#Brush Creek Valley

[dgf2099]

The Driver Suit Blog-Paint Scheme Grades-August 27, 2022

The Driver Suit Blog-Paint Scheme Grades-August 27, 2022

By David G. Firestone Corey LaJoie #7 RAZE Energy Chevy Camaro-This is a slightly better Raze Energy scheme. It’s still awful, just not as much. D- Tyler Reddick #8 KCMG Chevy Camaro-Mediocre design scheme, check. Mediocre color scheme, check, Mediocre C grade, check. Aric Almirola #10 Go Bowling Ford Mustang-This is a downgrade from last season. With this, less is more, so this new design, takes…

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VIII ║ Silver Pony

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 7: Fleabitten | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Part 9: Warmblood }

Rating: E

Summary: And just like that, your week at the Statesman Ranch comes to an end, leaving you grappling with the prospect of saying goodbye to Jack.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, grief, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 7.5k

Notes: Here we are, the penultimate chapter of Palomino. I had the last scene in mind since the very beginning of the series, actually putting it into words has been so emotional. Thank you as always for your patience and your love for this series, I'm eternally grateful that you're still with me as we wrap up this beautiful journey cowboy Jack and his Darlin' started almost a year ago ❤️

P.S. Please excuse typos and any mistakes as I had very little time to edit with the husband ill this weekend.

Coaxing Scotch to a halt at the end of the track - the last lookout point before the trail slopes downhill and homeward - you let the leather reins slip long and loose as he stretches his neck and shakes out his mane with a low nicker. 

A hundred feet drop below, between the palomino’s ears turned forward in anticipation, is the Statesman Ranch in all its glory, nestled in the fertile valley of green pasture, with its winding creek and red roofs. You can see tiny people milling about, the stables busy in the middle of the afternoon, and horses grazing in the fields bracketed by white picket fences.

Out of the corner of your eye, Whiskey comes to a stop next to you, close enough that your knee bumps into Jack’s. 

You keep your gaze on the ranch below as you ask half-jokingly, ‘Is it too late to turn back now?’

He chuckles, and you twist towards him, your own lips curling. ‘I believe we had this exact same conversation the first day, darlin’.’

It’s not too late to back out, you know.

Oh no, you’re not getting rid of me now, cowboy.

You don’t even realise you’ve fallen quiet until his calloused hand slides over yours, fingers tangling together. Jack brushes a sweet kiss to the heart of your palm that goes right to the one in your ribcage. 

He cocks his head to one side in a gentle question. ‘Shall we rip off the bandaid, darlin’?’

Knowing there’s no other way around it, you squeeze his hand. ‘Let’s go, cowboy.’

Jameson is the first to spot the five of you passing through the backgates. The sight of him zooming up the slope with his ears pinned back in excitement has you laughing, the horses nickering hello as his barks echo in the valley. 

It makes no sense really - you barely know this place after all - but something inexplicably comforting and familiar tugs at your insides as you ride through the ranch. Stable hands call out to Jack in friendly greeting and to you with polite ma’ams, between bales of hay being loaded, saddles and tack polished, and the clang of steel on iron from the farrier’s workstation out back. All the while, Jameson trots faithfully by your side, as if he’s known you all his life.

‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special,’ you coo at him and he barks back, tail wagging.

Jack winks at you and says cryptically, ‘Well, you’re about to feel a lot more special, darlin’.’

Sure enough, when the horses clop into the main stable yard, your jaw drops.

‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ bellows Champ with a huge grin on his face, standing in front of the stable doors with hands on his hips, larger than life than ever.

You chortle at the huge Welcome Back! banner stretched over the barn door, complete with over-the-top cowboy themed helium balloons, bumping into each other in the afternoon breeze. You catch Jack rolling his eyes fondly at the scene.

Champ gives Scotch an affectionate ruffle on the mane as he comes to a halt by the wooden post. ‘So - how was it, m’dear? Was it everythin’ I promised it would be?’

‘Everything and more,’ you answer in the affirmative as you dismount, letting him pull you in for an enthusiastic hug.

‘That’s what I like to hear!’ he beams and pats the palomino soundly on the rump. ‘And Scotch? Was he a good boy?’

‘The bestest boy,’ you gush, throwing your hands around the horse’s neck in a hug. ‘He deserves all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Swinging his leg over the back of Whiskey’s saddle and landing gracefully on booted feet on the opposite side of the post, Jack quips, ‘But you’ve already fed him all the carrots and apples in the world.’

Champ chortles. ‘And what about our cowboy? Was he on his best behaviour?’

Jack points a self-righteous finger at his boss. ‘I’ll have you know our guest rated the pack trip a perfect ten out of ten, so I’ll be expectin’ an immediate raise. Ain’t that right, darlin’?’

A loud scoff coming from the stables turns your head, and you smile when Tequila emerges, wasting no time taking his aim at Jack. ‘Hold your horses, Daniels. Pretty sure the food poisonin’ knocks a few points off!’

Crossing the yard with his usual swagger, he sidles up to the other side of Scotch and tips his hat at you, leaning his elbows on the saddle. ‘Welcome back, sweetheart. Good to see you up and runnin’.’

You bite your lip at the mischievous wink he tosses your way.

Champs harrumps indignantly. ‘You have some nerve askin’ for a raise, son! Poppy was madder than a wet hen she heard about that. As you well know, she expects a full report at dinner tonight.’

Jack huffs in jest. ‘I’m puttin’ in a call to my attorney as we speak.’

The banter is spirited and relentless as the cowboys make quick work of untacking and unloading the horses, Champ insisting you shouldn’t lift a finger and talking for more than the three of you. 

When the stable hands take away the last of the bags with your dirty laundry to be laundered, Jack takes a hold of both Whiskey and Bourbon. Clearing his throat, he seems to hesitate for a second, a tick in his jaw, but he eventually nods at you and says, ‘Well. I best be bringin’ the boys in now. Catch you later, darlin’.’

The bottom of your stomach gives out at the catch you later, darlin’, knocking the breath clean out of you, unprepared for the dread that courses through your veins like lead at the sudden prospect of being apart. Your fingers twitch with urgency, wanting to reach out, grab him by the front of his shirt, and cling to him -

Get a grip, woman.

You physically shake yourself out of it, and instead, try to bide your time. ‘Or, you know, if can I help with anything at all -’

Jack clearly catches on to your reluctance, but Champ is insistent. ‘Absolutely not! Now, it’s just gettin’ to four o’clock, so there’s plenty of time to go back to your room, clean up and join us for sunset drinks in a couple of hours. How does that sound, ma’am?’

Jack’s mouth stretches into a reassuring smile that you wish were imprinted into the skin of your forehead instead. With a promise in his eyes that it’ll only be a couple of hours, he leads the chestnut and pinto into the stables.

You don’t even try to hide the slump in your shoulders and your wistful, lingering gaze on the cowboy’s retreating back, nearly jumping out of your skin when Tequila gives you an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder over Scotch’s back. ‘I gotcha, girl.’

Speaking up, he calls out, ‘Hey Champ, Ginger was just tellin’ me that you got an urgent message from Harry, so you better give him a call back - you know how he gets when you don’t.’

The older man flinches dramatically at the mention of his accountant, flinging his hands up in frustration. ‘Damn distillery is more trouble than it’s worth! I better go - you remember your way back to your cabin, young lady?’

Before you can get a word out, Tequila cuts in, ‘Jack can show her the way if she doesn’t, I’m sure.’

The sly reference goes straight over Champ’s head as he bustles off, but not without a polite tip of his hat. Once he’s out of sight, you smile at the cowboy. ‘I appreciate that, Teak.’

He winks at you and spins on his heels to take Scotch to the washing bay. ‘Consider it part of our excellent service at the Statesman Ranch, sweetheart!’

You find Jack hatless in Bourbon’s box, his eyebrows reaching for his hairline, slick with sweat, when you slip in and shut the door quietly behind you.

‘Whatcha doin’, darlin’?’ he asks with a lopsided smile.

Even though you didn’t run into anyone on your way in, you glance around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing him by the open neck of his shirt and tugging him into you. One palm on his cheek, rough with the stubble starting to peek through since his last shave at the Halfway House, you press your lips to his, blood thrumming with the thrill of sneaking around.

You catch the hitch of his breath with a wet suck on his bottom lip and he groans - too loudly in the mid-afternoon quiet. Cheeky hands wander south and grab you shamelessly by the ass, his tongue questing deep into your mouth, and you can feel him hardening against your stomach, drawing a whimper from you.

Pulling back reluctantly, his nose still on yours, he growls. ‘Such brazen behaviour.’ 

Your tongue darts out and swipes the underside of your upper lip, drunk on the taste of him, and his dark gaze follows. ‘I think you like it, cowboy.’

‘Too fuckin’ much,’ he admits with a pained moan and a chaste kiss to your temple, nose in your hair, as if to calm himself down. ‘You should go clean up, I need to finish up here and you’re distractin’ me.’

You pout, laying your cards on the table. ‘But I miss you.’

His gaze warms at your admission, and he stoops to kiss you again. ‘I know, but it’s only for a little while, okay? I’ll come ‘round your room to pick you up at six.’

‘Fine,’ you reply begrudgingly. ‘Be quick, ok?’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he teases and swats you on the bottom playfully as he herds you towards the door. ‘I won’t be long, promise.’

Taking two steps down the corridor, you look back one last time at Jack, who’s still watching you from the stall, leaning on the top of the door. When he blows you a lingering kiss, the thought strikes you unbidden -

If it’s this hard leaving him for a couple of hours.

Feeling the tell-tale sting in your nose and the prickle of tears at your eyes, you push the thought out of your mind - 

You put one foot in front of the other, and walk away.

You didn’t realise how much you missed civilisation until you surprise yourself with the longest sigh under the rain shower. Head bowed under the steady stream, you take your time, lathering yourself until you’re cocooned in olive scented bubbles before rinsing, relishing the firm water pressure soothing the knots and soreness lurking under your skin.

But there’s a deeper ache, one that can’t be reached from the surface.

You have literally not been apart from Jack for the last four days. You’ve been showering together since the Halfway House, for crying out loud. It hasn’t taken you more than the stretch of an arm to catch his hand, or the turn of your cheek to find his lips.

A laugh bubbles in your throat as you wrap yourself in a fluffy towel. The word codependent springs to mind.

Standing in the middle of the room in just your underwear, you sort through the clean clothes that are folded neatly on the bed. Pulling on the prettiest top you brought and the same pair of jeans you wore on your birthday, you dig out your makeup bag and settle in front of the vanity, putting on a Spotify playlist and humming along as you get ready for dinner.

One second you’re blending in your foundation, then the next - liner in your grasp and poised over the corner of your eye - panic rudely sets in.

What if -

What if the chemistry between the two of you was conditional on forced proximity?

What if Jack was only attracted to you because there was literally no other woman for miles and miles?

What if -

You startle at the knock on the door. 

It’s deja vu when you pad across the oakwood floors on bare feet, your heart threatening to thunder out of your chest when you twist the knob clockwise.

Jack is leaning on the doorframe, freshly showered himself, damp locks curling into his forehead. The yellow flannel he’s wearing is new to you, but not the way the sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, over his sunkissed forearms.

For one moment of madness, you want to sink your teeth into the thick, sinewy -

‘What is it, darlin’?’ he asks, amused by your scrutiny.

You shrug, fingers fidgeting with a touch of shyness. ‘Just thinking about the last time you were on this doorstep.’

‘When you were swept away by my good looks and charm?’ he quips, arching an eyebrow.

You let him have this one, teasing, ‘Something like that, cowboy.’

Straightening up to his full height, he pulls you in by the waist so that you’re almost standing on the worn leather tips of his boots, the span of his palms warm on the small of your back. He doesn’t even bother checking over his shoulder before brushing a tender kiss on your lips, and it takes you right back to that first time in the field of wildflowers at dawn.

And you just know, in your heart of hearts - there is no what if.

In the middle of nowhere, up in the mountains, the sunset hour demands nothing short of worship. Miles and miles of grassland, trees and summer blooms become altars dipped in bronze at which to prostrate oneself as the sun sinks, rejoicing at the rapture of the end of day.

Whilst not as transcendent as what you experienced on the trail, the last sunset over the ranch is giving as good as it gets. The sun gilds the fields in gold on its descent as the stable hands bring in the last of the horses for the night while the swallows fly home above. The river that winds through the ranch is ablaze with the refracting light, and across the yard, you can hear the impatient whinnying of those waiting for their supper. 

Jack and Tequila are setting up the barbeque and firepit, the orange glow of the twin flames taking the place of the fading daylight. The familiar scent of burning wood grounds you - you’re feeling a bit out of practice being the centre of attention after being alone with Jack for the past week.

Ice cold lemonade in one hand and buffalo jerky in the other, you smile when Ginger approaches with a hug. ‘I’m sure you’ve had to answer this question about fifty times today, but how was it?’

‘You want the short answer or long answer?’

‘I want a dissertation if you have it in you!’

You sneak glances at Jack over Ginger’s shoulder while you chat, and he watches you back from afar as he bustles in and out of the kitchen, always trailing two steps behind Poppy. You catch snippets of their conversation as they go back and forth, and you pick up enough to know that she is grilling him on the ‘food poisoning’ incident. He shoots you puppy eyes every time he passes by, which makes you grin.

You may or may not have been a bit distracted by the cowboy when Ginger asks, ‘So, did you catch Jack washing in the river in the end?’

A violent cough racks your entire body as you choke mid-swallow, and she chuckles, giving you a comforting pat on the back. ‘It’s ok, girlfriend - I don’t have to know!’

You knock back more lemonade and choose to play coy. If only she knew.

Champ is in his element, swapping out your drink for a whiskey soda as the dusk deepens and making sure the snacks platter is topped up with locally made boar and elk salami. Despite only having half an ear in the conversation while he keeps an eye on the dinner prep, he’s somehow still fully invested, and is particularly interested in the photos and videos you’ve been taking on Jack’s DSLR.

‘And that’s what you do for a livin’, young lady?’ he asks, putting on his reading glasses so he can study the photos downloaded onto your phone.

‘Adjacent. I’m in marketing, I do quite a lot of business-to-consumer social media campaigns,’ you explain, switching to Instagram to show him your employer’s profile. 

Champ turns to Ginger. ‘Do we have the social media?’

She exchanges a fond smile with you. ‘No we don’t, boss, but we do have a website. I think it was last updated in 2012.’

Champ holds his chin between his thumb and index finger thoughtfully. ‘What do you think, m’dear? Should we get the social media?’

‘It depends,’ you answer truthfully. ‘If you want to boost occupancy, social media will definitely help connect new guests, and also encourage repeat visits. But if you asked me, I think the real potential is on the distillery side of the business.’

Champ perks up under his cowboy hat. ‘I’m listenin’.’

You tap the bottle of Statesman whiskey that’s sitting on the barrel table. ‘Jack told me that you only handle wholesale orders right now, which is perfectly fine. But if you want to go direct to consumers one day, social media is the way to go. I’ve worked with vineyards and gin distilleries, so I’ve seen how effective these campaigns can be.’

Humming pensively, Champ sips at his whiskey, neat, a faraway look in his eyes as he mulls over your words. ‘Well, that’s somethin’ to think about, I’d say.’

There’s no other way to end the trip than with a western cookout. The barbeque station is packed with trays of beautifully cut and aged meat from neighbouring ranches, sausages and brats, while the smoked brisket and ribs that have been cooking all day are brought out from the smoker in the kitchen. 

On the side, a picnic table draped with a chequered table cloth is crammed with baked beans (smoked in-house), corn on the cob, pasta salad and soda bread; and on the greens front, there’s homemade coleslaw, potato salad and greens freshly picked from the vegetable patch.

It’s a feast of epic proportions, and it doesn’t surprise you at all that Poppy is pulling out all the stops.

Jack mans the barbeque under her supervision, wielding the tongs with showmanship, and your heart purrs at the familiar sight of him cooking by firelight as darkness well and truly sets in. You feel slightly adrift not being by his side, but Champ is keeping you entertained and well fed, piling seconds upon thirds on your loaded plate despite your protests.

By the time Teak takes over at the barbeque and Jack makes his way towards the communal table where you’re all standing, you’re sipping slowly on your third whiskey and soda. You smile at him over the brim of your tumbler which he returns, and your body leans unconsciously towards him, before remembering where you are. He tucks his right hand into his back pocket, and you want to think that it’s because if he doesn’t, he would reach out for you.

Being denied his touch when he’s right there has you shifting your feet restlessly. Your fingers itch for him, there’s an insistent prickle under your skin that you know he alone can placate.

You venture a peek at Jack, wondering if he’s faring any better than you are. Feeling your eyes on him, he turns to you, his gaze dropping to your mouth none too subtly, the muscle in his neck tensing. Caught in the moment, all you want to do is to run your tongue down the hollow of his throat and taste the smoke on his skin -

You look away in case you do anything rash.

You’re barely holding it together when the conversation moves on to your birthday at the Halfway House.

‘And how was the dinner?’ asks Poppy animatedly. ‘Did you like the cake?’

Despite yourself, you beam, ‘Like it? I loved it, thank you so much! I was so spoiled.’

‘Did Jack show you a good time?’

‘Oh I should say so,’ cuts in Tequila despite being six feet away at the barbeque. At Jack’s glare, he quickly adds, ‘He decked out the place real nice, y’know, with balloons and shit.’

With a shake of your head, you chuckle, ‘And he dressed the horses up in birthday hats and tinsel!’

With the barbeque dying down to a low, simmering flame, Poppy slides in a couple of peach cobblers in pie dishes directly onto the embers to warm up. Leaving behind gravy-stained plates stacked up high on the barrel table, the group drifts over to the low-set deck chairs sitting in a tidy circle around the firepit. 

Emptying the last of the whiskey into his glass, Champ calls out, ‘Jack, m’boy, how ‘bout you run to the cellar and grab us another bottle of the fifteen years?’

‘Sure, boss,’ he replies, hanging back and catching your attention. ‘You wanna come look at the cellar, darlin’? It’s quite a sight.’

Champ is delighted. ‘What an inspired idea! Take your time, young lady, it’s not quite the distillery cellar, but we’ll save that for next time.’

Teak gives you a two-fingered salute and a knowing wink as Jack leads the way. ‘Enjoy the tour, sweetheart!’

Jack barely waits until you’ve turned the corner behind one of the barns before backing you up against the wall. You taste whiskey and woodsmoke on his tongue as he pins you in place with his broad frame, and you haul him closer, wanting to feel every inch of him.

‘I missed you, darlin’,’ he whispers against your lips.

‘I was standing right next to you, cowboy.’

‘I know,’ he whines. ‘Took everythin’ to keep my hands to myself.’

Your cheeks warm at his words, and you reach up to brush an errant curl back from his eyes. ‘Me too.’

Jack grabs your hand and takes you on what must be a shortcut to the kitchen, since you don’t recognise the route. Practically dragging you down a flight of steps at the back, he lets go of you only to pull open a heavy oak door. Your eyes widen when the orange lights flicker on, stepping into the cellar lined with hundreds, if not thousands of bottles, floor-to-ceiling shelves nestled into stone arches carved into the walls. 

You wander the perimeter of the room, carefully pulling out dusty bottles high and low to inspect the years printed on the labels, but Jack is having none of it. Face nuzzled into the nook of your shoulder, he grinds his half-hard cock into you impatiently, calloused palms sliding under your shirt and squeezing your tits through your bra.

You moan, the sound echoing under the low vaulted ceilings. ‘What are you doing, cowboy?’

‘Want you now,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, teeth catching the sensitive skin.

‘What’s gotten into you?’ you ask, a laugh caught in your throat as he ruts against the cleft of your ass needily, a shudder rippling through you when you feel just how much he wants you through the denim.

‘It’s the change in altitude,’ he rasps, dry humping you in earnest now, his fingers fumbling with the front of the zipper. ‘And you’re really fuckin’ sexy in these jeans.’

‘Such a sweet talker,’ you tease, reaching behind you to undo his pants. ‘We got to be quick.’

He yanks the front of your jeans down so hard the movement jolts you forwards, flipping the denim inside out and dragging it down to the middle of your thighs, your panties going with them. His question is hot in your ear. ‘Want me to use protection, darlin’?’

You don’t skip a beat with an emphatic, ‘No.’

