#and the way that she and Swanson are often placed near each other

[river-of-wine]

If it’s meant to be, then it will be

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch53: I’d Like A Bloody Mary, Please.

Intro: The team plan their Time Heist and figure out exactly where, when and how to get the Infinity Stones.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Some pretty dirty Smut in this one! (NSFW) No under 18s. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

A/N: @angrybirdcr​ is my SSB edit BAE

Chapter 52

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

After some grumbling from Emmy about it being a “ridiculously, god-forsaken time on a Saturday morning” to which Steve had quipped back that there were two six o’clocks in a day, the Rogers family, plus bags and a dog were leaving their Brooklyn home behind and heading to the compound for the foreseeable. Once they arrived, Steve effortlessly grabbed the bags from the car, Emmy picking up her rucksack and following him into the base, whilst Lucky raced off over the grounds to greet Clint who had clearly been on an early morning jog. Jamie shot off after him and Katie headed behind at a slower pace. She watched as Jamie reached the dog who was receiving an ear scratch from Clint and laughed out loud when Jamie straightened up and gave Clint the ‘I’m watching you’ sign with his hands. The Archer’s head fell back as he roared with laughter and Jamie stalked off, complete with sandy coloured dog at his heels, casting a filthy glance over his shoulder to double check Clint wasn’t following.

“Tony taught him that!” Katie explained as Clint looked at her. “I really should tell him off for being so rude but damned, he loves that dog.”

“Well Lucky clearly loves him.” Clint smiled, watching the two as they gambolled over the lawns “You can relax Nova, I’m not gonna steal him back.”

“Good. Because Steve and I would be really screwed if you did.”

Clint threw his arms around her and gave her a squeeze before he headed inside for a shower. Katie called Jamie back and they walked into the compound and down to their living quarters. Steve gave her a quick peck before heading off to the briefing room to meet Tony and Bruce, whilst Katie made sure the kids were settled.

“We’re only doing the brain storming today.” She looked at Emmy. “So if you wanna go out in the grounds feel free but just watch him, okay? And stay away from the labs!”

“Yes, Mom.” Emmy nodded.

“If you need us just ask FRIDAY. We’ll probably break for a late breakfast, or brunch, in an hour or so.”

Emmy nodded and Katie dropped a kiss to Jamie’s head as he was sat furiously scribbling at his latest drawing. She loved how he had taken to art like his dad. Emmy also had a natural talent for it, and it made Katie almost jealous. She had often joked to Steve how she couldn���t even draw curtains.

She headed down the familiar corridors and arrived at the briefing room, grabbing a coffee from the waiting batch someone, she suspected Natasha, had ordered in. Taking a place at the edge of the room besides Clint, she perched on the arm of the sofa next to Rocket and looked up. There were a number of hologram displays, showcasing each of the six Infinity Stones and the rest of the group sat round the room whilst Tony, Steve and Bruce were pacing at the front ready to lead the planning of the mission. They were deep in conversation, and Tony pressed something which made one of the holograms flip to the forefront, the one bearing the Aether or the Reality Stone as they knew it. Katie took a long drag from her coffee.

 “Kids okay?” Steve asked as he approached her, dropping a kiss to her head. She nodded.

“Jamie was scribbling away, Emmy was doing something on her laptop, not sure what, she’s being cagey.”

“She got a boy on the go?” Steve frowned. “Do I need my shotgun?”

Clint snorted and Katie grinned as she looked up. “No idea, and if she has threatening whoever it is ain’t gonna help, she’ll just call you a moron or something.”

“She’s right.” Rhodey smirked as he took a seat next to Natasha, overhearing on his way past “Gotta keep it cool, Cap. Although I seem to remember Tony flipping out at your first boyfriend, what was his name?.”

Katie snorted. “Michael Swanson, Mikey.” She sighed. “He was a nice guy.” Steve arched an eyebrow at her. “What?” she laughed, looking up at him. “I was sixteen. Mikey only lasted a year, surprised he made it that long to be honest after Tony threatened him with a blowtorch the first time I introduced them.”

“A blow torch?” Steve pondered. “Now that’s an idea…”

Katie narrowed her eyes at him. “No.”

