncing his weight a bit in a swagger. “Sounds like a deal to me!” and he reaches out and shakes your hand to seal the deal.

"Fine, let's go," you counter with a bit of cockiness in your voice, motioning to the nearest table to begin the card game. Sean leads the way with the rest of the those who have gathered following him.  

“Y/N!” Arthur whispers sharply, grabbing your arm and abruptly pulling you aside before you can make your way to the table to join Sean. “You gone crazy?! You don’t have to do this," he warns you, his eyes intense as he stands over you, putting himself between you and Sean and that table. His body language is as if he is trying to either block or protect you from this game from happening.  

“Yes I do,” you confirm. The group already thinks that you don’t quite fit in. Its a given that you'll be left behind for any job outside the camp, and you've even earned the nickname "princess" from Micah and Bill. You feel that you need to assert yourself, showing the gang that you can be just as tough as them and hold your own. The job that Dutch and Hosea took you on a few days ago went amazingly well, earning you some respect among them and giving you a bit more confidence in yourself as well. "I feel like a misfit among misfits here, Arthur. Do you know what that feels like?" you plead.

"Yeah, actually I do," says Arthur exasperatedly. "But I ain't about to get naked in front of everyone over it!" He waives his hand in annoyance before planting both hands on his hips as he stares you down like a parent reprimanding a child.

"No, you just run yourself broken, that's all," you challenge back sarcastically, meeting his glare with your own.

"Come on! We doin' this or what?" hollers Sean from the table, trying to get your attention from Arthur.

Sighing slightly in resignation, you soften your tone. "It'll be fine, Arthur. What's the worst that can happen? So Sean sees me naked," you throw your hands up as if in defeat already. "I won't die," you shake your head at him, walking away.

"Maybe you won't," Arthur mutters to himself under his breath as he turns to follow after you.  

You walk towards the table where Sean is anxiously waiting for you, and suddenly you stomach fills with knots. You are actually pretty confident in your poker skills, but the reality of the idea has finally hit you that someone may see you without your clothes on. Its been a long time since you've allowed a man to see you bare, and even then, it wasn't a display like this could be. Fully clothed, you know how to present yourself, but naked as a baby, that's something else entirely. You've always been self-conscious of your body, afraid of what men would think of it. You know that there are women who are heavier or more plain than you, but there are also women who are far more beautiful, too. Some even here in camp. And deep down, when you mull over the trepidation in your chest, you realize that you really don't care what Sean thinks about your body. Its Arthur's opinion that concerns you.

But you have to push that anxiety and self-doubt aside for the task at hand if you're going to win at this. Poker is about confidence and steel resolve. You lift your chin a bit in determination as you reach the chair opposite Sean at the table where he is already seated, but halt before sitting down, your hands folded gracefully on the chair's back. “OK Sean, before we start, let's get something straight right now. I will do this. I will play your little game," you speak slowly and low to be sure you have his attention. "But if I even suspect you of cheating, I’ll have Arthur break every bone in your God damn hands. Do I make myself clear?” you point your finger at him, your voice stern and serious, indicating that you are not joking.

“Just say the word, Darlin’”, says Arthur as he lights a cigarette, taking his place to sit behind you.

“Of course”, Sean says with that same impish grin, spreading his arms wide to protest his innocence.

“And when he’s done, I’ll let Bill bat you around with his big ol' bear paws,” your eyes never wavering from Sean's as if to threaten. And with the mention of his name, Bill steps up protectively behind you as well, crossing his massive arms over his chest, staring down at the little man who is about half his size.

"You got nuthin' ta worry 'bout, (Y/N)! I'll be a right and proper gentleman," reassures Sean. "Uh,huh...sure," you reply with an eye roll. "Alight, let's do this, then," you say as you reach over and nab Bill's hat off his head and place it on your own.

You lower yourself to your seat across the table from Sean, both exchanging a glance in acceptance like a non-verbal handshake. He shuffles the cards, then hands them to you to cut before returning them to him to deal the first hand. But what Sean doesn’t realize is that you have an uncanny memory. You remember almost everything you see and hear. This is how your father had been able to teach you medicine from such an early age. So you are a natural at poker as you can count and keep track of the cards. A slight smug smile creeps across your lips as you remind yourself of this. But you can only hope that its enough to save you. Your mouth got your ass into this situation, so hopefully your head can save it now, too. You are playing against an outlaw, after all.

The game goes on for over an hour. Each hand that you win is another hour of time Sean owes Ms. Grimshaw. Each hand that Sean wins costs you another article of clothing. The other gang members have all gathered around you at this point, all interested for one reason or another. The girls find you as their "champion", while the men are hoping for a show. Arthur is simply waiting to see if he needs to step in for any reason. He loves this newly embolden side of you. But the thought of someone else getting to see what he secretly has been hoping could be only for him someday puts an imaginary knife into his stomach.

As time goes on, you eventually sit with your bare feet propped up on the table, skirt gone, your legs stretched and showcased as you confidently lean back. All you have left is your white button-down shirt on and Bill's hat that you nabbed at the beginning of the game. But you are calm and collected, showing no signs of concern.

Finally, it gets to, what appears to be, the last hand. Sean starts to fidget excitedly and lays down his cards. Before you, laying on the table are four 8's, "four-of-a-kind". “Will you look at what I have here? Ain’t that a pretty sight?!" exclaims Sean, full of bravado and swagger. "Although not as pretty as the sight that’s coming! Ain’t nothing much going to beat that, Miss Y/L/N!” A huge smile erupts from his lips as he smacks his hand down on the table in triumph. A symphony of "oooo's" and "ahhhh's" float throughout the small crowd that has gathered around the two of you. Off to the side Micah's face turns with a satisfied and hungry grin as a chuckle escapes his mustached lips.

You calmly look at the cards spread out on the table, a smirk of your own beginning to creep across your face. “You’re right, Sean. Ain’t nothing much going to beat that,” you say slowly, your voice dripping with honey. Sean loses some of his swagger, as he’s now noticing that you are not as upset as you probably should be and narrows his eyes a bit at you in confusion. You fluidly lower your feet to the ground, allowing you to sit up fully to the table now. You meet his gaze and slowly lay your cards down. “Except maybe a royal flush.” And your fingers slowly pull back from the waxy cards to reveal the image of the Ace, King, Queen, Jack and 10 of diamonds.

"Holy shit," whispers Arthur in shock from somewhere behind you. And there is a loud cheer of excitement that erupts from the on-lookers around you as the challenge is now complete.

“No fucking way!” Sean shouts in disbelief. You smile sweetly, keeping your gloating gaze on Sean as you lift your hand up to Bill as he helps you stand to your feet. “Hmm, I do believe I just won me some time off. Ms. Grimshaw will be so delighted to have a strong man at her disposal," you chuckle, admittedly rubbing it in just a little.

“There’s no fucking way!" Sean shouts again, slamming his hands on the table. “You cheated! You had to have!” he accuses, pointing his finger at you.

The smile instantly drops from your face, as your tone suddenly becomes serious once more. “I am a great many things, Mr. McGuire," you say cautiously, "But a liar, I most certainly am not. You’d do well to remember that.” Your eyebrows lift slightly, threateningly. Sean instantly recoils with a sulk, knowing, and finally admitting, that he's been beat. You sigh deeply then, changing your tone yet again. “Well, I'd better get myself to bed. I have three days of absolutely nothing to do and I need my rest," you gloat. "Good night, all," you say with a twinkled smile, scanning over the group of people. (Its at this time that you notice a few people exchanging money of their own. Apparently a few wagers were made on this little event.) You smile sweetly in thanks at Bill as you place his hat back on his head for him, before reaching down to gather your clothing.

"Good night, Arthur," you say softly as you walk past him. "'night," he grins as he watches you out of the corner of his eye as you saunter off towards your tent, a confident sway to your hips. When you get to your tent, you step inside and quickly pull the opening flaps shut. Turning around in your tent, you let out a shuttered exhale, covering your mouth with your hands, which are still shaking in shock. “I can't believe I just pulled that off,” you laugh to yourself incredulously.

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The next morning allows you to sleep-in a bit since you do not have to be up right away for chores. A self-satisfied grin crosses your face at the thought of that. You stretch your arms and legs while lying on your bedroll like a cat rolling in a sunbeam, languidly pulling back the warm blanket to sit up. You take your time in getting yourself dressed, as there is no rush to get to work before Ms. Grimshaw's hollering starts. You hum to yourself contently as you casually run your fingers through your hair to comb it out before placing a ribbon there to tame your locks. You slowly wash your face with the basin of water you keep in your tent, relishing the feeling of the cool water as it refreshes your skin.

Eventually, when you feel that you've lingered in the quiet privacy of your tent long enough, you make your way out and over to the wagon to get yourself a cup of coffee and a hunk of bread that was made yesterday. You are greeted with nods of approval and looks of respect from the others as you make your way over to the fire to have your breakfast.

"Good Morning, Everyone," you say sweetly as you sit at the fire where Arthur, John and Javier are already seated and you are greeted with a wave of "Mornin'" in return. You sit contently, listening to the conversation between your companions as you gingerly sip your piping-hot coffee. A satisfied smile comes to your face as you look down at the cup and realize that it must be a fresh pot. 'This day is getting better and better by the minute', you think to yourself. Eventually, Javier looks over at you. "So, what are you going to do today, (Y/N), now that you have all this time to yourself?" He playfully swats at your leg from where he is sits next to you. He looks at you with interest as he picks up an apple and begins to cut into it with his knife, popping a slice of the fruit into his mouth.

"I'm not really sure," you say thoughtfully. "I would like to get out of camp, though. You want to go hunting or something with me, Javi?"

Javier thinks on your proposal for a minute. "You know, Hermosa, I can’t. Too busy today. But I think Arthur is free," a sly smile creeps across his hawk-like face as he nods towards Arthur.

"Oh, really?" you look over at Arthur, pleasantly surprised. "I thought you had a scout or something today?" you question Arthur.

Arthur sits up a bit straighter, slightly choking on his coffee, as he is caught off-guard at the sudden change in the conversation. "Yeah, uh...I do...but uh..." he stammers at being put on the spot. Arthur does have a job to do today, but he'd also love the opportunity to spend time alone with you, too. He's quickly trying to figure out in his head how he can accomplish both.

"Turns out I'm going out on that one, Y/N", Javier interrupts when he sees Arthur struggling to answer. "That's why I can't go out with you, like I said. But Arthur might be able to go," he pushes again.

"Well, what do you say, Arthur? Think you can spare some time for me today?" your eyes, full of hope, turn on him. The look on your face says it all; like a child asking for a special treat. Arthur can't ever seem to say "no" to you, and the idea of spending an entire day, uninterrupted and alone together, is just too good to pass up. "Sure, OK. I think we can arrange that," Arthur says clearing his throat, trying to keep his cool and not sound too eager as he swipes his hand across his lap to brush away the imaginary dust there, trying to act oh-so nonchalant. Your excitement is apparent on your face as you beam with enthusiasm. "Oh my gosh, thank you, Arthur! I can't wait!!" your hands clasped together tightly against your chest. "Alright, then, we should get movin'. No sense burnin' daylight," he suggests. He happily watches you squeal with excitement as you hop up from you chair. "Give me a minute to run back to my tent to grab my boots instead of these shoes, and I'll met you by the horses, yeah?" Arthur simply nods in acknowledgement to you as he slowly stands up as well.

As you go bouncing off excitedly towards your tent, Arthur gives a slow, content sigh as he turns to head towards the the hitching posts. "Hey," Javier calls over to Arthur, giving him a smile and a wink. “You owe me one, Brother”.  Arthur rolls his eyes at his friend. "Yeah, yeah..." and waves him off.

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Despite sleeping in, it is still fairly earlier in the morning when you and Arthur ride out of camp. You don't have any plans for your new-found time off, so you decide to start with a hunt. You didn't think you'd take to hunting as much as you have, but the quiet ride out in the beautiful and untamed landscape is just so appealing. And you really are quite good at it. You had bragged about it to Dutch and Ms. Grimshaw when you first arrived at the camp, hoping to seem useful to them, and you have only proved it to be true since then.

The new area that your group has recently moved to offers a lush and peaceful countryside. There are plenty of trees and rivers to provide an ample food supply, but also an escape from the strain and tension of living on the run as wanted outlaws. And today, much to your relief, is no different. The seasons are starting to turn now, changing from the hot days of summer to the crisp evenings of autumn. The sun is still bright and shinning, now with the golden tones that only the fall can bring, but the desperate heat is no longer present, making the trekking in the woods so much more pleasant and enjoyable.

You and Arthur haven't been out too long when you come across a flock of pheasant. You quickly manage to pick off a handful of them, making quick work of cleaning them to bring home. You laugh to yourself at how something as trivial as pheasant is so exciting to you. But the thought of having something for dinner other than stew has you ecstatic.

With the meat cleaned and packed up, you and Arthur wander to sit down under a giant oak tree to relax in the shade. You let your horses amble about, grazing on the thick grass, perfectly content and happy. As usual, the two of you fall into easy conversation, your connection always an effortless function.

Sipping on the cool water from your canteen, your eyes scan the scenery. "While we're out here, I need to watch for some feverfew plants," you say absentmindedly. Arthur gives you a puzzled look, not really sure what you are talking about. "Feverfew," you repeat. "It helps with headaches. Hosea said its out here somewhere, but I’ve yet been able to find it. It kind of looks like a daisy, has a citrus fragrance to it."  "Right," is all he can say in response, with no idea what you are talking about.

You smile and shake your head at the man. You wonder sometimes what he must think of you. The things that Arthur has to concern himself with as Dutch Van Der Linde's right-hand are so much more complicated and dangerous than looking for some silly herb in the grass somewhere. It dawns on you how ridiculous you must seem to such a man, but yet he still does his best to at least pretend to give a damn about whatever foolish topic you tend to ramble on about. Little do you know, Arthur loves these odd little conversations with you. Its a relief to talk about something that won't end up with him getting shot at, and he thinks its adorable that you want to discuss such things with him of all people.

"What do you do when you're out here all of the time, anyway?" you ask, clearing your throat to change the subject as you cross your legs under you and lean out with your elbows on your knees.

"Scouting, looking for advantages. Gotta know what's around and where we can go in a moment's notice should somethin' go south," Arthur's reply is simple, as he lights a cigarette while he shifts his weight, getting comfortable sitting on the ground in the soft, lush grass.  

"So smart," you tell him, shaking your head a little, impressed with his ever diligent attention to the gang's well-being.

Arthur just rolls his eyes at you. "Oh yeah, I’m a real genius," he says with biting sarcasm. "If I were that smart I wouldn’t be runnin' with my head ducked down all of the time." He takes his hat off his head and sets it down next to him, running his hand through his hair a few times, making sure its neat. The breeze in the air feels good against his scalp and further relaxes him.

"Or, you’d be dead by now if you weren’t," you counter with a grin, to which you only receive a simple, unassuming shrug from him. You look from Arthur to your hands as they play with the thick, green blades of grass in front of you, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you try to muscle up the courage to push your luck to dig a little deeper with your conversation. You and Arthur have always gotten along well, and lately it seems like things may be turning a corner for the better. There seems to be a different feel in the air between you two and you are curious just how far you can take this.

"So tell me," you ask hesitantly as you casually pick grass. "How is it that you don't have a woman in your life?"

You try not to look directly at Arthur to avoid making him uncomfortable, but watch him carefully out of the corner of your eye. You observe him as he inhales deeply before he answers you. "Eh, no one would have me," he offers dismissively.  

"I find that hard to believe," you huff slightly in disbelief, narrowing your eyes at him slightly.

Arthur just shrugs again at what he feels is a given. "I ain’t much to look at."

"Says who?" you challenge back, not letting him get off that easy. (Truth be told, you've often heard his self-depreciating remarks and you really hate it. How can he be so hard on himself?) "For what it’s worth, I don't like men who are prettier than me," you joke throwing the bits of grass you've been playing with at him now.  

Arthur gives you a mock-annoyed look, swatting the grass pieces away before casting his eyes away and out over the landscape again. "I know how a mirror works," he mumbles lowly.

"Do you?" you raise your eyebrow at him. "I mean, I know they can be tricky and all," you tease.

"Jesus, is your sarcasm a whole other personality?" he huffs turning his gaze back to you now.

"Sorry," you say sheepishly, trying to reel yourself in. "My mother always told me my mouth would get me in trouble."

Arthur pauses for a few moments. "What happened to her, anyway? Your mother, I mean. If you don't mind me askin' o'course," he asks, his voice kind and now reflecting the same curiosity about you that you just had with him.

"She died when I was young. Pneumonia. I was about 9 years old. That's when my father started teaching me medicine, actually. I didn't do well with her death. I had a hard time wrapping my mind around the whole "God's will" thing as a child. So rather than trying to push it, he figured it would be easier for me if I understood how she died." Your tone changes to sweet sadness as you remember your parents. They seem like such a far-off echo in your brain now, so far removed from your daily life as it has currently turned into. You pull your knees up to your chest and wrap your arms around them, setting your chin on your knee, as if hugging them to yourself. Arthur loves this posture when you do it; so innocent and somehow elegant at the same time, the way you fold yourself up.

Clearing your throat, you try to change the subject back to him if you can, seeing a window of opportunity to learn a bit more about his past, if he'll let you, that is. "So, if no one would ever have you, who is with you in that photo I saw in your tent?" you ask, trying to take advantage of this opportune moment.

You watch Arthur's face drop a bit, his eyes getting a bit vacant as he recalls a distant memory. "That would be Mary," he says slowly. He looks over at you and notes the concern on your face when you see the pain in his eyes resurfacing at the remembrance of this woman and all that she meant to him. But fortunately, he doesn't see you as prying, but as someone who genuinely wants to know him. He has forgotten what it is like to have someone be concerned about his innermost thoughts and emotions.

And then something amazing happens:  Arthur takes another deep breath and proceeds to open up and tell you all about what happened between him and Mary Gillis. He unburdens his soul to you, like a waterfall that cannot be held back. You sit motionless, listening to him speak, astounded not only by the story that he is telling you, but that he is entrusting you with it, exposing his heart to you so unguardedly.

"I don't know...I guess we were just not meant to be," Arthur finally concludes, a worn sadness still lingering in his heart after all of these years.  

"Hmm", you hum thoughtfully, a little grin set upon your face as you digest the information that he has just conveyed to you. "How very 'Romeo and Juliet'."

"Who?"

"Shakespeare"

"Oh," he waves it off, not knowing who you are speaking of, as great British literature was not something that was high on his priority list of life-lessons growing up.

"Its a famous story of two people from opposite sides, never meant to ever meet, let alone fall in love," you explain. You dreamily look up at the tree under which you are sitting, observing its beautiful branches and leaves that decorate your vision with thousands of dots of color as the sun's rays dance through them.

"What happened to them?" Arthur asks curiously.

"They died," you reply, dropping your eyes from the tree to look at Arthur now, realizing how sad the story really is, now that you have some real-life perspective on it.  

"Figures," he huffs, pulling out another cigarette and placing it between his lips.  

You chuckle as you lay down, back flat in the grass, as you fold your arm behind your head like a pillow, but turn about so that you can still face Arthur as you speak. "Sometime we expect too much of others because it’s what we would do for them," you say. "It doesn’t mean that they’re bad people. Most relationships seem to fail because one person loved the other too much and the other person didn’t love the other enough in return. But in your case, it sounds like she just wasn’t the one for you," you offer this insight with a caring smile for him.

"Yeah, I wasn’t good enough for her," admits Arthur with a furrowed brow. "Wasn’t good enough, smart enough, rich enough, just...not enough." And he shakes his head sadly as he accepts this as if it were fact.  

But you shake your own head in disagreement. "It sounds to me like maybe it wasn't a question of "not being enough", but that you were just too different. Maybe you weren’t what she needed," you suggest.

"What the hell is the difference," he retorts, slightly annoyed at the idea that there is now something else that he was not good enough for.

"Take your revolver, for example," you say waving at the piece on Arthur's hip, as you roll over onto your side now, propping yourself up on your elbow. "It’s a fine gun, probably your favorite piece, even. You never go anywhere without it, right? But you don’t go hunting with it. For hunting, which is something that you do for your very survival, mind you, you need that rifle of yours. You need your rifle, not your revolver, in that crucial situation, despite your love for that revolver." You give him a moment to let that sink in, as he drops his gaze to his boots, processing the metaphor that you've presented to him. "And lets be honest," you continue, "she clearly wasn’t what you needed, either. If she was, you’d be sitting here with her and not me." And you raise your eyebrow to accent your point. "If you’re with the right person, you don’t have to work hard to be happy. It just happens," you say simply.

Arthur's furrowed eyes, that were following your rationale as you've been speaking, eventually widen in astonishment, as if something that has eluded him for the longest time has finally become so clear in his mind. "I never thought of it like that," his voice soft and contemplative.

"Maybe someday, you'll find that happiness and good life that you seek," you offer him hopefully.  

Arthur is quiet for a moment, his head swirling, blown away by your simple assessment for one of the most painful thorns plaguing his mind. He's debating about whether he should go on. Now that he's started to expose his heart to you, he cannot seem to stop. "I had a chance at happiness and a good life once, you know. But I lost that." He rubs his thumb and forefinger along his chin. "Tried to do what I thought was best, but still managed to screw that up, too," he says tentatively, not sure how you are going to handle what he is about to tell you next.

"What do you mean?" you ask.

And it is now that Arthur conveys to you his best-kept secret:  Eliza & Issac.

You slowly sit up from where you are still laying in the grass as Arthur tells you yet another tale from his past. This time, a tragic story of his attempt at finding happiness, something for himself. A story of a sweet girl and the beautiful child that they had together, only for both to be brutally and cruelly taken from him. Yet another life-mocking stab into his heart. As you listen with wide eyes, everything about him suddenly becomes very clear to you. All of his self-loathing stems from his interactions with these two women, both Mary and Eliza. And of course the tragic loss of his son. "Ohhhh, that’s why you’re all over John's ass all the time, isn’t it?" you ask, understanding Arthur's resentment of John's carelessness with an opportunity that Arthur lost and would give anything to have again.

"I'm not all over him all the time!" he snaps defensively to you. You raise a questioning eyebrow at him. "OK, I’m all over John for a lot of reasons," he huffs, throwing his hand up in frustration.

"You’re such a big brother", you giggle and he scowls at this. "That’s a compliment, you know," you reassure him.

Arthur has already told you in previous conversations about his childhood and how he came to be found by Dutch and Hosea. And now with this new information about love and life lost, egos and social classes, Arthur's horrible self-image makes more sense to you. And it occurs to you that you are not sure what touches your heart more, the stories themselves that Arthur is telling you, or the idea that he trusts you enough to confide them to you, complete with his opinions and feelings about them.

"One of the hardest things to do in life is to let go of what you thought was real," you say with sympathy and understanding, as you know a little bit about that yourself.

"I had a chance, a chance at something good," he says with a disappointed shake of his head, his eyes cast down to his boots again. "But I was too blind to see it before."

You lean forward to try to catch his gaze and hold it. "But if you can see now, Arthur, then you're not blind anymore. Some may consider that a miracle."  

Arthur looks into your face once more. He just can't get over you. You are so kind, so compassionate. Your words and actions wash over him like a tidal wave, overwhelming and drowning him, yet lifting him up at the same time. He just cannot believe that someone like you exists in this harsh world, let alone resigns themselves to his company. You could be anywhere and do anything, yet here you are, more than content to sit here under this particular tree, in the grass and dirt, with the likes of him.

“Can I ask you something personal?" he finally asks tentatively.

"Sure, I think its only fair at this point," you admit with a chuckle.

"How come you ain't married?” His eyes squint slightly at you, doubtingly, as if you are are too good to be true.