‘Fuck,’ he growls at your one-worded answer. ‘Lettin’ me fuck you bare? I’m one lucky cowboy.’

Your pussy throbs at his words alone, and you gasp in surprise when Jack manhandles you to the middle of the room, where a row of aged barrels rest on their sides, elevated on a sturdy shelf to keep them off the floor. He bends you unceremoniously over one cask so that your front is pressed up against the curved wooden surface, then, kicking your legs apart and notching the head of his cock at the mouth of your cunt, he sinks into you in one determined thrust.

‘Jack!’ you cry out, voice hoarse, filled almost painfully full, suspended on the tips of your toes as he plants his feet and drives into you, pulling out to the tip before plunging all the way back in, so deep you feel him in your throat. His breath is harsh and hot on the shell of your ear, but you can’t hear him over your own cries.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he croons throatily, his jeans rubbing the back of your thighs raw as his grip on you bites into your sides, holding you in place as you writhe. ‘Such a good girl, lettin’ me bend you over like this, takin’ me so well.’

Nails skidding over the wooden grain of the barrel as you scrabble for something to hold onto, you mewl, ‘Yes, yes, yes, feels so fucking good, cowboy!’

The slap of skin on skin bounces obscenely off the walls, and between the buck of his hips and his groans, you hear the slick squelch of your pussy stretching for him.

It seems to spur him on, and he snaps harder into you, rasping, ‘Look at you naughty thin’, lettin’ me fuck you in the middle of the cellar when anyone can walk in.’

Only then does it hit you - the absurdity of having fucked your way across the open country on this packtrip, taking for granted the liberty of literally screaming to the high heavens, free from prying eyes and ears. Juxtaposed against the sudden and very real prospect of getting caught, your body instinctively reacts.

Jack feels you clench wetly around his cock, a choked chuckle halfway in his throat. ‘Fuck, you filthy girl, you like that, don’t you? Want someone to walk in on us when I’m balls deep inside this pretty pussy?’

Your back arches, and he slides in so deep you’re sure you’ll be feeling him for days after, even when you’re a thousand miles from here. ‘Yes, yes, yes sir -’

The next thing you know, he’s gripping your hair and pulling, making you watch him over your shoulder. His eyes are black, jaw hanging open and teeth bared, and he’s gone - he’s thrusting recklessly into you, and you have no idea how your spine hasn’t snapped from being bent so far backwards. Then one rope-worn palm comes down on your right ass cheek in a cracking slap, making you gag on a half-groan, slick trickling down your thighs at the sting.

Jack leans over you now, caging you between his arms, his soft kisses on your neck an antithesis to the uncompromising rhythm at which he’s pounding into you. He coaxes, ‘Gonna cum for me, darlin’?’

Two of his fingers nudge between your legs and you whine when they make landing on your swollen clit. You nod desperately, clawing at the smooth wooden barrel under you. ‘Yes Jack, please make me cum. Please.’

‘Don’t you worry, you will,’ he says matter-of-factly, smearing mouth and tongue down the side of your neck. ‘You can do it. Make a mess on my cock, c’mon, darlin’ -’

When you clamp down around him, it takes Jack everything - everyfuckin’thin’ - not to let go and pump into you, fill that tight little cunt as you wail his name, quaking and squirming in his grasp. Air doesn’t quite reach his lungs, and he’s biting so hard on the insides of his mouth that it swells instantly, wanting so badly to mark you, to possess you in the most primal way a man can -

With a strangled groan, he pulls out, but only just - he’s already cumming before he can even wrap a fist around his cock, spurting crudely all over the swollen lips of your pussy and the curve of your ass as he milks himself dry, shudder after shudder. His spend drips so prettily down the back of your thighs, stopping just short of staining your jeans, that he goes light-headed for a moment. He sways, and if not for you grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him down for a lazy kiss, he probably would’ve keeled over.

He looks down at the mess he made, crooning into your ear, ‘You’re so beautiful covered in my cum, darlin’.’

You squeak, startled, when he runs this thumb down your slit, still so slick and wet for him, and he has to fight the urge to fucking scoop up his cum shove it into you, filling you only to have it drool out of you when he holds the pretty lips open -

He feels your eyes on him, like you can tell what he’s thinking. He winces, shame rearing its head as he apologises, ‘I’m sorry, I got carried away. Was it - too much?’

Cupping his cheek in your palm, you pull him down for another kiss. ‘Never. I’ll take everything you’ve got, cowboy.’

Jack somehow has a handkerchief in his shirt pocket, which he brandishes with a flourish, prompting a giggle from you. ‘A gentleman if I’ve ever seen one.’

With a playful smirk, he declares, ‘Damn straight - my mama raised me right.’

Gently, Jack cleans you up, and you’re happy to let him do all the work, your body heavy and sated. When he’s done, he swivels you around and presses his lips to your temple. ‘Come back to my house tonight, darlin’?’

You tuck your nose into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply. ‘I’d love to, cowboy.’

He’s carefully folding up the soiled handkerchief and tucking it into his back pocket when you hear footsteps on the stairs, and the two of you have barely pulled up your jeans when the door swings open.

There’s a dramatic pause as Teak takes in your dishevelled state and none too guilty faces. Looking distinctly unsurprised, he bursts into laughter nonetheless. ‘The cellar? Is nothin’ sacred to you heathens?’

The cookout winds down over bubbling hot peach cobbler and homemade vanilla ice cream that Teak collected from the freezer in the kitchen on the way back. It’s pushing ten o’clock when Champ calls it a night, and you all help with bringing the dirty dishes and leftovers inside.

Poppy and Ginger make quick work of putting all the food in tupperware and into the fridge. Jack and Teak load up the dishwasher as you finish off the last of your drink.

Champ dusts his hands, as if he’s the one who’s done all the tidying up, and asks, ‘Your flight tomorrow isn’t until afternoon is it?’

You nod, passing Jack your empty glass. ‘Yeah, I need to drop off my rental truck as well, so I think I’ll have to leave around eleven.’

He pats you on the back. ‘Alright then, we’ll see you tomorrow mornin’. Have a good night’s sleep, young lady.’

‘Say goodbye before you go,’ adds Ginger, giving you a peck on the cheek.

‘Dinner was incredible, Poppy, thank you,’ you smile as she pulls you into a warm hug.

The redhead winks at you. ‘My absolute pleasure. I’ll fix you a little takeaway lunch to go tomorrow for the journey home. No plane food allowed for our guests!’

The kitchen empties until it’s just you, Jack and Teak, with the latter grinning at you two like a lunatic. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he shrugs. ‘So you guys wanna hang, or -’

‘Get the fuck outta here, Teak!’ Jack growls.

The taller cowboy ambles over to you, joints loose with alcohol, and gives you what can only be described as a bear hug. 

‘Just try keep it down, will ya? It’s real quiet in the valley at night and some of us have to work early tomorrow,’ he ribs with an insolent wink. ‘Guess we won’t see you lovebirds at breakfast?’

‘Not if you’re there,’ Jack retorts, to which Teak flashes a good-natured middle finger and saunters off into the night.

Jack draws you into his arms and you slump against him, relieved that you’re finally alone. ‘Shall we, darlin’?’

His fingers curl securely around the back of your hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles at the base of yours as he closes the kitchen door behind you. It strikes you this is actually the first time you’re holding hands - there was no need for that when you were in the saddle, or camped in close proximity. 

Your cheeks stretch with a smile so wide that the muscles ache. The mundanity of walking side by side, hand in hand, shouldn’t be this thrilling.

It’s quiet other than the grind of gravel under your boots and Jack’s heavier ones. The night air is sweet, the blanket of stars above you just as magical, but it’s not quite the same kind of stillness at the lower altitude. Perhaps it’s the way the sound travels with buildings and other people around, maybe the very physics of it is fundamentally different.

Turning into the parking lot, your attention is piqued by a handsome motorcycle parked all on its lonesome next to the main lodge.

Pride in his voice, Jack says, ‘Darlin’, meet the Silver Pony.’

You know nothing about motorcycles, but you can appreciate the sleek lines, the classy tan leather seat and the retro elegance about her as you circle it. Her silver paint job gleams in the lonely porch light. ‘She’s beautiful, cowboy.’

‘She’s an old girl but she got good bones. I restored her myself,’ he proclaims proudly, before admitting, ‘And well, Teak helped too.’

Opening a little cabinet attached to the side of the main lodge, Jack pulls out a helmet that has you laughing. It’s painted red white and blue, stars, stripes and the full monty, with the word WHISKEY painted across the front in bold formation.

He grins at you. ‘Found it in a yard sale. Too good to pass up.’

Lowering it over your head, he tightens the strap carefully under your chin. It’s a bit big, but it’ll do for a short ride. Blinking up at him, it brings you back to that first day in the stables, and you feel the same pull that you did when he fitted you with your hat.

Except this time, you can do something about it. Standing on your tiptoes to kiss him, you giggle when your helmet slips and knocks into his forehead with a clunk.

Putting on his own sensible black helmet, he plants his left foot by the side of the bike and swings his right leg over the leather seat. 

You’re taken aback by the spike in your pulse at the sight - you’d think that having seen him on horseback all week would have prepared you for it. But there’s something about the way he leans over the top of the motorcycle, thighs wrapped around the metal body, forearms flexing as he grasps the handlebar. 

Starting the ignition and knocking back the kickstand with the heel of his cowboy boot, Jack nods at you. ‘Hop on, darlin’.’

You do, and you don’t need to be told to hold on tight.

The Silver Pony purrs to a stop outside a modest cottage, about a ten-minute cruise from the ranch, down a short dirt track from the main road. It’s pitch black except for the headlights that illuminate an unexpectedly floral front garden. You hop off and take off your helmet before Jack kills the engine, plunging you into a very familiar darkness.

Switching on the light on his phone, he reaches for your hand and pulls you gently to his side, his solid warmth welcome even though it’s nowhere as chilly as it was up on the mountains. Flashing the light towards the front yard, he tells you, ‘Ginger has quite the green finger, this is all her work. It took some time, but the vegetable patch is just startin’ to come through this season.’

Keys jangling, Jack unlocks the front door and ushers you inside, flipping on the lights. 

It’s a cosy space, not big by country standards, but more than spacious enough for one cowboy. It’s clearly a man’s house, with a distinct lack of decorative touches other than a vintage map of Wyoming hanging over a dining table and a crowded bookshelf by the door. Dark wood with orange knots line the floors and ceilings, the warm tones reminding you of nights around the campfire.

Walking through the tidy but lived-in space, you pass an open kitchen with a breakfast bar that backs into the living room. A rustic stone fireplace stands in the corner, bracketed by a cosy sectional with deep seats.

Jack watches you mill about, taking everything in. When you stop by the fireplace, he asks jokingly from across the room, ‘So, what’s the verdict?’

You tease, ‘Not gonna lie - I’m disappointed there aren’t more spurs and lassos on the walls.’

He chuckles and steps into the kitchen. ‘You want a nightcap?’

‘Just water thank you, I think I’ve had enough to drink.’

Filling up two glasses at the sink, he crosses the room to join you at the mantelpiece.

‘How long have you been living here?’ you ask, setting your glass on the shelf after taking a sip.

He takes a moment to reply. ‘I took a long break off work after my wife died, then moved in here straight after. Couldn’t stand bein’ in our house alone - couldn’t bear bein’ there at all.’ He pauses, and his lips quirk with a wry smile. ‘Champ and Teak packed everythin’ up for me and drove it all here.’

His honesty hits you squarely in the chest, the weight of the grief behind his words nearly knocking you back a step. You reach for him, closing the two-step distance and wrapping your arms tight around his waist.

Eyes closed, he lets you anchor him to the moment. Maybe he shouldn’t, but the confession slips right through his teeth. ‘I haven’t brought any women here. Ever.’

He holds his breath as he feels you hold yours. 

You mumble into his chest, ‘You have to stop making it harder for me to leave, cowboy.’

Then don’t. 

The two words are on the tip of his tongue, and for a second, he worries that he actually said them out loud. But he knows he can’t. It’s mad. It’s been a week. It’s not fair on you, not when you have a whole life back in the city, thousands of miles away, and his is right here in the shadow of the Bighorn Mountains.

So he says nothing.

Eventually, you pull back and tip your face up towards him. He doesn’t think he’s imagining the wetness lining the seams of your eyes. 

‘Let’s go to bed, cowboy.’

He watches you from the doorway, where he leans idly against the frame, body relaxed from the whiskey sodas at dinner. The curtains are drawn and the light from the bedside lamp soft, casting orange shades on the walls and your skin as you shrug on the shirt he leaves out for you. The last button done, you snuggle comfortably under his sheets, and his heart lurches.

Not for the first time, the thought crosses his mind -

You look like you belong here.

‘Are you gonna stare all night, cowboy?’ you tease, sinking into the pillows.

He shrugs and closes the door behind him, shedding his clothes as he goes. ‘Can’t help it, darlin,’. You look good in my bed.’

‘It’s so comfy,’ you sigh happily, watching him strip down to his boxers.

‘It’s just the hard ground talkin’,’ he says, climbing in next to you. Bundling you into his arms and sliding one leg between yours, he kisses you, a deep exhale leaving him as he does. You smile so wide the corners of your eyes crease, and he watches as they land somewhere behind him.

His stomach drops when it dawns on him what catches your attention.

But it’s too late. You sit up, leaning over him and grabbing a hold of it with gentle hands.

You stare up at him. ‘Jack.’ 

He doesn’t even remember the last time he really looked at the photo. It’s there when he wakes up, when he goes to bed. It sits on the bedside table by the lamp, probably covered in dust. 

Untouched.

His silence doesn’t deter you, but your tone is soft, and he understands that you’re giving him an out if he wants it. ‘What’s her name?’

His throat goes drier than sandpaper, and he’s suddenly speaking through a mouthful of cotton. It takes him two tries before he manages to enunciate. ‘Addison. Everyone called her Addie.’

‘Was this taken at your wedding?’

He nods, picking at a loose thread on the comforter.

‘Look at you all dashing in a suit, cowboy,’ you hum appreciatively, tracing a fingertip over the smart dark grey tweed jacket with navy accents. ‘Where did you get married?’

‘At her parents’ ranch.’

‘Under this magnolia tree?’

He nods again. ‘It was her favourite spot.’

‘She’s so beautiful,’ you say quietly.

His eyes dart to the photo in your grasp despite himself. Swallowing thickly, he says, ‘She’s buried there now, where she was always happiest.’

At that, you return the photo to its place on the bedside table, almost solemnly. This is usually the point when people stop asking questions, so when you snuggle into the crook of his shoulder, gazing at him expectantly, he frowns in confusion. 

‘What is it, darlin’?’

‘Tell me about her.’

Jack is stumped, flustered at your request. He shifts, sitting up stiffly against the headboard. ‘Like what?’

You shrug. ‘I don’t know. Like - how did you meet?’

His answer is short, factual. ‘On the rodeo circuit. We both worked on the tour.’

You give him an encouraging nudge. ‘And? What was she like?’

‘She -’ he pauses and holds his breath, weighing his words. In the end, it’s the truth that he tells you. ‘She was the best person.’

He stutters to a stop again, but you’re still peering at him, your expression curious and open. He knows you won’t push him, he trusts that you wouldn’t. He could reach out and switch off the light right now, and he knows you’d leave it at that.

But a small part of him demurs. He doesn’t have the words to describe it, but something unsettling and hopeful at once stirs in his stomach, one that is stopping him from cutting short this somewhat unconventional pillow talk.

So he tests the words on his tongue, starting with something small. ‘She was a cat person. All the barn cats loved her, no matter where we went on the circuit.’

Watching the way your eyes smile at the detail, he feels a little lighter. He adds, ‘We literally had cats camping out in our truck, and I’m allergic, so I’d be sneezing and covered in hives on the long-distance drives between rodeos.’

You laugh, and his chest swells with the realisation that he doesn’t remember the last time any mention of his wife sparked anything but sad side glances and commiserating pats on the back - let alone joy.

Over the years, he had let go of her joy. Because it doesn’t hurt as much to mourn her this way.

And the guilt that he did this, took the easy way out, is almost too much for one soul-crushing moment - until you lay your head on his chest, unfurling one hand and pressing it into his side, literally holding him together, rib by rib.

He tells you about Addie. Things he’s been afraid to remember, but even more afraid that he had forgotten. Her likes, pet peeves, where she went to college, her favourite show, her irrational fear of butterflies, her favourite dress, the song that always got her up on her feet dancing wherever she was, whatever she was doing, when it came on the radio. 

You listen, picking up on the way his voice falls back into that beautiful Southern cadence that you have come to know as he remembers his wife, nothing but love in his eyes as the guardedness fades with each memory he confides in you. You pepper the pauses with follow-up questions and playful quips where you’re draped across him, one arm folded underneath you and the other over his waist, but you feel yourself nodding off as the hour grows late. 

He holds you to him, his palm spanning your lower back, until you go quiet.

Jack is tired, his own lids drooping with impending slumber, the sprint down memory lane taking more out of him than he expected. Brushing a kiss to the crown of your head, he rolls you off his front and onto your side, tucking you into the rumpled sheets. Spooning you from behind, he murmurs one last thing on the shell of your ear.

‘She would’ve loved you, darlin’.’

Notes: When I first started this series, I didn't have a backstory developed for Jack other than that his wife died eight and a half years before Darlin' comes on the scene. It's been such an organic and fulfilling journey developing his character and his history over the series, filling in the blanks as we and Darlin' got to know him better.

It's so important to me that his wife and his grief isn't pushed to one side for the sake of easy story telling. I've dropped little hints of his bereavement throughout the series, nothing too loud, but it's there in the background, my way of paying respect to one aspect of canon Jack that touches me very deeply despite the mess the movie makes of his story.

Out of all my Reader! characters, I would say that Darlin' is my most unassuming one. Not in a bad way at all, it's just that she doesn't have as loud a personality as Shiv or Pin, or as dramatic a storyline as Sweetheart. But this chapter, she just really came into her own. That last scene will stay with me forever ❤️

Edited to add a reminder that we still have one more chapter to go before we say goodbye to these two. I’m not ready 😭

[liberalsarecool]

25 years of 'thoughts and prayers'.