He gave her a cheeky grin then looked up as Tony called across the room “If you two have finished gazing into each other’s eyes thought we could start.”

“Bite me.” Katie quipped to her brother as her husband returned back to the front of the room and took his place. Katie watched as Steve Rogers disappeared and Captain America emerged and smiled to herself softly at how easy he had retreated back to his Avenger persona, as he effortlessly commanded the attention of the room.

“Okay so the ‘how’ works,” Steve began as he looked at the screens to his side, “now we gotta figure out the when and the where.” He glanced out at the room. “Almost all of us has had an encounter with at least one of the six Infinity Stones.”

“Well I’d substitute the word encounter for damn well near been killed by one of the six Infinity Stones.” Tony shrugged, sipping his coffee as he walked in front of the displays, looking at the Avengers assembled in front of him.

“I haven’t.” Scott held his hand up. “I don’t even know what the hell you’re all talking about”

“Regardless, we only have enough Pym Particles for one round trip each.” Banner circled the table to the front of the room “And these stones have been in a lot of different places throughout history.”

“Our history.” Tony nodded, pacing as he talked. “So, not a lot of convenient spots to just drop in.”

“Which means we have to pick our targets.” Clint added as Tony passed by him.

“Correct.” Tony pointed to him with the hand holding his coffee cup.

“So, let’s start with the Aether.” Steve nodded, hands on his belt buckle as he stood in front of Banner and looked to the corner of the room. “Thor, whaddya know?”

Everyone turned their attention to the god. He was sat on a chair in the far right of the room with his sunglasses on, left hand resting on his belly which was exposed as his grubby top had ridden up slightly. He looked like an absolute hobo. Katie hated seeing him like this, but they needed him to pay attention and now, well he was making it impossible to tell whether he was awake or asleep. His lack of response, however, made Steve believe it was the latter. He drew in a frustrated breath as Natasha spoke, voicing his suspicions.

“Is he asleep?” She asked, pen clutched in her left hand. 

“No, I’m pretty sure he’s dead.” Rhodey deadpanned.

Katie sighed, drained the last of her coffee and stood up. She took a step forward and launched the empty cup at Thor. Her aim was impeccable as ever and it hit him softly in the middle of his forehead. Clint gave her a hi-five at her shot and Steve rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging on one corner of his mouth as Thor jerked awake.

“What?” he asked, looking around. “Yes, I, what was the question?”

“Infinity Stones, planning a huge mission.” Katie spoke slowly almost as if to a child. “We need to know what you know about the Aether.”

“Oh, yes, of course Little Stark.” Thor pushed himself up with a groan. Katie watched as he made his way unsteadily to the screens. Clint pushed himself off the wall he had been leaning on and took up the empty seat between Rhodey and Natasha 

“Where to start? Umm,” Thor began, taking his glasses off and squinting at the light of the room, “the Aether, first, is not a stone, someone called it a stone before.” He pointed at Steve who frowned, puzzled, as Thor continued. “It’s more of a, err, an angry sludge thing, so…” he tipped his head back dropping eye drops into his left eye and pinched the bridge of his nose, “someone’s gonna need to amend that.”

Steve exchanged a glance with his wife at the same time Rhodey and Clint looked at one another. Was he drunk? Hungover? Both? The Captain frowned again as Thor continued, Tony stood not far from him, chewing on a plastic coffee stirrer, peering at Thor over his glasses.

“Here’s an interesting story though, many years ago my grandfather had to hide the stones from the Dark Elves…wooooh, scary beings.” Thor waggled his fingers to imitate a spooky ghost and Katie heard Rocket give out a little sigh from where he sat beside her, holding his paw up to his head, rubbing it slightly. She then looked at Nebula who was occupying the spot Clint had been in and the blue woman shrugged. “So Jane…” an image of the scientist popped up and Thor looked at it, grinning, “oh, there she is. That’s Jane. She’s an old flame of mine.” He pointed to the screen with his sunglasses “She, she stuck her hand inside a rock this one time and then the Aether stuck itself inside her.”

Now Steve was utterly confused and perplexed. He folded his arms and the crease between his brows deepened as he cocked his head slightly to the side as Thor continued to ramble on.

“And, she became very, very sick. So I had to take her to Asgard, which is where I’m from.”