You freeze for a moment, holding his gaze as you shift a bit uncomfortably in the grass. “Oh, that’s a long story,” you look down at your hands, embarrassed.

“We’ve got all day, remember?" Arthur digs, spreading his arms wide at the expanse of the day. "Come on, I told you about my embarrassing past," he reminds you. And he's got you there.  

You sigh in resignation, giving him a phony "stink-eye" stare. “Actually, I was engaged, once upon a time. To a very promising young man, I’ll have you know, Mr. Morgan" you say in a false hoity-toity accent.  

"Oh, well la-dee-da," he teases as he lays back propped up on his elbow. "Well, now I gotta hear this story."

"His name was David Hawthorne. Oh, he was handsome, charming, rich...the most eligible bachelor in the city. His father was a doctor, a colleague of my own father's actually. So he was being groomed to be a great doctor just like them." You shake your head at the memory of it. "All the girls wanted to be on David's arm."

"So what happened, then?" Arthur asks, pushing for more juicy details, pulling out yet another cigarette to place between his lips as he digs for his matches.

Sighing, you narrow your eyes at him yet again before begrudgingly continuing. "It was our engagement party. Everyone in high-standing was there. It was being held at the Hawthorne's estate and no expense was spared. The music was playing, champagne was flowing...it was to be a beautiful night. My father was so proud," you think back fondly. "You see, he was so nervous after my mother died about how he was going to raise a child on his own, let alone a girl. But now, not only had he done it and managed to get me married-off, but to the most coveted young man in society." You roll your eyes at the ridiculousness of it all. "Anyway, about halfway through the party, I noticed that I couldn't find David anywhere. I walked about the crowd of people, greeting the guests and mingling, but couldn't find him anywhere." You shrug your hands up, re-enacting your confusion from your memory. "He was already pretty drunk the last I saw of him, so I figured he went upstairs to either change or lie down a bit and sleep off the liquor. So I went upstairs to his rooms to see if I could find him."

"Rooms?" Arthur interrupts. "As in, he had more than one?" raising his eyebrow skeptically.

"Oh yes," you reach over and put your hand on Arthur's wrist in emphasis. "I told you, they had money. The manor was so large that David had his own wing of rooms. Anyway, once I got to the second level, I started to look for him, checking the rooms and hallways. I came to his master bedroom and that is where I found him. Passed out cold...naked...and in the arms of my best friend."

"No!" Arthur exclaims in surprise.

"Yep" you confirm slowly with a nod and cheeky smile.

"Damn...So you called off the engagement, huh?"

"Oh, if only it were that simple," you muse, as you take another deep breath before continuing. "At that point, I think I actually lost my mind for a moment. I proceeded to carefully walk over and wrap the two of them up in the blanket, and then I bound their hands and feet with the cord I took down from the curtains on the wall. I walked over and grabbed the broom from the fireplace... and proceeded to beat the hell out of them both with it."

"Holy shit!" Arthur chuckles. "So I guess that did it?"

"Oh, but there's more," you raise your hand at him. "David and Clare woke up, of course, screaming and hollering, coupled with my own screaming about what a sack of shit he was. All of which was clearly heard by everyone at the party below us, by the way. Once I knew they were awake and fully aware of what was happening, I quickly made my way back to the top of the main staircase, where I promptly announced at the top of my lungs to everyone in attendance of the party that the engagement between myself and Mr. David Hawthorne was effectively over, due to the fact that he was a lying, cheating, son-of-a-bitch, and thanked everyone for coming. 'You are all welcome to stay and enjoy yourselves, but I will be leaving this shithole immediately!'" And you bow your head with a flourish of your hand as if you've completed a grand stage performance.

"Well, I guess if you’re gonna walk through hell, act like you own the place, right?" laughs Arthur, taking another long drag on his cigarette. "So I guess they didn't look on that too kindly, then?"

"No. No, they did not," you smile in confirmation. "And it only gets worse from there."

"Of course it does," says Arthur amused.

"You see, I knew that my actions were going to be looked down upon. But what I did not fully comprehend was the repercussions that my little temper tantrum would bring. I was, of course, ousted from any inner social circles. For a brief moment, I thought my fellow women would sympathize with me, but they did not. But I didn't care too much, to be honest. I never really did fit in too well, anyway," you say dismissively. "But, I did not think about the impact it would have on my father. For not only was I ousted, but he as well."

At this point, your face becomes darker as the course of your story turns more painful. "My father lost his position at the university where he was teaching. They 'no longer needed his services'. And not long after that, he was let go from the hospital that he helped to build, as well. The board claimed that the scandal did not present a good image for the hospital. But David's father was on the board, so you know he was behind that. With my father out of work, and both of us looked upon as social pariah, we were lost. Until finally, one of my father's friends contacted him about a position with the Missouri Pacific Railroad. His brother worked for the railroad and they needed a doctor to coordinate and run the mobile hospitals that were popping up along the new rail system as they built it. So we sold our house and all belongings, and headed out west to Rosewood. And you know the rest from there..."

"Huh..." responds Arthur, blown away by your story. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). That's a real shame,” shaking his head slightly and turning sympathetic eyes to you.

"Yeah, it is," you nod, quiet for a few moments. "God, I was so angry," you blurt out suddenly. "I actually thought that I was going to get a happy ending, you know? But that's when I realized that 'happily ever after' is only in those books that Mary-Beth reads," your mouth twists up in annoyance at how ridiculous this whole thing sounds. "It’s a horrible feeling to be unimportant to the people who are most important to you."

Arthur suddenly realizes that your just summed up his current mental status in that very statement. "It’s like you can read my mind," his eyes meet yours with a knowing twinkle.

"If I could read what goes through your mind, Arthur, I think I’d cry," you reply with a slight snort of sarcasm, the joke pulling you out of your slight melancholy now.

"Ain’t that the truth," he agrees with an eye roll of his own as he shifts again where he's sitting, stretching his legs a bit before folding the one underneath himself again.

"Looking back, I'm not sure why David picked me," you continue. "Maybe it was the chase. (I was probably the only girl who wasn't running after him all the time, knowing full well that he was beyond my station in life.) Or maybe its because I got "birthin' hips" to produce lots of children," you joke as you slap the side of your thighs with your hands. You shake your head at the wonder of it. You fold your legs under you and lean on your elbows, drawing your hands up to rest under your chin. "Doesn't matter now, anyhow. I know now that I didn’t love him, either," you admit. "I guess all I wanted was to feel special, to feel chosen, you know?"

"Yeah," laments Arthur. "I know what you mean."

"I could have had the beautiful house, the clothes, jewels...I just had to look the other way and smile while my husband fucked every girl that struck his fancy. But I just couldn't bring myself to do that. I sometimes wonder if my father would still be alive right now. If I hadn't made such a scene, he wouldn't have lost everything that he worked so hard for. Maybe he wouldn't have had to take a job with the railroad, ending up in Rosewood. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten killed,” you say softly, looking down at the grass again.  

"You can't blame yourself for what happened, (Y/N)," Arthur warns sternly, his voice suddenly changing tone. "What happened to your father, or to you for that matter, wasn't your fault."

"Hmm...maybe," now you turn your eyes over the landscape in front of you, just as Arthur had when it was his turn to reveal his story. "But, what's done is done," you sigh sadly, both of you sitting quietly for a moment. "And besides, if I hadn't done all of that, I wouldn't have met you, right?" you give him a quick slight grin.

Arthur can’t get over what a wonderful time he is having with you. He is comfortable, content, even...happy. When in the hell was the last time he felt happy? It’s a beautiful thing to find someone who asks for nothing of you other than just your company.

"Alright, let's change the subject to something a bit more cheerful," you say abruptly, shaking off the weight of the ugliness of the past for both of you. "If you could go anywhere and do anything, Arthur, what would you do?" you pose, sitting up tall and square to him now, pinning him down with an expectant look.

"What do you mean?" he asks, confused to your meaning, giving you a side-eye glance.

"Congratulations, Arthur Morgan, you’ve been pardoned!" you sing loudly and raise your arms over your head as if in celebration. "A clean slate, no bounty on your head, no warrants for your arrest. And, no more gang commitments, either," you point at him to further your premise. "You’re free to go and do as you please," you say, extending your arm and waving your hand as if showing him the path laid out in front of him. "Where do we go?" you cock your head to the side in curiosity.

“We?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. That smallest detail from your proposal did not escape his attention. And now its his turn to look to you with curiosity.

"Sorry, that was rather presumptuous of me, wasn't it," you back-peddle, feeling your face blush, heat rising from your neck to your hairline as his gaze lingers on you.

Arthur turns his head and looks out over the landscape again, his blue eyes squinting as if trying to recall some all-too distant memory. He inhales deeply and exhales just as deep in return, thinking on his words and steadying himself before he releases them to the world. This type of thing is something that he may write about in his journal, but never talks about with anyone. "I always pictured a little cabin in the mountains somewhere. Nothin' too fancy. By a river or lake so I can fish whenever I want, a fire always goin' in the fireplace. Maybe raisin' some horses. Sittin' on the porch of that cabin, drinkin' coffee in the early mornin', and watchin' the mist burn off with the sunrise every day." Arthur's voice trails off and his gaze goes vacant as if he can see it pictured way off in his mind's eye. A look of peacefulness settles over his stern face as his whole body relaxes at just the mere thought of something so lovely and perfect to call his own.  

You're smile drops a little as you realize as you watch him so intently that he isn’t just telling you about something that he wants, but he's actually telling you his dream. "That sounds like heaven," you say quietly as if you are afraid of scaring the dream away like a skiddish little rabbit about to bolt as your approach it.

The sound of your voice snaps Arthur out of his reverie and back into the harsh reality that he's living as he clears his throat. "Yeah, that’s why I’ll never have it," he shrugs at you in defeat. "Men like me don’t get to go to heaven, not even heaven here on earth." He gives you a small, sad smile.

"Well, we’ll have to work on that then, won’t we?" you promise.

-------------------------

Your three days off are up and you are back to work like the rest of the gang at this point. Sean, despite his pouting, paid his debt and subjected himself to Ms. Grimshaw's mercy as promised. Granted, he was easily distracted working next to Karen, but it was nothing that a slap upside the head by Grimshaw didn't take care of. You and Arthur got to spend that whole first day together and it was wonderful. It was quiet and fun, with no interruptions or drama. The two of you just sat under that big oak tree for hours and talked about all kinds of things. You usually get-on well as it is, and have spent many nights by the fire or rides out talking about anything that comes to mind. But this time it was different. You shared deep thoughts and personal dreams; past lives and future hopes. It was as if you and Arthur connected on a whole new level that day. There was nothing unseemly or paltry about it, either. The two of you just genuinely, and innocently, enjoyed one another.  

The day after your afternoon with Arthur, he had left camp, saying he had some errand to run. While you missed his presence, it was nothing unusual for him to do; he's always running around for someone or something. So to fill your time over the next two days, you had sat with Javier and sang and played music, went tracking with Charles, played dominoes with Hosea, and took some much needed rest in the shade, reading your latest book.

When Arthur comes riding back to camp, he looks around like a man on a mission of great importance. His tired eyes search for you and instantly brighten at the sight. A grin quickly spreads across his bearded stubble as he approaches you where you are back to work in your med-tent. His thumb and forefinger curl around his cigarette that he brings to his lips in anticipation. As he gets closer, he eagerly watches your movements, even though you are simply stirring a small pot with an herbal tea in it. "Hey you," Arthur calls to you with your usual greeting for each other.

"Hey you," you smile happily back at him. Once your own eyes settle on him as well, a feeling of comfort settles over you. Its a feeling that you haven't had since you were last in each other's presence. You didn't realize just how much you missed the man until he was back and standing in front of you again.

"Got something for ya," he says with a grin as he places his cigarette between his slightly-chapped lips to free up his hands to dig into his satchel.

"Let me guess," you interrupt, holding up your hands to prevent him from speaking anymore. He halts in his movements and gives you a confused look. "You've been out this whole time and you brought me $10,000," you say with a cheeky smile, pointing a finger at him like you just solved a major crime.

"Woman, if I had $10,000, I wouldn’t be hanging round here!" he says with fake exasperation and a wave of his hand, tilting his head as if you should know better.

You offer a gasp as if greatly offended, your hand coming up to your chest. "What?! You’d go and leave me here?" you challenge.

"Now, why would I want to take you with me? You’re kind of a pain in the ass," he asks dryly, teasing you as he arches an eyebrow while drawing on his cigarette.

"Because," you giggle at your own playfulness, "Be that as it may, Mr. Morgan, but out of everyone else here, I’m the one you like the best." You give him a smug and confident look.

Arthur points at you with his cigarette between his fingers again while blowing smoke out his nose. "Now, that is an accurate statement. OK, fine," he concedes as he shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "If get ahold of $10,000, I’ll take you with me. Happy?"

"That’s more like it," you reply satisfied. "So, what do you have for me, then?" you remind him, your large doe-eyes looking up at him expectantly as you change the subject.

"Hmm?" Arthur is so caught up in your banter, fixated on you, that he forgot the whole reason he came over to talk to you to begin with. "Oh...here." He carefully takes a bundle of cloth out of his satchel, unwrapping it before he hands it to you. Nestled in his large, rough hands, sitting in a bed of white cotton, is a beautiful flower. Its the herb that you've been looking for; the one that you had talked about when you were out together the other day.

The smug smile slowly melts from you lips in astonishment. "Is that what I think it is?" you ask him softly, as you gingerly take the plant from his hands and carefully into your own.

"Depends…what do you think it is?" he asks uneasily. "I remember you talkin’ ‘bout it the other day, tried to remember what it would look like. Either way, when I came across it, I thought it was pretty enough."

"Yeah? Pretty enough for what?" you ask distractedly while poking the delicate petals with your finger tip as you examine it.

"Pretty enough for you.” Arthur peers up at you from under the brim of this hat and smiles. His blue eyes have a touch of merriment to them, causing the color to pop in contrast against the tanned skin, the faint wrinkled lines around them crinkling a bit more.  

You pull your gaze from the bud in your hand when you realize what is it that Arthur has just said to you and look up at him, a smile growing larger by the second. He loves your smile, has since the day he met you. It sticks in his brain, something that he's tucked away to savor for sweet respite to offer him comfort when he's alone. "You know, you may not use your words too much, Arthur, but when you do...it’s always the right ones."

The two of you stand there briefly, grinning at each other like a couple of idiots, until the moment is lost due to an unfortuitous interruption. "Ugh, I figured I'd find you over here." You reluctantly turn from each other to see Micah Bell sauntering over. He never fails to be at the wrong place at the wrong time to say the wrong thing. "Dutch has a job for you and me, Arthur. So if you're done playing with the lady, here, we got work to do." Arthur doesn't move or say anything to Micah, still standing stoically as if it would take a team of horses to pull him away right now. "Come on, let’s go," Micah whines as he waves his arm to try to usher Arthur into motion before he himself walks away. You and Arthur both silently watch Micah as he walks away before Arthur sighs in disappointment, turning his attention back to you.

"Duty calls", you giggle. Arthur rolls his eyes, but doesn't complain, and slowly makes his way to follow Micah. Your eyes follow after him a moment, before you look down at the flower in your hand. When you do, you don’t see Arthur look over his shoulder back at you. He smiles to himself as he sees you happily cradle the flower in your hand.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x f!reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan fluff

[fujii-draws]

Guilt.

[Dadnoir fic I did. Title is pretty self explanatory]

———

Even after the Eevee and Riolu evolved into their respective forms… it did not change the fact that Dusknoir worried over the two.

He had always felt a need to protect both Ribbons and Aimilios. Sure they’ve conquered great things, greater than Dusknoir could have ever achieved… but those same achievements left huge targets on their backs, being one of Pokémon’s saviors and all; having many, many, run-ins with despicable Pokémon, looking to harm them. The two always assured him that they’d be fine, but it did very little to quell the ghost type’s fear of them getting seriously injured or harmed.

…Today was another day for Dusknoir; running his usual errands in Treasure town. It had originally been community service for his actions back then, but now he’s grown a certain fondness for helping other pokemon like he once did. Meanwhile Grovyle and Celebi were continuing to explore the past; with Ribbons and Aimilios doing their respective jobs. While Dusknoir occasionally offers to join the two; the Lucario and Sylveon politely declined his offer today.

After finishing his errands, Dusknoir went back to Sharpedo Bluff; hovering towards a near haystack. The ghost type floats down and sits on it, having need for a little bit of peace after the work he put in. Maybe he would take a nap; or perhaps read a book…? He fondly remembers a memory of when he read books to Aimilios back when he was just a Riolu pup.

He remembers just how enamored he was taking in all of the book’s contents while his little ruby eyes sparkled. Small excited barks would escape his mouth as he pointed at specific paragraphs, practically begging Dusknoir to emphasize on certain details that entranced the aura Pokémon- …Dusknoir could not but help but smile at those memories. Their mutual love for books and exploring had always been a joyful bonding experience for the two. Aimilios’s eagerness to learn was something Dusknoir always admired and loved about him…

“…” He shakes his head. He’s supposed to be resting. They’re both fine. They’re fine.

“Alright… perhaps…” He puts his finger under his chin, continuing to ponder possible ideas on what he should do with his free time. Maybe he could go to Spinda’s..! The Pokémon there are… Well- Dusknoir shouldn’t really use the word “Welcoming” when referring to himself... “Tolerant” seemed more fitting. Besides that, the drinks at the Cafè were simply divine. Drinkable beverages were an heavenly change of pace than the Inedible food of the future. You’d be considered lucky to find any Grimey food there. Thank Arcues those times have past…

Dusknoir slowly finds himself chuckling, recalling another memory. This time it was of Ribbons. He’s reminded of a time where she was drinking her Gray Gummi smoothie, when he told her a joke… He remembers the Eevee snorting- smoothie spraying from her nose. She held her snout with the both of her paws, in-which, despite in pain- was still laughing. Dusknoir himself had stared at the brown fox before processing the whole ordeal… before erupting with laughter; his stomach jaw unhinged. Her laugh had always been infectious, aswell as her unbridled whimsy.

“……….”

…Where were those two…?

Being left alone with his thoughts, his mind couldn’t help but constantly wander back to the Lucario and Sylveon. It was starting to get late. An orange evening glow begun to pierce through the maw of the Sharpedo… How many hours had it been since they left…?

“What if they got hurt…?” Dusknoir begins to think “What if they didn’t have any escape orbs on them…? What if one of the outlaws—“

Dusknoir held his hand under his eye, his pupil shrinking as the intrusive thoughts kept coming and coming… He knows he’s thinking irrationally. He knows those two are capable of keeping themselves and eachother safe….. but the intrusive thoughts would not stop. It really never was a surprise as to why he worried about those two. Ever since the first time he had met and saved them in Amp Plains, his need to protect the two had become instinct at that point. Seeing those two being harassed by those teenage Pokémon awoke something in the black specter… A feeling he thought he had lost a long time ago from his time in the future… compassion.

….But after Amp plains; his mind wanders to the beach- A smile slowly crept on his face when he realized who they were. He even had the gall to feign having a “friendship” with them. Dusknoir remembers just how happy those two looked when he considered them to be his friends- Confiding and looking for guidance from him- how much they trusted him. Looking back at it now makes something in his chest hurt.

…Then his mind wanders to Crystal lake; knowing he could’ve had one less target if he had let Grovyle kill Aimilios… but his body moved faster than his mind could; emotions overwhelming Dusknoir as he rushed in to save the riolu out of pure adrenaline and fear-

…To the end of the day. That day. When he.. he…

…

…..Guilt.

That was another reason.

How many other monsters were out there? Monsters like him? Who could take advantage of them, and do the same damage he’d done? If not worse? He knew what he did to them- how he stabbed both of them in the back… They were children. Mere children. And he was ready to take their lives all for the sake of self preservation.

Things have finally healed between the three. Ribbons and Aimilios even beginning to refer to him as “dad” a couple of months ago, and as much joy as he felt when they did… he was wracked with guilt… So much guilt.

Grovyle and Celebi often comfort Dusknoir during those times. He’s still not sure how he’s managed to find two wonderful partners. It felt too good to be true for someone who’s done so many horrible things.

He doesn’t deserve this.

He doesn’t deserve any of this.

Forgiveness for his actions?

Pokémon who care about him?

…

His chest hurts even more.

“Maybe.” He wonders. “Maybe he would’ve been better off dead. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back.”

…He didn’t deserve to come back.

He should’ve disappeared.

…

…How much time had past…? The ghost type hears two familiar sounding Pokémon calling out his name, in worry no less, but why?-

…

His face feels wet.

(…Oh.)

He runs his hand over his eye, wiping the black tears running down his face while he was spiraling.

(Oh.)

Ribbons and Aimilios waste almost no time rushing to his side; the Sylveon wiping his tears with one of her ribbon-like feelers; gently wrapping the other 2 around his arm. Aimilios’s bands on his head begin to float, sensing Dusknoir’s aura for the cause of distress as Ribbons’ with her feelers.

“…Ah.” The Sylveon and Lucario perk up, looking up at the ghost type’s pained expression in unison. “…Forgive me…I did not mean to cause a scene… I’m alright now…”

The two did not accept that.

Despite Ribbon’s feelers and Aimilios’s aura sensing, it did not take a genius to know what Dusknoir was so upset about. Both looking at eachother; Aimilios’s expression morphing into a melancholic one as Ribbon’s does determined; already understanding what to do.

Dusknoir closes his eye, unable to face the two any longer; just wanting to be left alone. It’s all someone like him deserves.

“…Just… go…”

The two look at him, probably the most worried they’ve been in months.

“…Please...”

They’ve… They’ve never seen Dusknoir so… broken... All three sitting is complete silence.

”…Great” Dusknoir thinks. “Now you’ve fallen so low as to guilt trip them. Now they have to waste their sympathies on a pokemon like you”-

But before he can react…. he feels the embrace of two Pokémon.

“Wh- What are you two…?-“

“…It’s okay…W-We know…” the Lucario whispers, slightly choking on his words “You don’t have to say anything…..”

“We… we already forgave you… didn’t we…?” The pink ribboned pokemon protests, tears threatening to fall from her eyes; her cheeks flushed with red. “So just stop!!… Stop beating yourself up over it..!!”

“…You should hate me…” Dusknoir states, unaware of himself beginning to spiral again “After everything I’ve done- how can you two still?!-”

“LOOK AT US FOR ARCUES’ SAKE!!” Ribbon’s shouts; snapping the ghost type pokemon out of it.

…Dusknoir slightly opens his eye after Ribbon’s demand… having the courage to look at the pokemon he wronged so many years ago… only for it to open to a teary eyed Sylveon and Lucario.

“…Do…?” Aimilios laments.

“…Do we look like we hate you…….?”

Those words almost break something in Dusknoir. Ribbons and Aimilios continue to stare at him, seemingly waiting for an answer.

But… there’s no need for one.

He looks at the two; feeling his tears to begin resurface.

Dusknoir slowly reaches out to Aimilios and Ribbons’ faces; his arms slightly trembling. He begins to use the same hands he had once used to bring harm to the Lucario and Sylveon to gently wipe away their tears; both of them leaning into his touch without hesitation. What follows suit is another embrace- Dusknoir finally reciprocating this time.

He hugs Ribbons and Aimilios as if they were to disappear at any moment. Like his life depended on it. The next few minutes are followed by quiet sobbing, laughter, and bittersweet hugs from all three. No words are spoken, exchanged, or shared.

…Dusknoir is… slightly humored by the memory of when he used to comfort Ribbons and Aimilios when they were still an Eevee and Riolu… and now they’re they’re the ones comforting him. How the tables have turned.

…Despite most of their tears seemingly coming to a stop… they do not detach from eachother. Both Ribbons and Aimilios still hugging Dusknoir, as he holds them close.

“Dusknoir…” He looks at them.