Thurston High School

Columbine High School

Heritage High School

Deming Middle School

Fort Gibson Middle School

Buell Elementary School

Lake Worth Middle School

University of Arkansas

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Kelly Elementary School

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Aurora Central High School

Millard South High School

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Highlands Intermediate School

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Ronald E McNair Discovery Academy

North Panola High School

Carver High School

Agape Christian Academy

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North Carolina A&T State University

Stephenson High School

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West Orange High School

Arapahoe High School

Edison High School

Liberty Technology Magnet High School

Hillhouse High School

Berrendo Middle School

Purdue University

South Carolina State University

Los Angeles Valley College

Charles F Brush High School

University of Southern California

Georgia Regents University

Academy of Knowledge Preschool

Benjamin Banneker High School

D H Conley High School

East English Village Preparatory Academy

Paine College

Georgia Gwinnett College

John F Kennedy High School

Seattle Pacific University

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Langston Hughes High School

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Florida State University

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Mojave High School

Lawrence Central High School

Franklin High School

Muskegon Heights High School

Independence High School

Madison High School

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University of California-Los Angeles

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Linden McKinley STEM Academy

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Union Middle School

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North Park Elementary School

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NET Charter High School

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Forest High School

Highland High School

Dixon High School

Santa Fe High School

Noblesville West Middle School

University of North Carolina Charlotte

STEM School Highlands Ranch

Edgewood High School

Palm Beach Central High School

Providence Career & Technical Academy

Fairley High School (school bus)

Canyon Springs High School

Dennis Intermediate School

Florida International University

Central Elementary School

Cascade Middle School

Davidson High School

Prairie View A & M University

Altascocita High School

Central Academy of Excellence

Cleveland High School

Robert E Lee High School

Cheyenne South High School

Grambling State University

Blountsville Elementary School

Holmes County, Mississippi (school bus)

Prescott High School

College of the Mainland

Wynbrooke Elementary School

UNC Charlotte

Riverview Florida (school bus)

Second Chance High School

Carman-Ainsworth High School

Williwaw Elementary School

Monroe Clark Middle School

Central Catholic High School

Jeanette High School

Eastern Hills High School

DeAnza High School

Ridgway High School

Reginald F Lewis High School

Saugus High School

Pleasantville High School

Waukesha South High School

Oshkosh High School

Catholic Academy of New Haven

Bellaire High School

North Crowley High School

McAuliffe Elementary School

South Oak Cliff High School

Texas A&M University-Commerce

Sonora High School

Western Illinois University

Oxford High School

Robb Elementary SchoolThurston High School

Columbine High School

Heritage High School

Deming Middle School

Fort Gibson Middle School

Buell Elementary School

Lake Worth Middle School

University of Arkansas

Junipero Serra High School

Santana High School

Bishop Neumann High School

Pacific Lutheran University

Granite Hills High School

Lew Wallace High School

Martin Luther King, Jr High School

Appalachian School of Law

Washington High School

Conception Abbey

Benjamin Tasker Middle School

University of Arizona

Lincoln High School

John McDonogh High School

Red Lion Area Junior High School

Case Western Reserve University

Rocori High School

Ballou High School

Randallstown High School

Bowen High School

Red Lake Senior High School

Harlan Community Academy High School

Campbell County High School

Milwee Middle School

Roseburg High School

Pine Middle School

Essex Elementary School

Duquesne University

Platte Canyon High School

Weston High School

West Nickel Mines School

Joplin Memorial Middle School

Henry Foss High School

Compton Centennial High School

Virginia Tech

Success Tech Academy

Miami Carol City Senior High School

Hamilton High School

Louisiana Technical College

Mitchell High School

EO Green Junior High School

Northern Illinois University

Lakota Middle School

Knoxville Central High School

Willoughby South High School

Henry Ford High School

University of Central Arkansas

Dillard High School

Dunbar High School

Hampton University

Harvard College

Larose-Cut Off Middle School

International Studies Academy

Skyline College

Discovery Middle School

University of Alabama

DeKalb School

Deer Creek Middle School

Ohio State University

Mumford High School

University of Texas

Kelly Elementary School

Marinette High School

Aurora Central High School

Millard South High School

Martinsville West Middle School

Worthing High School

Millard South High School

Highlands Intermediate School

Cape Fear High School

Chardon High School

Episcopal School of Jacksonville

Oikos University

Hamilton High School

Perry Hall School

Normal Community High School

University of South Alabama

Banner Academy South

University of Southern California

Sandy Hook Elementary School

Apostolic Revival Center Christian School

Taft Union High School

Osborn High School

Stevens Institute of Business and Arts

Hazard Community and Technical College

Chicago State University

Lone Star College-North

Cesar Chavez High School

Price Middle School

University of Central Florida

New River Community College

Grambling State University

Massachusetts Institute of Technology

Ossie Ware Mitchell Middle School

Ronald E McNair Discovery Academy

North Panola High School

Carver High School

Agape Christian Academy

Sparks Middle School

North Carolina A&T State University

Stephenson High School

Brashear High School

West Orange High School

Arapahoe High School

Edison High School

Liberty Technology Magnet High School

Hillhouse High School

Berrendo Middle School

Purdue University

South Carolina State University

Los Angeles Valley College

Charles F Brush High School

University of Southern California

Georgia Regents University

Academy of Knowledge Preschool

Benjamin Banneker High School

D H Conley High School

East English Village Preparatory Academy

Paine College

Georgia Gwinnett College

John F Kennedy High School

Seattle Pacific University

Reynolds High School

Indiana State University

Albemarle High School

Fern Creek Traditional High School

Langston Hughes High School

Marysville Pilchuck High School

Florida State University

Miami Carol City High School

Rogers State University

Rosemary Anderson High School

Wisconsin Lutheran High School

Frederick High School

Tenaya Middle School

Bethune-Cookman University

Pershing Elementary School

Wayne Community College

JB Martin Middle School

Southwestern Classical Academy

Savannah State University

Harrisburg High School

Umpqua Community College

Northern Arizona University

Texas Southern University

Tennessee State University

Winston-Salem State University

Mojave High School

Lawrence Central High School

Franklin High School

Muskegon Heights High School

Independence High School

Madison High School

Antigo High School

University of California-Los Angeles

Jeremiah Burke High School

Alpine High School

Townville Elementary School

Vigor High School

Linden McKinley STEM Academy

June Jordan High School for Equity

Union Middle School

Mueller Park Junior High School

West Liberty-Salem High School

University of Washington

King City High School

North Park Elementary School

North Lake College

Freeman High School

Mattoon High School

Rancho Tehama Elementary School

Aztec High School

Wake Forest University

Italy High School

NET Charter High School

Marshall County High School

Sal Castro Middle School

Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School

Great Mills High School

Central Michigan University

Huffman High School

Frederick Douglass High School

Forest High School

Highland High School

Dixon High School

Santa Fe High School

Noblesville West Middle School

University of North Carolina Charlotte

STEM School Highlands Ranch

Edgewood High School

Palm Beach Central High School

Providence Career & Technical Academy

Fairley High School (school bus)

Canyon Springs High School

Dennis Intermediate School

Florida International University

Central Elementary School

Cascade Middle School

Davidson High School

Prairie View A & M University

Altascocita High School

Central Academy of Excellence

Cleveland High School

Robert E Lee High School

Cheyenne South High School

Grambling State University

Blountsville Elementary School

Holmes County, Mississippi (school bus)

Prescott High School

College of the Mainland

Wynbrooke Elementary School

UNC Charlotte

Riverview Florida (school bus)

Second Chance High School

Carman-Ainsworth High School

Williwaw Elementary School

Monroe Clark Middle School

Central Catholic High School

Jeanette High School

Eastern Hills High School

DeAnza High School

Ridgway High School

Reginald F Lewis High School

Saugus High School

Pleasantville High School

Waukesha South High School

Oshkosh High School

Catholic Academy of New Haven

Bellaire High School

North Crowley High School

McAuliffe Elementary School

South Oak Cliff High School

Texas A&M University-Commerce

Sonora High School

Western Illinois University

Oxford High School

Bridgewater University

Robb Elementary School

Michigan State University

Covenant Christian School

.

TBA

***feel free to copy and paste, then share ****

[podcastgirlsweek]

I finally figure out polls so

[keydekyie]

Unrestrained Summer Fun

Ruyak and Kaelin go swimming.

Excerpt from Book III (WIP) 1650 words, no content warnings

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Midsummer days were often roasting from the start. Even in the morning, as soon as the sun was up the heat was almost unbearable, with the landscape and everything in it baking under an unrelenting summer sun.

As they continued navigating through the Gautok mountains, Ruyak took long paths through higher elevations, trying to avoid as much heat as he could. Kaelin’s pocket became a sweaty broiler on such hot days, so whenever they seemed to be between territories, she rode on Ruyak’s back instead. In the bright sun she kept her eyes up, watching the mountains rise up before and fall behind them one after another, pine-covered and craggy. Riding up there had its benefits, and the view was only one of them. As the summer sun beat down from above, the only relief, and precious little of it there was, came from the breeze.

Ruyak’s movements, though lumbering, were usually fluid and intentional. On this particularly hot morning, as the sun advanced higher, his steps were beginning to feel oddly jarring. He was moving up a hill, through low brush and across bare rock, but seemed to find the terrain more difficult than usual.

“Are you feeling alright?” Kaelin asked.

“Yeah, why?” he answered lightly, unbothered, though a little more out of breath than usual. “Something wrong?”

“No, just… would you like to stop and take a break?”

“We just started,” Ruyak scoffed. “Do you need to pee already?”

“No, no. Nevermind.”

Kaelin kept quiet for a bit, worrying silently as the sun climbed. Ruyak’s strides were growing more erratic by the minute. Every step shook Kaelin on her perch, to the point her arms and legs were growing fatigued from the effort it took not to fall.

They had just crested the top of the hill and were descending into a valley when Kaelin reached forward and plunged her hand deep into the thick, wiry fur in front of her. She really had to dig down to get past all the layers and reach what she was looking for.

When she did, Kaelin was reminded of touching a hot workpiece with her fingers. Ruyak’s skin was burning.

He staggered to a stop on the hillside and craned his head back to glare at her out of the corner of his eye. “What are you doing?”

Kaelin pulled her hand out of his fur. “Let’s stop somewhere and rest.”

“Why?”

“Humor me.”

Ruyak looked around. “Here? Why here?”

“I see a lake down there, in this valley. We could get some water.”

Ruyak didn’t have any qualms with this. He adjusted his course and made his way down into the valley towards the dark shape of the lake.

It wasn’t large, but it was almost perfectly round, half in shadow under the tree-crested cliff it was framed by. Small creeks trickled into it over the rocks from several directions, and the foliage all around reveled in the coolness of the mountain water. It even smelled nice, Kaelin noticed as they approached. Stoney and clean, like the river that had run by her village back home.

After letting Kaelin slide off his back to the ground, Ruyak took off his pack and staggered over to the water to lean down and drink greedily. Kaelin came over to stand close beside him. 

“Augh,” he gasped after a while, leaning back. Water dripped from his chin like a waterfall. “I was thirstier than I thought. It was a good idea to stop.”

Kaelin knelt down on a rock by the shore to scoop water into her hands and splash the sweat from her face and neck. It was cold, but not icy. Refreshing, like a shadow. She looked down into the water, expecting to see minnows darting around in the dimness, but instead only saw mirror-like reflections. She froze, staring. She could see herself perfectly, but it wasn’t the sight of her own face that had so caught her attention, it was Ruyak’s.

She could see him over her own reflection’s shoulder, looking around with an airy grin, taking in the scenery. At the distance and angle, with her own reflection beside him, he looked…

Kaelin raised her hand, watching her reflection reach for Ruyak’s face.

Of course he was occupied with whatever he was looking at and didn’t notice what Kaelin was doing, so his expression remained humorously oblivious. It only served to strengthen the effect.

He looked… so human.

Ruyak sighed contentedly, then turned to grin down at Kaelin. “You’re learning to swim today.”

Kaelin scowled at his reflection. “No, I’m not.”

Throwing her a mischievous smirk, Ruyak suddenly lunged over her into the water with a heavy splash. Kaelin scrambled back just in time to avoid getting soaked, but her shoes and skirts didn’t manage to escape entirely.

“Ruyak!” she scolded. 

He chuckled at her as he waded out into the water. “The best way to learn is to try it.”

Kaelin sat herself down on a boulder, grumbling under her breath as she yanked off her wet shoes and socks and threw them towards Ruyak’s pack in the sunshine. As she inched towards the water Ruyak pricked his ears hopefully, only to pout as she merely dipped her toes in.

“Come on,” Ruyak pleaded, drifting into the deep lake water until it was up to his chin. “I can’t always be rescuing you every time you fall in a river.”

“I’m not planning on falling into any more rivers.”

“You say that as though you were planning on falling in the first time.”

Kaelin crossed her arms. “Well maybe I was. You don’t know.”

“You nearly died, if I recall correctly.”

“So you understand why I’m not particularly interested in doing it again.”

“Please?” Ruyak came swimming back over to the shore, keeping low in the water, then tilted his head at her, imploring. “Humor me?”

Kaelin pretended to ignore him, idly splashing her feet in the water as Ruyak sat there watching her with his giant eyes. Finally she tired of his expression and splashed at his face, but he just blinked and returned to staring at her, undeterred.

Kaelin was beginning to fear he could persuade her to do just about anything by looking at her like that. “Fine. But I’m not going in deeper than I can stand.”

Ruyak grinned. “That’s fair. We have to start somewhere.”

Kaelin stood up and pulled her sarafan off over her head while keeping on her underdress, the skirt of which she tied up around her legs and waist in a puffy sort of bundle. As she cautiously waded into the water, she couldn’t help but cringe as it soaked her clothes.

The lake bottom was made up of large boulders, smooth and slippery, but steady. There were plenty of places for Kaelin to put her feet, as long as she was careful.

“You’re planning on getting in deeper than that, right?” Ruyak asked.

As Kaelin tottered around in the shallows, she waved him off and made noises of dissent. 

Ruyak sighed. “You’re not going to learn anything wading around like that. You need to swim.”

“I’m getting to that.”

“Well get to it before I start growing water weeds in my fur, please.”

Kaelin stopped, frowning down at the dark water. It was almost up to her stomach now, and feeling icier for it. She’d waded like this before, as a child playing with her friends in Motylek’s shallow creek, but it felt different now. 

She was trying very hard not to think about what the Tubru’s icy grip had felt like.

“It’s just cold,” she mumbled.

“Yeah, a little bit. But once you get in you’ll get used to it. Why don’t you try swimming over to me? It’s not deep right here.”

Kaelin regarded him shrewdly, the way she would a rickety bridge. He was holding his hand out, just below the water’s surface so his claws were the only parts visible, watching her with rapt attention.

It didn’t look too far, and the calm lake was no roiling Tobru. There was no current to sweep her away. Kaelin took a deep breath, then lunged forward into the chilly water with a splash.

“Kick your legs!” Ruyak barked.

“How?”

“Just kick, silly. You’ll figure it out.”

She did, or tried, at least. It was such an awkward and exhausting thing. Her uncoordinated flailing barely pulled her through the water at all, and she grasped desperately for Ruyak’s claws where they poked above the water’s surface, just out of reach. 

Just to get an extra push, Kaelin tried to touch the bottom with her toes, only to find nothing beneath her feet. She plunged underwater for a terrifying heartbeat and managed to kick off a rock, but panicked as she crested the surface again, snorting out a noseful of water. She splashed and gasped, and suddenly Ruyak’s hand was under her legs, lifting her halfway out of the water.

“That was so good!”

“Shut up,” Kaelin wheezed, steadying herself in his hand. He chuckled at her, making the water all around jostle erratically like a drink in the hands of a drunkard. The movement was so strange Kaelin almost laughed too, but was feeling too indignant about the whole thing.

“I think losing your head makes it a lot worse,” Ruyak offered.

“I know,” Kaelin snarked, then splashed Ruyak in the face again.

He flinched and shook his head at her, snickering, “Bold, for someone so far from shore.”

“Drown me about it, then.” Kaelin braced herself on one of his claws, gauging the distance back to the shallows, then launched herself off his hand and kicked like mad. Pure determination soon brought her to a place she could stand. Pleased with her progress, Kaelin looked back at Ruyak and rubbed her hands together. “Stay there. I’m swimming to you again.”

[ladylooch]

can you pls write about hiking/camping with the hischiers?

So this isn’t all of them together… but I had this idea and had to run with it!

“Okay, LuLu, what are the rules?” Nico asks, tightening the laces on her hiking boots. She wrinkles her nose at how tight they are, but does not protest out loud.

“Stay on the trail, no throwing rocks, and have fun!” Lucie cheers. Nico grins up at his 6 year old from his knee, so proud of her excitement and attentiveness. 

It’s their first hike together, just the two of them. Mama, Mack, and Sophie are at home, giving Nico time with his oldest in his favorite place: the outdoors. Nico has been waiting for this moment since he first held Lucie in his hands. He wants to share both the outdoors and Switzerland with his oldest daughter so she understands more of what is a part of her. 

“Good. What is the most important rule?”

“Have fun!” Lucie giggles. “I always have fun with you daddy.” Nico almost breaks down into tears at the trailhead. 

“Me too, Luc.” He pats her tan, bucket hat head. “Ready?”

“Yeah!” 

With their backpacks of snacks and water on their bodies, they head off onto the gravel trail in the Swiss alps. All along the way, Nico points out birds and trees and creeks far down below. They even see a deer bounding through the valley by the lake.

“Whoa!” Lucie exclaims loudly. “Are we gonna see a bear, daddy?”

“Hopefully no.” Nico murmurs. “If we keep talking, I doubt it.”

“Okay, I don’t wanna see one.”

“Well, we are in their home, baby. We might. If we do, listen to what I say, okay?” Lucie nods seriously. The trail is relatively populated this morning, so Nico is not worried about any sudden bear encounters. 

It takes 90 minutes before they get to the top of their hike. Lucie is being so patient and good.

“Almost there.” Nico murmurs, looking back to his daughter. She has her eyes on her feet, careful of her steps as the trail gets harder to see because of overgrown brush. “You’re doing great!” Lucie smiles and bites her lip at her dad’s praise. 

At the top of the trail, they look out at the vastnesss of the Swiss Alps. Stray clouds touch the highest peaks in front of them that are still slightly snow capped despite the summer season. Lucie stares out in awe at the scene in front of her. Nico looks down at her, beaming with pride at her appreciation for his home country.

“This is yours too, Lucie. You, Mack and Soph will always have a home here.”

“Why don’t we live here all the time?” Lucie wonders.

“Because daddy’s job. But maybe we can live here when I’m done playing, yeah?”

“Will we go on hikes every day?”

“Probably not. You’ll have to go to school.” Lucie sighs. “But we can go a lot.” Nico offers. His daughter nods in agreement. 

“Can I have a snack?”

“Yeah, do you want apple sauce or a granola bar.”

“Both.”

“You got it.”

Nioc distributes the snack, then settles with his daughter on a flat rock. Lucie slumps agains this arm, eating her fuel in the quiet wilderness with her favorite person: her dad.

[lostinwildflowers]

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary: On a quieter day out in the fields, you suggest cooling off in the creek. Arthur isn't so sure about it until you get a little... wild.

Word Count: 4.0K

Warnings: me not knowing anything about RDR2 but trying my best, fluff, suggestive themes, mentions of undressing, implied feelings and thoughts, some mutual pining

A/N: Hey y'all!! This is for my lovely dear and amazing bestie @bluebellhairpin for being an absolute sweetheart. I know about 0 things about RDR2 but I tried my best so please be kind😅 -Birch<3

It was an unusually warm day out in the west, the trails rocky and red with the stain of the harsh dirt. The landscape was ethereal, with large mountains diving into deep gorges on either side, opening into the wide valley where you were riding.

The valley was your current home, with fields of wispy green grasses and low-hanging brush. There were trees near the edges of the fields, and large pines that had been there for generations.

It was a warm day, and a windy one too. The sun was beating down on you and Arthur, making a sheen of sweat build up on your brow.

The wind whipped through the valley, making the only sounds audible those of the trees and grass rustling, and the faint whisper of a creek trickling in the background.

The sound of your horse walking underfoot was almost mute to you, as hours spent in the saddle made you accustomed to the four-beat walk of your horse across the rough terrain.

Bourbon, your trusty bay stud horse, was also enjoying the day. His neck was low, walking quietly behind Boadicea, his black tail flicking off flies casually. The sun beating down left his brown haircoat curled with sweat on his neck and under his mane, but he didn't seem to mind.

You reach down and pet him on the neck with your free hand as you mumble, "Just a little longer, we're coming up on some water soon." Arthur was just ahead of you, determined to lead until he was sure it was safe enough to take a break.

The call of a hawk overhead snaps your eyes to the sky, your straw cowboy hat blocking most of the sun's bright rays. Your (colored) eyes lock onto the conglomerate of crows and hawks circling in the sky, your brows wrinkling as you try to locate what they're hovering over.

"Arthur," you call wearily, "There's some birds up ahead, might need to be on the lookout for bears."

You see him just wave his hand in acknowledgment, and you roll your eyes before you kick Bourbon into a trot, veering off to the side of the small deer trail where the two of you had been scouting.

You sit deep into your saddle as you climb up the small hill, squinting as you look for the kill the birds were waiting for. Bourbon looks attentively ahead, his feet shifting nervously under you as your gaze locks onto the carcass of a dead cow elk in the dip below you.

You can hear a gruff call from Arthur behind you, but you ignore him as you spot a thin coyote chewing on the exposed and worn bones. You turn your head and say, "It's just a 'yote, we should still stay aware though."

When you turn over your shoulder to see if he heard you, Arthur is waiting at the bottom of the small hill, a frown on his face as he grumbles, "Well, I was gon' tell ya we could see that kill just up ahead. But you ain't never listen to me."

At that, he turns and heads back up the trail, aiming for the sound of the faint water in the distance. Your gaze trails after him, and you feel hot, your pearl snap shirt feeling heavy against your skin. And it wasn't because of the sun.

Bourbon was still dancing under your feet at the sight of the wild dog, and you scan the small field again to keep an eye out for any other large predators. Where there was one, more would certainly follow.

You see, Arthur and the rest of your crew were getting ready to move camps, with your current spot only being for overnight as you headed south slowly toward Valentine.

Dutch and the others were still north at Colter, so you and Arthur were out trying to find the best way to get south without being noticed. Thus, you had to spend some warm hours in the saddle, locating the best resources and safest places to travel while staying stealthy.