Everyone in the room began to look around at one another in utter exasperation, all except Lang who was eagerly mopping up the information, smiling slightly and nodding.

“And we had to try and fix her. We were dating at the time, you see. I got to introduce her to my Mother, who’s dead,” at that point Thor’s face crumpled slightly and the God looked utterly broken. Banner began waving his hand across his throat signalling Tony to call time and Katie stood up from where she had been sat and headed towards him. “And oh you know, Jane and I aren’t even dating anymore, these things happen though you know, nothing last forever.”

“Why don’t you come and sit down?” Katie suggested to him gently, patting his chest as both her and Tony reached him, Tony gently pushing on his shoulder, guiding him back towards his chair.

“I’m not done yet,” Thor looked at the Stark siblings in turn as Rhodey and Clint shared another glance, Clint’s mouth hanging open in utter bewilderment, “the only thing permanent in life is impermanence.”

Tony clapped his hands together and nodded at the God. “Awesome.”

“Thank you.” Thor acknowledged.

“Eggs? Breakfast?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“No,” Thor chuckled, “I’d like a Bloody Mary.”

Steve exhaled, and rubbed at his brow. This was not how he wanted the day to start. He turned to the Raccoon, hoping that he would be more use. “Rocket, you mentioned something about the Aether the other night.”

“Yeah, when we knew Thanos was chasing it half my team headed to Knowhere, which is a place manned by an idiot called the Collector, at least it was.”

“I had my friends take it to the Collector once we had retrieved it back from Jane.” Thor cut in again as he slumped down in his chair, adding his first thing of real use to the conversation. “My friends, they’re all dead too.”

“So then surely going to Knowhere is our best bet?” Natasha added but Rocket shook his head.

“The Collector, when I call him an idiot, he is an idiot, but he’s also a crafty bastard. You’ll not get it from him without something to trade, unless you wanna go in for a full firefight. And you risk him tipping Thanos off in the process, and we don’t want him to know what we’re doing, regardless of what year it is when we do it.”

“No, we need to do this discreetly.” Steve agreed.

“Thor,” Katie spoke sternly and he looked at her, “how did you get the Aether out of Jane?”

Out of Jane…what the fuck?

“Malekith, he was the King of the Dark elves, he did it.” Thor shrugged. “Before we had a huge fight and he killed Loki. Or didn’t kill him, as it turns out. That was Thanos in the end.”

“That doesn’t sound like an option either.” Bruce shook his head.

“So then our logical opportunity is Asgard.” Katie looked around the room.  “Get the Aether out of Jane before this Dark Elf guy does?”

Steve positively beamed at her. She was fucking awesome at this type of stuff. Her brain was so logical, even when everyone else was frustrated she could see details incredibly, analyse and draw conclusions like no one he knew, not even Tony. She looked at him and flushed slightly, knowing full well what he was thinking, he’d told her enough and she gave a small shrug.

“So Asgard.” Tony nodded. “FRIDAY, capture that.”

“Got it.” She spoke, and by the picture of the stone the location flashed up.

“Thor, timescale?” Tony turned to him. But to no avail, he’d nodded off again. “Alright, we’ll come back to that when Sleeping Beauty is back with us.”

Knowing that was about as far as they were going to get on that particular stone for the time being, the team agreed it was a logical place to break for a coffee and breakfast and they all headed to the kitchen, Katie picking the kids up on the way. There was a selection of food already waiting, Tony (or Pepper, as the case really was) having re-stocked the kitchen fully for them, ordering in a large selection of pastries and donuts. Steve watched as Jamie settled in a seat between his Uncle and Natasha, happily munching on an apricot fruit whirl, chatting away. Emmy was talking to Bruce, no doubt about some other science project she was working on, whilst Katie leaned against the counter, picking off bits of a croissant as she poured out coffees for everyone. Except Thor that is, who true to his word, had sauntered in a few minutes after the rest of them with a Bloody Mary in his hands, Natasha narrowing her eyes and telling him he better not have used the good vodka. 

Steve had a suspicion there was more likely to be Asgardian Liquor in there than normal strength vodka.