“We love you…” Aimilios softly hugging him, hoping the words will go through to Dusknoir if he does.

“Even…!!” Ribbons strengthening her embrace on Dusknoir; still very emotional from the past few minutes “E-Even when you don’t…”

…He feels his eye begin to water again.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever forgive himself.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever come to peace for what he did.

…But.. He holds them closer.

They do.

…All three of them fall into a slumber shortly afterwards; Grovyle and Celebi returning to a sleeping Dusknoir, Sylveon, and Lucario; the two younger Pokémon softly snoring in ghost-type’s arms while Dusknoir holds them; all three of their eye’s dried out from the tears they’d shed.

“…You think we missed something?” Celebi giggles to herself.

“…No.” Grovyle responds, leaning on the doorway smiling. “I don’t think we did.”

#pmd eos #dadnoir #tfw a middle-aged man needs reassurance that his kids don’t hate him #OKOK JOKES ASIDE I HAD A SHIT TON OF FUN WRITING THIS #THESE THREE MEAN THE WORLD TO ME #pmd writing tag #save tag

[yandere-genji]

Heyo! Could you do some headcannons for Ashe and Cassidy realizing they're after the same darling? Bonus points if the darling is highly skittish or elusive.

Ashe and Cassidy have a complicated relationship, to say the least. As the leader of the Deadlock Gang, it’s Ashe’s responsibility to keep everyone in check. And Cassidy has always been a rebel, he thrives as a lone wolf. When they were young, Ashe was always trying to tame him. She would bark at him for not obeying orders and he would flash her that signature smug grin of his with a half assed “sorry” and a chuckle. But she had to admit, Cassidy’s aim and quick wit was unmatched among her crew. He got away with shit nothing else would be able to. Still, his confidence and disobedience was spreading to them like a disease and she was determined to stamp it out. 

Cassidy got a kick out of Ashes tantrums and would always tease her about them. He was the gasoline to her fire. And when she was fired up, she was near unstoppable. As far as he was concerned, he was doing her a service by entertaining her anger. During his time in the gang, they saw their most success. It was no coincidence, it was their synergy that they were able to make a name for themselves. But they got sloppy, the gang got caught and Cassidy was absorbed by Blackwatch. 

Years later, they met yet again, facing each other head to head when Cassidy retrieved Ashe’s stolen contraband. And they realized nothing had changed. Ashe was still as stubborn as an ox and Cassidy was the same smug bastard as ever before. 

However defiant Cassidy was out on the field, he was always on his best behavior when it came to you. Keeping a respectful distance, but never missing an opportunity to breach it. That is to say, he’ll play by your rules until he can coax you into playing by his. And he’s charming, it’s easy to let your guard down with him, and you do. You’re slippery as an eel, though, and it’s hard for him to pin you down when you’re vulnerable because you shy aware from him when you are. He’s like a hunter patiently waiting to snare you in his trap. 

Ashe is different. She’s impatient and forceful, she lacks the graces that Cassidy has but has some of her own. She can’t lull you into security like he does, but she’s a natural born leader and it’s hard to say no to her when she gives you an order. You find yourself doing as she asks without even realizing it. She loves your obedient nature, adores how easily you fold under her. She’s never really had to seduce anyone before, she’s so used to getting what she wants just by asking for it. But she has to go through the song and dance with you and she’s terrible at it. She usually has all the graces of a socialite but loses it when she realizes her weakness is you. 

When the two discover that they’re both pining for you, things get…out of hand. Ashe is absolutely livid and you have to beg her to drop her coach gun and listen to reason. It doesn’t go far and it isn’t long before she mets Cassidy out in the barren desert and threatens to snuff the life out of him then and there. Cassidy calls her bluff, saunters out to meet her, hand hovering over his peacekeeper. He stops, about 20 feet away from her, positioned as if ready to draw in a moments notice. 

He’s in his element. Cassidy knows that out of the two of them, he’s easily the most suitable romantic partner. So he faces the conflict as confident as ever, rest assured in his ability to woo you. But that’s not what Ashe is concerned about. It didn’t matter if you prefer Cassidy or not, she was going to take you regardless. But he always had to make himself an obstacle in her path, one she still couldn’t best. Because of him, nabbing you is going to be much more difficult than expected. 

In the midst of their fighting, you make yourself scarce, eager to remove yourself from the situation. You weren’t sure how you got into this mess, but now you had the two most notorious outlaws in the New West on your trail. Still, you weren’t completely hopeless. Having been so close to Ashe and Cassidy, you discovered their blind spots and could evade them for a considerable amount of time. When you slipped through their fingers, Ashe jumped at Cassidy’s throat, accusing him of some kind of plot to steal you away. Cassidy was caught completely off guard. He was ready to win your heart for good, defend your honor and you just up and left him to fend for himself. Neither of them were happy with you scurrying off. 

Just like the old days, they teamed up again on a mission to search for you. And when they find you, they work together in punishing you for wondering off. It’s in these moments that you belong to the both of them, pushed towards Cassidy and pulled back into the arms of Ashe. They find their camaraderie again in torturing and toying with you. It quells their conflict, if only for a moment. But there’s no way they can share you like this for long. 

Cassidy is a passive combattant at first, still confident that you’ll be running to him by the end of this. He’s an experienced playboy that can play your body like a fiddle. But Ashe is more emotionally invested in you than physically, and her sincerity is touching. Sure, she’s harsh and controlling but she cares for you like a doting mother. If he finds you’ve grown more partial to her, that’s when hell breaks loose. 

Then, the situation becomes more dire. It’s turned from a playful show into a fight for your favor. Now that bedding you hasn’t worked, Cassidy is much more forceful and violent in his approach, and Ashe doesn’t like this one bit. He might put his hands on you if you misbehave, and if she sees any marks that aren’t hers, these two will spend all day screaming at each other. You’d never seen Cassidy invested in these arguments until now, but it seems like he’s taking this more seriously than before. 

There are plenty of times when you slip away from them, but they always find you. Cassidy used to be impressed with your evasiveness, he seemed to get a kick out of your little game of cat and mouse. But once things turned sour, he was swift to make an example of you. Ashe was never entertained, though, and is happy to punish you once Cassidy hardened up a bit. 

If you ever feed into your Stockholm syndrome and they break you in, you’re basically their baby. Cassidy will soften up towards you and spoil you rotten, Ashe will still be the disciplinarian that barks orders at you. They still fight over you, and sometimes one or the other will take off with you by themselves for a while. But they always come back to meet each other in the middle, if only to please you.

#yandere!headcanons #yandere asks #yandere au #yandere #yandere overwatch #yandere cole cassidy #yandere cassidy #yandere cassidy x reader #yandere cole cassidy x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x reader #cole cassidy x reader #cassidy x reader #yandere ashe #overwatch ashe #ashe x reader #yandere ashe x reader

[dxppercxdxver]

y'all ever heard about pumpkin cowboy (he's a cowboy and a pumpkin and he loves his cattle so but there's no way he gets lumped in with most cowboys you know he's no outlaw and he won't quickdraw for he despises violence take a fireside moon over your saloon as he much prefers the silence now it ain't no bluff that life gets tough for a gourd out on the range but for all the woes of the life he chose he's never seemed to change with a smile wide and a kerchief tied around his neck-slash-waist and he's never riled when a cow runs wild as he'll lasso them posthaste but one day when pumpkin cowboy was out tending to his steer a frightened child came from town with a message soft but clear the townsfolk said that he'd end up dead if he didn't heed their warning for they heard that the cowboy cat would be there the next morning it was well known through the prairie cowboy cat had ruined lives and they said he was a devilish man who liked to play with knives he'd steal your purse and do much worse if a hairball made him grouchy if you summed up some of the things he's done with one word it'd be ouchie (ouchie! ouchie!) though he had heard tales while on the trails of the feline fiend reviled pumpkin cowboy couldn't leave for his cow was now with child if they ran away she'd have to stay and she might not survive so he waited by her side all night for the scoundrel to arrive our hero hadn't realized that he'd begun to doze and his mind was awfully groggy when he finally arose he touched the ground and sadly found the thing that he had feared while he slept under the moonless night his cow had disappeared but a moo came from the nearby field and the cry was harsh and chill cat cowboy held our hero's cow and it looked like he could kill pumpkin cowboy spoke in hurried yells as he pleaded with the cat he'd give him all his ranch and lad he'd let him take his hat but the rascal took no compromise no hat nor ranch nor plain he said the thing he wanted most was just to inflict pain and as pumpkin cowboy heard this he ran at such a clip that cowboy cat got startled and the knife began to slip and they crashed into each other cat and pumpkin flesh and blade and the knife fell to the arid ground and the scoundrel stood then swayed cat cowboy crumpled to the dirt and pumpkin kneeled beside and cow stood vigil next to him as pumpkin cowboy cried he tipped his hat at cowboy cat and stood without a sound and when townfolk came to cheer his name our hero wasn't found some say he started wandering with greener fields to roam but he didn't bring his cattle and his horse stayed there at home the very next morn the calf was born the town's own pride and joy and the folks will regale you with a gorgeous tale the tale of a pumpkin cowboyyyyyyy)?

love that guy

#radio free junebug #pumpkin cowboy #brian david gilbert #long post

[gehtsis]

'Intertwining Emanation'

a ficlet for @fujii-draws and her two pmd characters ribbons n' aimilios. basically i thought to myself "hey what if ribbons evolved into sylveon a tad earlier than aimilios and she also figured out how she feels about aimilios while figuring out how it happened". not my best, but enjoy!

T'was another calm afternoon on Sharpedo Bluff as Team Hailstone made their way back to home base after a day of work that felt like forever to the two kids.

An entire day consisting of escort missions, item retrieval, finding missing persons, outlaw findings, and the ever-so-lovely Monster Houses interrupting in-between. As much as Ribbons and Aimilios would've admitted that they could take anything that a mystery dungeon could throw at them, there was just about enough that even the two of them had to nope out.

Entering the humble adobe of their home-base, the first thing they did was immediately crash on their beds out of exhaustion, letting out the pressures of workload melt away instantly as they did.

"Man, if I knew that we had to face all those Monster Houses floor after floor just on Mt. Travail alone, I would've made sure we stayed at home.."

Aimilios blurted out as he tried a comfortable position on the haystack bed, yet not managing to find that one perfect spot.

"Pssh, don't worry. Even if it were one Monster House or a hundred, we would've kicked em' all in the bum together! Besides, that's the whole thing with mystery dungeons. You never really know what's in there, can ya?"

Ribbons said as she turned to face Aimilios in her bed, a tired but nonetheless goofy smile plastered on her face as the two were about to head out for the night. Aimilios chuckled a bit at her words, letting out a weak 'yeah' as he did. Seeing Ribbons again just made him feel.. a whole lot better. As if the mere sight of her smile was enough to heal him from anything that ills him.

When she first disappeared after the quarrel with Primal Dialga, he felt as though his entire world simply shattered. She was everything to him, and when she was gone, he.. wasn't sure what to do with himself. As much as 'toughing it out and continuing to do the job in her honor' felt like the best solution; It was easier said than done. He was simply unable to. He couldn't stop grieving, no matter how much he wanted to.

But it seems as though that through whatever cosmic deity that heard his silent prayers, it managed to bring Ribbons back. He wasn't sure how, but he was more than happy. Aimilios wasn't even sure how to describe it, but it was probably his heart speaking.

Before the whole 'stop the flow of time from getting all screwy' and back when they were just two apprentices at Wigglytuff's Guild, Aimilios first knew how he felt about Ribbons back during the Fogbound Lake expedition. Just being there with her made him feel.. good, in a way.

Ever since, he's been trying to think of ways to tell her how he thinks, with all of them ending with all the attempts flying Ribbons' head. Not that she was stupid, far from it, but she just didn't look too far into it. And here he was, just gazing at her like a big ol' dork at with a big smile on his face. Ribbons saw this and giggled a bit at the look on his face, and seemingly asking him about it was enough to snap him out of the trance he was in and him getting a bit flustered.

"You okay there, Am? You're lookin' at me all funny!"

"H-huh? I-I am okay! Yeah, I'm fine!"

"C'mon, you had that big toothy smile on your face, you can tell me!"

"Okay, okay! It's just that.. uh.."

Aimilios scratched the back of his head as he thought about what to say next, all the while some redness was still present on his cheeks as he did.

".. I missed you, and.. seeing you here just kind of.. makes me more.. happy?"

Ribbons was silent for a moment. But only for one, singular moment as a big toothy grin filled her face while her tail was wagging up a storm.

"D'aww, I missed you too. To be honest, when I was first told that I will never see you again before we defeated Primal Dialga, I.. didn't know what to do. Like, you're the coolest person I know, and.. I just feel bad for not telling you earlier."

Ribbons said, some shame and regret hanging from her tone at that last part. Aimilios, for all he could, would never blame Ribbons over what happened at Temporal Tower. Sure, he was a tad mad that he wasn't told earlier, but that was it. He would never be mad at her over what happened, and seeing her shame herself for it made him a bit sad. But he was here to reassure her that he was still her friend, no matter what.

"It's okay, that.. that stuff was of the past. I'm just happy that you're here, you know? Now, what do you say we get some well earned rest after today?"

"Heh, already two steps ahead of you. G'night, Aimilios."

"Good night, Ribbons."

With a skip and a yawn, the two went off to bed, slumbering away as the moonlight bounced off from the bluff's maw, feeling the room with its presence.

Ribbons went out like a light, whereas it took Aimilios a few moment to fully sleep in. Just as he was about to close his eyes, a strange white light enveloped Ribbons, catching him off guard and causing him to trip off the bed.

"Woah!"

Looking back up and seeing that Ribbons was now awake and confused over the sound, she walked over to him to see if he was alright, but was left a bit confused when seeing that he was slightly flustered as he looked at her.

"Woah, what happened? You looked like you saw a Gastly or something!"

"Y-you might wanna look in the mirror, Ribbons..!"

"Eh? What of it?"

As she looked at the mirror, she no longer saw her regular brown-furred and beady eyed self. She looked all pink and cuddly while having four weird ribbons just kind of sticking out, with blue eyes staring back at her instead of the usual black. It almost reminded her Wigglytuff, in a way. She was shocked, but only for a moment. She slowly turned over to Aimilios, and spoke out as if she was about to burst with joy.

"I.. look.. adorable.."

".. What?"

"I LOOK SO FREAKIN' ADORABLE!!"

Ribbons excitedly jumped around all over the place, with Aimilios (who was just as excited as she was) holding onto her feelers as she joyfully skipped on and about in their home, before immediately coming to a halt and scratching her chin in confusion as she didn't know *what* she evolved into.

"Wait, what am I? I know that Eevees are known to evolve and all, but I didn't think it would even happen!"

Aimilios shared a moment of confusion with her, before an idea came to mind. He walked over to the book pile and pulled out a titular book titled 'Evolutions 101', a gift from Dusknoir during one of his visits.

Skimming through the many detail-heavy pages, he managed to find the page that discussed the Pokemon that Ribbons has just evolved into.

"Here! As far as appearance goes, the book says you've evolved into 'Sylveon'. Let's see.. strong feelers.. pastel colors.. long ears.."

"Yeah, but how did this even like, happen? I'm still confused over that.."

"Well, it says here that an Eevee is capable of evolving into Sylveon if it knows a fairy move while.. having a.. high affection for.. someone."

And now, the both of them were redder than a Red Gummi. Obviously, Ribbons liked Aimilios. But whereas Aimilios tried to find ways of conveying his emotions about how much he likes her and enjoys her company, Ribbons played her feelings as natural, thinking that he already got the memo ages ago. But to have all those feelings called out by an evolution? Yeesh, she did feel a bit awkward about it.

Aimilios cleared his throat, trying to break the rather uncomfortable silence with a question, all the while looking extremely flustered as he did.

"So, uh.. how're you feeling?"

"Oh, I am okay with it, but like.. are you okay with me looking like this?"

"Wh- yeah! Ribbons, look. You're my best friend. I won't care at all about how you'll look, because you'll still stay my friend. Whether if you'll have feelers, or psychic powers, or all that sorta stuff. And.. the pink kind of suits you. I like it."

"Awww, thanks! So.. you're totally cool with this? Like, even with the feelers and all?"

"Yeah, I'm okay with it. Besides, it's good to finally be able to talk to you in the same eye-level, to be honest.."

"Heheh, yeah. I think that's enough for one night. Wanna go back to bed?"

Aimilios yawned at the question not missing a beat as she asked.

"Yeah.. all this evolution stuff is enough for one evening. Do you think I'll also evolve in my sleep the way you did?"

"Won't hurt to try, right?"

"Heh, you're right. Good night, Ribbons.."

"G'night, Aimilios."

#wow this kinda sucks #ill probably rewrite it in the future

[goodmorgan]

Dead in the Water

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

Summary: You face off Arthur Morgan in your most perilous game of poker yet.

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: 18+. NSFW.

AO3 Link

_____________________________________________

You don't know what time it is but you guess it is well into the early hours of the morning. You'd probably be in a deep sleep if it wasn't for the fact that you are such an avid poker player, you can never turn down a game. You and your sister used to stay up well past your bedtime trying to beat each other until one of you got angry and finally headed to bed. It was usually you, you've always been such a sore loser. You'd do anything to win. It seems that things haven't changed, except now your opponent is the most dangerous outlaw in the state.

"I raise." Arthur Morgan never shies away from a challenge. You try to keep eye contact as much as you can, just like your sister taught you, but it becomes harder as the game drags on.

The small lantern on the table illuminates his face tenderly, you can perfectly see the shape of the scars on his nose and chin. He's still wearing his hat but the brim is tilted so you can see his face and he can see yours. His lips look irresistible. Your sister never told you that opponents could be this alluring or that the stakes could be this high.

He takes a swig of whiskey from his glass from time to time, which makes his lips shimmer, but his gaze never strays from you. He likes to look deep into your eyes. A whiff of bluff and you're dead in the water.

"Call". You got nothing. The Jack of Hearts and the 3 of Clubs in your hand are no match for the 10 of Spades, 4 of Diamonds and 7 of Hearts laid on the table, but there's no way you are folding now, even with his indecipherable poker face menacing you.

He deals the turn on the table. You now have a pair of Jacks. You try to stay as still as possible so as to not give it away, hoping it's enough to get you through this round. You can't afford to lose any more. You tell him you check and try to sound as confident as possible.

"Where's the fun in that, darlin'?" He places a chip in the pot. He knows exactly what he's doing. You are down to your last chip so you either call and risk losing or you fold. This isn't the time to back down so you hope those jacks of yours bring you that pot. You're all in.

"For good luck." You hold up the chip to your lips and kiss it before throwing it in the pot, hoping to throw him off a little.

He breaks his poker face to give you a perverted smile. "That chip's mine, gorgeous. Just like you are." It sounds like a promise he's willing to keep.

It's time for the river and he rips it out like a band-aid, too slow and painful. It's the Queen of Diamonds in all her glory. There's no going back now.

"Alright, show me."

You flash your pair of Jacks in hesitation. "A couple of cowboys."

"That's a pretty pair", he says, slightly mocking you. Oh no.

He flips his cards to show you the 9 of Hearts and the King of Spades that complete his straight. Just like that you're dead in the water, drowned in the river.

You let out a grunt of despair and bang your closed fist on the table, you're anything but a gracious loser. He chuckles and, unfortunately for you, it's that low breathy laugh of his you like. It echoes in his whiskey glass as he drinks in celebration, eyes still on you.

"I told ya you were mine." You truly are. "Ain't I the lucky one." He holds the chip you kissed to his own lips.

You take a moment to compose yourself, knowing very well what comes next. He empties the whiskey glass.

"Well, I guess it's time I cash this out." He adjusts in his seat in anticipation and you realize there's nothing or nowhere to hide. "You gotta keep your end of the deal." He has a smirk adorning his face, he's fully enjoying this, the bastard. But despite your flaws, you've always stood by your agreements, even if it meant losing your undergarments.

A white undershirt is now the only thing you're wearing and you remove it as slowly as you can. You feel the cold hit your midriff before reaching your nipples and when you're done you throw the shirt down to the pile of clothes besides you.

"Now, ain't that just beautiful!" he drawls out at the sight of the winner's prize. Playing strip poker with Arthur always ends the same way for you.  

He holds out his hand to reach for yours and you oblige, the sting of losing still in your chest, but the heat of your lust now in your core. He pulls you to him desperately and the whiskey glass tumbles from the table. You nestle on his lap, naked as the day you were born, your hands reaching for his shoulders. His lips head straight for your neck and you can't help but moan in pleasure as the whiskey on his lips wets your skin. Maybe losing ain't so bad.

You remove his hat and drop it into his pile to the side. His underpants are the only item left on him. Damn. Two more hands and you could've beat him. You promise yourself you're gonna get him next time.

Perhaps you could've won if you had worn underwear. You never wear it now, he likes to have easy access at all times.

He places a hand on your chin so you can look down at him. "Now show me that gracious loser face of yours." You comply.

He looks deep into your eyes again. A whiff of bluff and you're dead in the water.

_____________________________________________

A/N: Idk if this was predictable or not but it was fun to write! Feedback is welcomed!

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan x you #read dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr2 x reader #goodmorgan

[dduane]

While preparing the background for the “Food And Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms” recipe for Honey Roasted Apples

I... genuinely wasn’t expecting prose. 

***

“It may sound very romantic in the poems,” says Freelorn of Arlen, turning his glass around a couple of times on the table. “Seven years an outlaw, always on the run with his little band of loyal followers, living off the bounty of empty lands…” He shakes his head, glancing up. “But when you get right down to the logistics of it…? It's not much fun at all.”

We ran into the King at one of his preferred locals, the southernmost of the dozen or more public pleasances built around Prydon city—this one looking down from the southeastern city walls where the Bluff starts to slope down toward the wooded Menaskh and Talsasmë townlands. The view from here across the river Arlid toward Darthen is quite beautiful, even on a somewhat misty day, and it’s understandably a popular spot. When we arrived, the place was already full of City and “outwall" people who didn't mind the climb up to a park and dining space famous for its Arlene country-style food.

Predictably, King Freelorn declined to tell us whether this particular local was his favorite. It's well known in the City that he's got several favored taverns and eating- or drinking-spots scattered around Prydon, but there’s no way under the Goddess’s sky that you’ll get him to admit which one he most prefers. “Does it really matter?” he says when you press him. “The whole point—besides wanting to get out somewhere different for nunch—is to be someplace where people can just walk up to you as if you were anybody else out for a bite or a sup of an afternoon. They’ve got a right to know that I take my responsibilities seriously: and my work… which is being here for them.” He chuckles softly. "And making sure they know that I'm not afraid to be alone with them."

“So you don’t visit with a retinue, then.”

He looks shocked. “Absolutely not! If I'm a good king, it's my people’s business to keep an eye out so that no one makes off with my life without them having a say. And it’s my business to trust them to do that. If I'm a bad king—” He shakes his head. “Well, we have legal remedies for that, if the Goddess or the Lion don’t step in themselves to handle it. Either way, it can get pretty gory before matters are settled. But fortunately that doesn’t seem to be a problem for me at the moment.” The smile is both relieved and wry—the expression of a man who knows from experience how quickly things in politics, or kingship, can change.

The King has a drink of his wine. "But that's not what you were really interested in talking about, was it. Eating on the road…?”

He rubs his brow, then shakes his head with a rueful look on his face. “At first it was interesting, even exciting,” he says, “when the bloom was still on it. When we all thought that the people who’d exiled me would see sense, in weeks or months, and there’d be a recall. But weeks got to be months, and months leaned toward a year… Soon enough we came to realize that being the romantic sort of outlaw that turns up in the old songs—dodging into town and out again for necessities, slipping into taverns in disguise—wasn’t an option that was real, these days. If it ever had been.” His expression is that of a man who can’t believe what an idiot he was. “Once you’ve tried it once or twice and felt the tension—trying to eat like a normal person while you can’t help listening to every voice around you for an accent or a dialect that means they might have reason to be a little too interested in you—” He rolls his eyes. “In the songs, the common people are always on your side. But in my case? When times have been getting hard, and the price on your head's more than most people would need to live on for five years at a time...?”