You and Arthur both decided to just take your horses and leave the wagon for now, as you didn't think it would take you very long. You see, you were a master of the land. You knew every type of plant, the color of every rock, bird, and meat, and which berries were safe to eat. You were a true survivalist, and that's why Arthur kept you around.

It wasn't the only reason, but Arthur definitely saw your strengths in the group, which led him to his current predicament- being alone with you. Not only were you an asset to the group, but you were also gorgeous.

After leaving Eliza, he was set on never showing emotion again, rather keeping to his business and leaving feelings out of the mix. But when you showed up, with Dutch smiling and talking to you, he knew he was going to be in for it.

With your braids of (colored) hair and gleaming (colored) eyes, Arthur knew he wasn't going to be able to make it work. And what was worse, is that you were sweet. Just a truly kind-hearted individual who cared deeply about the others around you.

As you gazed out across the valley, you didn't catch Arthur's glance toward you, noting the way your hair curled around the edges of your hat. Even the way your tan and burgundy striped pearl snap shirt clung to every part of you, he knew that you could seduce a man.

He hated the way he felt toward you because he knew he had messed up in the past. He knew he couldn't do that to you, you were too good for the life he lived.

You turned Bourbon to follow him back up the path as you grumbled, "That sucker thinks he knows better than me 'bout what's out here." Little did you know, Arthur heard you and a small smile tugged at the corner of his lip at your sass.

"Water's up ahead, Y/n/n," he calls over his shoulder, the nickname flowing off of his tongue before he could stop it. He feels a pang run through him as silence fills the air, but he doesn't dare turn around to look at you.

But you were just taking a drink from your canteen, and you froze in place at his words. Bourbon stops as your body stills, and Arthur just barely rides out of sight as you process what he said.

Y/n/n? Is he alright? Whatever, I need to refill my canteen, you think to yourself. You shove the bottle into your pack on the back of your cantle, petting Bourbon on the neck as you trot up the trail after him.

"Lookin' pretty clear to me," you state breathlessly as you break to a walk next to him, panting from the heat of the sun. Your (colored) gaze lands on his face, and you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach at seeing his handsome features.

Even with sweat on his brow and grime on his hands, he never looked better. He had cuffed his sleeves and rolled them up his forearms, exposing the thick muscle.

His hair was longer, and while tangled from the wind and not having been washed in a few days, it still looked soft. His eyes were always masked with emotion so you could never tell what he was thinking, but over time you've learned some of his small intricacies.

You could see the water up ahead, and you shoot Arthur a wide grin as you cut Boadicea off with Bourbon, sliding in front of him as he yelled, "Aye! What're you thinking woman-" "Just live a little, Arthur!" you call over your shoulder, loud giggles falling from your lips as you rush up to the widening creek.

You swing your leg off of your horse, stepping down onto the ground, the thin leather of your shotgun chaps brushing against the red dirt. You pull your reins down from Bourbon's neck, giving him a gentle pat as you grab his halter from your saddle.

You pull his bridle off and slip his halter on, hanging the bridle over your saddle horn before leading him to the water. You can hear Arthur behind you, and when you turn around to look at him, you catch his eye.

He's still sitting on Boadicea, watching you intently. You crack a crooked grin and hum out, "You see something you like, Arth?" You laugh as a frown covers his face, and he turns to get off of his mare as you snicker to yourself.

This is how it usually went, you did most of the talking, and you laughed at his reactions. Bourbon happily drank from the stream as your eyes scanned the banks of the water on the other side, no predators in sight.

Arthur leads Boadicea next to Bourbon, also having slipped her bridle off and letting her drink. Your giggles settle down as you let out a happy sigh, combing through Bourbon's black mane as he finished swallowing.

Once both horses were content with their levels of thirst, you lead them to a nearby tree, loosely tying them so they could nibble at the grass.

You turn around to tell Arthur to fill up his water jugs, but your mouth closes at the sight of him. He had undone the top few buttons of his shirt and was crouched down by the edge of the water. In his right hand was his hat, tucking it close to his chest while his left hand dipped into the water, scooping it up to splash on his face and neck.

Heat flooded over you, almost like a wave of nausea. In an instant, your chaps were way too warm, and you go to start unbuckling them. You feel almost itchy after having looked at him like that, so you try to focus on getting your chaps off.

You unsnap the sides and sigh at the feeling of what seemed like cooler air rushing into your slightly damp jeans, before unclasping it at the belt.

Arthur watched you from the corner of his eye, and he felt his throat drying up at the sight of you. He swore it was just the heat from the sun coming down stronger, but he couldn't deny it. You looked good.

Once your chaps hit the ground and you could take a breath again, you say, "We should refill the water jugs." Arthur nods and stands up with a quiet, "Yeah, go 'head and grab 'em."

You nod in return, turning your back to him to grab the canteens and jugs off of the horses' saddles. In his head, Arthur fought everything in him to not glance at the curve of your waist and hips.

You had this natural sway about you, and as you bent over to grab a bottle you dropped, Arthur cursed to whatever higher power there was that he couldn't tell you what he was thinking. A moment later you appear in front of him, a soft smile on your lips as you hand him a couple of the bottles, your arms completely full.

"Sorry," you mutter as one bottle slips from your hands again, and you reach down to grab it before all of the bottles tumble to the ground. A few choice words fall from your lips, and as you grasp at one, Arthur's hand grabs at it too.

For a moment, all you can think of is the feeling of his rough hand on yours, and you cease motion. You look away from the bottles to meet his eyes, and you find he's already looking at you.

"Y/n/n," he whispers, so close to you. You can feel his warm breath hitting your face, and despite the heat of the day, you can't bring yourself to care.

"Arth..." you reply, butterflies erupting in your belly at the intensity of his gaze. You're snapped out of the moment when Bourbon starts coughing behind you and you feel even more warmth across your face as you snatch the bottle and stand up.

"Sorry Arthur, I'm such a clutz," you say neutrally, grabbing another bottle before heading down to the water, glad your straw hat covered the expression on your face; horror.

He doesn't reply, but he throws his own cowboy hat on the ground behind you before grabbing the other bottles and crouching down to fill them. You could practically feel the heat waves and tension kissing in the air, but neither of you said anything.

You finish filling the bottles and carefully take them back to the saddles, putting them in the packs and taking a deep breath. What on earth is wrong with me? What did I think he was gonna do?

You try to brush it off the best you can, hanging your hat over the top of your bridle on Bourbon's saddle, doing the same with your chaps. As you try to cool off, a mischievous idea comes over you.

Arthur had put his canteen back on his saddle and had reached into one of his packs to grab his leather notebook. He plopped down on the other side of the tree from where the horses were, quiet as could be.

You do your best to ignore him, and as you get to the edge of the water, you start taking off your boots. Then your socks. Then goes your belt. And right as you start to undo the buttons to your pearl snaps you hear Arthur.

"What're you doin'?" It's a simple question, no malice in his voice. You smile but don't turn around to face him. "Cooling off," is all you say in return as you undo another button.

"Y/n/n, you better watch yourself," you hear this time. It's a little more firm, but you still don't turn around. A second later, you let the material of your shirt float down your arms before it joins the pile of clothes on the ground.

You don't see it, but Arthur's blue gaze is locked on your figure. He wants to look away, he wants to give you the privacy you deserve, the respect you deserve as a lady. But he can't.

"Y/n..." you hear again, but this time it's lower. Deeper. And more... well, intense. You keep going though, undoing the buttons to your jeans and shimmying out of them.

You're left in just your undergarments, and you can't help but feel the air whizzing around you. It feels electric from the burning of the sun, but also because you know he's watching you. Taking in every freckle, dimple, and curve of your body.

He's never seen this much of you, and you aren't sure why you felt so bold, but you take a cautious barefoot step forward and into the water. You can't help the gasp that falls from your lips as your toes submerge in the cool water, and a giggle follows a moment afterward.

You take a few more cautious steps, and you don't hear anything else from Arthur. Once you're about waist-deep into the water, that's when you turn around.

And for once, Arthur's eyes aren't on you. A pang hits you in the gut. You aren't sure if it's disappointment, relief, or what, but all you can think of is how foolish you feel at that moment.

That's until you realize what he's doing. You had seen him grab his notebook, yes, but you didn't know what he was going to write. Except he wasn't writing at all.

His thick fingers were wrapped around a small pencil, where you could see him scratching out long, smooth strokes. Your brow furrowed in confusion at his movements, and that's when his eyes meet yours.

"Turn back around," he calls, the faintest smirk on his lips as he chewed at a toothpick he had kept in his shirt pocket. You cock your head and reply, "Ya see something you like?"

The words you had said earlier hung heavy in the air for a second, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you awaited his response.

"Maybe I do," is his response. You blink in surprise and swallow thickly at the implication of his words. Yet, you do as he says, and turn back around.

You reach down into the water with your hands, letting the dirt run off of your fingers and into the creek. You then splash a little on your face, brushing the hair out of your eyes and letting the water cool you and your mind down.

You'd never let yourself be this vulnerable in front of Arthur before, but now you just couldn't stop yourself. Something about being with him, out in the fields with your horses put you at ease.

A few minutes go by, with just the sound of the birds tweeting and the water crackling over rocks hanging in the air. You peer over your shoulder, and when you look at Arthur, he's watching.

The notebook he had been sketching in sat closed on his lap, and a wave of embarrassment ran over you. He'd just been sitting there, admiring you. Not in a creepy or predatory type of way, but simply a man enjoying the beauties of the world around him.

You turn to face him, but as you do so, you completely lower yourself into the water, wetting your hair down to the scalp. When you straighten up, you stay submerged with just the points of your collarbones showing.

"Thinking about joining me?" you ask quietly, a chill running up your spine, but not because of the water. This elicits a laugh from Arthur, a sound you don't get to hear very often.

"Darlin', you're testing me," he chuckles, looking down and flopping the notebook from his lap to the ground next to him. A wide grin slips onto your face as you reply, "Am I? I think you might just want to cool off too, Arth. It's been a warm day."

His gaze every so slightly darkens, and his jaw clenches. It was taking everything in him to not jump up, run over to you, and tell you everything he wanted to do to you. Yet he simply takes a deep breath and says, "Someone's gotta keep watch."

You nod and stand up straight, the water pouring off of you, and you see Arthur's eyes travel from your face, down your body, and back up. You don't say anything as you walk out of the water, heading straight toward him.

He stands up the second you're completely out of the water, and once you're standing in front of him, he takes a deep breath and tries to be respectful with his gaze. Pieces of his dirty blonde hair fall out of place as he looks down at you, and you can't help but feel exposed under his watch.

"Someone's gotta keep watch, right?" you whisper. He nods once as his eyes rake over your face and he mumbles, "Right." You also nod once, taking another half-step forward so you're practically touching him.

"How's the view?" you ask quietly, your eyes blinking slowly up at him, a shaky breath falling from your lips. Arthur locks eyes with you as his right hand gradually comes up to sit on your waist, his fingers gentle and warm against your now cool skin.

He reaches up to his mouth to pluck the toothpick from it, throwing it in the grass behind him without breaking eye contact. Then, with that same hand, he brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes, slicking the wet lock behind your ear.

"I've never seen anything this gorgeous in my life," he whispers. You swallow thickly as you continue to gaze up at him, your heart pounding louder and louder in your chest.

You couldn't think of anything smart to say, so all you can mumble is, "Well, is that so?" Arthur smiles lightly as he catches onto your nerves and he whispers, "Yes ma'am. The most beautiful view I've ever seen."

You find yourself leaning into him, your eyes half-lidded as his grip on you tightened. You can hear one of the horses snort behind you, and as your eyes flick to the noise, Arthur's hand moves to cup your cheek.

His touch brings your gaze back to meet his own blue one, and once again your name falls from his lips, "Y/n, I-" He pauses, his grip on you still firm, but his eyes uncertain.

"What is it, Arth?" you whisper, your features softening. Arthur could hardly speak, with you in his arms, the day warm and your skin cool, he didn't think he could move.

He sighs, his eyes shutting for a few moments before they reopen, and when they take in your face again, he knows.

"I love you."

You don't even blink at his words, you don't change anything about the way you stare up at him. And for a moment, Arthur thinks he's messed up. He thinks he's read the entire situation wrong, that is until giggles start falling from your lips.

A snort escapes your mouth, and he doesn't seem to find it funny. You lean into his chest, belly laughing, and Arthur doesn't know what to do, so he just holds you closer to him as he mutters in your ear, "What's so funny?"

Giggles are still coming from you as you straighten up and say, "I can't believe it took me taking my clothes off for you to tell me that." Arthur groans and goes to release you, but you stop him.

Instead, your hands find each side of the collar of his shirt, and you pull him down into a sweet, wet kiss. The droplets of creek water are still running down your cheeks, but neither of you seems to mind as you pull him toward you.

Arthur goes to wrap both arms around your waist, changing the angle of the kiss to deepen it. His nose brushes against yours, and he can't help but feel like he'd finally died and gone to heaven.

You're the one to pull back first, with a wide grin on your face. You flatten the collar of his shirt before you regain eye contact with him and say, "But I love you too."

His lips come crashing into yours again, pulling you flat against his chest. A small moan escapes your lips as he kisses you, but you could care less. All you were thinking about was the feeling of Arthur against you, and how you never wanted it to stop.

This time, he's the one to pull back, and when you flutter your eyes open to look at him, he smiles. You smile back and quickly lean in to place a small peck on his lips.

It's quiet for a moment before you ask, "What was it you were drawing?" He sighs with a chuckle and replies, "Oh darlin', just the best view I've ever seen."

You giggle once as you lean in and whisper against his lips, "Oh really?" He chuckles too and closes the kiss with a small 'uh huh'.

Needless to say, you weren't getting back to the crew until it was pitch black out, but the feeling of Arthur's lips against your own made any question in your mind lay to rest.

And rather than setting up with the rest of the group for the evening like normal, you found yourself laying next to Arthur instead.

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

The vast territory known as the Owens Valley was home for centuries to Native Americans who lived along its rivers and creeks fed by snowmelt that cascaded down the eastern slopes of the Sierra Nevada.

Then came European settlers, and over time, tribe members lost access to nearly all of that land. Eventually, the water was lost, too: In the early 20th century, the developers of Los Angeles famously built a 226-mile-long aqueduct from Owens Lake to the city. It was this project, the story goes, that allowed Los Angeles to become the booming metropolis that it is today.

Less familiar is what happened to the Owens Valley, and the people who lived there, after most of the water was sent south. Owens Lake is now a patchwork of saline pools covered in pink crystals and wetlands studded with gravel mounds designed to catch dust. And today, the four recognized tribes in the area have less than 2,000 acres of reservation land, estimated Teri Red Owl, a local Native American leader.

But things are changing, tribal members say. They have recently reclaimed corners of the valley, buoyed by growing momentum across the country to return land to Indigenous stewardship, also known as the “Land Back” movement.

In recent years, Native American tribes have reclaimed hundreds of acres of ancestral land, often following decades of advocacy. Members of Prairie Band Potawatomi Nation have repurchased 130 acres in Illinois, which will become a federally recognized reservation for the tribe. And some 850 acres of land along the Mattaponi River in Virginia were returned to Indigenous stewardship and preservation.

In California, state and local leaders have acknowledged a dark history of brutality toward Native Americans, and tribes have reclaimed territory up and down the state.

Early this year, the state transferred ownership of the Mount Whitney Fish Hatchery, a European-style stone hall built in 1917 and manicured grounds, to the Fort Independence Indian Community of Paiute Indians, in the first return of its kind under a new state directive.

And last year, the owners of a healing retreat called Three Creeks sold their five-acre property to a water advocacy group representing three local tribes.

Along Highway 395, the desolate road running along the base of the Sierra Nevada, the landscape is rocky and covered in scrub brush. But the approach to Three Creeks is like a portal into a different world, opening onto a lush green expanse and a pond reflecting the clear, blue sky. On the property itself, apple, cherry and apricot trees bloomed on a recent afternoon while the sounds of trickling water and laughter floated through the air.

[somepsychopomp]

Red Riding Hood (Hybrid Edition!)

Little Yuuji was supposed to be home hours ago. So preoccupied with his basket of flowers and herbs cradled to his chest, he'd taken a wrong turn at the river and found himself lost in a vast stretch of woodland he'd never encountered before.

But he was not scared!

Not even when it was long past sunset, and his Papa's warnings of beasts in the woods weighed heavy on his mind...

(Word Count: 1708)

Yuuji was not lost. He was just taking the long way home.

He was ten now and had begged and begged and begged his Papa to let him forage on his own. He knew the woods well, he said. He knew the best spots with the healthiest, most fragrant flowers and the most delectable herbs. He could tell the poisonous plants from the edible and medicinal.

He had wanted this so badly, for so long. To show his worth to his bigger, so much stronger Papa.

And he'd finally acquiesced, letting Yuuji out of the den on his own, draped in a red cloak around his shoulders to keep the sun off of him and a woven basket to hold all his goodies.

"You must return before sunset," Papa had said, adjusting the ties to Yuuji's cloak so they'd hold fast, "And never-"

"Never stray from the trail!" Yuuji said, hooves tapping against the soft earth with impatience. He couldn't wait to explore the woods without the overbearing eye of his father. He knew that as long as he stayed within the land he'd grown up in, he'd be completely fine.

Now... Yuuji was not lost. And he was not afraid, either.

Even though he'd been so concerned with keeping all his foraged goods in his basket, protecting them from the water's spray, that he must've followed the wrong fork off the river. One was supposed to lead to home, another to the valley below, and the others led deeper into the woods. Through territory that was not marked by his father and whose terrain Yuuji had never seen before.

As soon as he realized his mistake, as soon as he realized he should've passed by familiar boulders and spiraling trees within the hour, he hurried back to the main body of the river. But looking at it from outside his Papa's territory, Yuuji had been horrified to see that none of the creeks and branches looked familiar anymore.

He trotted back and forth across a good length of the river, tail twitching with unease and his ears pinned flat against his head, trying to make heads or tails of what he saw. Yuuji also tried to scent the air, to see if he could catch a trace of his Papa. But the wind was unkind that day, blowing from behind him.

Yuuji finally picked the branching creek that he was certain looked familiar and followed it.

That was hours ago.

It was dark, now. And cold. The air was frigid even though his lower half was protected by his speckled fur. Yuuji clutched his basket to his chest with one arm and gripped his cloak with the other. Tiny, spiny thorns that grew low to the ground kept snagging on his little hooves and making him stumble.

Yuuji huffed and whined under his breath, scared of getting a face full of barbs should he fall.

The moon in the sky was obscured by dense clouds and the chill bit at his face and stung his eyes. Yuuji couldn't smell or see the path home, but refused to let himself stop. Even if his hooves did hurt. It was better to keep moving, right?

At least he had his warm cloak with its soft hood.

Every few dozen paces, Yuuji would also pause by a tree and rub his side against it. He knew it wasn't always a good idea to leave your scent out in the wild, but what if Papa was looking for him?

No, he thought. Papa was most certainly looking for him. And he might even be close! He was an excellent tracker, after all. So weighing the risks in his mind, Yuuji decided it was better to leave a trail for his Papa to follow.

As he brushed his flank against yet another towering oak, it was that moment he heard a snapping sound from behind him. Yuuji froze, ears splayed and listening. Breath held.

Papa had always warned him of beasts that roamed the woods, monsters that would gladly devour a little deer like him if given the chance.

When nothing followed the snapping branch, Yuuji dared to take another step forward, into the unknown. And another, and another.

He pulled a flower from his basket and nibbled on it to calm his nerves.

Then the wind shifted. Yuuji's head snapped to the side as he took in the heavy scent of musk mixed with something acrid and sharp. Blood.

Yuuji swallowed, throat dry.

He ran.

Ignoring the thorns scratching his legs, he kept his head low as he plowed through the dense undergrowth.

There was no howl or roar from behind him, only the unmistakable sounds of crushed grass and snapping twigs as something chased after him.

Yuuji knew he was small, but he was fast. And if there were endless predators who would gladly slaughter him if given the chance, Yuuji recalled his Papa's voice telling him to never give them the opportunity at all.

So he. Kept. Running.

Relying purely on his agility and instincts, he cut around trees and dashed over boulders as they came into view. Yuuji didn't dare look behind him, knowing in his heart and gut that death was still on his heels.