They all ate, the mood slightly bolstered by the fact they were pretty much one down on the Infinity Stones, and Thor was even with it enough to give them an accurate time frame too. Something which set Steve at ease as he’d been a little edgy the God was going to lose it completely.

The rest of the day continued in that vain. The next stone they discussed was the Space Stone, or the Tesseract, which was very much Steve’s domain, although Thor- seemingly pepped up after his Bloody Mary- was able to give them a potted history of the item once Steve had explained his encounter with it and The Red Skull during the war.

“It was used by various ancient civilisations before coming into the Asgardians hands where it was kept in my father’s vault.” He spoke clearly. “He eventually brought it to Earth, don’t ask me why, and it was left in Tonsberg where it was guarded by devout worshippers.”

“SHIELD had it until the early nineties.” Katie then picked up as she knew this bit from the research she had done, digging into files and also from a download she had requested from Carol, the woman finally getting back to her late the previous evening. She moved her hand over her tablet and projected the information. “It was used and studied under ‘Project Pegasus’ until a lady called Mar Vel hid it in her laboratory. Then Danvers took full brunt of its power on an accident. But when Danvers found it again, it was given back to SHIELD and they had it right until it was given back to Thor, full circle.”

“And it stayed in Odin’s Vault until Loki stole it and brought it onto the Asgardian ship that Thanos took it from.” Bruce nodded.

“When he killed half my people.” Thor growled.

“So, is Asgard the best place to get that too?” Clint asked. “I mean we can’t get it from the ship?”

“Possibly.” Thor popped a shoulder as he scratched his head. “It would take some doing to get the Aether and the Tesseract and escape without trouble. It might be wise to consider an alternative time and location.”

“Preferably not New Mexico.” Clint mumbled, and Katie grinned at him.

Their discussions continued through the day, and when the evening light started to close in, Tony suggested a few hours down time before reconvening over dinner, which would allow Katie and Steve to settle the kids for the evening. Katie offered to cook again but Steve shook his head.

“No.” He refused, she’d been up all day, she’d made lunch, and he didn’t want her slipping into the routine of doing it all the time for the group, despite how much she said she enjoyed it. “You’ve done enough, we’ll sort the kids and get takeout, does that suit everyone?”

The group nodded eagerly and started to file out of the room.  Katie stood up and cricked her neck as Steve crossed to look at the screen, the image of the tesseract rotated in front of him on one, the image of the Valkyrie airship on the other. He let out a loud sigh. His initial idea had been to split the Avengers into smaller groups to retrieve the stones individually, but he was worried now. There didn’t seem like there was going to be any chance of getting some of them without a full fire fight, and there was no way they could do that apart. Katie, recognising the look on his face as he was agonising over his strategy, crossed the room and slipped her arms round his waist.

“It’ll work out.” She told him softly and he bent his head towards her so she could kiss his cheek. “This is why we’re here, remember? It’s what we do.”

Rhodey approached them to the other side of Steve. “Not meaning to eves drop but she’s right.” He smiled. “Might takes us a bit of time but we’ll come up with something, Cap.”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve chewed the inside of his cheek, looking at the images on the screen.

“You got a lot of history with that thing.” Rhodey pondered thoughtfully as he nodded at the Tesseract.

“You’re not wrong.” Steve muttered. At one point it had felt like everything had centred on that damned cube.

“So you and this Red Skull, you fought him?” Rhodey asked.

Katie looked at him, frowning. “Do you not know the story about how my dad found it?”

Rhodey shrugged “Kinda, but there’s gaps.”

“Well me and the Howling Commandos systematically took Hydra down.” Steve spoke, his eyes not moving from the image. “But we never found Schmidt’s hideout. So we mounted an op to capture Armin Zola who told us where his final base was and all about his plan. So we stormed it, only Schmidt escaped. Which is how I ended up on the plane.”

“So what happened to the Tesseract then?” Rhodey asked, keen to fill the gaps in his knowledge.

“Ended up at the bottom of the ocean, which is where Howard found it. Fell out of the plane right before I had to crash it.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask, why did you have to crash the plane anyway?”

“There were bombs on board.” Steve answered.

“Bombs on board, right.” Rhodey turned back to the screen “And you couldn’t just jump out of the plane before it crashed?”