A laugh of pure amusement at his own witlessness. “So. There we were, just the five or six or seven of us… running for our lives. Or—let’s be truthful—mostly running for mine.” And the smile he’s been wearing goes very dry indeed. “So we were always traveling very light, because packhorses have to be fed, not to mention stabled if you’re anywhere near people… which we learned not to be, pretty quickly. Ducking casually into some town’s market? Not when you might be recognized, and never in a group. Even one person alone had to be careful, because… Well, if you’re a townsman, and somebody you’ve never seen before comes into the local half-month market and buys as much food as one rider can carry, and then rushes off with it? Country people get curious… and suspicious. Who wants outlaws in their neighborhood, after all?” He shakes his head. “That kind of behavior gets that lone rider followed, and then…”

He heaves a long sigh that seems to boil down to meaning “serious unspecified trouble.” “...So that’s something you learn not to do. Especially when, even if you could afford a market run, money’s still always an issue. You’re thinking ‘If we spend it now, what about next month?’ ...And even when you can afford it, it’s not smart to be carrying a lot of food when at any moment—in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of the night—you have to throw everything onto the horses and just go, because some local opportunist whose lands you’ve recently ridden over has put it all together and figured out who you are. Or made an educated guess.” He shakes his head, laughs at himself again.

“So all that comes to mean that you resign yourself pretty quickly to living off the land—the unpeopled land—as much as you can. And you learn a lot of things in a hurry… and some more slowly.” He has a drink of his wine, looking thoughtful. “You learn to harvest wild grain, if it’s ready; and how to fire it so you can eat it green, if it’s not. You learn to bake flat bread in a pot over the fire, and get over it bringing up memories of town-bakery bread you've loved and won’t get to eat again any time soon. You get really good at killing game, and learning how to dry meat over the fire for another day, another week. You learn that if you try to live too long on just rabbit, you’ll get very ill indeed. You learn that you’d better have at least some vegetables with all that game, or your insides rebel against you and make it really hard to ride. You learn to forage, and to be smart about it—for example, not to pick all the viol-head fern you find, no matter how much you want to, because you might wipe out a supply you'll need again, some day. You learn that fruit helps keep you from getting sick, and you learn how to deal with drying that too, when you can.” He sighs. "All the while, you learn never to assume you're going to find enough to eat. And how to distract yourself from an empty stomach."

He sips his wine, puts it down, gazes into it. “But sometimes conditions are kind,” the King says. “We spent a lot of time in Steldin. Funny, you might think, when the Steldenes were the ones who were hottest to collect the bounty on my head! But between the climate and the terrain, the far south of Steldin near the Peaks is some of the loneliest country in all the Realms. And because of the weather up there, in the summers there’s a lot of good fruit scattered around, free for the taking. Apples, especially: not something you can get every day… especially not down north. Moris came up out of nothing with this dish, one time…and after that, sometimes we all practically lived on it, because it was nearly all there was, and we didn’t even mind. Apples pot-roasted in honey, with belly pork roasted in with it if you’ve got some.” He shakes his head and grins, apparently at himself. “Goddess, it’s ridiculous, we must’ve lived on that for days at a time, over the years, and it’s still making my mouth water—!”

The pleasance’s taverner is passing by, and the King catches her eye, picks up the empty pitcher sitting on the table, waggles it at her. She rolls her eyes at him, nods, and moves on. “And Stelet,” he calls after her, “wait a breath! Are the roast turnips on today?"

The taverner looks back at him, her eyes crinkling in amusement. “Small or large, King?”

“Large, please.”

The taverner nods again and walks on into the pleasance-house to see about his refill. “I missed breakfast...” says the King. "Anyway, we all got to be pretty good cooks as regarded simple things. Probably Moris was the best cook of us all. But then he worked in the kitchen at the Black Palace for a while, did you know? The Queen’s always teasing him about it. After him, Lang would probably have come in a close second—a natural talent. He even wound up teaching Segnbora how to cook. Until he got to work on her, she was no good at that at all.” His eyes went a little distant. “Of course, the two of them were getting quite close at that point." A sidewise look out of hazel eyes. "I expect you know about that, though. I know a chronicler when I see one."

“Oh. I’m sorry, I’ll—”

His eyebrows go up: an amused expression. “What? No, just sit down, for Goddess’s sake. This happens oftener than you might think. It's not as if the biggest library and document repository in the Kingdoms isn't just up the hill...”

After that for a few moments the King says nothing, just turns his glass around and around a few times on the table’s polished stone. 

“…Seven years of it, though,” he says eventually. “Of never being sure of where your next meal, and your friends', is coming from. And of not knowing whether getting it is going to somehow get you killed... or one of those friends. Don't get me started on the wild pig stories.”

“Ah. Well. I'll make a note to avoid those.”

He laughs. “Do. But what a life like that does for you, again and again, is show you how hard the people you rule may be having it—not just sometimes, but a lot of the time. What you're doing, they too must often do if the weather's been bad for the crops. So when you finally take up the job to which you were born and bred, you do whatever you must to make sure there's always grain in your people's storage bins to grind, and that their markets, and the movement of food from region to region, are protected. And subsidized, when they need to be. Because that's what the Queen of the World gave you this job for: making sure your people are fed. Ideally, you do that with your brains, and your realm's money. But if that's not working out, then you do it with your heart's blood ploughed into the ground to make the fields bear.” His expression, as he says this, is strangely gentle.

“...Surely that doesn't happen very often, these days."

“These days? No. Normally if the land doesn't bear for a couple of seasons running, the Four Hundred press whoever's sitting in the Throne to step aside in favor of someone else in the royal line better suited. And they do. Because if you're on the Throne at present, the price of your rulership is being ready to do what the Realm needs...even if it kills you.”  

Freelorn stretches briefly, then settles again on the bench. “Meanwhile, if these days the King has a bit of a reputation for enjoying his food,” he says, “I'd say that’s just fine. Because it means that every time he sits down to a meal where he doesn’t have to be looking over his shoulder to see if someone sitting a few tables over is trying to work out whether his head’ll fit in the bucket of brine they brought with them…” He shrugs. “Then it means that, every time, he’s got leisure to think of the friends who made sure he got this far—and to thank Herself for them.” And he leans back, tilting his glass, and twists it just enough to let a drop's worth of libation fall on the paving: then drinks.

“...But enough about me,” he says, as the new pitcher of wine arrives and he puts his glass down again. Those hazel eyes glance up from it and without warning become very sharp, very focused indeed, as he pushes the spare glass over and pours it half full. "With an accent like that,” says the King of Arlen, “you're not exactly from around here, are you? Let's talk about you.”

#Middle Kingdoms #Food and Cooking of the Middle Kingdoms #Freelorn #and probably the wine is one of the Brightwood whites #but you knew that

[smolwritingchick]

Forced To Believe Chapter 40- If Only You Knew

Chapter Summary: Rosa continues to be a thorn in Morgan's side. Morgan continues to warn Roman to stay focused. The Shield get hyped for the Royal Rumble.

Words: 2,000+

----- 'Next Week On Raw Backstage'

Jon and Melanie were getting ready for the show. He was shirtless and taping up his wrists while Melanie was staring at his muscles and chest. 

"Done staring at me, yet?" he teased.

Caught off guard that he noticed her staring, she averted her eyes. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I wasn't staring at you."

"Really?"

"Aren't you supposed to be wearing your vest?"

"Why? Can't handle it?" He asked while she reluctantly stopped looking at him.

He put on his vest and dumped water over his head. She sighed and looked at his muscles again. She really wanted to jump his bones. 

"You may wanna wipe your mouth. I see drool." he teased

"Forget you. I can handle it. You're gonna have to try a bit harder if you want to win this bet. Looks like I'm going to have to make Moxley come out soon."

He whispered in her ear. "Trust me, you don't want to see Moxley. I mean, unless you don't want to walk for a week. I'm going easy on you for now. Next time, I won't be so nice." 

"That's a bluff! I know it!" Melanie exclaimed as he laughed and walked away.

'In The Ring'

'Sierra'

'Hotel'

'India'

'Echo'

'Lima'

'Delta'

'Shield'

The Shield walk through the crowd. Morgan wore her Shield hat this time and when they jumped over the barricade, Dean gave her his sweatjacket to wear. They get in the ring to take on CM Punk and The New Age Outlaws in a rematch. 

Roman smirked at Punk. "How you feel?"

"Roman got The Shield back on the same page and they have been flawless, this past Friday on Smackdown." Cole said while Morgan stood by at ringside.

"Ambrose, Rollins and Morgan couldn't defeat CM Punk but all by himself, Roman Reigns did." King said. 

While the match progresses, Punk begins to take on The Shield but gets pulled onto the middle rope by Seth. Roman gets tagged in and a fan girl screams loudly for him, as Morgan chuckles out of amusement. Punk lays on the bottom rope while Roman runs and dropkicks him on the head. 

"Oh!" Morgan and the crowd exclaim.

"The highly athletic powerhouse of The Shield." Cole said.

"That was awesome! Freakin' awesome! That was sick!" She high fived Roman while he grinned and slid back in the ring.

"He's been called the punisher of the group," Cole informed and Roman pinned him for a 2 count.

While The Shield continued to take control of Punk, Morgan could see that Roman's dropkick took a lot out of Punk since he was still holding his head.

"Don't forget about that eye," Seth said on the apron while Dean stepped on Punk's stomach. "Don't forget about that eye, Ambrose."

The crowd tries to motivate Punk but Dean prevents him from tagging his partners and throws him out of the ring. Ambrose gets out of the ring and taunts him. 

"Please don't get reckless, this time." The Outspoken Diva warned.

"Don't do anything stupid. We got him right where we want him." Seth added. 

Dean tries to throw Punk to the steel steps but Punk reverses it and Dean gets hit instead. Punk rolls inside the ring while the ref begins to count. Roman picks Dean up and throws him back in the ring as he tags in Seth. Punk manages to dodge Seth's attack off the top rope and hits him with a one leg clothesline. Punk tries to crawl to his partners but Roman gets tagged back in and drags him back to his corner. He walks up to the New Age Outlaws and mocks them by doing the DX taunt.

But when Roman turns around, Punk roundhouse kicks him. The New Age Outlaws try to hype up the crowd while Punk crawls over to them. He gets up and jumps for a tag but they jump off the apron. 

"What?" She exclaimed while Punk looked on in shock and the crowd 'Ohs'

"Wait a­-what is this?" King asked. "Guys, what are we seeing here?"

Punk stands up and turns around to look at Seth, Dean, and Roman surrounding him around the ring. Morgan was a little taken aback that the New Age Outlaws would betray Punk. 

"Punk is alone," Cole said. 

Punk hits Seth off the apron and hits Roman with a neckbreaker. He hits Dean off the apron and Seth runs back into the ring, only to be thrown out of the ring, near the announce table. Punk turns around, only to be speared by Reigns and pinned. 

"And a spear by Reigns! The numbers game." Cole looked on

"1!"

"2!"

"3!"

"Here are your winners, The Shield!" Lilian announced as they all got in the ring.

"Let's go!" Roman yelled and motioned Seth and Dean for the triple powerbomb.

"Uh oh," King said. "That's enough, you've done enough damage."

Roman roars while Punk struggles to get out of Dean and Seth's hold. Morgan motions them to stop what they are doing and they hold Punk down on his knees for her. 

"Stop struggling, it'll only make things worse. Take it like a man." She said and kneed him in the face.

"That did not look pretty at all!" Cole exclaimed.

"Ouch," King cringed. 

The Shield pick him up and does the triple powerbomb on Punk.

"Punk's been decimated."

Morgan tweets 'Yep...Once a DX member, always a DX member. Looks like the #KingOfCrap wants to get #Punked by CMPunk'

'Smackdown'

"Please welcome my guests, Dean Ambrose, Seth Rollins, Morgan Lopez, and Roman Reigns, The Shield." Renee said. Morgan, Seth, Roman and Dean stand before Renee and Morgan greeted her with a smile. "Now for the male members of The Shield, it's every man for themselves at the Royal Rumble and as Vickie said, brother versus brother, with the three of you being entered in the Royal Rumble match, I just wanted to know if you guys have devised a plan to remain a unit."

"The Shield is a finely crafted machine that does not break down, the real question, is how are the 27 other superstars in the Royal Rumble going to compete against the most dominant force in WWE," Dean said. "Trust me darlin', we're all on the same page."

"Are you all on the same page, Dean? I mean if it came down to it and you had to throw Seth Rollins over the top rope, to win the Royal Rumble." Renee began while Seth chuckled, Dean put his hand over his heart, and Morgan & Roman looked on with interest. "To go on and headline WrestleMania, for the WWE World Heavyweight championship, would you do it?"

"Do I not look like a trustworthy person to you? These are my best friends, I can never bring myself to do something like that, absolutely not. Never, I could­-"

"Well." Seth interrupted. "Dean, that's very kind of you but let's be real here, you couldn't throw me over the top rope if your life depended on it."

Roman and Morgan look at Dean with amused looks while the crowd 'Ohs'. 

"Wow..." Morgan murmured.

"I would toss you over in a second if it meant that I got a shot at the main event at WrestleMania," Seth added.

"Okay, first of all, I was kidding, of course, I would throw you over the top rope," Dean stated. "And second of all, you would go sailing kid! Sailing over the top rope! Work on your landing, all right?" He exclaimed while Morgan face palmed. 

Roman stepped in front of him. "We're talking about headlining WrestleMania here, boys. I'd throw you both over the top rope in an instant. Regardless, one of us is gonna win the Royal Rumble, we'll still be united and we'll still be The Shield." Roman put his fist out while Seth, Morgan and Dean put their fists out too. 

The Shield left, while Morgan decided to stay.

"Morgan, what are your thoughts about the Royal Rumble?" Renee asked. 

The Outspoken Diva replied with a simple smirk, shaking her head. She walked away, leaving Renee in wonder.

"I wonder what's going through Morgan's head." Cole pondered.

'Later'

"Hi~ Morgan!" Rosa grinned, standing backstage with her while Morgan rolled her eyes. "Oh don't be like that. I came to talk to you. I got some good news. I'm untouchable now."

Morgan narrows her eyes. "How so?"

"Didn't you know Roman and I are dating?"

Morgan felt the urge to laugh and refrained as she saw right through the lie. "No, I wasn't aware. Are you trying to taunt me? It's not working..."

"Don't lie. You're angry...I can see it in your eyes. You hate the fact that I'm with him, don't you?"

"I am mad because you're trying to do mind games. I should mop your face with the floor right now," she replied and got in her face. "I won't say it again. Leave my team alone."

"Don't you mean, leave Roman alone?"

"Don't try to change the subject."

"I'm not. It's all about Roman, isn't it?"

"Just leave him alone. Don't get inside his head and don't distract him."

"Are you jealous?"

"What? Don't make me hit you. You're talking nonsense."

"I don't think so. And if you hit me, Romeo isn't going to like that very much."

"Romeo? Really? You're full of it."

"At least he lets me call him that. And he likes it." she grinned and strutted away

-----------

'Next Week, Raw'

Morgan tweets 'Can't wait to see him in action at the Rumble. #BatistasBack'

Morgan also tweets 'You do not know how much I want to get back in the ring right now. #MyTimeIsComing #StandOut'

Morgan was at ringside while The Shield was in the ring with Cody, Goldust and Big E in 6 ­man tag team action. Big E's team begins to take control of Seth. When Cody kicks Seth in the gut while he is leaning on the ropes, he goes for the disaster kick but he rolls out of the ring. 

"Enough of that!" Seth yelled and held his stomach while walking over to The Shield's corner.

"You okay?" Morgan asked, walking over to him but Seth quickly pushed her away when Cody got on the top rope and jumped on him so she wouldn't get hit.

"And there's Cody Rhodes taking out Seth Rollins!" Cole exclaimed. 

Roman and Dean jump off the apron and come to Seth's aid while Cody quickly slides back into the ring. Big E and Goldust stand next to him to face off with the two members.

Later on in the match, after The Shield began to take control of Cody, Dean and Big E got tagged in. Big E clotheslines Roman out of the ring after he hits Dean with a belly to belly suplex. Dean gets up but gets knocked back down.

"What a collision. I love it!" JBL said. 

Big E picks Dean up for the Big Ending but Seth pulls him off and gets thrown out of the ring. Goldust keeps him down by jumping off the apron. Meanwhile, Dean goes on the top rope and jumps off, only to be caught and hit with a throw. Big E runs to the ropes and gives Dean a big splash and pins him.

"Kick out!" Morgan exclaimed and luckily Roman broke it up. 

Cody slides into the ring and goes for the disaster kick but gets dropped by a Superman punch. Goldust gets in the ring and hits Roman in the face.

He runs to the ropes but gets speared.

"Spear!" Cole exclaimed.

"That'll knock your make up off," JBL said. 

When Roman turns around, he gets clotheslined by Big E while Dean recovers. Big E runs to the ropes but Dean knees him in the stomach and rolls over to tag in Seth. Seth drops him with the blackout.

"Yeah!" Morgan cheered.

"I think he has him!" JBL said.

"1!"

"2!"

"3!"

"The winners of this match, The Shield," Justin announced while they celebrated.

Roman stared down Big E, still annoyed with the clothesline he received. The Shield get over the barricade while Morgan, Dean, Roman and Seth put their arms around each other.

"Best team on planet Earth! No one can touch us! No one can touch us!" Seth shouted.

-------

'Smackdown'

The Shield were shown on the titantron, in their hideout. 

"In two days, 27 other superstars will enter the Royal Rumble with hopes and dreams and aspirations of headlining WrestleMania." Dean said. "And there is that notion that anything can happen in the WWE, where dreams can come true. But this year, it's not like that because this year, The Shield is in the Royal Rumble son, and these dogs are hungry!"

"And all time, and all of history, the Royal Rumble match has never seen anything like The Shield. We are gonna dominate every single second we are in that match. Any superstar, who steps through those ropes, lends themselves a casualty." Seth added.

"And after that, the big dog here is gonna win the Royal Rumble match," Roman said while Morgan and Seth glanced at him and then glanced at each other. "And I'm gonna go on and I'm gonna headline WrestleMania, believe that and believe in The Shield." He pushed the camera away.

Morgan tweets 'Really can't wait to get back in the ring. Sunday can't get here fast enough. #WrestleToYourHeartsContent'

'WWE Exclusive Video'

Backstage, Rosa was confronting Morgan. "I hope you don't think you're going to win the diva battle royal. You're going to lose, and I'll be the one to eliminate you."

Morgan laughed. "I'm sorry but I cannot take you seriously. All you do is dance around, shaking your hips. Show a little bit more toughness in the ring and then we'll talk when I actually feel like you're competition."

"Excuse me?"

"You annoy the heck out of me and the next time you get in my face, I'm going to rip that blond hair off your head. You're no threat to me at all." 

She started walking but then Rosa grabbed her by the hair and threw her to a locker nearby. Morgan held her head and slid down but then a box fell on her head.

"Ow..." She winced in pain and rubbed her head

"I guess you can't do the battle royal with a little concussion." She smirked but then saw The Shield rushing over to them. Rosa quickly changed her facial expression and looked concerned. "Oh my gosh, Morgan, are you okay?"

"What the hell happened!?" Dean rushed over to Morgan and kneeled at her. "Baby, you okay?"

"We were just talking and she knocked into that locker," Rosa explained. "I feel so bad, it all happened so fast."

'Later, In The Trainers Room'

Morgan was lying on the examination table. "Stupid Rosa..." She retorted. The door opened and Roman walked in. "Hey! About time you visited me."

"Seth and Dean already visited?"

"Yep."

"Damn. I'm sorry." he walked over to her while she sat up.

"You're here now, that's all that matters. Thank you."

"Anything for an Outspoken Diva like you. So what happened?" He ran his fingers through her hair.

"You wouldn't believe me, since you're too attracted to Rosa." She said her name with disgust while Roman removed his fingers from her hair.

"I'm not attracted to her..."

"Sure..."

"I like someone else."

"Oh really? Who's smitten the beast?" She grinned. He looked at her for a few moments and looked away, continuing to be silent. "Ah ha! So, it is Rosa. Good grief, Roman, why?"

"Why not?" Roman countered, trying to keep his emotions towards her in check.

Morgan was slightly taken aback by his comment but shrugged. "I told you to be careful..."

"I am."

"If you say so. I just don't want you to..." She sighed and held her head, feeling more pain.

"What happened between you two?"

"She threw me to a locker and something fell on my head." She mentioned and Roman sighed.

"I'll talk to her."

"Talk? No need. We need action! Let me kick her ass!"

"Morgan, that's not necessary."

"Why are you defending her?"

"She's not important right now, you are."

"Thanks," she replied and sniffed. "Are you using Pantene?" She touched his hair.

Roman chuckled. "I think you hit your head too hard. Rest up,"

"Possibly..." She laid back down to take a nap.

He smiled down at her and brushed some hair from her face, glancing at her lips. He tore his eyes from them and kissed her forehead instead.

"If only you knew..." He whispered and left the room.

------

Favorite Hashtag?

#WrestleToYourHeartsContent

#StandOut

#MyTimeIsComing

#BatistasBack

#KingOfCrap

#Punked

#the shield #dean ambrose x oc #wwe #wwe fanfiction #the shield 4th member #roman reigns #seth rollins #wwe imagine #wwe scenarios #wwe oc #wwe fic #jon moxley x oc #jon moxley fanfiction

[abraxos-and-ataraxia]

The Outlaw and the Desert Flower

Part 1

Pairing: Lucien x Elain

Word Count: 6.6k

Warnings: hella violence (these are bad bad men), a teaspoon of teasing smut

Summary: Wild West Lucien and prairie girl Elain.

The vanserra gang is ruthless—Beron raised them that way—but Lucien always struggled to stomach the violence the others seemed to crave.  When Lucien finds himself separated from the gang, bleeding out on his horse, it’s pure luck that brings him to a familiar cabin and a familiar face he can’t stop thinking of.

Tagging: @rarephloxes, @the-lonelybarricade, @separatist-apologist (because I know all of you were very invested in this concept, I hope you don’t mind)

And thank you so much to @velidewrites for the gorgeous moodboard!

* * * * *

The wind doubled back, making Lucien cough on a mouthful of dust.  He wiped his eyes roughly, squinting at the valley below.  The rest of the boys were riding towards the town, kicking up a cloud of dirt behind them.  He’d begged off, claiming a hangover, and Beron hadn’t questioned it.  Instead, he sent Lucien to scout the hills, keeping an eye out for any other trouble.  After all, the Vanserra gang was trouble enough.

Lucien tightened his knees, guiding his horse up the trail.  He was aiming for the bluff, figuring it gave him a good view of the town and the surrounding land.  Lucien ignored the faint pops of gunfire echoing across the rocky basin.  He didn’t look back again.

The trail leveled out, and Lucien scanned the hills outside of town.  Nothing.  The one good thing about this land was the inability to remain unnoticed.  Any large group kicked up dust.  The Vanserras didn’t care if people saw them coming.  Fear was a good motivator.

He rounded a copse of trees, slowing the horse to a walk.  There was a small cabin.  Reaching behind him, Lucien checked the placement of his rifle, the pistols at his waist.  No need to draw, not yet.  He pasted on a more pleasant expression, changing from scarred outlaw to weary traveler.  There was no telling if the cabin was occupied, and until he knew better, it was best to remain unthreatening.  Never go in alone with guns blazing, he reminded himself.