His eyes burned as his heart heaved and buckled under the strain of keeping him going. He never should've left home.

Oh, Papa...

Yuuji yelped as he hit a steep decline and tumbled over the side of a hill. He lost his basket and heard his cloak rip as it snagged on thorns.

He hit the ground hard and gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs. Even so, Yuuji scrambled on all fours to try to force himself back up. He was cut up and aching but none of his legs felt broken and that's what mattered most.

As he stood on trembling legs, energy shot from his initial sprint, Yuuji shuddered at the sensation of being watched. As if possessed, his head raised and forced him to witness the looming predator bearing down on him from the top of the hill.

His breath caught in his throat. It was another hybrid, a pale face smiling at him with bared fangs and outstretched claws.

A mountain lion.

Yuuji couldn't move, couldn't speak.

Please...

His face was damp, his eyes hot.

As the lion licked their lips, poised to lunge, Yuuji felt another shiver race down his back.

The fickle wind brought a new scent with it, one of pine and a different kind of musk. A scent that promised teeth and a snarling maw. Yuuji very nearly raised himself on his aching hind legs to better catch it, not daring to believe it was real.

The lion lunged at the same time a wolf's howl shattered the silence.

Yuuji threw himself backward, a hind leg snagging on a thicket of brambles and making him fall. The lion landed right in front of him, fangs and eyes glinting in the light. The only thing they seemed to care about was claiming Yuuji as their meal.

"Papa!" he cried.

And the wolf appeared. He came bounding over the crest of the hill with his teeth bared. The lion was swift, though, and twisted to strike at Papa mid-air. The two fell in a heap and rolled in a blinding, furious clash of claws and teeth.

The lion raked its claws down Papa's side, spilling red into the earth. Papa snarled and thrashed, using his strong hind legs to kick the lion off of him. As the other predator hit the base of a tree, Papa lunged.

Yuuji watched, breath held, as the fatal blow was made.

Papa's teeth sank into the lion's throat. There was more thrashing after that, more claws and red. But Yuuji had seen his Papa fight many other predators before, and only one ever walked away alive.

He touched the cloak wrapped around his shoulders; it'd been a gift from his Papa, of course. The precious, warm fur from an array of red foxes that tried their luck hunting Yuuji. They'd all met their end at his Papa's hand, and he'd taken what was useful from them to keep Yuuji warm.

The lion's light was fading now. Their eyes grew glassy as the moonlight ceased to reflect so clearly in them. Papa thrashed and dashed the dying predator against the rough tree bark for good measure. Then he dropped the corpse and panted into the cold night air, a paw wrapped around his bleeding wounds.

Yuuji tried to stand.

At the sound of rustling underbrush, Papa's eyes snapped toward him. He rushed to Yuuji's side and helped him slip free of the brambles.

A tongue warmed by spilled blood lapped at Yuuji's hair and face, single-minded and fervent as it cleaned away the dirt and tears. Maybe he was also bleeding from his fall, Yuuji couldn't tell. His run had exhausted him.

"Papa, I'm sorry," he said, chest heaving. "I'm sorry."

His Papa carefully nosed at Yuuji's chest and arms before combing his back and his lower body for further injuries. Papa finally looked up when he was satisfied in his search. He held Yuuji close and invited him to nuzzle against the crook of his Papa's neck.

He did so, as if to hide from the moonless sky and the ruthless world.

"Shush, Yuuji. It's alright. It's alright... now, why don't we go home?"

He nodded, desperate to return to the den his Papa made for them, deep in his own territory, safer there than anywhere else in the world.

A world that'd left him alone and orphaned when he was the smallest of fawns. A world where he would've starved or been eaten had not a kindly wolf taken pity on him.

As they left behind the cooling body of the lion to the elements, Yuuji held onto his Papa's hand the whole way home. He saw the red staining Papa's usually-pristine golden coat, but he carried himself as if he weren't injured at all.

Once they were home and wounds were carefully cleansed, Yuuji slept cradled against Papa's side, nestled upon a bed of furs. And he slept well, knowing he was safe and loved.

[jedipoodoo]

Love Knows No Season (Sergeant Hunter x OC, Wild West AU)

@queenquazar @dilpickledd @the-shadow-of-atlantis @themaridenstationchronicles @allwhoponder

Word Count: 5066 (H O W ? ? ?) Notes: Hypothermia, sickfic(ish), pining but they're too obtuse to realize that the other is pining too. Crosshair 110% says "y'all" y'all are just cowards.

Saachi was quite surprised to find the Sheriff was at the door when Missus Secura asked her to answer it. She was quite embarrassed that she hadn't put more effort into making sure her hair was brushed, but it had snowed heavily the night before and she wasn't expecting any of the ranch hands to show up.

"Is everything alright, sir?" She asked.

Sheriff Hunter floundered for a moment, "Is that how you greet everyone?" He asked.

"It's the badge, Hunt," Echo gave Hunter a meaningful nudge as he wheeled himself around his brother and into the house.

Hunter glanced down at the lapel of his dark overcoat, with the golden star pinned just over his heart, and quickly took it off, shoving it in his coat pocket.

"Well come on in! Don't let all the heat out!" Mister Secura chuckled good-naturedly, and Saachi stepped out of the way to let Echo and Hunter into the kitchen

"Echo, Sheriff, this is a pleasant surprise," Missus Secura smiled, offering them the plate of cinnamon rolls, fresh from the oven.

"Didn't mean to interrupt anythin', ma'am," Echo nodded, and gratefully accepted the pastry, "We just wanted to invite Yulia and Saachi to come skating with us this morning."

"That sounds wonderful," Yulia gasped and took Saachi's hand. Despite standing over the stove for the past hour, her fingers were still freezing, "Have you ever been skating before?"

"No, I-I don't believe I have," Saachi tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

"No need to worry," Echo gave Hunter's arm a solid whack, "Hunter can teach you plenty!"

"Would it just be the four of you, then?" Missus Secura asked, mindful as always.

"No ma'am," Echo sat up straight, "the rest of our brothers will be there too. We're teaching Megan how to skate today as well."

Saachi and Hunter on their own would be an appropriate pair to chaperone Yulia and Echo as they pursued their courtship, but no one would question the integrity of the local doctor in addition to the Sheriff's vow of honor.

"Come on, let's go get ready!" Yulia, still grasping Saachi's hand, pulled her from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. It was like she knew her parents were going to day yes. Saachi's father and stepmother back home would have required several more rounds of interrogation before possibly considering Saachi being around four men all day, even if they were more friends than strangers.

The Fett boys, however, were no strangers. Saachi had been staying with the Securas in Pabu Creek for the last five months, traveling around Marauder Valley helping any women in need of a midwife or any kind of medical care. In doing so, she'd gotten to know Pabu Creek's Doctor Tech, Yulia's sweetheart Echo, and their brothers quite well. Not to mention their little sister, Megan. Megan was well-versed in medicine, and had helped Saachi and Yulia once or twice. Sheriff Hunter had also escorted them all over the valley, and helped them out of a sticky situation more times than Saachi would care to admit.

"Here, wear this," Yulia handed Saachi a fluffy red scarf.

"What, why?" Saachi wrapped it around her neck anyway, she needed the warmth.

"It matches the one the Sheriff was wearing. Plus, it's a good color on you," Yulia winked.

Saachi hushed her quickly, "He could hear you!" Yulia just laughed all the louder, and brushed Saachi's hair, pulling it back into a smooth bun that could easily fit under a bonnet.

Saachi rolled her eyes. Yulia's attempts at playing matchmaker were getting more and more overt, and Saachi didn't know what to do about it. It had been six months. If the sheriff was going to make a move on her, he would have done so by now. But Saachi didn't mind, not one bit. She was happy simply to spend time with Yulia and the others.

They came back downstairs, bundled tightly. and Yulia took their thicker bonnets from the coat pegs to tie below their chin.

Saachi fumbled with the strings for a moment, trying not to tie her mittens in a knot.

"Let me," The sheriff offered. He took the strings from her hands, tying them in a secure knot just below her chin.

"Thank you, Sher- Hunter." Saachi corrected herself.

"Anytime," Sheriff Hunter held out his arm to her, escorting her down the stairs of the Secura's porch to the sleigh he and Echo had ridden in. The two horses, Havoc and Maudie, waited patiently, delicately pawing at the snow as Hunter helped Echo down the stairs in his wheelchair.

Havoc was a dark gray stallion, with gruff neighs and whinnies. Maudie was a mare with soft yellow fur and mane, and she kept blinking at the brightness of the sun reflected on the bright white snow.

Hunter and Yulia helped Echo into the back of the sleigh with some blankets, and hung his wheelchair off the back of the sleigh. Hunter slipped into the front bench next to Saachi. With a click of his teeth, he urged the horses forward, and theytook off at a brisk trot down the road towards the Fett Family Ranch.

Saachi watched the snow around them, watching it sparkle in the morning sun against a clear blue sky.

"No one ever talks about how bright the snow is. Just how it's always cold, and wet," Saachi spoke quietly, trying not to interrupt Yulia and Echo's conversation. They were adults, they could talk about whatever they wanted.

Hunter grunted, and Saachi thought that would be the end of their conversation as the sleigh hissed across the top of the icy drifts.

"Sometimes it takes seein' something for yourself to see the beauty in it," He said.

Saachi felt the inner urge to keep the conversation going, but she had no idea of what to say next.

"What's your home like?"

"What, the ranch?"

"No no, not your house here, but, you said once that your family came from the Maori islands, right?"

Hunter nodded. "Rotura. New Zealand."

"When I came to America, we stopped in Auckland on the way over. It was pretty small."

"Auckland is not New Zealand," Hunter shook his head, "That's the British New Zealand."

"Right," Saachi gave a deep exhale, watching her breath frost on the crisp air with the awkwardness.

Fortunately, the Fett Home came into view as they rounded a copse of naked trees. Wrecker was outside, chopping wood, and little Megan was helping him, hollaring and waving as the sleigh came up the hill.

"Wrecker, what's she doing out without her coat on?" Hunter sighed and climbed out of the sleigh. But before he went over to give Megan a little push back inside, he offered Saachi a hand out from under the blankets and furs that cushioned the seats.

Wrecker shrugged, and tossed some more logs on the wood pile, "She seemed fine! She was having fun making the snowballs." He pointed to the piled next to the front door.

"She's a kid, Wrecker, she'll get sick faster than we will," Echo explained patiently. Wrecker helped him out of the sleigh and into his wheelchair, helping him through the tracks left by his chair from earlier in the morning.

"How are you going to skate with us, Echo?" Saachi asked, walking alongside Echo's chair.

A loud clattering from the barn, followed by a prolonged moo from the cow, Lulabelle, answered her question. Tech stumbled out, carrying another big, bulky chair in his arms.

"I believe this one will suit our needs rather well!" He proudly announced, holding it up as high as he could with the bulky shape.

Megan threw open the door to the house, now wrapped up in a long, woolen overcoat, with a scarf, gloves, and a thick bonnet like Saachi's and Yulia's.

"Who's ready for ice skating!" She whooped and grabbed Saachi's hand, taking off at a sprint down the hill from the house to the lake.

Omega skid to a stop at the lake's edge, and Saachi nearly crashed into her, both of them studying the ice in great detail.

"So how do we do it?" Omega asked, gasping for breath.

Saachi shook her head, "I don't know."

Still holding Saachi's hand for good luck, Megan stretched out her booted foot, placing it solidly on the ice. Nothing happened. Megan leaned forward, placing her second foot on the ice with it. She gave a little bounce to see if something would happen, and her feet slipped out from under her, and she landed on her rear.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, and Saachi watched Crosshair, the last and most aloof of the brothers, approach with two pairs of shoes with blades attached to the bottom.

"I think this will make it more fun for y'all."

"What's that?" Megan groaned, pushing herself back on her feet and rubbing her bum.

Crosshair waved the smaller pair of skates at her, and Saachi noticed a third pair slung over his shoulders, "This, kid, is the 'skate' in 'ice skate'."

Saachi helped Megan off the ice again, and Crosshair showed them how to lace up the skates as Wrecker and Tech helped Echo down the hill with his new chair.

The seat was the same wicker frame as Echo's wheelchair, but instead of the wheels, the framework beneath the seat was attached to two handles, much like the brake in a railroad engine, so that Echo could steer the ice skates at the bottom of the framework.

Yulia laced up her own pair of skates and was the first one on the ice after Echo. While he figured out the mechanics of his new chair, Yulia took Megan's hands and led her out on the ice. Megan's feet almost slipped out from under her, but Yulia kept a firm hold on her, showing her how to position her feet and keep her balance.

"Where's Hunter?" Saachi glanced around, but couldn't see the Sheriff who had brought them there.

"He's puttin' the horses in the barn to stay warm," Crosshair winked at her, "You're welcome to wait for 'im if you want 'im to show ya a few moves..."

Saachi's face flushed with warmth from her chin to the tip of her nose, despite the cold. Did everyone know that she was sweet on the Sheriff?

"Wrecker! Can you show me how to skate?"

"Me?" Wrecker was momentarily confused, but it was quickly replaced with a grin as big as the Grand Canyon, "Sure thing!"

Keeping her hand on Wrecker's arm, Saachi carefully pulled herself to her feet. She could balance a sword on her fingertip, she could balance her body on a single blade. She placed her feet on the ice just as Yulia had told Omega, and let Wrecker lead her across the ice.

Her legs wobbled a bit, “How do you move on these?” she asked. 

“Like this!” Wrecker shot forward, yanking Saachi with him. Saachi squealed and hung on to Wrecker’s arm for dear life as she was dragged across the ice with him, her feet flying out from under her as she tried to get a semblance of balance.

Yulia laughed as Wrecker skated past with Saachi and tow. She was skating lazily, using Echo’s chair like a cane to keep her balance. Saachi caught a glimpse of Crosshair’s smirk and turned to shoot a rude comment in his direction, only for her grip to slip from Wrecker’s arm and send her tumbling face first into a thick leather jacket.

Hunter caught her under the elbows, holding her steady until she got her feet under her. Wrecker didn’t seem the least bit apologetic for his shenanigans.

"Thanks, Wreck," Hunter said, his voice low and his eyes never leaving Saachi's, "I got it from here.”

Wrecker laughed, “If you say so, boss!” He skated over to Megan, much more gracefully than one would expect of a man his girth.

Hunter took Saachi’s hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. His arms weren’t as big as Wrecker’s, but they were firm and warm, and it kept her hand tucked up against his warm chest. Saachi tried to place her second hand there for a more secure grip, but Hunter gently pushed it away.

“You’ll need that to keep your balance. Here,” He gave a little push with his skates, and he almost pulled away from Saachi before she pulled herself after him.

“Start with smaller strokes, it’s easier to keep yourself from fallin’ over. Watch me,” He pointed down at their feet. Though his feet moved almost diagonally as they pushed against the ice, his body kept moving in a straight line. Saachi matched her steps to his, slowly but surely gliding across the ice. Now she was starting to see why this was enjoyable. 

Hunter led Saachi around the perimeter of the lake, helping her get accustomed to the movement and letting her find her balance.

“You know how to dance, right?”

Saachi blinked up at him, “Do you?” She demanded.

Hunter chuckled and spun himself in front of Saachi. Still holding her hand, he was skating backward as he led her in a lazy Figure Eight.

“C’mon now, you didn’t think we’re that uncultured out here did ya?”

Well, the Secura’s did host a dance from time to time,but Saachi couldn’t think of a time she’d seen the Sheriff dancing at one.

Before she could come up with a witty retort, Hunter gently pulled her in closer, holding her hand in his and placing his free hand on her waist. Saachi fell into dance position easily, and without missing a beat Hunter glided through the waltz steps– one, two, three, one two three –and spun Saachi under his arm.

Like any upper-crust lady who’d been taught how to dance, Saachi anticipated the move, lifting her right foot just above the ice, and rising to the tip of the blade of her skates. She wobbled on such a small area, but Hunter held her firmly, and kept her from falling.

Saachi landed with her back against Hunter’s chest, both his hands clutched in her, and the others applauded their show.

“Well done,” Hunter whispered in her ear. Unable to do anything but giggle childishly, Saachi gave a curtsy to her dance partner.

Megan laughed, more than confident enough in her own abilities as she skated by, grinning at Saachi and Hunter, like she knew something that they didn’t.

The sound of a gunshot ripped through the air, and everyone paused for a moment. When no one reported any injuries, they all relaxed, but Megan stayed frozen.

It turned out Saachi was warmed by more than just the movement required for skating. The ice was getting thinner, creating a spider-web of cracks beneath Megan's feet.

"Help me," She whimpered.

"Wrecker, you and Echo get off the ice," Hunter said. Everyone began talking at once, Wrecker protesting trying to say that he could help, Yulia trying to make her way over to Echo, Crosshair skating towards Megan as fast as he could, and Tech drawing closer as he tried to tell Megan how she should avoid falling through the ice.

"Everyone shut up and stop moving!" Hunter barked. His voice sent the birds scrambling away in the trees.

"Wrecker, you're too heavy. We need as many of us off the ice as possible."

Wrecker and Yulia helped Echo get his chair off the ice, and slowly Tech made his way to the edge of the lake.

“You too Cross,” Hunter said. Crosshair tried to move closer to where Omega was, but he was still halfway across the lake, and Saachi and Hunter were already closer to Megan. Finally, he gave up, and joined the others on the snow.

"Yulia, get us a stick or something!" Hunter waved a hand at the woods. Yulia stumbled through the snow, growing slushier with each passing second, and Crosshair was right being her, trying to find a stick the perfect length to reach Megan.

"Just stay right there, Megs, it's gonna be okay," Saachi smiled at her, trying to ease Megan's racing nerves as well as her own.

"Spread out your body weight, Megan, it will keep the ice from cracking faster!" Tech said.

Megan was balanced precariously already. The more she stared at her feet, the faster the cracks seemed to appear.

"Here!" Wrecker passed a stick as tall as Crosshair to Hunter. Hunter tossed it over to Saachi who held the stick out to Megan.

"Grab on, kid," He nodded urgently. Saachi held on to the other end of the thick stick, providing a counterbalance for Megan's weight and lifting her off the ice just slightly.

"Now what?" Saachi asked.

Hunter scrambled for a bit, trying to put his thoughts into words.

"We've got to swing her over to the edge of the lake, or at least off the weak part of the ice,"

Saachi nodded, wondering if she had the strength to do that on her own. She and Hunter were both too scared to move, any movement could make the ice crack faster and send them all into the frozen water below.

Strength, she almost certainly had. She'd picked up Megan and stacks upon stacks of encyclopedias at the library dozens of times before. It was her balance that was in question.

Saachi's breath frosted in the air, clouding her glasses as she gathered her strength. As best she could, Saachi swung the stick like a cricket bat, launching Megan at the lakes edge. She let go of the stick in the process, stumbling forwards and landing on her hands and knees.

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief as Tech caught Megan under her arms, helping her to her feet.

Saachi braced her hands on the ice to stand up, only to realize that this patch of ice was much darker than the rest.

She fell face-first into the freezing water without a chance to gasp for air.

"Saachi!" She heard everyone screaming her name, but all she could see was the dark water around her. She tried not to scream and lose what precious air she had left, kicking and searching for the surface as her fingers began to grow numb and the cold stabbed at her skin.

A stick jabbed her in the stomach and she grabbed it on instinct, trying to push away the offending object, but instead it tugged her upward, into the biting wind.

Saachi gasped for breath. By some miracle her glasses were still on her face, though her thrashing had pushed them down the tip of her nose. She could make out a clump of blurry shapes with Hunter's orange coat and the red knit hat and scarf Omega had made him. He was crawling towards her on his belly, across the ice, a death grip on the stick they'd used to save Megan.

"Take my hand!" He yelled. Megan and the others were also yelling, asking if Saachi was okay or what they could do to help.

Hunter shoved his hand in Saachi's face so she wouldn't miss it. Her fingers fumbled, unable to quite bend around his hand in a firm grip. Hunter gave a small tug, pulling her a bit farther out of the ice, allowing him to grip her wrist tightly.

"Wrecker! Grab my feet!" Hunter called over his shoulder.

Wrecker cautiously made his way across the ice, only stepping on the solid white parts as before he leaned forward, grabbing Hunter by the ankles.