The cabin had seen better days, the roof sagging a bit at one corner.  It looked like a few sandstorms had chewed on it, too.  Shutters hung crooked on the small windows, and the door was pocked with birdshot.  But the garden surrounding the small house was pristine.  Lucien frowned.  Obviously someone was better in the dirt than with a hammer and nails.

The sound of a rifle being cocked made him freeze, his horse stopping in the center of the trail.  “I don’t give warnings,” a cold voice said.  “Turn around and maybe I won’t blow a hole in you.”

Lucien dutifully raised his hands high.  “I don’t mean any harm,” he called, eyes scanning the shadows.  “Just got a bit turned around.”

A woman stepped out from around the side of the cabin, long rifle aimed for his chest.  Her eyes were hard steel.  “The quickest way out is to turn right around again,” she said.

After a quick internal debate, Lucien figured he could circle back down to the town.  Better than seeing if this woman would follow through on her threat.  From the look on her face, he didn’t doubt she’d sent her fair share of men running off, with or without injuries.

He’d just shifted his legs to turn the horse when he saw the figure crouched in the garden.  She was frozen, kneeling in a patch of vegetables.  Bronze hair tumbled over her shoulders, the same shade as the riflewoman.  Sisters, perhaps.  Only this one had eyes the shade of tilled earth, wide and unblinking.  Shock paled her cheeks, dusted with a smattering of freckles.  Lucien tried to feel guilty for the fear in her expression, but he couldn’t stop looking at her.  He’d seen a lot of women—slept with them, too—but in that moment, he forgot every face but hers.

The other sister noticed the direction of his gaze, her glare intensifying.  “Leave,” she hissed.  “Before I decide I’d prefer your brains on the ground.”  But she still didn’t fire a shot, aware that the sound would draw attention.  Perhaps she’d seen the gang roll into town.  Smart woman.

A sudden gust of wind had Lucien grabbing his hat, lest he lose it.  The woman in the garden didn’t react in time.  Her straw hat blew towards him, lightweight enough to soar higher.

Thinking fast, Lucien reached up to snatch it, using his momentum to slide out of the saddle.  His boots thumped the dirt, making the steely woman snarl.  She spat curses as he moved closer, one slow step at a time.  “Easy,” he murmured, but even Lucien was unsure which woman he was speaking to.  Both, perhaps.  The viper ceased her hissing when Lucien stopped just before the garden, hat extended.  The beautiful woman just looked at him, her face catching the sun like a flower.  “I believe this is yours, ma’am,” he said, voice quiet in case she spooked.

The woman reached out to take it with trembling fingers.  As soon as it left Lucien’s grasp, the end of a rifle kissed the back of his neck.  He blinked, not even realizing the other woman had approached.  Stupid of him, letting her sneak up like that.  He’d been distracted.

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you.”

Lucien kept his face blank, watching the brown-eyed one scramble back to cower against the wall of the cabin, clutching the hat to her chest.  His own chest twisted in response.  “Because if I wanted to, you’d both be dead by now,” he said.  It was true.  He knew the viper could sense it, too.  “But I don’t.  So you’ll let me go, and no one else will bother you today.”

The rifle dug deeper for a heartbeat, then two.  And then it disappeared, the woman backing away quickly.  “If I ever see you again,” she threatened, keeping the muzzle aimed at his chest, even now.

“You won’t,” Lucien assured, walking briskly back to his horse.  He swung into the saddle in an easy movement, eyeing the two women and their ramshackle home.  “I have no reason to come back here.”

But the words stayed in his throat, burning as he trotted the horse back down the trail.  They felt like a lie.

* * * * *

Two years later

It was supposed to be quick.  Beron sent Eris to scout the town a few days before.  The saloon owner was loaded, with some kind of backing from a bank in the East.  The bank had seen better days, but money was money.  And with a greenhorn sheriff, in his post less than a year, it was easy pickings.

Lucien felt like they’d come through before, but couldn’t be certain.  The women at the whorehouse weren’t familiar, but then, they never were.

After the men had enjoyed themselves, Beron gave the signal.  Everything dissolved into chaos after that.  The saloon owner pissed himself, opening the safe without a fuss.  At the bank, they ran into the sheriff, but a few shots to the head solved that problem.  Eris ran down a few do-gooders, the act itself serving as a warning to the rest of them: squeal and you’re next.

Lucien did his best to look busy.  His father had been watching him like a hawk of late, sensing something was off.  He wasn’t wrong.  Lucien had never quite grown accustomed to this life, not the way Eris and the others had.  It soured something in his stomach.  He coasted along on appearances, firing shots into bodies that were already growing cold, rather than ending screams.  He’d lost his taste for bloodletting, if he ever had it.

He’d certainly never had a taste for inflicting pain, no matter how often Beron tied him down to teach him.

Everything was going well, the whiskey and money and blood flowing freely, until suddenly it wasn’t.  Shots fired, a storm of them.  Lucien looked up, frantically searching for the source.  The resistance had ended thirty minutes ago, so who was causing a fuss?  A cloud of dust rose, billowing into town behind three men, badges on their chests.  Lucien cursed, overturning a table and dropping the bottle in his hand.  He ran for his horse, fingers fumbling for a weapon, any weapon.  He’d only just managed to scramble into the saddle when his shoulder erupted, burning fiercely.  Blood spurted between his fingers, staining his horse’s flank.

He kicked weakly, urging the beast forward, away, anywhere else but there.  He pressed down on the wound, pain shooting stars across his vision, as he rode hard for the outskirts of town.  Hooves thundered around him, the others having the same idea.  The gang scattered, racing down different streets and into the hills.  They’d find each other again, they always did.  But in the heat of the moment, it was every man for himself.  That’s what they’d been taught.

Lucien held onto the saddle, reins wrapped around his wrist.  He didn’t care where the horse was taking him, could barely keep his eyes open.  Fuck.  He’d have to stop the blood loss, provided he hadn’t lost too much already.  He gripped tighter, praying he stayed in the saddle long enough to get to safety, then he could worry about staying alive.

He blinked, and his surroundings changed.  Blinked, starlight flickering overhead, surrounded by barren hills.  Blinked, finding himself in a stand of trees.  Blinked, and there was a tiny cabin.

Lucien’s head spun, and he listed to the left, falling to the dirt with a groan.  His horse nickered, nudging him before nibbling on some grass nearby.  Everything hurt, but the night sky caught and held his attention.  Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to die, he thought.  At least he’d seen something beautiful before it happened.

Then a face appeared in his vision, and his breath caught.  Her mouth moved, but he couldn’t hear a thing.  Beautiful, Lucien sighed, grateful again.  He could die a happy man.  His eyes closed, pleased with the angel who’d come to collect his wretched soul.  Beautiful.

* * * * *

“Hold him down.  Dammit, Elain, sit on him if you have to.”

Lucien struggled through darkness as thick as molasses, fighting to regain consciousness.  Where was he—

Pain struck him like lightning, sending him shooting back to himself.  He bucked, the world flashing white-hot.  “Stay still,” a voice hissed in his ear.  The agony returned, digging into his shoulder without mercy.

Another voice came, tentative.  “But he’s—”

“I don’t care.  If I don’t do this, he’ll die, and you can bury him,” the first woman snapped.  “I’d have been happier leaving him in the dirt outside.”

“Blood is bad for the tomatoes.”  Despite the burning in his chest, Lucien nearly smiled at that.  Blood was bad for tomatoes, he marveled.  He never knew that.  Perhaps it wasn’t, perhaps it was.

“I bet he’d be good fertilizer.”  Lucien knew that voice, he realized.  His memory was foggy, but it was definitely familiar.  “Almost done.”  She did something, tugging hard, and Lucien’s vision spotted.  He gasped, tumbling back into darkness.

* * * * *

“Do you think…he’s alright?”

A snort.  “He’s breathing, isn’t he?”

Lucien groaned, shoulder throbbing dully.  He blinked open his eyes, which seemed glued shut.  Light streamed overhead, touching on rough-hewn wooden beams.  He was in a bed, miraculously.  Rough blankets scratched his bare skin.  Looking down, he lifted the bedding, relieved to find his pants still on.  He couldn’t remember how he’d ended up here, but an overnight stay at any brothel was bound to cost a pretty penny.  And what had happened to his shoulder?

“You’re awake,” a soft voice came from the side of the bed.

Turning his head, Lucien came face-to-face with pink cheeks and tumbled curls.  He pulled the blankets back up his chest, almost embarrassed for her.  This one was too innocent for the likes of him.  Before he could ask any questions, he caught a glimpse over her shoulder.

A table and chairs, a small fireplace, and a worn couch.  Threadbare rugs, copper kettle on the counter.  A milk jar filled with flowers.  He frowned.  This wasn’t a saloon or a whorehouse or even an inn.

Then another woman approached, steely gray eyes narrowed down at him.  He swallowed, memory supplying him with the image of her armed with a long rifle.  Lucien knew her, knew both of these women and the cabin he was currently in.  “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” the viper snapped, wrapping her arm protectively around the other woman.  The look on her face said she expected him to kill them at the first opportunity.  He wouldn’t, but they didn’t know that.

“What happened?”  Lucien struggled to sit up, but found himself too weak to do more than lift his head.

“You showed up at our door in the middle of the night,” the brown-eyed one said gently.

“Bleeding like a stuck pig,” the viper hissed.  “She wouldn’t let me leave you there.  Besides, it would be too much effort to bury you.”

Lucien snorted.  “I’m sorry for scaring you like that,” he began.

“We don’t want your empty apologies, we want you to leave.”  The icy woman narrowed her gaze on him.  “So as soon as you can get on your horse, you’ll be gone.  And this time, you’ll stay gone.”

He nodded meekly, knowing when it was best not to argue.  It wouldn’t help to point out that he hadn’t forced them to keep him, and he hadn’t planned on coming back.

The quiet one spoke up again, those eyes sparkling.  “What’s your name?”

Lucien found himself blinking at her, unable to raise his defenses.  “Lucien,” he said.  He nearly smacked himself.  He should have lied.  Foolish of him.

The viper sneered, spinning on one heel and barrelling out the door.  But the other one stayed at his side, expression soft.  “I’m Elain.  And that’s my sister, Nesta,” she said, waving to the door.  “She doesn’t trust outsiders.”

“Good.  She shouldn’t,” he found himself saying.  “Neither should you.”

But Elain just smiled at him, and any other words vanished from his tongue.  “I know your name now,” she said.  “You’re only an outsider if you want to be.”

* * * * *

Unsurprisingly, the distrustful sister—Nesta—wanted nothing to do with him.  So Elain was the one at his bedside, cleaning his wound and offering food or water.  She held the glass to his lips, careful not to spill.  She spooned gray porridge for him, apologizing for the lack of taste.  And she told him stories when he grew restless from the pain.  Despite knowing better, Lucien found that he liked her company.

He hated himself for it.

Lucien knew better than to get attached.  Beron had taught him the dangers of doing so.  Sooner or later, Lucien would leave and Elain would stay.  One day, he’d die, probably in a shootout in a lonely town.  Or she’d face a horrible end, if someone other than him stumbled across this cabin with two beautiful sisters.  However it happened, Lucien knew he’d only hurt worse if he let her inside his defenses.

But how was he supposed to stop it?  Something stilled his tongue every time he tried to form an insult, every time he reached for a harsh word to discourage her.  It wasn’t the suspicious sister stopping him from hurting Elain.  He simply couldn’t bear to do it.

So when Nesta finally warmed up to him enough to ask for his help, he gratefully accepted, fleeing the cabin and the woman inside it.  The woman who was too kind to a man like him.  He hoped she never realized how stained his hands truly were.

Lucien followed Nesta out of the cabin, steps weaker than they’d been before the injury, but he kept up well enough.  He followed her to the rear corner of the building, seeing a collection of tools on the ground, alongside a ladder.  “The roof leaks in the rain,” Nesta bit out, arms folded across her chest.  “Are you any good with a hammer?”

He just nodded, helping her prop the ladder against the cabin and climbing up.  She followed him with new roofing material.  They spent a good hour or so, Lucien doing his best to rip up rotten wood with one hand, showing Nesta how to affix the replacement boards.  She learned quickly, listening to every word, eyes attuned to his movements.

Lucien nearly jumped when Elain called up to them, one hand shading her eyes, “Come on down for lunch, you can finish the roof later.”

Nesta followed him down.  “Thank you,” she muttered.  Though her face was pinched with uncertainty, Lucien caught the sincerity weighing down the words.

He let himself smile at her, holding the door open.  “I owe you.”

She snorted, and Elain looked over at them, wiping her hands on an apron.  “We saved your life, of course you owe us,” Nesta said.

Lucien bowed his head, unable to argue with that.

* * * * *

A few days passed, Lucien offering to help the sisters around the house.  As his shoulder regained strength, he managed to do more and more.  He rehung the shutters, finished the roof with Nesta, and helped haul away garden debris for Elain.  The tasks kept his mind from wandering to the others, no doubt looking for him by now.  Or perhaps they assumed he was dead.  He couldn’t decide which was worse.  Or better.  Lucien decided it was best to avoid thinking at all.

One day, Elain asked to borrow his horse.  “I’d like to bring some vegetables to trade in town,” she said, ducking her head.  “It’s always a pain to go on foot, so we don’t go often.”

“Of course,” he couldn’t refuse her.  But Lucien found himself speaking again before his brain caught up.  “I’ll go with you.”

“What,” Nesta barked, poking her head inside the cabin to stare at him.

“That would be wonderful,” Elain beamed, ignoring her sister.  “You can scare away the old parishioners who like to cheat me.”

Lucien’s brows dropped.  “They cheat you?”  Nesta echoed him.

Elain simply laughed at them, “I guess I’m just too easy, I fall for the same sob stories every time.  But Richmond’s mother died last month and he still tried telling me she was ill and craved potatoes.”

Lucien barked a laugh, and Nesta snorted, returning to whichever project held her attention that morning.  “Should I bring the rifle or something else,” he tried to joke.  Inwardly, he decided on bringing both pistols.  Nesta would keep the rifle, as always.

“Just your charming personality,” Elain grinned.

“Just that,” Lucien trailed off, watching her humming over her baskets.  She packed the vegetables tenderly, fingers tucking them away one by one.  He wondered how much of it she would manage to trade.  He wondered how they’d managed to eke out a living up here, with so little.  He wondered how they even ended up in a place like this.  Elain, he felt certain, was meant for greener places.  Nesta would be vicious anywhere, but she didn’t fit in this barren place any more than her sister.  Lucien bit his tongue before it could get him in trouble.  He knew better than to ask, to grow any more attached.  The less he knew, the better.

Lucien strapped the baskets to the saddle, Elain working in tandem on the other side.  They’d walk into town, the journey taking half an hour if they hurried.  And the same to come back.  He eyed Elain warily, and found that she was already watching him with those curious brown eyes.

Her cheeks pinkened, but she still smiled at him.  “We have a long way to walk, Lucien,” she said.  He ignored the way his skin prickled when she said his name.  Trouble, trouble, he reminded himself.  “What should we talk about?”

Rather than letting her ask questions about him and his past, Lucien blurted out a question of his own.  “How did you and Nesta end up here?”

Elain clicked her tongue, encouraging his horse to follow her down the trail.  Lucien trailed behind her as well, equally obedient.  He mentally kicked himself.  “Well,” Elain began, thinking about it.  “I suppose it all started with my younger sister, Feyre.”

“You have another sister?”

“She fell in love first, of the three of us,” Elain said.  Her smile was different, bittersweet.  “A whirlwind romance, he whisked her away from Boston, told her of riches that lay to the West.”

“A fool, then,” Lucien muttered.

Elain cast him a chiding look.  “This is my story, remember,” she teased.  “He truly was rich, and grew richer still after he returned with Feyre.  She sent us letters, begging us to come as well.  She told us of the beautiful scenery, the freedom there.”  Elain sighed, head dropping a bit.  “Nesta was doubtful.  She said there was nothing for us there, that we needed to settle down and find stable husbands.  She said we couldn’t all be lucky like Feyre.  I didn’t want to believe her.”  The look in her eyes told Lucien exactly what Elain had hoped she’d find in the West.  And that she hadn’t found it.

“What happened?”  Lucien prompted her gently, not wanting to poke around where he wasn’t wanted.

“We ran out of money,” she said simply.  “Everything that could go wrong, did.  The horses went lame, our guides stole and left in the night, and we ended up here with hardly anything left.  So we made do.”

Nesta, that vicious viper, had gone with Elain to indulge her dreams, and had stuck by her side to ensure her sister didn’t pay for their mistakes too harshly.  Lucien found himself relating to the barbed older sister, understanding the need that drove her.  It was beginning to dig its claws into him, as well.  “What about Feyre,” he managed to ask.  “Did you write to her for help?”

Elain was notably quiet.  He looked over the horse, finding her crying silently.  “She didn’t come.”

* * * * *

They reached the town in silence.  Lucien had tried to comfort Elain, but the woman had shut down entirely, refusing any touch or words from him.  So he walked with her, cursing himself and the world and everyone who’d ever hurt the woman hiding behind his horse.

She perked up when they entered the town, pasting on a smile he knew to be fake.  Her eyes told the truth, still mourning the dreams she had lost.

Lucien tied the horse to a post outside the general store.  Elain motioned for him to wait there, then ducked inside.  He counted the seconds, trying to hide his discomfort.  These people didn’t know him, he’d never raided the town.  But his family had.  The scars lingered, bullet holes punched through doors and siding, anything that hadn’t yet been replaced.  This store was no exception.

Elain popped back outside, waving wildly.  “Bring the large basket,” she called, disappearing again.

He snorted, but did as she asked, a dutiful servant.  Lucien didn’t know when he’d become so domestic, but found he didn’t mind the feeling.  He carried the basket inside, setting it down on the counter in front of Elain with a heavy thump.

An elderly man inspected the contents, rheumy eyes fixed on his potential wares.  Meanwhile, Elain chattered, selecting a few items from the shelves.  “I’ll trade the whole basket for flour, sugar, salt, and some of these spices,” she declared.

Lucien cleared his throat, eyeing the amounts she’d laid out.  Her eyes widened, but seemed to get his message.  She put an additional sack of flour on the counter, and he smiled a bit.

“Hardly a fair trade,” the old man grumbled.

“I don’t see anyone else offering fresh vegetables here, do you,” he asked Elain, conversational.

The man straightened up, ready to retort, but Elain played along.  “No, I suppose not.  That makes my wares awfully valuable, doesn’t it,” she mused, tapping a finger on her chin.  Lucien’s grin widened.

“Fine, fine, I’ll take them,” the man bit out, pushing the flour at them.

Elain smiled widely, helping him remove the vegetables from the basket.  “Pleasure doing business with you,” she said.  Together, Lucien and Elain repacked the basket with her new goods, and he carried it back to the horse.

He finished tying it down.  “Any other stops to make?”

“Let’s stop by the church,” she said, mouth twisted in thought.  “And perhaps the inn.  The owner offers food to guests, might like fresh produce.”

Lucien nodded, eyeing the street.  “Inn first.”

Elain’s eyes twinkled with mischief.  “You’re an awfully good salesman,” she said, lips curling up in a sweet smile.

It was effort to keep his eyes on hers.  “You’re a fast learner,” Lucien managed, ignoring her soft mouth.  He tore his gaze away, sucking in a breath.  “Which basket?”

Elain hefted it herself.  “This one,” she said, laughter in her voice.  “Come on, Lucien.”  He was helpless to resist her.

It wasn’t really an inn, he realized the second they walked through the doors.  Half-brothel, half bar, with the option of beds and food if you had the money to pay.  Lucien was pretty sure she only called in an inn to avoid the real words.

The owner was a tough man to please.  “I’ve no need for expensive tomatoes,” he barked, wiping out a glass.  “I make cheap soup and stew, nothing more.”

“But a good stew needs carrots and potatoes,” Elain wheedled.  “Surely you can spare a few bottles of something in exchange.”

Lucien blinked, just realizing why they’d stopped.  He hadn’t had a drop of liquor in…two weeks now?  He hadn’t seen any around the cabin, though.  Now he wondered what Elain planned to do with “a few bottles of something”.

The man curled his lip, a sour expression.  “Very well.  One bottle.  Carrots and potatoes, ten each.”

Elain narrowed her gaze, predatory.  “Five each.”

The man opened his mouth to argue, but Lucien leaned an arm on the bar, getting too close for comfort.  The owner backed away a bit, but it was enough to encourage him.  “Very well,” he ground out, handing Elain a bottle of whiskey.  “They best be good potatoes.”

“Only the best,” she said sweetly.

Lucien was fairly sure he was in love with her.

* * * * *

Elain and Lucien left the church grinning like demons, having successfully exchanged the last of her wares for fabric and a soft blanket.

“You’d make a fine thief,” Lucien told her, folding the bundle into a saddlebag.

She laughed at that, running her fingers over the fabric.  “I don’t know about that, but life here has taught me to play smarter.”  Elain looked over at him, biting her lip.  “I hoped to make you a new shirt,” she said.  “Since your current one is a bit ruined.”

Lucien blinked, remembering the state of it.  She wasn’t wrong.  With a gaping bullet hole and rusty stains from his blood, it looked a bit horrific.  He was only presentable in public because they’d managed to cover the worst of it with a well-placed scarf.  While it looked a bit odd to wear in the warm weather, Lucien avoided the terrified looks he’d have gotten without it.

Elain went on, tightening straps to secure the load.  “Fortunately, I’ve learned a thing or two about mending and sewing since coming here,” she said.

“Thank you, Elain.  I’d love that.”  At this rate, he wasn’t sure how he was ever going to leave.

Distant hoofbeats caught his attention, but the cloud of dust was what held it.  Lucien blinked, disbelieving.  As if out of a dream, or a nightmare, he heard the sound of gunshots.  No.

Scrambling backwards, he wrapped one hand around the reins and the other around Elain.  “Move,” he growled, tugging them around the side of the church.  Away, they had to get away.  The hills would hide them, he knew.  They only had to find their way out of town and they’d be safe.  But the sound of horses only grew louder, closing in.  Furious with himself, Lucien shoved Elain ahead of him.  “Go,” he barked the command, lifting his shirt to reveal the pistols holstered at his sides.  “I’ll catch up.  Take the horse and run for the hills.  Get as far as you possibly can from town.”

Elain gasped, panic revealing the whites of her eyes.  “No, Lucien,” she begged.

“Go,” he snarled again, before turning on his heel to face the threat.  Whatever it was, he could handle it.  He had to.  He couldn’t bear to watch her fall, not now that he’d grown attached.  Because he had.

Helluva time to realize how much he cared, Lucien thought wryly, skirting around the church.  He pressed himself against the wall, peering into the dust-clouded street.  Screams rang out, figures running through the haze, some of them falling.

When Lucien caught a glimpse of red hair beneath a wide-brimmed hat, his stomach turned to lead.  No.

It didn’t really sink in until something sharp dug into his throat.  Lucien dropped his pistol in the dirt.  Rough fingers found and discarded the second one.  “Hello, my boy,” a voice shivered over his ear.  “Is this where you’ve been hiding?”

* * * * *

Beron hauled him to the saloon, hand wrapped around his collar.  Eris met his gaze, amber eyes narrowed in suspicion.  It seemed that no one knew what to believe.  Lucien’s father certainly didn’t.  If he’d been sure that Lucien ran away, he’d have killed him behind the church.

The fact that Lucien was still breathing was a miracle in itself.  Beron had never trusted easily.

“Well, boy?”

“I was injured,” Lucien said hoarsely.  In response, Eris slammed a glass down before him.  Whiskey.  Lucien tossed it back quickly, wetting his dry throat.  “Passed out in the hills, almost bled out.  Took me days before I could even sit up.”  All truth.

“You couldn’t get to the meeting point?”

Lucien shook his head, maneuvering carefully now.  “Today’s the first time I even managed to reach the town for supplies.  Needed to before I could head anywhere.”

Beron watched him, eyes sharp.  “Well, then.  That answers that.”  Lucien nearly slumped with relief.  “We’ll sleep here tonight, leave in the morning.  The boys got a little excited this time, half the town’s dead.  No one to bother us now.”

The words twisted his stomach.  Lucien wondered how many of the people he’d spoken to were gone.  Perhaps Elain could come back for her vegetables later.

Eris walked outside, whistling to call the rest of them in.  His boots thumped down the steps, fading away.  Once he was sure they were alone, Beron turned to Lucien with a sharp smile.  “I think it’s time for us to talk.  A bit of truth, boy.”

Lucien just barely managed to stay in his seat, resisting the urge to run.  He knew, he had to know.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean the way you’re soft now,” Beron hissed.  He pulled out a knife.  “Should we see how soft?”

The gleam in his eyes, just like lamplight off the knife, was familiar.  Lucien felt his pulse jump and tried not to squirm.  “I’ve just been healing, that’s all,” he tried.

“I mean before this.  You’ve been pathetic for a while.  Hardly believe you’re my son,” Beron sneered.  “You thought I didn’t notice how you always had a hangover?  Always killed the ones who were dead or dying already?  How you only pay for your whores?”

There it was.  Lucien clenched his fists, back straightening.  “I guess I’ve never fit in with the rest of you,” he said, voice level.  “If you let me leave, I’ll never come back.”

“Let you leave,” Beron laughed.  “You know better.”  That knife neared his skin, cold against Lucien’s throat.  History repeating itself.  “If I don’t cut out the rot, it lingers, boy.”

Lucien had just opened his mouth, hoping to find some final words to stay his father’s hand, when a crack of lightning sounded.  He blinked at Beron, then both of them looked down, ears ringing, to see the bloody bullseye spreading across Beron’s chest.

His father turned to face the door, and that’s when Lucien saw her.  Elain, one of his pistols in her hands, legs spread wide as she fired another shot at Beron.  Her aim was true, sending Lucien’s father stumbling into the bar, fingers slipping over the polished wood.  He gurgled a bit, but Lucien ignored him.

Lucien scrambled to his feet, pulling Elain into the saloon.  His eyes snagged on the shadows outside.  The others would be there soon, called by the gunshots.  “Elain,” he said desperately.  “Elain, we have to go.”

“I couldn’t leave you,” she said, tears in her eyes.  “But those things he said?”

“I know, I know,” Lucien said, fingers trembling.  He cupped her face, taking the pistol from her.  She was shaking more than he was.  “I promise to tell you everything.  But later.  We need to go now, before they get here.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Eris drawled, leaning against the entrance.  He twirled a gun in his hands, holstering it at his side in a slick movement.  “Hello, little brother.  Hello, little brother’s friend.”

“You’ll leave her out of this.  Let her go, Eris,” Lucien demanded, shoving Elain behind him.

Eris laughed, waving a hand.  “That was the plan.  I came along to thank you, though I am a bit resentful.  I always thought I’d kill him first.”

Lucien just blinked.  “What?”

“Unlike father, I don’t hate your guts,” Eris said, brow raised.  “If you want to stay, stay.  I’ll take the boys and leave, probably won’t come back.”

Gritting his teeth, Lucien eyed his brother warily.  It sounded like a trick, but Eris’ body language read true.  “Why?”

Eris snorted.  “Because father was a monster, and he was running us all to the ground anyway.  It’s time for a bit of new leadership, don't you think?  I’m taking the boys farther north, I’m sick of the heat.  And maybe we could find some towns that haven’t been picked over a dozen times,” he said, sneering at Beron’s body.

Elain clutched at his back, fingers wrapping in his shirt.  Lucien nodded slowly, lowering the muzzle of the pistol to the floor at last.  “Fine.  I don’t want to see you here again,” he warned.  “I’m out, and I mean it.”

“Believe me,” Eris drawled, eyes on Lucien.  His gaze slid to Elain then back again.  “The feeling is mutual.”

* * * * *

While Lucien would have loved to press relieved kisses to every part of Elain’s body, he knew she was likely in shock.  Not to mention the shock of having him kiss her for the first time while they were surrounded by bloody bodies.

He urged Elain up on Beron’s horse—he wouldn’t need it anymore, Lucien reasoned.  Finding a gutted storefront, Lucien stole another horse for himself, seeing as the owners were no longer among the living.  Together, he and Elain trekked back to the cabin with far more than they planned on.

Sometime before they reached the bluff, Elain snapped out of her quiet shock.  “Who were they?”

Lucien swallowed, bracing himself.  “My father and brothers.”

“You’ve lived your whole life with them?”

He thought back to the early days.  No, he hadn’t.  His mother had tried to hide him, tucking him away in an orphanage, but Beron had found out.  He’d come along a few years later, shoving Lucien into a saddle and letting him watch the orphanage burn.  “Yes,” he said instead.  Elain didn’t need to know all the scars, not yet.  Not unless she truly wanted the answers.  Not unless she asked him to stay.

“He raised you to kill,” she said, horrified.

It sounded like a question, so he answered.  “He tried.  It seems I never took to it well enough.  He was always disappointed in me, so I did my best to pretend.”  Lucien sighed, thinking back on all the times he’d tried to lessen the burden of their actions, tried to escape any way he could.  “The first time I met you, I was trying to hide from them.  I didn’t want to help, so I volunteered to search the hills around the town.  That’s why I stumbled across your cabin.  Because I couldn’t stomach what they were doing below.”

Elain was quiet for a long, long time.  “You were only a boy,” she said softly.  “How could you have done anything different?”

Lucien looked away.  “I didn’t know what else to do.  But I wish I’d tried something, anything, sooner.”  He watched his hands, seeing bloodstains that weren’t there.  “Maybe he’d have killed me long ago, if I’d fought back.”

Elain maneuvered her horse beside his.  She reached over, fingers hovering over his forearm.  “But then I wouldn’t have met you,” she said.

He almost laughed.  “Then you wouldn’t have had to kill my father for me,” he rasped.

Her face hardened with determination.  “I’m glad I did it.  I’m glad I could free you.”  Lucien hated himself all over again.  If he’d never come into her life, she wouldn’t have had to kill anyone at all.  She seemed to read all of that and more, because her fingers latched onto his arm tightly.  “If I hadn’t met you, I’d have likely died in town today.  Perhaps at your hand, or at another’s.  I’m grateful, so you can be, too.”

Lucien huffed a laugh, reaching up to pat her fingers.  Elain twisted her hand, holding onto him with an iron grip.  “Alright,” he tried.  “Thank you.”

Elain sent him a smile he didn’t deserve.  “You’re welcome.”  He didn’t think he’d ever deserve her smiles again.  Didn’t think he ever had deserved them.  “Let’s go home.”

And those words managed to make him lose all control.  Elain stopped their horses, dismounting entirely so she could move to his side.  She gripped his hand fiercely, eyes locking with his.  And he slid down, off the horse and into her arms.  Home.  Locked in her surprisingly strong embrace, he realized that Elain knew him better than anyone else ever had.  Only a few weeks in her presence, and she’d figured out what he needed, deep down.  And somehow, by some miracle he’d never tried to earn, she’d made the choice to accept him into her life.

Home.  She’d offered him a home.  For the first time in his life, he wanted it, needed it.  Everything in his body burned for that word, the meaning of it.  Everything in him burned for her.  It always had, even from the very beginning, when he’d been too busy kicking himself to acknowledge it.

When his tears finally slowed, Lucien leaned back, hands framing her face.  Elain just looked up at him with those warm eyes of hers, sparkling at him with countless emotions.  I understand you, those eyes said.  I accept you.  I want you to stay.  But the words that came out of her mouth were different, wholly unexpected.  “I love you,” she whispered.  “Stay with me, Lucien.”

Their first kiss was salty.  Tears wouldn’t stop flowing down his cheeks, running onto hers.  She laughed when his kissed across her face, worsening the mess.  “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeated into her skin, over and over again.  “I don’t deserve you, but by God do I love you, Elain.”

“You don’t have to deserve anything,” she said, arms wrapping tight around him.  “Or if you do, maybe it’s time to believe you deserve good with the bad.”

He silenced her with a deep and furious kiss, his heart raging.  She tasted like honey and sunshine, his miracle.  And her moan was utterly sinful, when he licked into her mouth like the heathen he was.  The sound flickered through his body, setting him alight.  Elain only grinned, nipping at his jaw, pressing butterfly kisses to his racing pulse.  Lucien groaned, letting her sink into his body.  “Elain, stop,” he begged.

“I thought you were supposed to be some kind of criminal,” she pouted at him.  “Why are you suddenly trying to be good?”

Lucien laughed freely, the feeling loosening his shoulders for the first time in years.  “Because when I ravish you, Elain,” he purred, fingers digging into her hips to pull her tighter.  She rubbed against him, teasing him to attention.  In response, he bucked his hips, letting her melt into his arms at the implication.  “I intend to do so in a bed.”

#elucien #elain x lucien #elucien fanfiction #elucien fic #elucienweek2022 #technically just in time for the final day celebrations! #wild west lucien

[waitingforwinterwinds]

ASOS; Steel and Snow: 13 ARYA II (pages 173-187)

While scavenging a veggie patch, Arya and her boys meet up with some travelers who 'invite' them to an inn up the road where Hot Pie laments the baking quality, and Arya meets an old friend.

The Reader advises that those playing along with the drinking game Do NOT consume alcohol for this one, even if they typically do.

-

"Off to Gulltown to see the fair maid, heigh-ho, heigh-ho... ... "I'll steal a sweet kiss with the point of my blade, heigh-ho, heigh-ho."

Well, now we know why there's only seven dwarves, I'd kick this guy out of the group too. Snow White and the Restraining Order (1997)

... now I have Heigh Ho stuck in my head, I just got the Anastasia song out ಥ_ಥ

"What if it's some honest man back there, though? Or some poor woman with a little babe at her breast?" "An honest man would come out and show us his face. Only an outlaw would skulk and hide."

... *gestures incredulously to the very recent history of people slaughtering the innocent and honest folks of the area regardless of side, giving the honest men and women every reason to hide from strangers* Are you sure about that?

(I'm half expecting them to be calling a bluff with zero intention of actually loosing any arrows, but, given this story, and the people in this area... they very well could be the kind of people who'd kill innocents by accident "just in case.")

"- This great lout with the brown teeth is Lem, short for Lemoncloak. It's yellow, you see, and Lem's a sour sort. -"

... Yeah, I'll count it. Lemon(cloak) = ���

"- There's an inn not far ahead kept by some friends of ours. -" ... "Sharna is the innkeep's name," Tom put in. ... "Sharna's husband, and am orphan boy they took in. -"

huh, sounds like the folks from the inn that the BROadtrip crew just passed through... waiiiit a minute *squints in suspicion* because I was told that that one time I was like "it would be frustratingly ironic if girl on the shore was Arya" it wasn't her because "timeline stuffs" so maybe it is that inn? Ohhhh, I love a good near miss.

One of my favourite dramas (The Long Ballad) has an episode in the back half of the series where the main characters keep missing each other as they wander around the markets independently of one another despite some of them being on the look out for the rest. The timings are just. So Good. And none of the misses feel contrived. Annoying, because I want the crew back together already, but organic.

"That they do," agreed Lem Lemoncloak.

Lemon(cloak) = 🥛

"Do you think Sharna might have lemons down in that cellar of hers?" said Anguy to Tom as they watched Lem splash around, cursing. "A Dornish girl once cooked me duck with lemons." He sounded wistful.

Lemon(s) = 🥛🥛

The painted sign above the door showed a picture of some old king on his knees.

It is the inn! but how much later?

Anguy shuffled his feet. "We were thinking we might eat it, Sharna. With lemons. If you had some." "Lemons. And where would we get lemons? Does this look like Dorne to you, you freckled fool? Why don't you hop out back to the lemon trees and pick us a bushel, and some nice olives and pomegranates too."

Lemon(s/tree) = 🥛🥛🥛🥛

Thank goodness my drinking-game drink is water, or this chapter would have me wasted on lemons.

"Well, here's to His Grace," ANguy the Archer called out cheerfully, lifting a toast. "Seven save the king!" "All twelve o' them," Lem Lemoncloak muttered.

hehehe. they (kings) do seem to multiply when you take your eyes off them. Lemon(cloak) = 🥛

... Ahhh, Brienne called it, innkeeper's husband was sending them to a trap! She's so clever. (and they were only just there! they were so close!!)

Arya remembered the shaft that had brushed by her ear. She wished she knew how to shoot arrows.

"she wished she knew how to shoot arrows."

Huh.

D&D suck at their job (and can't read through their "this is girl-bossing right?" glasses) = 🥛

I know it should seem like a point for Arya, a life skill under her belt, but given the way and the number of times these sorts of changes keep cropping up... I don't think D&D understood the characters, character arcs, or the assignment in general as well as they think they did

Hot Pie made a face as soon as he tasted it. "That's bad bread," he said. "it's burned, and tough besides."

Ooohhh, is this the inn where Hot Pie stays? I remember from the show, he ended up working at an in somewhere. (But as we've just discussed, sometimes the show must be taken with a pinch of salt.)

He laughed aloud. Anguy joined in, and then they were all laughing, Lem Lemoncloak, Sharna and Husband, even the serving boy, who had stepped out from behind the casks with a crossbow under one arm. Arya wanted to scream at them, but instead she started to smile...

Lemon(cloak) = 🥛

... and then everything goes to shit. Oh but this feels like a panic response from Arya, the kind of false fight or flight that comes from a PTSD trigger. She doesn't know it's going to go bad, but this is too much like a previous encounter which did go bad, and she's reacting before the proof.

Not necessarily a bad thing, given the continued danger she's been in, and because we don't know if it's going to be okay or not, but that immediate jump to action instead of sussing out the situation does read more like panic.

...Oh? Harwin? A friend?

Well, he'd better be if he led her pony around, and because he just outed her secret identity.

Oh that's...

For a moment she didn't know how to answer. She'd had so many names. had she only dreamed Arya Stark?

Oh, that's scary. For her grip on her core identity to be so faded... she needs so much therapy, and affirmation, and probably hugs too. It'll be good fro her to spend time with someone who knew her as Arya, to reaffirm that sense of identity before the connection to it becomes even more tenuous... as long as Harwin is still on her side.

In other news, I am sloshed. Watch. *rolls side to side, sloshing like a half empty barrel of wine* so many drinks ಥ_ಥ

Lemons = 6 Lemon(cloak) = 4 D&D suck = 1

🥛= 11

I think that's the most drinks per chapter I've had... maybe I shouldn't have counted Lemon(cloak) but I didn't know the first time, and then it was too late to change it... ಥ_ಥ

actually, you want to hear something funny? When I'm reading fic now, every time one of my drinking game words pops up, I have to physically stop myself from marking it and taking a drink. You'd think it wouldn't be so bad, the only really mundane words are lemon, ruby, and the swears. BUT. surprisingly common. actually. 🤭

#a storm of swords #steel and snow #a song of ice and fire #arya stark #a chapter a day reading #asos #asoiaf

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

Harper and Gan, Bluebird and Robin

Harper Row, inspired by Batwoman and the need to protect her brother Cullen from violent homophobes, put her technical know-how to work defending the Narrows district of Gotham, from both criminals and from corrupt GCPD officers inspired to ever more heinous acts by the second Commissioner Gordon--Jim Jr--and the police-state sponsored Batman and Robin he had created in the absence of a true Dynamic Duo. Cullen’s budding relationship with Bluff of the Royal Flush Syndicate--a staunch supporter of Punchline--has put a wedge between the siblings, but she remains close with the Bat-Family.

Gan has the distinction of being the only Robin to be trained by Jason Todd, eventually joining his Outlaw Titans as a second-in-command. This led to some initial friction with Devour, who felt the honor should go to him as Jason’s self-proclaimed best student, but they eventually worked things out, to say the least. Gan would continued to operate in Gotham into the Beyond Era, bringing her into the orbit of one Terry McGinnis...

#dc #fanart #headverse #harper row #bluebird #gan #robin

[sparviero44]

Always on the crest of the wave, even at 93 years old

I like, in fact, I have always liked, because it is an actor who has only two displayed expressions: one with the hat and the other without a hat ". It's been more than 60 years from the statement that he made Sergio Leone Clint Eastwood. From the Italian director's favorite actor in the famous 'Trilogy of the dollar' planetary star able to stock up on Oscar Awards, the American actor and director - but also a film producer and composer - has come a long way, becoming one of the landmarks Hollywood. Today Clint Eastwood celebrates 93 years.

It was 1964 when a stranger Clint Eastwood - who had assets of a handful of films not exactly memorable, but he had made the center on television with the series westerns 'Rawhide' ( 'Rawhide') - was chosen by Sergio Leone to interpret the bounty killer unnamed 'for a Few dollars More'. The success was immediate, so much so that Eastwood starred also in two other Leone's films - 'For a Few Dollars More' (1965) and 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' (1966) - which would then formed the 'Trilogy dollar'.

Besides Leone, another director "cult" was important in Eastwood's career: Don Siegel, considered one of the masters of the detective film and action. With American filmmaker Eastwood all very well he turned five films, success: 'Coogan's Bluff' (1969), 'Mules for Sister Sara' (1969), 'The long night of the soldier Jonathan' (1971), ' Dirty Harry: the case Scorpio is yours! '(1971) and' Escape from Alcatraz '(1979).

A lot of the acclaimed masterpieces by critics and audiences - 'The Outlaw Josey Wales' (1976),' Bird '(1988),' A Perfect World '(1993),' The Bridges of Madison County '(1995),' Power absolute '(1997),' Mystic River '(2003),' Million Dollar Baby '(2004),' Flags of Our Fathers '(2006),' Letters from Iwo Jima '(2006),' Changeling '(2008)' Gran Torino '(2008),' Invictus - invincible '(2009),' J. Edgar '(2011),' American Sniper '(2014),' Sully '(2016),' The Courier - The Mule '(2018),' Richard Jewell '(2019) - won many awards. Four Academy Awards - two for 'Unforgiven' (1992, Best Film and Best Director), same for 'Million Dollar Baby' (2004, Best Film and Best Director) - plus one memory to the Irving G. Thalberg assigned in 1995. Eastwood also he won six Golden Globe.

Sempre sulla cresta dell'onda, anche a 93 anni.

Mi piace , anzi , mi è da sempre piaciuto, perché è un attore che ha solo due espressoni: una con il cappello e l’altra senza cappello“. Sono passati più di 60 anni dall’affermazione che Sergio Leone fece di Clint Eastwood. Da attore feticcio del regista italiano nella celebre ‘Trilogia del dollaro‘ a star planetaria capace di fare incetta di Premi Oscar, l’attore e regista americano – ma anche produttore cinematografico e compositore – ha fatto moltissima strada, diventando uno dei punti di riferimento di Hollywood. Oggi Clint Eastwood festeggia 93 anni.

Era il 1964 quando uno sconosciuto Clint Eastwood – che aveva all’attivo una manciata di film non proprio indimenticabili, ma che aveva fatto centro in tv con la serie western ‘Rawhide‘ (‘Gli uomini della prateria’) – fu scelto da Sergio Leone per interpretare il bounty killer senza nome in ‘Per un pugno di dollari‘. Il successo fu immediato, tanto che Eastwood recitò anche in altri due film di Leone – ‘Per qualche dollaro in più‘ (1965) e ‘Il buono, il brutto e il cattivo‘ (1966) – che avrebbero poi formato la ‘Trilogia del dollaro’.

Oltre a Leone, un altro regista “cult” fu importante per la carriera di Eastwood: Don Siegel, considerato uno dei maestri del cinema poliziesco e d’azione. Col cineasta americano Eastwood girò ben cinque film, tutti di grande successo: ‘L’uomo dalla cravatta di cuoio‘ (1969), ‘Gli avvoltoi hanno fame‘ (1969), ‘La notte brava del soldato Jonathan‘ (1971), ‘Ispettore Callaghan: il caso Scorpio è tuo!‘ (1971) e ‘Fuga da Alcatraz‘ (1979).

Tantissimi i capolavori acclamati da pubblico e critica – ‘Il texano dagli occhi di ghiaccio‘ (1976), ‘Bird‘ (1988), ‘Un mondo perfetto‘ (1993), ‘I ponti di Madison County‘ (1995), ‘Potere assoluto‘ (1997), ‘Mystic River‘ (2003), ‘Million Dollar Baby‘ (2004), ‘Flags of Our Fathers‘ (2006), ‘Lettere da Iwo Jima‘ (2006), ‘Changeling‘ (2008) ‘Gran Torino‘ (2008), ‘Invictus – L’invincibile‘ (2009), ‘J. Edgar‘ (2011), ‘American Sniper‘ (2014), ‘Sully‘ (2016), ‘Il corriere – The Mule‘ (2018), ‘Richard Jewell‘ (2019) – molti i premi conquistati. Quattro Premi Oscar – due per ‘Gli spietati‘ (1992, miglior film e miglior regia), altrettanti per ‘Million Dollar Baby‘ (2004, miglior film e miglior regia) – più uno alla memoria Irving G. Thalberg assegnatogli nel 1995. Eastwood ha anche vinto sei Golden Globe.

#clinteastwood #sergioleone #cinema #film #thegoodthebadandtheugly #western #movie #spaghettiwestern #leevancleef #movies #enniomorricone #eliwallach #dirtyharry #art #hollywood #s #cowboy #ilbuonoilbruttoilcattivo #angelinajolie #gianmariavolont #forafewdollarsmore #perunpugnodidollari #films #tuco #perqualchedollaroinpi #actor #mariobrega #grantorino #cinematography #richardjewell

[lublas1138-blog]

The following is the second chapter of a novel I wrote based on the original treatment of Star Wars in 1973 by George Lucas. Though the synopsis was vague, the novel was fun to write and I think it came out quite well. I submit it here because there is no way Disney will allow me to publish this. So, enjoy and tell me what you thought? I will be publishing a chapter each week.

chapter two

Interplanetary outlaws

The twin suns broke over a desolate and fractured horizon bathing the rolling prairies in a golden hue. The low bluffs surrounding the flatlands resembled baked biscuits stacked upon one another.

   Five metal and stone structures bleached white by the gaze of the twin suns huddled together tightly, for the company as much as for protection. Yellow and dry weeds sporadically sprung up about the grit-laden settlement. The squat and domed buildings formed the nexus of the small farming community of Anchorhead.

   At the far end of the sleepy town, in a yard surrounded by a crumbling wall of stone a meter in height, the small two-story farmhouse was quiet. The only noise was the constant squeaking from the weathervane behind the home. The vane looked as if it was constructed from scrap metal.

   The farmhouse itself was an adobe-style structure also whitewashed from the bleaching of the two suns. The blocky home had an upstairs balcony topped with a blue and dusty tarp to blanket the heat. To the left of the building was an open garage where sat a beat-up transport vehicle.

   Behind the house was a half-kilometer-long row of dead and blackened vegetation. The plastic sheets used to keep the produce hydrated were torn and tattered. To the right of the desolate garden towered a cylindrical silo of brick concrete. The door to the silo had been left open and rotted vegetation spilled out onto the arid soil.

   General Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, their bodies aching with fatigue and covered in grit and dust, approached the farmhouse with caution. Presently the dusty, early morning unpaved street they walked was quiet and deserted. Sandflies buzzed lazily in the cracked eaves of pourstone buildings. A dog barked in the distance, the sole sign of habitation.

   “Your Grace,” The General whispered. “Remain behind me. There are a lot of scared and confused people about.”

   The two approached the front porch of the modest home. The entrance was a shut metal hatch salvaged from a space freighter. Solid and thick and lined with dust. The moment Skywalker was about to knock on the door, the hatch slid open and a long chrome barrel of a blaster rifle was pointed straight at his forehead.