The ice held beneath Saachi as the biting cold became slightly less cold as she was carefully pulled out of the hole in the ice.

"Good, good, keep going!" Hunter said, though the encouragement didn't feel directed at anyone in particular. Saachi reached for him with her free hand, digging her fingers into the leather of his coat as best she could. As her fingers slipped, Hunter seized her other wrist.

"Hang on, sweetheart, just a bit farther," He gasped, glancing over his shoulder. Wrecker had reached the lake's edge, giving Hunter the confidence he needed to move a bit more freely and pulled Saachi closer, wrapping her up in his coat and placing his had on her head. The laces of her bonnet still hung around her throat, like an icy necklace, and her waves had slipped from her bun, freezing against her bare skin.

"I'm getting her inside," Hunter was on his feet before Wrecker could offer to carry Saachi, following their footprints back to the door of the cabin.

Saachi blinked her eyes, trying to get rid of the icicles that were starting to form on her eyelashes.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Hunter said. It was almost the same tone that he used with the horses when they were acting up, but this sounded much more worried.

"Don't fall asleep on me, keep your eyes opened," He urged. His warm breath fanned across her face. It was a pathetic breeze compared to the snowfall, but it kept Saachi's nose from freezing.

Hunter kicked open the door and set Saachi in the rocking chair closest to the fireplace. The fireplace itself was down to the embers

"Karking hells-!" a mixture of all his sibling's names poised at the tip of his tongue, but he settled for growling instead. He tossed three logs on the embers, only to snuff out what was left of them.

He cursed again and grabbed the matches from the mantle. He tried once, twice, three times before the flame caught, and he pressed it up against the wood.

The fire spread slowly, too slowly for Hunter's liking. He yanked the blanket off of Megan's trundle bed and went to wrap it around Saachi, only to realize that she was still shivering in her wet clothes.

Yulia finally caught up.

"Do you have any spare clothes she could use? We need to get her things dried off."

Hunter climbed up the ladder to the loft, tossing down another blanket and his nightgown, thick linen for the cold months.

Yulia drew the curtain that gave Megan's little bed some privacy as the others made their way inside.

"Which one of you was dumb enough to let the fire go out in the middle of winter!?" Hunter snapped.

Tech huffed, offended, "Well, you are the one who said we should always be careful to put out a fire before leaving it unattended."

Megan giggled as Hunter floundered like a fish out of water.

"Hey Hunter, you still have your skates on." Wrecker pointed out.

"How'd you make it up the hill like that?" Echo murmured what Saachi was thinking.

Yulia helped Saachi peel her frozen things off her body, rubbing her hands against her arms and legs every so often.

"You alright?" Yulia asked, "That was a bit of a shock."

Saachi shook her head and pulled on the nightgown, "Und-d-ders-t-tatment of th-the cent-t-ury."

Saachi was quickly settled in the rocking chair in front of the fire and wrapped up in a pile of blankets. Echo and Tech escorted Yulia back to the Secura’s farm so she could grab some of Saachi’s things and explain that they needed to stay with the Fetts until Saachi was better, and Crosshair and Wrecker were seeing to the cows and the other animals on the ranch.

Megan, having been assured that it wasn’t her fault that Saachi had fallen through the ice, was asleep on Saachi’s lap, since Saachi was using her blankets. Hunter poured some water from the kettle into a bucket for Saachi’s feet, and used the rest to make some tea.

“Thank you,” Saachi whispered.

“Nothing like Indian tea, to be sure,” He joked, “But it’ll warm ya up.”

Saachi smiled up at him, and he quickly glanced away to hide his own smile.

“What was that for?” She asked, trying not to jostle Megan.

“Nothin’,” Hunter waved it off and sat on Megan’s bed with his own cup of tea.

Saachi wasn’t sure she wanted to take the man at his word. He had run up the hill in skates to get her to safety, and the water in the bucket was already warm before he added more.

If she wanted to find out if the Sheriff was sweet on her, like Yulia and Crosshair insisted, it was now or never.

“Sheriff, are you trying to court me?”

Hunter was quiet for a moment, then a chuckle echoed in his tin cup, “Have been for the last six months, but I was beginnin’ to think you weren’t interested.”

“Not interested?” Saachi asked.

He shrugged and set his cup aside. His winter things were hanging up to dry, leaving him in his suspenders and the work shirt that hugged his toned muscles from years of riding and hard work. He took Megan from Saachi’s arms and placed the girl in her bed with a blanket from one of their brothers.

“I thought you were trying to let me down easy, all polite and stuff.”

“Let you down, for what?”

“Well, escortin’ you to the carriage and walkin’ you around the town, makin’ sure you had the things you needed for your work, tryin’ to invite you to all the dances and stuff that Echo takes Yulia to, things like that.”

Hunter ran a hand through his hair and tucked the blankets around Megan a little tighter so she wouldn’t shiver in her sleep, “Maybe I wasn’t bein’ bold enough, like Cross said. But Wrecker said he thought I was doin’ good.” He sat on the floor next to Saachi’s chair and added another log to the fire.

"I thought you were just being nice! All the men back east do those things for women all the time."

"And you never thought they were flirtin' with ya?"

Saachi felt a heat in her cheeks that wasn't from the fire and laughed lamely, "Well, not really."

“Don’t worry,” Hunter tucked one of her curls into her braid, brushing her cheek with the pad of his thumb as he did so, “I still think you’re smart.”

Saachi glared up at him, her nose scrunching in a way that made him chuckle, the opposite of her intended effect.

Hunter pushed himself up onto one knee so that he could rest both his hands on the arm of the chair, next to where Saachi clutched her cooling cup of tea.

“Miss Saachi, I would be honored if you let me court you properly. Once you’re all better that is.”

Saachi felt the warmth from her cheeks soaking into every muscle in her body, almost as if she’d never fallen into the freezing water.

“I’d be honored, Sheriff Hunter.”

He smiled, sitting back on the floor. “I promise, once the snow starts to melt, I’m gonna pick you the most colorful bundle of wildflowers you ever saw.”

“Now that’s a high bar to reach, Sheriff,” Saachi teased, “I’ve yet to see any wildflowers on the Western Frontier that can match the lotuses of India.”

“Oh really?”

Saachi chuckled, "Tell me about your New Zealand, and I'll tell you about my India."

Hunter smiled wistfully. “Well, one of my oldest memories is of rotten eggs.”

“Rotten eggs?” This was not nearly as romantic as Saachi thought it would be.

Hunter laughed, letting his head roll back as he stretched out his legs, “Rotura is built on an old volcano. The sulfur and gasses eek out, and make the city smell worse than the British do.”

Saachi slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her own laughter. The British had left their fair share of trash all over Saachi’s beloved home too.

“At least most of the British don’t want to settle there because of the smell, and those who are born there are used to it.

“And it’s not all bad. There’s lakes everywhere, more than I knew how to count as a kid. And the hot springs too, like Yosemite.” 

“Did you ever visit them?”

“All the time.” Hunter pulled one leg to his chest, resting his arm on his knee, “I definitely miss them during the winter months.”

“I could use a hot spring myself,” Saachi said, “During the monsoon season, it never stops raining, but it never got this cold.”

“So you’re a good swimmer, then?”

Saachi gave Hunter a glare as playful as the twinkle in his eye. “I’m good at swimming when I’ve not been taken by surprise. And the floods in India don’t chill you to the bone like the snow does here.”

“Fair enough.”

“I much prefer the summer, when the mangoes ripen and you can sit in the branches and eat your full without moving an inch.”

“Yeah, me too,” Hunter said.

Saachi looked into his eyes. The heat from the fire dried out her eyes, but Hunter’s bright brown eyes carried that same glow of warmth without the searing pain. She wanted more of that warmth, of that glow.

He almost seemed to be getting closer, or at least he would have, if the door hadn’t been thrown open with a chilling gust of wind as Yulia burst in, Echo and Tech in tow.

Yulia froze in the doorway, noting Megan asleep on the bed, and Saachi and Hunter leaning conspicuously towards each other.

“Are we interrupting anything?” She asked, a musical lilt in her voice.

“Nope.”

“No ma’am.” Saachi and Hunter both insisted.

“Well good,” Tech pushed past Yulia with Echo’s chair, “Because Missus Secura sent us home with enough stew that even Wrecker should go to bed full.”

“Well that’s good,” Hunter said, trying not to sound embarrassed.

Echo and Yulia were not as easily deterred, and both of them watched Saachi and Hunter with knowing looks. 

Saachi refused to dignify their teasing, and bent over her tea, which had gone cold.

“Here, let me get that for ya,” Hunter offered before she could even ask. 

His finger brushed against hers as he slipped the cup from her hand, and Saachi’s heartbeat stuttered in her chest.

So this was what it felt like to be courted by the Sheriff.

[folklandphoto]

Rainy morning in the brush creek valley

[ahollowgrave]

(You're making me bust out my old floriography dictionary)

A bouquet, anonymously delivered - consisting of acacia and tulips, both yellow, calla lillies, tied together with a wreath of viscaria flowers - and a single dill flower, so small as to be almost hidden.

She hadn’t been Home in sometime. The branches of the wisteria trees hung heavy, the creek winding its way through the garden had slowed to a crawl, even the fireflies seemed dimmer. Sad, perhaps. Or simply… put to bed.

It is like this when she leaves home.

Then, during a sunny afternoon, the garden gate swings open. The hanging wisteria trees shake themselves, petals fluttering to the ground. The creek gushes forward, eager to meet her feet as they cross into the garden proper.

The fireflies keep to their sleep - it is midday, after all. What else would one expect them to do?

The nun greets the living things as she makes her way along the sun-dappeled paths. Touching the trunk of a tree, pinching petals between knuckles, listening to the babbling of that talkative brook. With each step the moths arrive, trailing in her wake like the train of a dress. They settle in the garden, too, in all the places she has touched and looked.

It is like this when she comes home.

Except --

Something is different this time.

Tucked under the eaves of the house’s front door is a bouquet of flowers. The very sight of them brings Odette to a rolling stop and she stares at the gift with some concern;

The sluggish beat of her heart skips.

She has never been given flowers.

Odette’s approach is a cautious one.

Her fingers brush the tops of the tulips and their meaning unfolds in her mind. Love and Affection, generally. The yellow is more specific; friendship and cheer are most likely.

Next, the yellow acacia. Her pale brows furrow in thought as she boops the cheery poms. They proclaim more friendship - they come in peace, whoever the sender is - but they also suggest a hidden love.

She is quick to turn her attention away.

The sight of the calla lilies - a favorite, of course - summon a smile. Purity, beauty, rebirth, fresh starts. Often admiration, appreciation. Her finger traces the rim of one.

Viscaria, the flirtiest of the bunch, asks a question: A dance?

A wheeze is pulled from unused lungs and she takes a step back. To take a greater look at the whole and no other reason. Each petal has a meaning and all together, a message. She need only decipher it. Friendship and hidden love, mingled with innocence and new beginnings, all embraced in desire.

When she moves again the sunset has painted her garden in warm reds and luxueruous golds and she gathers the bouquet in her arms as if it is an injured thing. As if she might harm it. She will only noticed the single sprig of dill -- protection and good fortune, a well wish nestled in among a confession -- later when she has found an appropriate vase.

Charmed, she will spend her evening contemplating the flowers, turning their meanings over in her head as her knitting lay abandoned in the valley of her legs.

Thank you Anon! Both for the ask and your patience, I had such a blast with this!

[doveshovel]

oc emoji ask game questions >:) (only answer the ones you want to ^-^)

🙊 SPEAK-NO-EVIL, 🎭 MASKS, 🎁 PRESENT, 🎨 PALETTE

:^OO thank you for these! And sorry they took so long :'D

It ended up a little long, so everything's neatly tucked away below ⬇️

🙊 SPEAK-NO-EVIL - what is something your oc will refuse to stay quiet about? This one was tough! I had to sleep on it, but I think Hunter would have a hard time staying quiet about the importance of nature, and holding some degree of respect for it. Having witnessed firsthand the rapid and unyielding expansion of the US American suburban sprawl as it decimated the forests, fields, and creeks that provided some peace in an otherwise turbulent childhood, and replaced them with million-dollar homes whose meticulously manicured lawns would never again see the hoofprints of whitetail deer that were once so common, I think he'd be that much more motivated to resist GED's developments.

__________________ 🎭 MASKS - do they act differently around certain people? what's different between the way they act around friends, family, strangers, etc.?

Hunter's got an easygoing, quiet nature. Combined with the resting bitchface that comes with long hours on the road and a lack of sleep, strangers probably think he's very aloof or up to no good-- but friends will know he's just an eccentric, well meaning horseboy who's always down for a ride and happens to be missing any points in a charisma or speech stat.

Having come to Jorvik in part to escape his own family back in the southeastern US, he's found something resembling a father-figure in Mr.K Trout (part of the reason he takes to fishing so much is in hopes of making him proud). Around Mr. Trout, Hunter's likely to be a little more anxious to earn approval for some lingering fear of disappointment. Strangely enough, he's most talkative around his horses, who know by now that there's an extra slice or couple jellybeans coming their way if they at least pretend to be interested in his ramblings. __________________ 🎁 PRESENT - what types of presents would they be most happy to receive? are they good at gift giving? Hunter spends most of his time wandering across Jorvik for work (mainly deliveries or requests from the fishing club), and doesn't have a ton of storage space back at his room in Cape West. He'd be most happy with small, practical gifts. A bag of horse treats, a little pocket knife, a new horse brush, a pair of gloves for the long road up into Dinosaur Valley-- things like that. If he were ever to get a permanent place of his own, I think hunter would be very fond of postcard souvenirs and random chachkies.

As far as gift giving goes? He sucks a little bit. Hunter would put a lot of thought into gifts he gives people and try to get things they like, but ultimately, they'd probably end up little tacky or strange. The kind of guy to notice you drink a lot of coffee and remember you said you liked it, but instead of getting a nice mug or fancy coffee beans-- would find something like coffee scented saddle soap or a trucker hat with coffee beans printed on the front.

__________________ 🎨 PALETTE - can they draw? what do they like to draw?

I love imagining how my characters draw so I'll let these doodles I had done for him in an old notebook answer this one:

I think he'd like drawing animals and things he notices out in the world, despite not being the best at it.

[eaaaazygurl]

Take A Gamble That Love Exists (Part 2 of 2)

Read last post for the first part of the story!

Morning arose as fast as it had taken for the liquor to drift you into a sleep. Once again you found yourself locked up against Arthur's broad chest, feeling the subtle rise and fall as he slept. You attempted to face him as you did the last time, only to suddenly realise half of his chest had been exposed, the buttons upon his union suit not resting within the slits upon the fabric to hold itself together.

You found yourself staring. You hadn't ever came face to face with a man as strong and burly as Arthur, covered in a fine layer of dark chest hair that you seemingly appreciated. He was certainly broad and toned with years worth of living as an Outlaw. It really did show.

Shaking the strange thoughts from your head, you shuffled awkwardly out of Arthur's grip and scampered out of the tent. Arthur didn't stir. The whisky certainly had him out cold. You guessed you'd be able to make use of the downtime and take a small trip around the valley's purple glade to hunt, seeing as Coyotes had made a meal of your Pronghorn that you had forgotten all about in your drunken state.

The valley was particularly beautiful this morning. The presence of spring brought a fine layer of sparkling rainbow dew drops that rested peacefully against undisturbed petals, a coat of spider webs creating a wonderful crystalline pattern as those fine strands too held onto the orbs of liquid. The little stream traversed downward, a light gurgling sound trailing from it as it made it's slow downward decent. The sun, whilst still holding it's sharp winter hue, finally had some semblance of heat. Still, it wasn't enough to go whipping your jacket off over, however much you appreciated the delicate warmth against the skin of your face.

You gave the leather strap a gentle tug at the reins of your steed, signalling him to hault. Just ahead of you were three Whitetail doe. With grace you slipped from the saddle of Starstreak, grasping the fine wood of your improved bow and a few arrows you had crafted a few days prior. A rather large boulder thankfully sheltered you, invisible by sight, though you still had to tread carefully. Deer had excellent hearing, and you didn't want to miss the opportunity.

Pulling back your arm with arrow in hand against the surface of your bow, you stifled a breath, closing an eye to get a better aim. The doe you aimed at had an immaculate pelt, you could use this to sell for a quick cash strap on your way back to the Heartlands.

You let your heart relax and your mind go blank, letting out a slow breath of air before your fingers released the arrow. The whistling sound of the arrow cutting through the air came to a standstill, a curdling squeal alerting you. The doe had gone down, dead in an instant whilst her two partners began to make haste for the shelter of woodland.

"A clean shot through the eye as always, Starstreak."

Stowing the catch, you made your way back to camp. In the distance you could just make out Arthur's figure hunched over the weak flames, a cup in hand.

"I forget you can't function without your morning coffee," Laughing softly you hitch Starstreak up, slipping off of the saddle and giving the stalion a gentle brush, tugging the doe from his rump.

Arthur took a careful sip, eyeing up the catch with an impressed grin, "Right through the eye?"

"You betcha," responding with a wink you placed the deer onto the ground, unsheathing your hunting knife, "how much longer did you wanna stay?"

"Forever." Arthur replied with a huff of amusement, drawing in another mouthful of the bitter black liquid.

"Dutch would have your head," You drew the knife into the stomach of the doe.

Arthur pursed his lips and sighed, nodding heavily, "Yeah no doubt about that. He'd have Charles track me down, best person for it." Arthur set himself back into a more comfortable position, "Charles was the one found Clemens Point. Originally we was gon' settle for Dewberry Creek,"

"That dried up riverbed on the outskirts of Lemoyne?" The knife split a perfect line down the stomach and towards the rear legs.

Arthur hummed a yes, shrugging, "Yeah tha's the one. Don't know what Micah and Dutch were thinkin'. Pinkertons would be able to pick us off like rabbits."

"It floods, too. Lemoyne is usually dry, rain hardly falls here but when it does, it pours. I was stuck out there once, Emil had to lasso me before I was swept away." You began on skinning the legs.

Arthur swirled the warm liquid in his mug, focusing on the way it swirled, "Good thing we didn't set up there, then." He continued, taking another hearty sip, "Me and Charles were told to scout the place. Turns out we weren't the first." You could see the reminence in Arthur's eyes as he explained away, "Found a German mother and her two children hiding underneath a wagon. The little girl told us about her father bein' taken, so Charles tracked em, all the way to Clemens Point."

You picked off the cloven hooves one by one, "Jesus, it's quite a distance from the creek too. Charles must be an expert tracker,"

"He sure is. Brilliant hunter, too. Gets it from his family I'd assume." Arthur took one last mouthful of coffee, "But- yeah. Should probably make this our last day, Dutch will most definitely be wonderin' where I am by now." Having finally finished his brew, Arthur placed down the cup and stood to come to your side, admiring the quick work you made of the doe; "That's some fine work!"

"Should make some good money on a pelt like this," flapping out the skin you carefully examined the pelt before setting it down to dry. You then spun your knife in your hand, baring it down into a section of flesh to trim the edible meat from the doe's bones. Arthur stood back, messing around inside his satchel whilst you made use of the carcass. It wasn't long before Arthur came to your side again, a map in hand, "Seein' as this is our last day, we should do somethin' fun. Ever gone fishing before?"

Tugging at the last of the edible flesh you stood to glance at the map and then to Arthur, nodding with a smile, "Yeah a few times. Wouldn't say I'm an expert at it though."

"Neither am I," Arthur unfolded the paper to reveal a rather poorly drawn map of all of the states within the East. Within many of the bodies of water were large fish, numbered, "Some guy gave me a map for some 'legendary' fish. Said he'd offer money if I sent him the ones I manage to find. Turns out there's one just round here." His finger tapped against what looked like a brook trout.

"Ah yeah, looks good! Let me just store these bits and we can go take a look."

After you had salted and stored the chunks of game into a makeshift box, buried in a shallow dip, you and Arthur mounted your horses and set off towards the bow of the stream. It wasn't far, you could still see the campsite in the distance. Your hand explored the deep pocket of your saddlebag, eventually grasping onto a smooth, extendable pole. Arthur had already set himself up, whisking out his line with a whistle. You were quick to join soon after, enjoying the pleasant weather and shallow, cool breeze. Fishing demanded patience and quiet. You both remained that way for a while, focusing on the sounds of the wilderness around you. That's when you caught Arthur from the corner of your eye. He wasn't focused on the line, but at you. You didn't bother to say anything or alert Arthur that you had caught him staring, but curiosity ebbed at you like a leach. His ocean eyes were examining your stance, a corner smile forming on his lips.