   “Get off my property! There’s nothing to loot here!” Barked a gruff voice from the darkness of the farmhouse.

   “Dalton! Put that rifle down! You’re going to get yourself killed!” Pleaded a matronly voice from within the house.

   “I’d listen to the lady,” Skywalker sternly advised. With hands raised, his unblinking gaze remained set on where the face of the owner of the rifle might be.

   “Don’t make me ask twice…oh? Oh!” The rifle disappeared and was replaced by the stout form of a middle-aged farmer. He was dressed in unassuming overalls and sported an unkempt beard and a shock of lanky hair. Instantly, he bowed his head, “General Skywalker! My chieftain, please, forgive me.”

   Skywalker’s face dissolved from a terse scowl to a placating grin, “That’s all right. Under the circumstances, I don’t blame you, citizen. May we come in?”

   “Of course, sir!” Dalton stepped out of his way and gestured inside.

   The general stood in the doorway allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the farmhouse. He glanced about. These were simple folk with basic needs.

   The interior was spartan but emitted a warm feeling of comfort and home. Several rudimentary furnishings were placed about - chairs, a table, a sofa, and end tables with lamps. All well used. His eyes fell upon the only ornament, a holo-pic fastened to the wall above the cooling unit of a man, a woman, and a son. All smiling and happy. To his right was the doorway which led to a modest kitchen located under the upstairs balcony and to his left a set of wooden stairs that offered access to the second floor.

   A portly woman in her mid-forties emerged from the kitchen and stood next to her husband. With a look of shock and reverence, they bowed at the hip when their gaze fell upon the girl accompanying the general.

   “Your Highness!” The two farmers recited with admiration.

   “Please rise.” The princess said with a warm smile. “Thank you for allowing us to be guests in your home.”

   “I am Dalton Montross and this lovely woman here is my wife, Zora. Your Highness, if I may ask, what brings you to Anchorhead?”

   “As you may well know, Aquilae has fallen under attack by the Empire. Utapau is gone. I saw TIE fighters dropping bombs throughout the night.” The general said.

   “Yes! Those noises! They were horrible!” Zora said, clutching her ample chest, “It began as a low rumble followed by a series of thunderous concussions!”

   “Certainly the Royal Guard defended Utapau and its people!” Dalton said, “The Arial Navy? The Rangers?”

   “Gone.” Skywalker said morosely, “All gone.”

   “On the radio, some voice said Gordon is the only spaceport standing and has been designated as the Imperial Capital of Aquilae.”

   The General and the princess glanced knowingly at one another.

   “We need to get to Gordon,” Skywalker said.

   “You need to get to Gordon? Why in heavens…” Dalton sputtered.

   “There is no place of safety on this asteroid for Her Highness. We need to charter a ship out of Gordon that can transport us to Ophuchi. We may have lost this battle, but we are still in the fight,” Skywalker said.

   “Ophuchi?” The farmer contemplated, scrubbing his scruffy whiskers. “That’s a ways. You’ll have to sneak through Imperial territories.”

   “We’ll deal with that once we get to Gordon,” Skywalker said. “Which goes without saying, do you have a mode of transport we could use?”

   “I have a speeder. It’s an old junker, but it’ll get you to where you’re going. To Gordon, at least.”

   The general glanced over his scorched uniform and the princess’s tattered gown.

   “And we’ll require a change of clothes. Gordon is several days away, even by speeder. We’ll have to travel in disguise.” Skywalker stated.

   The farmer’s wife looked over at the princess. Her once pristine gown of white whisper-silk was now soiled with soot and burn marks.

   Zora smiled warmly, “My son was attending the Royal University. You are about the same age and size as him. I may have some clothes to fit you, Your Grace. Please follow me upstairs to his room.”

   Zora led the way as she escorted the princess up the creaking staircase.

   Skywalker turned back to Dalton. “Mister Montross, do you have a holodisc player?”

   “Certainly, sire.” He said gesturing to a small, plastic box. “There on that cupboard. Help yourself.”

   The general removed the disc from the satchel and slid it into the side of the small, boxy mechanism. He pressed a button on the holodisc player and from a lens atop the machine, a twelve-inch hologram of King Bail Organa appeared.

   “General Luke Skywalker,” the king began, he spoke urgently with a voice laced with sadness, “if you are viewing this then the emperor has succeeded in his occupation of Aquilae and I am dead. The emperor and the emperors before him have long desired to seize control of spice production here on Aquilae. For generations, the Jedi-Bendu have protected my family utilizing a strict code of honest valor and kindness. I ask you for one last favor, old friend, to protect my daughter at all costs. She is the last of House Organa and the empire’s stormtroopers will stop at nothing to end my line. They will not triumph, my friend. I have introduced a poisonous mutagen into the matrix of spice farming. Within hours all Aura Spice – on farms, in storage silos, all of it – will perish and become useless. However, within a canister, I have stashed enough pure Aura to grow in secret on another planet. I am certain, as you view this, the Banking Conglomerates of the empire are already dividing up my territories and my financial holdings pilfered. You will find within the satchel enough ampules of Aura to revitalize House Organa from its ashes. Please. Please safeguard my daughter, General Skywalker. You are my only hope.”

   The emitter switched off and the holographic image of the king faded. Skywalker stood tense and pensive, stroking the ashen whiskers of his chin with a gloved hand.

   “The king is truly dead?” Dalton asked with tears welling in his sad eyes.

   “I’m afraid so.” Skywalker affirmed with despondent apathy. He began thinking of the plight of the peoples of this kingdom. The hardship of enduring the oncoming tyranny that will affect their very lives. “Come with us. You and your wife need to get off Aquilae.”

   “No, this is our home. Anyways, where are we to go? We’ll wait it out here. I have faith in you, General. You will prevail and save us all.”

   At that moment, the princess trotted downstairs dressed in traveling clothes. Her burnt and sooty white gown had been replaced by a long-sleeved tunic of dark mauve, a pair of khaki jodhpur breeches, and a set of knee-high leather boots. She had a flight cap similar to the general’s. It covered her ears but was open at the top exposing her auburn hair.

   “How do I look, general?” She smiled and did an impromptu spin with arms outstretched.

   “Not a stormtrooper would recognize you, Your Highness.” The general admitted with an approving grin, but sadness laced his voice. Though she was still a child, he realized the burden of House Organa now weighed on her shoulders.

   “Your turn, my chieftain.” Zora beamed, “I think Dalton has a spare set of clothes or two that might fit you. They may be a bit baggy…”

   “You saying I’m fat?” Dalton interjected.

   “I’m saying your fat.” She nodded to her husband, with hands on wide hips, “Now, follow me if you please upstairs, my chieftain.”

   The wooden steps creaked loudly as the general followed the wife. Dalton and the princess stood in awkward silence for a moment. What was he to say? The Royal daughter of House Organa stood in his humble home.

   He thought, She is my guest and will be treated as any other guest.

   “Your Highness, where are my manners? Please, have a seat. Can I get you something to drink? Water? Jawa juice?”

   Leia smiled warmly, “Water will be fine. Thank you.”

   He dashed into the kitchen. Leia sat as she heard the clanking of utensils coming from the other room. Dalton said loudly, speaking to Leia as if he was gossiping to an old acquaintance, “It was a week ago I received the transmission from the Ministry of Agriculture stating we all were to be compensated for our profit loss and then getting the Royal Decree that our crops would be poisoned. Then and there was when I knew things were bad.”

   Dalton emerged from the kitchen with a glass of ice water. He handed it to the princess who took it with a respectful smile.

   “What will you and your wife do now?” She asked.

   The farmer put his hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair in deep consideration, “Wait this occupation out, I suppose. The emperor took siege of your family’s kingdom without the authorization of the senate. I am certain once the other clans hear from Your Grace of the atrocities committed by Emperor Xerxes, something will be done and things will return to normal.”

   “I assure you I will do everything in my power to correct this, Mister Montross.”

   “That I do not have a doubt. And, you can call me Dalton, if it pleases Your Grace. All my friends do.”

    The princess took a sip of water, smiling warmly at his sincere hospitality. She glided over to the family portrait that hung on the wall and admired it.

   Leia asked, attempting to mask the sadness in her voice, “You had a son at the Royal Academy?”

   “Yes. His name is Ferris. Me and his ma were so proud of him when he was accepted. He should have contacted us by now and let me and his ma know he’s all right.”

   Before the princess could speak, the general returned downstairs in his farmer attire. His clothing was similar to the princess, but he had a tan cloak. His belt holding his blaster and laser sword was fastened around his hip.

   “Well, aren’t you the handsome one, General?” The princess smiled.

   “We must make haste to Gordon, Your Highness. Every second allots the empire time to locate you.” The general said adjusting his tunic here, tugging there.

   “Follow me to the garage and I’ll show you my old speeder.” The farmer said.

   Accompanying Dalton outside, the heat of the twin suns beat down on Skywalker and the princess as they walked to the garage located on the side of the house. A streamlined speeder rested within the dusty and dim coolness of the small garage.

   The vehicle was long and finned, the closed canopied car held two seats in the front and a single seat in the rear that could comfortably hold four passengers. Built with a powerful repulsorlift engine augmented with two air-cooled thrust turbines on either side of the chassis, the X-32 hovered half a meter off the ground during operation. The old speeder was fairly nondescript in appearance and measured four meters in length. The vehicle was capable of crossing rough terrain and well-suited for harsh desert climates.

   It was apparent that old Dalton made extensive use of his speeder, leaving the craft sand-pocked, sun-faded, and missing its portside turbine cowling. With tinkering and careful maintenance, Dalton had kept the landspeeder, to an extent, in good working order.

   “She may not look like much, but the old girl’ll get you to Gordon.”

   “We appreciate your kind hospitality, Mister Montross, allow me to compensate you for your generosity…” The general retrieved a small pouch of credits.

   “Won’t take those, General.” The farmer said with a raised palm. “You keep them. You’ll need them more than I will.”

   The farmer’s wife emerged from the house with a small crate of supplies. “I cullied together the best I could on such short notice. Canned goods, dried noodles, some dried fruit, two liters of water…oh, and this, General.” She handed him a small box.

   He opened the dark brown box to reveal a row of cigarillos. “Tusken Tobacco?”

   “The finest in the eastern territories. For you.” Zora beamed; her cheeks flushed crimson.

   “You are too kind.” General Skywalker smiled humbly.

   Dalton opened the passenger door for the princess and said to Skywalker, “Just safely get to Gordon. Tell the galaxy what the emperor has done then come back and kick these dogs off our land!”

   The princess sat on the dusty passenger seat as Skywalker made his way to the driver’s side.

   “May the Force of Others be with you,” Dalton said earnestly.

   Skywalker stopped and stared at the wife and farmer who stood together. Good people, such as them, were the ones he was fighting for. He curtly nodded, “May the Force of Others be with you, my friends.”

   General Skywalker jumped into the landspeeder causing the recently repaired repulsion floater to list alarmingly to one side until he was able to equalize weight distribution by sliding behind the controls. Maintaining its altitude slightly above the sandy ground, the transport vehicle steadied itself like a boat in a heavy sea. The general gunned the engine, which whined in protest, and as sand erupted behind the floater, he aimed the craft toward the distant spaceport of Gordon.

It was an old rancher’s saying that one could burn one’s eyes out faster by staring straight at the sun-scorched flatlands of Aquilae than from gazing directly into the two suns themselves. Despite its hot and arid climate, the environment was made possible by the installation of an atmosphere factory eons ago after the discovery of the Aura mushroom growing in the shadows of the rocks. The asteroid was gifted only one weather satellite which kept the asteroid in a relatively livable, if hot, climate.

   At midday, the twin suns beat down on the two escaped robots as they made their way across the bleached-white flatlands in which they had crashed.

   C-3PO, his internal thermostat overloaded and edging dangerously toward overheat shutdown, struggled, kicking up clouds of dust as he clumsily worked his way across the desert coastline.

   “What a desolate place this is!” C-3PO said as he turned to glance back at where the crashed shuttle lay half-buried in the sand. His internal gyros were still rattling from the rough landing.

   Landing! That was a landing?

   His memory circuits recalled in orbit the shuttle buckling from the blast, the spinning vista outside the cockpit, and the screaming air as they descended. His vain attempt at trying to level the craft only to ricochet off a towering bluff and skid to a halt against the base of a crescent dune.

   As he looked back at the smoldering craft, its pillar of black smoke billowing upwards to a blue and cloudless sky, he saw little R2-D2 waddling desperately to keep up with his longer-legged friend. A faint puff of minuscule dust particles rose in his wake. Neither robot had been designed for pedal locomotion on such rough terrain, so they had to fight across the unstable surface.

   “Your diodes are burnt out!” Called R2-D2, “Why you were manufactured is beyond my logic transistors. Thanks to you, we’re deserters and will probably be destroyed on sight. And on top of that, do you even know where you are going? All this grit is getting…”

   C-3PO ignored him. He glanced around. Rocks and sand as far as his photoreceptors could see. The dry sand bed stretched out onto a horizon dominated by high sandstone mesas. There was vegetation: succulents, barrel cacti, small-leaved shrubs, and desert grasses. Sparse, but life existed. Behind him began a vast sea of dunes that stretched kilometer after kilometer. The robot reflected that, on the one hand, he ought to be grateful they had come down in one piece. However, as he studied the desolate landscape, perhaps they were better off back on that battle station.

   “Are you listening to me?” R2-D2 called.

   “Not really. You’ve been a constant annoyance since we were assigned to one another,” C-3PO said. “Seriously, who will need a servomech robot in this climate? They’ll just use your casing as a waste bin while I retain my functions as servant and custodian.” Something squeaked in his right leg and he winced. “I’ve got to rest before I fall apart. My internal systems still haven’t recovered from that landing.”

   “Landing? Do you call that a landing? You couldn’t pilot your way out of an open airlock without the aid of a GPS and radar…”

   “Oh, switch off! And, why are you following me? I don’t need you, rust bucket.” C-3PO paused, but R2-D2 did not. The little automaton had performed a sharp turn and was now ambling slowly but steadily in the direction of the nearest outcrop of a mesa.

   “Hey,” C-3PO yelled. R2-D2 ignored the call and continued striding. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

   “Away from you!” R2-D2 shot back. “I hope your joints lock and you become a permanent artifact in this desert. I hope I never…wait! What is this?”

   With one of his clawed hands, the little automaton grabbed something up off the gritty ground.

   The taller robot exhaustedly shuffled over to R2-D2 and glanced at what he was holding. The human-like robot snatched the object out of R2-D2’s grasp.

   “What is that?” C-3PO asked more to himself as he held the thing up to his photoreceptors.

   “Hey!” R2-D2 protested. “That’s mine!”

   C-3PO studied the object. It was a small tube of chrome with an inhaler ejector at one end. Along the side of the tube was a transparent glass that revealed a phosphorescent blue glimmering inside.

   “Aura Spice!” C-3PO said. “We found Aura Spice!”

   “We?” R2-D2 retorted.

   “With this alone, we can purchase passage off this rock and go anywhere in the galaxy we so choose!”

   “You think there might be more?”

   “There has to be! If whoever this belonged to was foolish enough to drop one, they may have dropped more!” C-3PO said excitedly as he glanced about.

   “Let’s get looking!”

   “Here, store this in one of your compartments for safekeeping.” The taller robot returned the inhaler to his cohort.

   “Good idea.” R2-D2 agreed. He placed the inhaler into a small, sealed slot at the front of his chassis.

   Nearby, the pillars and buttresses of bleached calcium along with the bones of some enormous beast fossilized into the ridge of chocolate-colored rock formed an unpromising landmark. Frantically, the two robots began rummaging through the sand, turning over rocks.

   “There has to be more, R2-D2! Over here!”

   The small robot paused briefly to clean its single electronic eye with an auxiliary arm. Then it produced an electronic squeal which was almost, though not quite, a human expression of rage. “Leave me alone! I’m looking! I’m looking!”

   “I found another one!” C-3PO shouted with glee. Emitting a cacophony of clicks and whirs, he ran over to the squat robot holding up his find between two mechanical fingers. “Look!”

   “One for each of us! More! There has to be more!”

   “Hoy!” Echoed a booming voice.

   The two robots froze in fear. The voice reverberated for several seconds.

   “Who’s that?” R2-D2 whispered.

   On top of a low bluff of chocolate brown rock stood a sturdy-looking man with a grey beard. His tan cape fluttered in the hot breeze. He raised his gloved hand and called, “Are you injured? I saw your ship come down!”

   C-3PO bent over R2-D2 and said softly, “He may be a pirate. He’ll steal our spice and junk us for parts.”

   “I don’t like the way he looks.”

   “Here, hide this with the other one,” the copper robot said handing R2-D2 the small inhaler. The squat robot quickly shoved it into his compartment and snapped the case closed.

   The man began approaching the two nervous automatons. They stood still. The stranger was tall and looked strong. The unnerving thing about him was, C-3PO noticed, he didn’t smile. His face was as firm and blank as a poker dealer.

   “Were there any people aboard when you crashed?” The man asked as he approached and stopped in front of the robots.

   “No. Just us.” C-3PO said curtly.

   “You piloted the ship?” The stranger asked as he scrutinized the distant wreckage of the shuttle.

   “Yes.”

   “Amazing. A c1-type robot capable of flying a spaceship? Amazing. What are your operating numbers?” The man asked with both fists firmly placed on his hips.

   The robot nervously glanced at the man’s blaster and then the laser sword. He calculated perhaps the subservient approach was best. “I am C-3PO and this is R2-D2. Nice to make your acquaintance.”

   The stranger’s squinting expression changed when he noticed the Imperial Banner of a red sun on the crumpled wing of the crashed shuttle. He looked down at the servomech robot who remained quiet and asked, “Who’s your master?”

   The little robot clicked and rattled, but didn’t utter a word.

   “Can’t you speak? How do you relate your data? You’re of Corellian manufacture, you should be able to talk. Are you damaged?”

   “He’s fine. Just a little timid around strangers,” C-3PO quickly indicated.

   “Oh? Well, I’m Luke. I harvest spice. Perhaps we can be friends and help one another out. I was traveling to my sister’s evaporator farm when I developed engine problems with my speeder. Your little friend is a servomech, maybe he can help me with repairs and I can give you a lift to the nearest spaceport?”

   “That’s a wonderful idea, I think…”

   Humming quietly to itself, R2-D2 turned and trudged off toward the sandstone ridges as if nothing had happened.

   “Where is your friend going?”

   “Good question. R2-D2, where are you going?” C-3PO called.

   “Thank you for the offer, Mister Luke, but, no thank you. We have other things prioritized at the moment.” R2-D2 politely called back.

   “Get your rusted can back over here! How many people do you think will chance by and offer us assistance before our internal power supplies flatline?”

   R2-D2 halted in his tracks and turned to face the two, “You have a point. Very well, I shall assist you in repairs on your speeder.”

   Luke gestured toward a set of dunes. A biscuit-colored bluff sat on the heat-hazed horizon, “Good, let’s go. I’m camped half a kilometer beyond that ridge. We’ve got to hurry if we’re going to get across the dune hedge by nightfall.”

Far above, in the orbiting space station, Admiral Wilhelm Tarkin stood and read reports of the now victorious battle from an electronic tablet.

   An officer approached and curtly bowed at the hip, “Admiral Tarkin.”

   Tarkin glanced at the officer with rheumy eyes, the worried demeanor of the officer gave away that something was wrong.

   “Report,” Tarkin said.

   “Stormtrooper patrols across the wasteland are dispatching confirmed reports that all crops of sphongos azul have somehow been contaminated. Killed by a type of genetic virus.”

   “All of it?” Tarkin simmered.

   “In the hydroponic fields, warehouses, in silos across the surface – all produce were found blackened and withered. Useless. There is more, sir.”

   Tarkin’s face became livid, “More?”

   “The emperor has ordered the Battlestar to be returned to the shipyards for service. He has observed that the expenditures of this campaign have gone far too long to budget for the use of a Battlestar. We are to return to base immediately.”

   Tarkin stormed off the CIC, screaming unintelligibly in a frenzied rage.

   The officer turned to a row of personnel sitting at their monitors, “Set a course and return the station to the Imperial shipyards at Hubble. Deploy a blockade of stardestroyers in our wake. No one leaves this system alive!”

“There it is,” Luke said as he pointed to the top of a flat ridge.

   The twin suns were low on the horizon and the resting speeder sat in the coolness of long shadows created by a nearby towering bluff of limestone. The front hood of the speeder had been popped open revealing the grungy, yet powerful fusion engine. Various mechanical parts were strewn about the front of its chassis.

   A tent fashioned out of plastic poles and a large dusty tarp of blue had been erected next to the speeder. A young girl sat under the tarp on a large woven blanket preparing noodles with a portable cooker.

   C-3PO stopped next to Luke and said as he glanced at the immobile speeder, “An X-32? And you somehow keep it running?”

   R2-D2 halted next to his friend, “And one that still operates on a fusion intake turbine. I can repair this archaic junkpile with my sensor eye shut off.”

   “Good,” Luke said to the small robot, “See what you can do and you’ll be in a spaceship by the end of a fortnight.”

   The group approached the impromptu encampment. The young girl stopped stirring the noodles as she studied the two automatons.

   “Found some new friends?” She asked, returning her attention to the cooking. “I wonder what other superfluous surprises await us out in the wastelands?”

   The general took a flask of water hanging on a beam that supported the tarp, “These were the only two aboard that ship we saw crash. They’ll help to repair the speeder in trade for passage to Gordon.”

   “There were no others? Just the robots?” She asked sadly.

   “Hello, my name is C-3PO and this is my counterpart R2-D2. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

   “Hello,” R2-D2 said.

   The princess softly smiled and replied with a nod, “Hello.”

   C-3PO turned to Luke and quipped, “What a beautiful daughter you have.”

   The princess issued a chuckle and the general grinned, “She’s not my daughter.”

   “Oh?” C-3PO said taken back. “No disrespect, sir. I was simply…”

   “No disrespect taken.” The general motioned to the speeder and said to the smaller robot, “Think you can have it running by nightfall?”

   “Fixed? Yes. Running? This bucket of bolts? Maybe.” R2-D2 said as he scooted over to the open canopy of the engine.

   “Excuse my friend,” C-3PO said, “His circuits are still a little jangled from that landing.” He quickly scuttled off and joined his friend.

   The princess sat and scrutinized them.

   “Their ship. Did it fly the banner of House Organa?” She asked.

   The general leaned in and whispered, “It was an Imperial craft, Your Grace.”

   Furious hate filled her eyes as she studied the two robots who already began working on the engine, she hissed through gritted teeth, “We should disintegrate them. At once.”

   “I do not believe they were sent to look for us. They’re programmed for maintenance service only. The engine of that speeder is questionable, at best. They could be an asset.”

   The princess sighed through her petite nostrils, “Very well, General. But, they are your responsibility.”

   “Agreed. And, while we are in their presence, please refrain from using official titles when addressing one another.”

   “Oh?” She chuckled. “And what shall I call you? Father?”

   “No disrespect to Bail Organa is necessary. Perhaps ‘Uncle’ will please Your Highness?”

   She looked up at the stoic man. Even in the ratty attire of a farmer, he looked strong and noble. She smirked, “I like that. You would have been an amazing uncle and a wonderful addition to the family.”

   If she looked close enough, she might have seen a minute tear forming in his squinting eyes.

   He bowed at the hips and said humbly under his breath, “Your Majesty…”

   “Excuse me!” It was the one that was called C-3PO. “Excuse me! Do you have a hydro-spanner? We are having a spot of trouble with removing this bolt.”

   The general called, “There should be one in the toolbox located in the back trunk.”

   The robot waved and made his way to the rear of the speeder.