Suddenly the stream erupted in a flurry of splashing, disturbed water. Arthur was briskfully taken unaware, yelping as his hands almost slipped from the pole. His heels dug into the silt of the stream bank, pulling aimlessly at the line, reeling inward as fast as he possibly could. Finally, the fish broke water and Arthur pulled it into his grip, a brow raised.

"That the right fish?" Your line still bobbed in the water, undisturbed. Arthur let out a groan and shook his head, "Nah, this looks like a common stream fish. A big one though! Might be worth keepin'." As Arthur debated on whether or not he should keep his catch, you felt a nibble at your line. The lure you could originally see vanished within an instant, and an eruption of water flailed into the air. Your hands tightened around your pole, hoisting the line upwards as your feet struggled to stay central to your body. Reel in, tug upward. Reel in, tug upward. You repeated that motion, your face focused and yet full of amusement and exhilaration. A bright smile grew on your lips as you took a step backwards to hoist the fish in further.

Arthur gazed at you, his eyes wide. He studied you, focusing on the way your expression beamed, your bright smile, the way you handled yourself. Your long plaited hair splayed out behind you as you rocked your body back and forth. For a second it seemed as if you'd manage it, but just at that thought, your foot began to slip. Arthur was at your back within an instant, his left hand flying out to grip your own around the pole whilst his other caught your waist.

"Shit!" You yelped as you felt the silt shift, slipping backwards. Arthur's feet gave in from underneath, splaying outwards as he collapsed onto his back. You had also fallen, Arthur now underneath you. A sprinkle of stream water cascaded above you, twinkling in the light before scattering onto your face. Your eyes snapped shut to avoid the liquid, but you were stunned as a much heavier and solid object smacked you directly in the nose.

You let out a shocked squeal which rapidly erupted into pained laughter, your hand coming to your nose.

"Jesus Y/n are you okay?!" Arthur had you in his arms, shuffling into a sitting position with you in his lap to take a proper look at your face.

"The hell was that?!" As you sat, you felt a sudden rush of warm liquid trickling down your philtrum. Arthur was quick to place a cloth from his satchel under your nose, gently dabbing as he sighed, "Well, as we fell we pulled that fish out." His eyes turned to face the flailing creature flopping around on the grass. You too, took a quick look, "Please tell me that's the fish..."

"Looks like the one." Arthur let out a snort of laughter as you groaned an amused, "A 'legendary' Brook trout for a bleedin' nose. Wonderful."

Removing the cloth, Arthur gave you a check over, gently pressing the bridge of your nose with squinted eyes. You winced, but it wasn't much too painful. He wiggled his fingers against it softly, and still it wasn't enough to bring tears to your eyes. Arthur relaxed, "It ain't broken, luckily."

After that rather eventful fishing trip you both went back to camp. The day was escaping you and evening was bordering the horizon. You had stored the fish to the best of your ability, hopeful that it would keep until Arthur made it to the closest station to mail the thing off. Now you both sat huddled at the campfire, enjoying the meat from the doe earlier that day.

Arthur bit down onto the chunk hungrily, glancing over at you and then to your lower face, "How's your nose?"

"A little sore, nothing I can't handle though. I've had worse," your finger flicked up to point at the scar that ran ridged and vertical down your right eye. You'd been lucky not to have been blinded that day when Colm O'driscoll 'branded' you and your twin brother.

Arthur rose his head upwards slightly in agreement, taking another bite as he gazed at you curiously, "What you plannin' on doing when we get back, then? O'driscolls aren't much of a problem anymore. Now it's just those Lemoyne Raiders."

Your days in the Heartlands had been met with O'driscoll hostility. They had it out for you as much as they had taken issue with the Van Der Linde gang, something you and Arthur had a common familiarity over. It had been the reason you both began to frequent with eachother, drawing out O'driscolls and foiling their plans left right and centre to protect the gang and your small posse. Once Arthur and the gang fled from the state of New Hanover after the Valentine Massacre, you knew you had no choice but to move further East also for aiding in their escape from the butchered town. You recalled the look on Arthur's face as you demanded he run and not look back, to get himself and his gang out of the Heartlands whilst you remained, creating a human shield, guns blazing alongside your fellow posse members. You had survived and totalled no fatalities, but now you had new contenders to deal with; Lemoyne Raiders.

Confederate veterans and disenfranchised young men with extremely outdated views and racist by nature, the Raiders were an awfully irritating and defiant splinter in your back. Your posse and the Van Der Linde gang were comprised of men and woman from all different walks of life, certainly not the lifestyles that the Raiders appreciated.

"They're certainly annoying little arseholes, that's for sure." As you thought back to the dry state of Lemoyne, you shuddered. It wasn't your most favourite place to be. It was hot and barren with only a select amount of game to hunt. The drought had pushed most of it's animal inhabitants East and West, making it all the more difficult to feed yourselves. The creek served as a lifeline for fish, but even that wasn't an infinite reserve. Lemoyne Raiders made life among the orange tracks near-unbearable, "Guess when I get back I'll be teaching the sons of a bitches a few lessons."

"I'll come help. They're causing some problems for Dutch, too." Arthur finished up his meal, gazing out into the open glade with a relaxed sigh, watching as the sun began to dip below the horizon once more.

"It would be pretty damn boring without you there with me, so sure. I'd love the company." You shot the man an innocent smile. Arthur had turned to you once more and froze. That smile... why did it have him frozen like a petrified animal?

You hadn't noticed however, finishing your meal, cleaning your blade and eventually standing to stretch. Arthur continued to watch, his eyes trasing the various features of your body. As you began to saunter over towards the tent, gazing back to beckon him with you, he gulped; "I'll be with ya in a second, just gonna tend to Pandora real quick."

You bowed your head and settled into the bedroll, "If I'm asleep don't worry about shoving me over for some room."

Arthur however hadn't tended to Pandora. He sat watching the moon rise and the stars shine brightly. His mind had been caught in a web. A web of, well... you. It was driving him silently mad. Something had changed over the course of your trip together, a change that set down the foundations of a sudden realisation. The way Arthur had been with you was vastly different to anyone else, even previous suiters like Mary Linton. He even recalled how open and vulnerable he could be with you, how he hardly flinched at the physical affection you gave him, the way you openly embraced him when you were excited or stunned... he began to crave that attention from you. He worried for you every time you had left to return to your camp, he had panicked whenever you were on the precipice of death, charged in to save you whenever you had needed it. He enjoyed your company, the way your sweet smile gave him a warmth within his stomach nobody else could give. He admired your confidence, but also your ability to let loose and be soft and innocent around him. You let your front down every time you two had been alone, a complete show of trust.

Arthur let out a confused sigh, stretching outward to relieve his muscles before making his way into the tent, gazing down at you with a forming smile.

Arthur had slept against you once again that night, only this time he had shifted you over and slept so that your face was buried against his chest, his chin resting against the top of your head. He had even woke before you, prepping two cups of hot coffee.

"G'morning," His rustic low voice bellowed the sleep from your eyes as the struggled out into the sunlight, rubbing the tiredness from your muscles as you set yourself down to sit next to Arthur. Your hand gingerly took the mug from his hand, "Thank you," and you began to sip tiny mouthfuls, "I am not looking forward to the trip back..."

Arthur gave you a sympathetic gaze and smile, resting his hang against your shoulder, "I know, me too. We'll head down to Strawberry, get that pelt sold and have a quick bath." Arthur drew his hand back and pulled himself upwards, "Then we'll take the route past Flatneck Station near Flat Iron Lake so we ain't near Valentine. I'd imagine they're still pretty pissed off..." As he spoke he made his way over to the horses, giving them a little check over to ensure they were ready for the journey ahead. You smiled, appreciating the kindness Arthur gave to his steed and your own, "Concidering we wiped out probably half the population of the town, yeah, they're most likely still pissed off," a small laugh escaped your throat as you began to kick dust and dirt over the dying fire, "If we start leaving now we'll probably be back I'm Lemoyne by late afternoon."

With the camp now fully disembodied and lacking any trace, you saddled up. The remaining meats were stored into your saddlebags alongside some supplies whilst Arthur stowed the in tact fish to Pandora's rump. Soon, you were both on the trail once more, leaving Big Valley behind. You gazed back as the slope began to drop, waving at the vast glade of purple flowers as they vanished over the horizon. It had taken about an hour to make it to Strawberry. It was an easy and calm trip with no disturbances from human or snow. The perfect pelt had earned you a nice sum of twenty five bucks, and you quickly made haste to the hotel. Arthur had insisted you bathe first, explaining how he was going to send the fish off and take a look around. You knew Arthur by now, though. He knew Strawberry, he didn't need to look around. He was up to something, and you couldn't stop him. So, you paid for your bath, slipping an extra twenty five cents so that Arthur's bath was paid for after your own. It had even reinvigorating to wash all of that stream silt from your body, and the hot water soothed the niggling pain your nose still complained about.

After a short while you came out of your bath, content and happy. Arthur had been sat in the hallway, greeting you with a tip of his hat and nudge before hurrying off into the bathroom. He hadn't even waited for the staff to fill his own bath up before he went in and locked the door behind him. How odd... what was he so nervous about? That's when your eyes met the surface of the table. A bedroll and tent kit lie upon the wood, a small note written and placed onto the fabric. It read;

'Sorry I couldn't find your old stuff. Whoever took it was long gone some days prior. The Strawberry stables had some pretty nice bedrolls and tents, so I got you a new set. Can't go gallivantin' around the states without shelter, can you? A x.'

A bashful smile crossed your face as you read the letter, a hand trailing across the expensive feeling fabric of the new equipment. Then, you focused heavily on the ending of that note; a small 'x' had been left, almost like a kiss. Your heart lurched at the thought, but you pushed it away, assuming that was just how Arthur Morgan adresses his name in letters.

Arthur eventually finished with his bath and came to meet you outside. You were busy fitting the equipment to Starstreak's saddle when you realised his presence: "Y'didn't have to do this, y'know?"

"I wanted to. Now come on, got a lot of ground to cover and only as much sunlight."

Arthur smiled in return and then lept onto Pandora, spurring her forward.

You had eventually made it back to Lemoyne, and at the right time too: late afternoon. You both paused at the bend in the road upon the hill of Scarlet Meadows.

"Enjoy yourself?" Your hand drew across the dusty pelt of Starstreak, pulling out your horse brush. Arthur smiled, bowing his head as he did the same, offering a carrot to Pandora, "It was lovely darlin', thank you."

Your jaws parted to respond but you were suddenly cut off by thundering hooves. Arthur's face shot up suddenly, a hand twitching over his holster.

"Art'ur Morgan! Where'd you get off ta?" It was Sean, followed by Tilly, Mary-Beth and Javier. When Sean got a proper look at you, he parted his jaws in an 'Ahh' of understanding.

You knew Sean well, in fact you'd known him far before Arthur. Back when you spent your days around West Elizabeth you often spent time with the Irishman, doing odd jobs here and there and getting drunk when spirits were high. You often found yourself in awe of his stories of the gang, and now you may as well have been fully involved. You gave Sean a little wave, "Gettin' into trouble there, Macguire?"

"Aye, I don't get inta trouble Y/n, I am ta trouble! Anyhow, what's with you and Morgan ere? Go anywhere nice?" The ginger man gave Arthur a devious smirk with a risen brow, a gaggle of laughter escaping his throat. Javier rolled his eyes and stood a little ways ahead, "Good to see you Arthur."

"Where you lot off to?" Arthur decided to ignore Sean and tip his hat to Javier.

"There's a stagecoach coming up through the border of New Hanover, apparently there's a really important woman on board who should have riches beyond belief - at least, that's how Trelawny puts it." Javier gave Arthur an awkward shrug, to which Arthur responded with a monotone, "Y'sure robbin' a stagecoach in New Hanover is a good idea considering what happened in Valentine?"

Sean was quick to pipe up as Javier attempted to reply, "It's on the border of Lemoyne! Far out from that shithole! An' besides, we got the girls as a distraction."

"Okay, what sort of distraction?" Arthur's voice was curiously concerned. Sean usually made the strangest of plans to say the least, you of all people knew that to be true.

"I'm gonna 'faint'," Mary-Beth rose her hands to emphasise quotation marks by bending her fingers as she spoke, "and Tilly is gonna call for help beside me. Then, Sean's gonna pick the lock whilst Javier guards us from cover."

The plan didn't sound half bad. Mary-Beth and Tilly were only around Valentine a handful of times, so their presence wouldn't be best known. Sean was pretty skilled at picking locks, too.

For a second Arthur seemingly contemplated, brushing a hand against his chin. You caught the girls expressions darken, with Tilly snapping back a, "Come on Arthur we are perfectly capable of it!"

"And we can defend ourselves!" Mary-Beth spoke next, pouting as she crossed her arms, a brow raised with irritation.

"I ain't saying you aren't, it's just the risk with it bein' in New Hanover. If you're confident though, go for it. If... you let me come along." Arthur's offer of tagging along seemed to bother Sean who groaned, rolling his eyes, "We don't need babyin', Art'ur... but fine. Come along, if you must. You're staying with Javier though."

Javier didn't seem bothered, he simply smiled and nodded in agreement before taking a quick look at you, "This is the Van Der Linde gang's business though, can't have you tagging along I'm afraid. Dutch's orders for anyone really."

You understood, giving Javier a kind hand gesture to pause him as he spoke, "No, no. I get it. I need to get back to my lot anyway. I won't say a word," You gave the man a wink, then settled your sights on Arthur who seemed less than pleased for your imitate departure, "I'll see you soon?"

"Sure, sounds good. Few days?" Arthur had intended on hiding that smile that laced his face, but to no avail. It was a bright smile, one that Javier and Mary-Beth had caught whilst Tilly and Sean spurred their horses onwards.

You signaled a wave of goodbye as you turned your own stalion towards the direction of your own camp, "Midday, Friday. Down at Mattock Pond." You then turned to head off, briefly catching Mary-Beth's seemingly soured expression after you gave Arthur a soft smile and a gentle 'goodbye.' Strange, you'd never met Mary-Beth before. She seemed and looked like a sweet girl, but the daggers she had been giving you as you strode away burnt into your back.

Arthur watched you go, a frown forming upon his face. It was as if all of the warmth and glow of the world went with you, leaving Arthur breathless and choking on sorrow. The look upon his withered expression said it all; it was painfully obvious, and Javier gave Arthur a delicate nudge whilst Mary-Beth's expression darkened, a crooked frown forming as she began to gallop forward.

"So, whose the girl amigo?" Javier came to Arthur's side as he began to advance, some distance behind Sean and the girls. Arthur shook his head, taking in a sudden breath as if he had been stunned awake. He then cleared his throat, attempting to regain his burly composure, "Jus' some woman. Saved her from the O'driscolls when she and Sean were captured last Summer. She's been helpin' with messin' Colm's scores."

Javier's eyes were stuck onto Arthur, watching as the brute of a man seemingly went through a multitude of different emotions before he straightened himself out and rode onward, fixing his hat and bandana around his neck.

Javier pushed his mount onwards to match Pandora's pace, "You know what I think?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, squinting, "I think you won't understand."

"Creo que estás enamorado," Javier was quick to respond before spurring his mount onwards, leaving Arthur in the dust. The Outlaw picked up his voice in a shout, "What's that s'posed to mean?!" To which Javier yelled back, "You won't understand!"

There was a hue of amusement and excitement in Javier's voice as he thundered onward. Arthur kept his usual pace, sighing as he shook his head before turning his attention towards his back. Far into the distance he could see the tiny silhouette of yourself, dust trailing behind your stalion's hoofsteps. A small smile formed upon Arthur's lips, but quickly dropped into a frown as you disappeared below the horizon. Arthur felt an emptiness he'd never experienced before, a numb feeling as if life itself was draining from him with every step you took away from the Cowboy.

Realisation suddenly hit him far heavier and faster than that of a steam train. Arthur had finally realised it; he was falling in love with you, and it terrified him, and yet, it felt so right.

_ _ _

Thank you all for reading! I may make this a few part series with the development and eventual romantic relationship between Arthur and the reader. It really just depends on my enthusiasm for writing, it is just a hobby afterall and I write during spur of the moments, so it is few and far between. Thank you though for taking the time to read, I don't concider myself a great writer but it is super fun so that's all that matters!

[melissalencioni]

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the quaint streets of Willow Creek, Raven's heart fluttered with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. She gripped the steering wheel of her car tightly as she navigated through the winding roads of her new hometown.

The small town nestled in the valley seemed straight out of a storybook, with charming old houses lining the streets and towering trees swaying gently in the evening breeze. Raven couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation as she approached her new home—a cozy cottage with a white picket fence and a rose garden blooming in the front yard.

Pulling into the driveway, Raven took a deep breath to steady her nerves before stepping out of the car. The air was crisp and filled with the scent of pine, a stark contrast to the bustling city she had left behind. With each step toward the front door, Raven's excitement grew, mingling with a tinge of apprehension about what lay ahead.

As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, Raven was greeted by the comforting scent of fresh paint and the sound of her own footsteps echoing off the hardwood floors. She paused in the entryway, taking in the cozy ambiance of her new home—the soft glow of lamplight, the inviting warmth of the fireplace, and the promise of new beginnings.

With a smile, Raven set down her bags and began to unpack, the unfamiliar surroundings slowly starting to feel like home. As she arranged her belongings and made the space her own, she couldn't shake the feeling of excitement bubbling up inside her.

Tomorrow would mark the beginning of a new chapter in Raven's life—a chance to explore this charming town, forge new friendships, and discover all the wonders that Willow Creek had to offer. And as she drifted off to sleep that night, surrounded by the unfamiliar yet comforting embrace of her new home, Raven couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to start anew in this picturesque corner of the world.

Raven's morning commute to work was always a peaceful journey through the winding roads of Willow Creek. As she settled into the driver's seat of her car, the cool morning air whispered through the open windows, carrying the scent of dew-kissed grass and pine trees.

As she drove along the familiar route, Raven couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. It was as if unseen eyes followed her every move, sending shivers down her spine. She brushed off the sensation, attributing it to the lingering nerves of moving into her new home.

As Raven approached the town square, she couldn't help but admire the quaint shops and bustling cafes that lined the streets. Willow Creek had a charm unlike any other place she had ever lived, and she was grateful to call it home.

Suddenly, a chill swept through the car, causing Raven to shiver involuntarily. She glanced nervously at the rearview mirror, half-expecting to see a ghostly figure lurking in the backseat. But the car was empty, save for her own reflection staring back at her.

Shaking off her unease, Raven pressed on, determined not to let her imagination get the best of her. As she pulled into the parking lot of her workplace, a sense of relief washed over her. The familiar faces and bustling activity of the office offered a welcome distraction from the eerie feeling that had plagued her drive.

Little did Raven know, the ghosts of Willow Creek were far from finished with her, and her peaceful morning commute was just the beginning of the supernatural mysteries that awaited her in her new hometown.

As Raven settled into her desk at work, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had lingered since her morning commute. Despite her efforts to focus on her tasks, her mind kept drifting back to the unsettling sensation of being watched.

Just as she was beginning to lose herself in her work, a sharp voice cut through the air, pulling her back to reality. It was her coworker, Jessica, a sharp-tongued woman with a knack for making others feel small.

"Raven, are you planning on actually getting any work done today, or are you just going to sit there daydreaming?" Jessica's tone was laced with thinly veiled contempt, and Raven felt a knot form in her stomach.

"I'm sorry, Jessica. I'll get right on it," Raven replied, trying to keep her voice steady despite the rising tide of frustration.

But no matter how hard she tried, Raven couldn't seem to shake Jessica's constant criticism. Whether it was nitpicking her work or making snide remarks about her personal life, Jessica seemed determined to make Raven's time at work as unpleasant as possible.

As the day wore on, Raven found herself growing increasingly weary of Jessica's antics. She longed to confront her coworker, to demand an explanation for her behavior, but she knew that doing so would only escalate the situation further.