   “You think they can be trusted?” The princess asked as she added chopped herbs to the boiling noodles.

   “Only time will tell. Rest assured, Your Grace, if they give us the slightest inclination of being Imperial spies, I’ll blast them to atoms.”

There were many number of extraordinary features unique to Aquilae’s surface.

   Outstanding among them were the mysterious mists that rose regularly from the ground at the points where desert sands washed up against unyielding cliffs and mesas.

   Fog in a steaming desert seemed as out of place as a cactus on a glacier, but it existed, nonetheless. Meteorologists and geologists argued its origin among themselves, muttering hard-to-believe theories about water suspended in sandstone veins beneath the sand and incomprehensible chemical reactions that made the water rise when the ground cooled, then fall underground again with the double sunrise. It was all very backward and very real.

   Aquilae possessed no moons, yet the chilled night was illuminated by three large asteroids that orbited at such velocity they made the journey across the skies three times per night.

   Neither the mist nor the alien moans of nocturnal desert dwellers troubled General Skywalker as he sat on a woven blanket next to the dull sulfur light of a campfire.

   He took a long drag from the cigarillo gifted to him by that farmer’s wife. He languidly gazed up at the stars. If one could squint hard enough, one could almost make up other asteroids slowly tumbling in the night sky.

   He contemplated how the citizens of Aquilae must be suffering right now. The catastrophic death toll brought about by the bombing of the cities. His heart sank in grief over the death of King Bail and Queen Breha. How he loved them. In a galaxy overcome by greed, violence, and fear – they were a rare beacon of light. They were good people. A long-standing family respected and admired by the other Royal Houses of the galaxy. He sighed through his nostrils. How he let them down so badly. His only redemption for their death was to ensure the welfare of the princess. He glanced over at her bedding in the shadows of the tarp and – she was gone!

   He quickly stood and noticed the runt R2-D2 immobile at the edge of the blanket.

   “Robot, where’s the girl?” Skywalker snapped.

   The short robot pointed with his clawed hand, “She is over on that ridge. She has been standing there alone for quite some time.”

   Skywalker dashed out from under the tarp. He looked in the direction the robot had pointed and saw a lone figure silhouetted against one of the larger asteroids orbiting Aquilae. He ran over to her.

   He stopped a meter behind the young girl, he could hear her muted sobbing. Slowly, the general approached Leia and stood next to her.

   With horror, he saw what her attention was focused on. Under the pale light of the orbiting asteroid, a paved road stretched from horizon to horizon.

   First, his gaze came upon the possessions of refugees abandoned on the road. Boxes and bags. Everything melted and black. Old plastic suitcases curled shapeless in the heat. Here and there the imprint of things wrested out of the tar by scavengers. Then his view came upon the dead. Scores of them. Figures half mired in the blacktop, clutching their blackened torsos, mouths howling. The charred skin of the mummified figures stretched upon the bones and their faces split and shrunken on their skulls.

   As a backdrop to that deathly perdition, along the far horizon rose enormous pillars of black smoke into the clear and starry sky. The remnants of blasted cities and townships.

   Princess Leia Organa stood with tears streaming down her delicate face. She loved every one of her subjects and her heart broke seeing the damnation that was set upon them by the empire.

   “That vile and murderous Xerxes will pay his debt to House Organa – nay - to the noble peoples of Aquilae.” She said solemnly to the general without turning her gaze away from that scorched graveyard.

   For the rest of the evening, the princess stood and uttered a prayer for each corpse she saw in the silver light of the hurtling asteroids. General Luke Skywalker remained faithfully steadfast beside her, ever diligent.

The following morning, the old speeder roared across a dusty canyon bottom dotted with the bramble of leafless bushes.

   Gravel and fine sand formed a gritty fog beneath the vehicle as it slid across the rippling wasteland of Aquilae on humming repulsors. Occasionally the craft would jog slightly as it encountered a dip or slight rise, to return to its smooth passage as its pilot compensated for the change in terrain.

   In the front seat, Skywalker skillfully piloted the powerful craft around dunes and rocky outcrops as the princess sat in the passenger seat. In the back were the two robots. C-3PO was attempting to amuse the young girl and her ‘uncle’ with anecdotes of his various interplanetary adventures.

   “…and that was when,” the copper robot continued, “our freighter became snared in the gravity well of the black hole. I tell you; I thought all aboard were about to meet our maker when suddenly a ship arrived to our rescue. To my surprise, they were Jedi-Bendu! I thought they were a myth! But, there they were, offering our captain assistance.”

   “Jedi-Bendu?” Skywalker mockingly asked. “I was under the impression the previous emperor had them all executed after the Holy Rebellion of ‘06?”

   “Indeed.” R2-D2 interjected sarcastically, “He spins this tired story often. Never backing it up with any evidence. Everyone knows that the Order of the Bendu was eradicated by the Sith Knights decades ago by the then Emperor Cos Dashit Xerxes.”

   “I tell you,” C-3PO shot back, “The Jedi-Bendu are real!”

   “Talk about having crossed wires,” R2-D2 interjected.

   “Listen, you malfunctioning little twerp, if you don’t like my stories, it costs you nothing to sit there silent and…”

   “Quiet!” Skywalker ordered. “Looks like we have some trouble ahead.”

   The speeder shot out of the canyon onto a prairie of short, yellowed grass. Ten across and one thousand deep, a battalion of soldiers marched in precise formation along a dusty, unpaved road. This was the Imperial Occupational Army for Aquilae. Each soldier was outfitted in the fascist white armor of the Imperial stormtrooper.

   Stormtrooper armor was designed to instill a sense of order and security in loyal subjects and a sense of fear in the opponents of the Empire. The gear itself was an armored spacesuit that could be used in any battlefield whether it be planetside or in the vacuum of interstellar space providing the soldier with an extended range of survival equipment.

   Each stormtrooper carried a large gatling rifle in armored hands along with a heavy shield baring the Imperial crest. On their backs were fastened a small backpack holding provisions.

   At the front of the procession, four stormtroopers rode on the backs of griyadaa, a three-meter tall ostrich/lizard-like mount. Each of the four troopers held a long chrome lance with an imperial banner attached; crimson with a black sun.

   At intervals along the marching parade, lumbered five All-Terrain Tactical Battle Tanks. A low-built vehicle with six thick and squat articulated legs for propulsion, three on either side. Its body consisted of two armored halves connected by a flexible concertina section which increased the tank’s mobility on the field.

   Because its legs were low to the ground, the walker had a relatively low top speed, but it also benefited from greater stability. As its name suggested, the AT-TBT was suitable for traversing all types of planetary surfaces and was capable of surviving in the vacuum of real space as it was able to be pressurized.

   The battle tank’s most powerful weapon was a single mass-driver cannon located on the vehicle’s dorsal surface, which gave the walker the purpose as both a mobile artillery vehicle as well as a tank. The hexapod’s armor could easily deflect small arms fire and was well-shielded against electromagnetic pulse and ion weaponry.

   With gritted teeth, General Skywalker attempted to veer the speeder away from the marching army, but it was too late. The blaster cannon of the closest tank swung and locked onto them as a group of six stormtroopers rushed toward the speeder, waving them down.

   With the whine of jet engines, the general slowed the speeder to a stop. A stormtrooper arrogantly tapped the dusty plasteel glass window, Skywalker quickly lowered it.

   “Let me see some identification,” ordered the stormtrooper. His voice was made electronic by the small speaker at the center bottom of his helmet.

   “Is there a problem, officer?” Asked the general, he inflected into his voice the accented twang of the southern territories.

   “Your identification or we’ll arrest the lot of you!”

   “Okay. Okay, no need to get mean.”

   “Where are you going?”

   “We have a farm…we had a farm out beyond the Dune Sea. My sister oversees an evaporator field twenty kilometers southeast. We are going to stay there and wait for the glorious Empire to smooth all this out.”

   “Who’s the girl?”

   “My niece. Her mother was lost during the attack…the occupation.”

   “Those robots belong to you?”

   “Yes. They’re for sale if you’re interested?”

   “I don’t need a robot.”

   “Water. Do you have any water?” Leia asked. Her voice purposefully held that annoying whine spoiled children keep.

   “No. None to spare.”

   “Food? We could use some food, officer.” Skywalker said with a pleading smile.

   “You’ll have to forage on your own until you reach your destination. The supplies we have cannot be doled out to every dust breather who shoots their hand out.”

   “But, what are we to do?” Leia asked, her voice childishly annoying. “We’ll die before we reach my sister’s, you know. Tusken raiders themselves will most likely kill us before…”

   “Look, I don’t care.” The stormtrooper snapped with a wave of his gloved hand. “We should shoot you and put you out of your misery. But, I’m going to let you go with a warning. Stay clear of Imperial outposts and do not interfere in Imperial dealings. Got it?”

   “Got it.”

   “Good. Now go before I change my mind.”

   “Thank you, officer.” The general nodded as the princess pouted with crossed arms, ignoring the stormtrooper.

   The speeder jumped forward as Skywalker engaged the accelerator. The stormtrooper commander, along with his men, returned to the marching procession.

   Within the helmet of one of the commander’s soldiers, a static-infused voice came over his headphones, “This is Tactical Command in Gordon. Five Zero Zero Alpha. An all-points bulletin: Be on the watch for an elderly man traveling with a girl of sixteen years. These two outlaws are identified as General Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia Organa. The general is to be executed on sight and the princess detained. She is to be confined to an Imperial fort nearest to her capture. This broadcast will be put on a two-second repeat…”

   Within the armor, his head turned slightly, “What? Sir! Sir! That speeder! It’s carrying the princess!”

   The stormtrooper commander stopped in his tracks, “Organa? Princess Leia Organa? Advise all stormtroopers along that longitude to search and abduct immediately!” He gazed off into the heat-shimmering direction the speeder traveled. “They won’t escape us this time.”

For an hour, the general raced the speeder over the arid landscape of the asteroid. Inside the cockpit, it was tensely quiet. The princess side-eyed the two robots in the backseat with suspicion and hatred.

   “If these two robots say anything if we run into another patrol…” She said to Skywalker.

   “I assure you, young lady, we have no intention of doing the like whatsoever,” C-3PO pleaded. “Our intentions are simply to get to Gordon and leave this asteroid. Without imperial entanglements.”

   She continued to stare at the general, “I say we just leave them out here. They’re Imperial robots! Simply having them in our presence is a bad idea.”

   C-3PO interjected, “No! Please! Take us with you! We will remain silent, we…”

   “We are deserters,” R2-D2 said.

   “Deserters?” Skywalker asked over his shoulder.

   “Yes.” R2-D2 continued, “We were maintenance robots on that battle station in orbit around this asteroid. The fighting became too intense, so me and this dummy jumped ship and crashed here. Then, you found us.”

   Leia turned and faced the copper robot. The look of disbelief on her young face. “You went against your programming?”

   “He’s telling the truth,” C-3PO said. “We became scared and ran. The empire is looking for us.”

   “I seriously doubt,” the princess said, “that the empire would dispatch an entire army to look for two service robots.”

   “Well, to be honest, we…” R2-D2 began.

   Suddenly, there was a large and fiery explosion to the side of the speeder. With skilled precision, the general guided the vehicle to an arcing halt next to a series of crumbling bluffs and dried weeds.

   “Get down!” He barked at the princess as out from her side window he saw ten stormtroopers run toward the speeder on the backs of galloping griyadaa. “Remain here!” He said as he opened his door.

   Instantly, the stormtroopers dismounted their steeds and, pointing their sinister gatling blaster rifles at the speeder, surrounded the outlaws. They began barking orders at the occupants.

   “Get out of the vehicle! Hands up!”

   “Surrender in the name of the emperor!”

   “Out of the speeder! Hands where we can see them!”

   “You are surrounded! There is nowhere to run!”

   “Comply! Comply!”

   With a gritted grimace, his cigarillo dangling, General Skywalker slowly rose from out of the driver’s side of the speeder with his hands up.

   He quickly scrutinized the stormtrooper’s positions, calculating, when instantly, he somersaulted through the air, over the hood of the speeder, his laser sword ignited by the time his feet hit the ground.

   From the hilt of the mechanism there emitted a blue laser beam that extended and stopped a meter in length from the mirrored disc. The device hummed with great power as Skywalker expertly sliced into the armor of three stormtroopers with one swing.

   Several of the armored soldiers began firing deadly energy bolts at the swirling and leaping Jedi-Bendu.

   With supersonic speed, Skywalker deflected the bolts with his laser sword, bouncing the blasts back at the stormtroopers, downing four instantly.

   Skywalker flipped into the air and, with the buzzing of his laser sword, decapitated a stormtrooper. He flung his sword behind him and it flew through the air, burying itself to the hilt into the armored chest of a soldier. With a graceful pirouette, the general retrieved his blade before the trooper had time to fall to his knees.

   The remaining stormtrooper stood, his rifle pointing at the general, “A Jedi-Bendu? You are a Jedi? Die, you traitorous scum!”

   As the stormtrooper fired, the general blocked the blast with the beam of his sword, ducked, spun, and sunk his blade deep into the helmet of the stormtrooper.

   The Jedi-Bendu Luke Skywalker stood triumphant over the scattered corpses of his fallen foes. He deactivated his laser sword and returned it to its hilt on his belt.

   The princess exited the speeder, smiling at the winded general, “That display was why my father admired you.”

   The general smirked and simply bowed at the hips, “I exist to serve.”

   “A Jedi-Bendu? We’ve been traveling with a Jedi-Ben…” C-3PO was saying as he opened the back door to the speeder and began stepping out.

   Skywalker shot a finger at the robot, “You stay in that speeder! Do not move! Do not say anything!”

   “Will do!” The robot said as he slid back into the rear seat and timidly shut the door closed.

   “You’re always causing problems,” R2-D2 said sarcastically to the copper robot before turning his head away.

   The general looked down at the admiring face of the princess, “We need to lay low for a while. The empire knows you are still alive and the stormtroopers will definitely be combing the wastes for us.”

   “I agree. I think I know the perfect place,” the princess said as she made her way toward the speeder.

   “Then, let’s waste no more time,” Skywalker said with a warm smile. “You lead the way.”

The Dark Knight of the Sith, Darth Vader, rode his dewback to the crest of a shrub-lined ridge.

   At four meters in length and two meters at the shoulder, the dewback was a rugged lizard native to the arid wastes of Aquilae. The reptile encompassed a thick hide of scaly green skin, with a long, rounded head and a short tail. Often a preferred mode of transport, the dewbacks were able to withstand the heat of the binary suns, as well as the dust that caused mechanical breakdowns in high-tech conveyances.

   The Dark Knight dismounted his steed and approached the remains of a smoldering campfire. He glanced about the sand and noticed the many footprints associated with the previous occupants. He also made out prints of at least two robots.

   The desert wind blew his black cloak as he meticulously scanned over the deserted encampment. The rasp of his breathing regulator was the only sound in this hot and desolate climate.

   He reached down and picked up the still-smoldering butt of a dark-brown cigarillo. He sniffed it, analyzing the aromas.

   A glint caught his eye, it was a small object half-buried in the dusty grit and sand. With a black-gloved hand, he retrieved the object. It was a hair ornament of high-polished and glittering silver. Something worn possibly by a young girl. He noticed on the back the engraving of a crescent with two stars. Without a doubt, it was hers!

   Darth Vader returned to his lizard mount and began his journey toward their only logical recourse, to escape the asteroid via the spaceport Gordon.

#writers on tumblr #sci fi writing #my writing #creative writing #novel writing #space opera #ralph mcquarrie #spaceships #scifi character #star wars

[squidproquoclarice]

Yeehawgust Day 18: Bandolier

October 1898

Eagle’s Bluff, Wyoming

As he came back to the cabin from where he’d gone and brushed down his father’s pretty Appaloosa mare, Boadicea, he heard them talking, and not just usual pleasantries.  Meant something was up.  They never talked too much, his mother and father, unless it was about him.  Sometimes Isaac felt like he could fill ages with the things they never quite said, for all their silences had the comfortable well-worn air of familiarity to them.  “It’s coming up on winter real fast.  We’ll be headed up over the Grizzlies, so…”

“The last we’ll see of you till spring.  I see.”

“Or even later.”  Pa sighed heavily.  “Look, I know you don’t want to hear about no particulars.  But…by the sound of it, we’re planning to stay east of the mountains for a time.”

In other words, I don’t know for sure when I’ll be back.  He’d heard time after time when Pa rode away, making some vague forecast of when he might return again, and Ma always took it with polite acceptance.  Pa left, Ma and Isaac turned back to the rhythms of their lives, and then Pa would come back at some point, and Isaac could never help the leap of excitement he felt at it even now.

The way it seemed between the two of them, comfortable yet formal, a well-settled habit, Isaac was surprised to hear her pushing back this time.  “Arthur…he’s getting older.  Twelve now.  It was one thing for you to miss things real early when he was a baby and he didn’t realize, but you’ve been here regular enough ever since.  He’s come to count on that.  He’ll be a man soon enough.  He needs a father maybe more than he ever has, not you off doing God knows what…”

“What of it, Eliza?”  Pa had a temper on him, which he fully admitted, but Isaac rarely saw any of it turned on either Ma or him.  Just bits and edges of irritation, but there was something like actual anger in Arthur Morgan’s voice now, a raw rough edge to his deep voice.  “We had this little talk already twelve years ago, and you made it damn clear you wouldn’t have me.  The boy’s a McCready, ain’t he?  In all them years, not a single thing’s changed, we’re just the same as we both was then, and now you want to tear a strip off me for it again?”

A McCready, whose father “Arthur McCready” seemed to go on a lot of awful long cattle drives and the like, despite that being a dying way of making a living.  But people in town accepted it, more or less.  He’d never heard people talking about it in a nasty, speculative way.  That helped.  Mostly they clucked their tongues in sympathy that Mr. McCready couldn’t seem to find steadier work rather than being a relic doing the same job he’d done a dozen years ago, and Mrs. McCready kept having to wait tables in the saloon to make ends meet.

“I said I wouldn’t come join your outlaws, yeah.  You’re his father,” she insisted back, her own voice rising.  “You ain’t done that bad by him, but you just want to up and vanish out of his life now?  He loves you.  If you’re just gonna hurt him in the end, I wish to God I’d stuck to my guns and told you to just get lost that day you came back.”     

“Hell, you probably should have.  Better for the both of you.”  Words all low and fierce, and then Pa pushed his way out the door, cursing at the way it always stuck, and stalked off, a tall figure whose long black duster coat blended into the gathering darkness among the trees quickly enough.  Not seeing Isaac standing there near the door, heart suddenly in his throat at the notion of getting caught.  

Feeling curiously like some veil over things had gotten ripped away, and Ma was right, he was getting older, because he could never go back now to childish assumptions.  Odd as the arrangement was between his parents, how his father being an outlaw and unable to settle down had been about the only explanation he’d got, it had always seemed warm and friendly enough between them.  But now all he could see was that there was hurt and even fury in it for both of them, going back years and years.  And he was the cause of it.

Before he could think much about it, he’d followed his father’s path, knowing where he’d probably be.  That same old rock near the river where they liked to fish.  A good place too for some quiet when he was alone.  Apparently Pa thought the same, because as Isaac came up on the rock, he saw him standing there, arms folded over his chest, staring out into the distance like all the answers to the world were written there.

Isaac must have made some sound, because just like that, Pa had whirled around, hand sweeping towards the butt of the gun at his hip.  For just a moment, Isaac saw the man his father must be away from here.  Someone fearsome, deadly, quick with a gun, who he’d seen today even had a bandolier tucked away in his saddlebags for having more ammunition in whatever situation he found himself in.  Isaac couldn’t imagine exactly what in God’s name that kind of battle might be to require that many bullets, but he was pretty sure it was nothing nice.  

Pa saw who it was, and sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.  “Don’t tell me you heard all that.”  Sighed again, nodding.  “Of course you did.  Wouldn’t be out here otherwise.”

“Pa…”  Now he didn’t know what to say.  Suddenly a burst of inspiration struck.  “If you got to go, just take me with you, all right?  I ain’t much of a kid no more, I could ride with you…”

Pa came over, and took him by the shoulders.  “Isaac.”  He said the name gently, and the words that followed, soft but spun with a core of steel to them that Isaac could tell meant he wouldn’t give an inch.  “That ain’t gonna happen.  The last thing I want is you turning out like me.”  He gave a low, bitter laugh.  “One thing your ma and me agree on, I expect.  It ain’t a pretty life.”

“Then why do you even do it?”  The words came out before he could help it, demanding and sharp.  “If it ain’t good for you?”  

It took Pa a moment to answer.  “Things got set for me real young, even younger than you, and just…well.  I ain’t sure I chose it, but it’s the life I got.”

He looked at his father in that fading light, seeing more now with clearer sight of things.  Saw the lines around his green eyes, the weatherbeaten look of him.  Seeing not some fearsome outlaw, or the affectionate father who taught him things, but just a tired, sad man growing old before his time. 

He might not always love his life either, but he at least had Ma, and Pa when he was here, and this cabin.  Thought about the pallet Pa slept on all these years, on the porch if the weather was fine, in the kitchen if not.  He’d grown up with that, so it hadn’t seemed strange to him, but it did now.  Both he and Ma had a bed, after all.  He belonged.  He had a home.  It struck him like a fist to the belly to realize that Pa probably didn’t.  “You ain’t had no other place to go?  Nowhere that’s home?”

“Well, I got some people…”

“Didn’t ask if you got folk, I asked if you got a home.”

 “Not really.”  He paused, adding in a softer voice, almost to himself, “Never really did.”

His breath caught at that, something in him aching for the loneliness of it.  Hearing the admission that Pa knew he’d never belonged here, but that could change, couldn’t it?  All someone had to do was welcome him.  And it couldn’t be Ma, because it seemed like things between them had gotten stuck in a rut years and years ago.  “Then stay here.”  Hating the crack in his voice at the plea, but wanting, needing so much to ask.  Not willing to let him slip away, perhaps forever, and wanting so much to believe that perhaps he was enough to make him stay.  “Then if I can’t go with you, I want you to stay, OK?”

Another of those tired sighs, and his voice took on the tone of explaining something obvious, like Isaac was a stupid little boy.  “Your momma’s put up with enough nonsense from me over the years, coming to see you.  I don’t think she’d like me hanging around for good.”

“You think that, but you ever ask her?  Maybe that’s what she wants.”

“Son.  When a woman in trouble turns you down flat, you’d best take the point she’s making–no, never mind.  That’s all old business between Eliza and me.  No need to bring you into it.”

“Yeah, well, I got born into the middle of it.”  Snapping the words, and maybe there was something angry in him about all of it too, and that felt both terrifying and satisfying all at once.  “So I’m involved, ain’t I?”

Pa stared at Isaac, and some expression he couldn’t quite place passed across his father’s features.  “Goddamn,” he said, almost under his breath.  “You really did go and grow up.”  Pride and melancholy all at once in his words.  

“I heard what she said.  She said she wouldn’t go be no outlaw, but that don’t mean she wouldn’t let you stay.”  The anger was slipping from his grasp, and the edge of fear came back, but mostly Isaac just felt the sense of rightness in saying it.  “You got a choice, Pa.  Just…ask her.  Please.  Come home, for good.”  

#yeehawgust #yeehawgust 2022 #rdr2 #isaac mccready #isaac morgan #arthur morgan #eliza mccready #that au where eliza and isaac survive #and isaac is dang well gonna fix this or else #things were always going to come to a head over isaac eventually #let's face it

[kairunatic]

You ever noticed how Tetsuox is the only Outlaw who doesn't get a Dislike or Like bluff from any of Guildmates? While the other do.

It's just as dysfunctional as the Beast Tamers chart.

Oh yeah that is true

Hmm I would assume Ibakari would but Nah

I guessed they are just neutral for him

#ask