Instead, Raven resolved to rise above Jessica's petty insults and focus on her own work. She refused to let one person's negativity tarnish her experience at her new job, no matter how difficult Jessica made it. With determination in her heart, Raven set about proving herself in the face of adversity, confident that she would emerge stronger on the other side.

After a challenging day at work dealing with Jessica's antics, Raven was relieved when the clock struck five, signaling the end of her shift. As she left the office behind, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders, replaced by a growing sense of anticipation for the evening ahead.

Deciding to treat herself to a nice dinner, Raven made her way to a cozy restaurant in the heart of Willow Creek. The warm glow of candlelight greeted her as she stepped inside, casting a soft and inviting ambiance over the intimate space.

Seated at a table by the window, Raven took a moment to appreciate the quiet elegance of her surroundings. The soft murmur of conversation and the tantalizing aroma of food filled the air, washing away the stresses of the day and replacing them with a sense of tranquility.

As she perused the menu, Raven couldn't help but smile at the thought of indulging in a delicious meal all to herself. After all, she had earned it after putting up with Jessica's behavior all day.

When her meal arrived—a mouthwatering dish of roasted chicken accompanied by a medley of seasonal vegetables—Raven savored each bite, relishing the flavors dancing across her taste buds. With each forkful, she felt the tension of the day melt away, replaced by a sense of contentment and satisfaction.

As she finished her meal, Raven couldn't help but feel grateful for the simple pleasures in life—a good meal, a quiet moment of reflection, and the knowledge that tomorrow was a new day, full of endless possibilities. With a contented sigh, she leaned back in her chair, basking in the warm glow of a well-deserved evening of relaxation.

As Raven enjoyed her dinner in the cozy restaurant, completely unaware of the eyes upon her, a figure lurked in the shadows just outside the window. The necromancer, cloaked in darkness and shrouded in mystery, peered through the glass with a gaze as cold as death itself.

From the depths of his hooded cloak, the necromancer observed Raven with a mix of curiosity and malevolence. His sinister presence sent a chill down Raven's spine, though she couldn't quite pinpoint the source of her unease.

As Raven savored each bite of her meal, completely absorbed in her own world, the necromancer studied her every move with a calculating gaze. He seemed to be searching for something, his eyes darting back and forth as if deciphering some hidden truth.

Unbeknownst to Raven, she had become the unwitting focus of the necromancer's attention—a pawn in a game of darkness and deceit that she had no knowledge of. What sinister purpose lay behind the necromancer's gaze remained a mystery, but one thing was certain: Raven's peaceful evening had been shattered by the presence of a malevolent force lurking in the shadows.

As Raven lingered over her dessert, enjoying the last few bites of sweetness, a sudden chill swept through the restaurant. The air grew thick with an eerie tension, causing the candles to flicker and dance with an otherworldly glow.

Unbeknownst to Raven, the necromancer's dark magic had begun to take hold. With a whispered incantation and a wave of his hand, he summoned forth the spirits of the departed, beckoning them from the realm of the dead to do his bidding.

One by one, ghostly figures materialized in the shadows, their ethereal forms drifting silently through the restaurant. Their eyes glowed with an otherworldly light as they moved with a haunting grace, their presence sending shivers down Raven's spine.

At first, Raven brushed off the strange occurrences as a trick of the light or a figment of her imagination. But as the ghosts drew nearer, their presence became undeniable, filling her with a sense of dread unlike anything she had ever experienced.

With a sinking feeling in her heart, Raven realized that she was not alone in the restaurant—that the spirits of the dead walked among them, summoned forth by the necromancer's dark magic.

As the ghosts swirled around her, their whispered voices echoing in her ears, Raven's mind raced with fear and confusion. What did the necromancer want with her, and how could she possibly hope to escape his sinister grasp?

Caught in the grip of forces beyond her comprehension, Raven could only watch helplessly as the ghosts closed in around her, their presence casting a shadow over her once peaceful evening. And as the darkness enveloped her, Raven knew that her encounter with the necromancer was far from over.

Raven's eyes fluttered open, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow over her bedroom. For a moment, she lay still, blinking away the remnants of sleep and trying to shake off the lingering grogginess.

As she sat up in bed, memories of the previous night began to flood back to her—dinner at the restaurant, the strange chill that had swept through the air, and the unsettling presence of the ghosts summoned by the necromancer.

But as Raven tried to piece together the events of the evening, she was met with a startling realization—she had no memory of how she had gotten home. The last thing she remembered was leaving the restaurant, but after that, everything was a blur.

Panic surged through Raven's veins as she scrambled out of bed, her heart pounding in her chest. How had she ended up back at her house without any recollection of the journey home? And more importantly, what had happened to her in the intervening hours?

Frantically, Raven searched her memory for any clue as to what had transpired, but the events of the night remained frustratingly elusive. It was as if a veil had been drawn over her mind, obscuring the truth and leaving her feeling disoriented and vulnerable.

With trembling hands, Raven reached for her phone, desperate for some semblance of clarity. But as she scrolled through her messages and call history, she found no answers, only a gnawing sense of unease that refused to be ignored.

As Raven stood alone in her silent house, the weight of uncertainty pressing down upon her, she couldn't shake the feeling that something dark and sinister lurked just beyond the edges of her memory. And as she struggled to make sense of the inexplicable events of the night, one thought echoed through her mind with chilling clarity—she was not safe, and whatever had happened to her was far from over.

Trembling with uncertainty and fear, Raven dialed the emergency number, her fingers fumbling over the keypad as she struggled to compose herself. When the operator's voice crackled over the line, Raven's words came out in a panicked rush, her voice trembling with desperation.

"I-I don't know what happened," she stammered, her heart pounding in her chest. "I woke up at home, but I don't remember how I got here. Something happened last night—I think I was followed, or maybe someone was watching me. Please, you have to help me!"

The operator listened patiently as Raven recounted the events of the previous evening, her voice growing more frantic with each passing moment. But when Raven mentioned the presence of ghosts and the unsettling chill that had filled the air, there was a noticeable shift in the operator's tone—a hint of skepticism that sent a chill down Raven's spine.

"I think you should speak to someone about what you're experiencing," the operator said gently, her words laced with concern. "It sounds like you might be experiencing some sort of hallucinations or delusions. I'll send someone over to check on you."

Before Raven could protest, she heard the click of the line disconnecting, leaving her feeling more alone and confused than ever. And when the authorities arrived at her doorstep, their expressions masked by concern and suspicion, Raven realized with a sinking feeling that her pleas for help had fallen on deaf ears.

As she was escorted from her home and taken to a nearby psychiatric hospital, Raven couldn't shake the feeling of dread that settled over her like a suffocating blanket. Alone and afraid, she was left to grapple with the terrifying possibility that the truth of what had happened to her would remain forever shrouded in darkness, lost to the depths of her fractured mind.

As Raven stepped through the heavy metal doors of the psychiatric hospital, a chill swept through her, sinking into her bones like an icy grip. The air was heavy with an oppressive silence, broken only by the muted shuffling of footsteps and the occasional soft whisper that seemed to echo off the sterile white walls.

The hospital was like a labyrinth, its corridors stretching out endlessly in every direction, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights that cast long, eerie shadows along the floor. Raven couldn't shake the feeling that she had stepped into another world—a world where time stood still, and the boundaries between reality and nightmare blurred into nothingness.

As she made her way through the maze-like hallways, Raven couldn't help but notice the other patients who shuffled past her like specters in the night. Their faces were drawn and pale, their eyes vacant and hollow, as if they were little more than shadows of their former selves.

Some of them muttered to themselves incoherently, their words lost to the wind. Others sat hunched over in corners, their bodies motionless and still, as if trapped in some kind of waking nightmare. And yet, despite their obvious distress, there was a sense of resignation that hung heavy in the air—a silent acceptance of the bleak reality that they found themselves in.

As Raven navigated the labyrinth of the psych ward, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched—that unseen eyes followed her every move, lurking in the shadows just out of sight. And as the oppressive silence closed in around her like a suffocating blanket, Raven realized with a sinking feeling that the hospital was not just a place of healing, but a prison of the mind—a place where the lost and the broken wandered like ghosts, trapped in a never-ending nightmare from which there seemed to be no escape.

Dr. Sinclair, the psychiatrist assigned to Raven's case, prescribed her a cocktail of medications intended to quell her perceived delusions and restore her to a state of supposed normalcy. But as Raven dutifully swallowed each pill, she soon discovered that the drugs brought not relief, but a descent into a nightmarish hell.

Within hours of taking the medication, Raven's head began to swim with dizziness, and her vision blurred as if the world around her had been submerged in a thick fog. Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach, and a pounding headache pulsed behind her eyes like a relentless drumbeat.

But the physical discomfort was only the beginning. As the days passed and the medication took hold, Raven found herself plagued by a host of terrifying side effects. Nightmares haunted her sleep, vivid and grotesque visions that left her waking in a cold sweat, her heart pounding with terror.

During waking hours, Raven was gripped by crippling anxiety and paranoia, her mind consumed by irrational fears and delusions that seemed to grow more vivid with each passing day. Shadows danced at the edges of her vision, and whispers echoed in her ears, taunting her with their sinister promises.

And yet, whenever Raven voiced her concerns to Dr. Sinclair, he dismissed her complaints with a wave of his hand, attributing her symptoms to the supposed progress of her treatment. But to Raven, it felt like she was being dragged further and further into the abyss, her sanity slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

Trapped in a nightmare of her own making, Raven could only pray for the day when she would awaken from this hellish reality and reclaim her life from the clutches of the medication that had become her tormentor. But as each day passed and the side effects continued to ravage her mind and body, that hope grew dimmer with each passing moment.

Despite the persistence of Raven's debilitating side effects, the doctors at the psychiatric hospital deemed her "stable" enough to be released back into the world. With a heavy heart and a sense of foreboding, Raven gathered her belongings and prepared to leave the confines of the hospital behind.

As she stepped through the doors of the hospital, Raven was greeted by the blinding brightness of the outside world—a world that seemed somehow alien and unfamiliar after her time spent trapped within the sterile walls of the psychiatric ward.

But as she ventured out into the world once more, Raven quickly realized that her ordeal was far from over. The side effects of the medication continued to plague her, casting a shadow over her every waking moment and leaving her feeling as though she were teetering on the brink of madness.

Her vision remained clouded by a perpetual haze, making it difficult to navigate the world around her. Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach, and a pounding headache pulsed relentlessly behind her eyes, threatening to drive her to her knees with each passing moment.

But perhaps most terrifying of all were the nightmares that haunted her sleep, twisting and contorting her dreams into grotesque visions of terror and despair. Even in the safety of her own home, Raven found no respite from the horrors that lurked within her own mind.

Desperate for relief, Raven sought out medical help, but the doctors she consulted could offer little solace. They tinkered with her medication regimen, adjusting dosages and swapping out one drug for another in a desperate attempt to alleviate her suffering. But each new medication brought with it a fresh wave of side effects, driving Raven further into the depths of despair.

Alone and adrift in a sea of torment, Raven clung to the hope that one day, she would find a way to break free from the shackles of her medication and reclaim her life from the darkness that threatened to consume her. But until that day came, she remained trapped in a nightmare of her own making, struggling to hold onto her sanity as the world around her blurred into a nightmarish haze.

As Raven's world continued to spiral into darkness, a figure emerged from the shadows with a malevolent grin plastered across his face—the necromancer. With a chilling sense of dread, Raven realized that her tormentor had returned, his presence sending shivers down her spine.

"Ah, my dear Raven," the necromancer sneered, his voice dripping with malice. "I see that my little gift has worked wonders on you. Those medications you're taking—they're making you weaker, more susceptible to my influence. It's only a matter of time before you're completely under my control."

Raven's blood ran cold at the necromancer's words, a sense of horror washing over her like a tidal wave. She had suspected that something sinister was at play behind her sudden descent into madness, but to hear the necromancer admit to his hand in her suffering sent a chill down her spine.

"You... you did this to me?" Raven whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart.

The necromancer's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Of course, my dear," he replied, his voice oozing with smug satisfaction. "You see, I have plans for you—grand plans that require a willing participant. And thanks to those delightful little pills you've been taking, you're the perfect candidate."

Raven's mind reeled with horror as the full weight of the necromancer's intentions became clear. He intended to use her weakened state to bend her to his will and command her to do his bidding.

But even as fear threatened to overwhelm her, Raven knew that she could not give in to despair. With every fiber of her being, she vowed to fight back against the necromancer's dark influence, to break free from the chains that bound her and reclaim her life from the clutches of darkness.

With a steely resolve burning in her heart, Raven squared her shoulders and met the necromancer's gaze head-on. She may have been weakened by the horrors she had endured, but she refused to let herself be consumed by fear. For as long as there was breath in her body, she would fight with every ounce of strength she possessed to defy the necromancer and reclaim her freedom from his twisted grasp.

In the dimly lit room, Raven stood, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination, facing the enigmatic figure before her—a dark presence in the depths of the night.

"What do you want from me?" Raven's voice trembled, her gaze fixed on the shadowy form of the necromancer.

The necromancer, clad in darkness and exuding an aura of sinister power, smirked as he stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malevolent intent.

"What do I want?" His voice, smooth and chilling, cut through the silence like a knife. "Control, my dear Raven. Control over the realms of the living and the dead."

Raven's resolve hardened, her jaw set in defiance as she met the necromancer's gaze head-on.

"You won't get away with this," she declared, her voice steady despite the tremor of fear that ran through her veins. "I'll fight you every step of the way."

The necromancer chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Raven's spine.

"Oh, but you've already begun to fall," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "The pills you've been taking—they're weakening you, making you susceptible to my influence."

Raven's hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms as she struggled to maintain her composure.

"I won't let you control me," she vowed, her voice fierce with determination.

The necromancer's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

"But you already are mine, my dear," he murmured, his voice a seductive whisper in the darkness. "And soon, you'll be nothing but a puppet dancing to my tune."

Raven's heart raced, her mind reeling with the weight of the necromancer's words. But even as fear threatened to overwhelm her, a spark of defiance ignited within her soul—a flame of resistance burning bright against the encroaching darkness.

"I'll never submit to you," she spat, her voice ringing with defiance.

With a final, chilling laugh, the necromancer vanished into the shadows, leaving Raven alone with the knowledge that her battle had only just begun—a struggle against the darkness that threatened to consume her soul.

In a defiant act of rebellion against the darkness that threatened to engulf her, Raven stormed into her bathroom, determination burning in her eyes. With trembling hands, she reached for the bottle of pills that had become her prison, the source of her torment.

With a fierce resolve coursing through her veins, Raven wrenched open the bottle and poured its contents into her trembling palm. For a moment, she hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared down at the pills that had wrought havoc upon her mind and body.

But then, with a fierce cry of defiance, Raven hurled the pills into the sink, watching with grim satisfaction as they scattered across the porcelain surface like shards of shattered glass. Without a moment's hesitation, she turned on the faucet and let the rushing water wash away the remnants of her captivity, sending them swirling down the drain and into oblivion.

As the last of the pills disappeared from sight, Raven felt a weight lift from her shoulders, a sense of liberation washing over her like a cleansing tide. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she felt truly free—free from the chains of her medication, free from the darkness that had threatened to consume her.

The next day at work, Raven's decision to rid herself of the medication's grip seemed to unleash a storm within her mind. As she sat at her desk, trying to focus on her work, a wave of disorientation washed over her, followed by a torrent of hallucinations and delusions that tore at the fabric of her sanity.

Panicked and overwhelmed, Raven's grip on reality slipped further with each passing moment, her mind spiraling into the depths of a psychotic break. She clutched her head, trying to silence the cacophony of voices that echoed in her mind, but they only grew louder, more insistent, driving her to the brink of madness.

Amidst the chaos, Jessica, the coworker who had once been a source of torment, approached Raven with an unexpected look of concern in her eyes. Despite their tumultuous history, Jessica seemed to recognize the severity of Raven's distress and reached out a tentative hand, offering a lifeline in the midst of the storm.

"Raven, are you okay?" Jessica's voice cut through the haze of Raven's mind, a rare note of compassion coloring her words. "You don't look well. Can I help?"

Raven's breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to make sense of the world around her, but through the fog of her psychosis, she sensed a glimmer of hope in Jessica's unexpected offer of assistance.

With Jessica's support, Raven was guided to a quiet corner of the office, away from the prying eyes of their coworkers. There, Jessica listened patiently as Raven poured out her fears and frustrations, offering a sympathetic ear and a comforting presence in the midst of Raven's turmoil.

In that moment of vulnerability, Raven realized that despite their differences, Jessica was not the enemy she had once believed her to be. Instead, she was an unlikely ally—a beacon of light in the darkness, offering solace and support when Raven needed it most.

As the day wore on and Raven's psychotic episode began to subside, she found herself feeling grateful for Jessica's unexpected act of kindness. Though their relationship had been fraught with tension in the past, Raven couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of camaraderie with her coworker, a bond forged in the crucible of adversity.

And as she reflected on the events of the day, Raven realized that sometimes, the most unlikely alliances could be the strongest of all, offering hope and redemption in the face of life's darkest challenges.

Alone in the sanctuary of her home, Raven's fragile grasp on reality began to crumble under the weight of the necromancer's sinister influence. As night fell and the world outside grew cloaked in darkness, a malevolent presence seemed to seep into every corner of her mind, twisting her thoughts and warping her perceptions until she could no longer distinguish truth from illusion.

Shadows danced along the walls, whispering secrets too terrible to comprehend, while unseen hands seemed to claw at the edges of Raven's sanity, pulling her deeper into the abyss of madness. She trembled as visions of twisted figures and grotesque apparitions flickered before her eyes, their haunting cries echoing in the recesses of her mind.

Desperate to escape the nightmare that threatened to consume her, Raven clutched at her temples, trying to drown out the voices that tormented her with their relentless taunts. But no matter how hard she tried, the darkness seemed to close in around her, suffocating her with its suffocating embrace.

In a frenzied panic, Raven tore through her home, searching for some semblance of safety in the midst of the chaos. But everywhere she turned, she found only shadows and echoes of her own fear, each one more terrifying than the last.

As the night wore on and Raven's grip on reality slipped further away, she felt herself being pulled inexorably toward the abyss. With a primal scream of anguish, she surrendered to the darkness, allowing it to swallow her whole and drag her down into the depths of madness.

Alone and adrift in a sea of torment, Raven succumbed to the necromancer's influence, her mind consumed by visions too horrifying to bear. And as the darkness closed in around her, she knew that she was lost—trapped forever in a nightmare from which there could be no escape.

She died that way, because sometimes evil wins, and the necromancer had his way with her, using her spirit to ensnare others. The doctors never did find out they were attempting to fight off something real.

[willbrakeforneature]

The day on the Tecumseh Trail started with a wintry mix that melted off by the midday, the temperature a handful of degrees upon freezing. I was thankful for this, if the day had been one where your clothes got icy midrun I don’t think I would have made it (or would have needed to call someone for a change in socks/plants, only briefing think I might need to combat frostbite). I was enjoying the snow and the magic of the morning, but snow was dropping on me from leaves and brushing off plant overgrowth onto me.

But once I was able to maintain my body heat better getting out of the valleys, the worry subsided and I was nearing mile 20. I kept my nutrition steady and was going to need to refill my water soon. I stopped at a creek right before Yellowwood Lake, about 31 miles in. My hands got bitterly cold filtering water but I was glad to stop and reassess the remaining part of the trail. I switched my snacks around to refill my front pockets again and was on my way. After reaching the southern part of the lake I would be on new to me trails, sections I hadn’t been on before. This feeling helped me carry on some, and now I had to have less than 15-20 miles after some reroutes added up in the beginning. Crazy when this fact can be of comfort.

This last 16 miles included the most service roads, running on the shoulder of the state road with hill climb, and the least trafficked section of the day. But my spirits were good, I was getting through some miles quicker and had single digits to go! The trail ends 2 miles in the middle of the woods, near forest boundaries; I could get to this point before dark so I’d only have the 2 miles back to the last road crossing/parking with my headlamp. Nearing the last mile, reflective eyes appeared in my light straight on the trail. What animal was this? As I moved closer I made out a silhouette behind it, Ian and Toad! They walked out to meet me and I was surprised to say the least. We finished the last bit walking together. I took in the day, how did 47 miles just go by? Wrapping up my efforts to complete the Indiana Triple Crown of trails in less than 12 months. And a birthday long run to myself. What a treat.