Before Steve could answer, Rhodey patted him on the shoulder.

“Hind-sight eh Cap?” And with that he turned to leave the room.

Steve looked at his wife who grinned at him. “Don’t.” He began with a sigh.

She laughed, her arms snaking round his neck. “If you had jumped off that plane, you wouldn’t have spent sixty-five years taking a cold nap and we would never have met. Maybe it was just fate.”

Steve groaned as his hands locked at the bottom of her back. “Fate, my ass. The damned thing was on auto-pilot, I had no choice. If I could have jumped, I would. I don’t believe in fate, you-“

“Make your own luck, yeah I know.” Katie smiled as he gave her a peck on the lips.

He shook his head, looked at the screen once more before he turned to Katie and took a breath. “Come on, let’s settle the kids for the night and then we can eat.”

****

“Okay, so,” Steve looked up, swallowing his mouthful of chow-mein, “we’ve looked at the Aether, the Space stone, how about the power stone? What do we know about this one?”

“Thanos employed Ronan the Accuser, a Kree warrior, to retrieve it for him only before he could obtain it, it was stolen by our friend. He intrusted it to the Nova Corps on Xandar for safe keeping.” Nebula spoke, Katie looking over to her.

“The what?” Natasha asked, furiously making notes as she ate.

“Nova Corps, they’re, or they were an Intergalactic Military and Police force of the Nova Empire.” Rocket added, looking around to see more blank faces “Seriously? You guys don’t know about them?”

“We’re not exactly versed on Cosmic Security forces, no.” Tony deadpanned, drawing a snort from Clint.

“Well I suppose it doesn’t matter really.” Rocket hopped up onto the table. “What matters is where we can get that stone.” he began pacing in front of everyone. “So Quill said he stole the Power Stone from Morag.”

“Quill, is that a place?” someone asked.

“Morag’s a planet. Quill was a person.” Rocket corrected.

“A planet? Like in outer space?” Scott swallowed, his eyes lighting up. Steve had to smile, Scott was still getting used to things that the other Avengers simply took for granted now. Other planets and aliens existed, it was fact to them. To Lang it was still astounding.  Rocket picked up on this fact and smirked.

“Oh, look. It’s like a little puppy, all happy and everything.” He bent over and ruffled Scott’s hair, and when he spoke again his voice made Katie snort, as it was one Steve often adopted when talking to Lucky. “Do you wanna go to space? You wanna go to space, puppy? I’ll get you to space.”

At that Tony’s voice cut sternly across the table.

“Hey Trash Panda, back on track, come on.” He clicked his fingers.

“Trash Panda?” Rocket looked at him indignantly as there were titters of laughter round the table. “Well that’s just fucking rude.”

Rocket went on to explain about the Battle of Xandar, whereby he and the other Guardians of the Galaxy managed to use the power stone between them to save the planet. It was when he mentioned jokingly something about a ‘dance off to save the universe’ that Katie noticed Tony stiffen. Without a word her brother stood up and walked to the doors that led to the small outside area. She gently squeezed Steve’s shoulder, he too noticing Tony’s exit, and wordlessly went after him.

“You okay Tone?” She asked, pulling the door closed behind her as she followed him out to the little patio area.

“Yeah, I just, well I heard that story before, from Quill, you know, about the dance off? It just reminded me of Parker that’s all.” He sighed, looking up at the sky. “He was teasing Quill about Footloose being a shit film and I just told him to shut up.” At that he fell silent and Katie looped her arm round his waist, his falling over her shoulder.

“You really cared about the kid didn’t you?”

Tony sighed, squeezing her shoulder. ”Yeah. I did.”

“We’re so close to doing it.” She looked at him. “So fucking close, Tone. And then you can tell him to his face.”

*****

From the other side of the window Steve watched the siblings as they shared a moment, Tony dropping a kiss to Katie’s head.

“They okay?” Natasha asked, drawing up to his side.

“Yeah, they’ll be fine.” Steve turned to her.

“I think we’re just about wrapped up.” Nat nodded her head to the table. “I think our best shot is to go to Morag and shadow this Quill to see where he found the stone.”

Steve nodded. “Sounds logical.”

He turned back to watch Tony and Katie who were now both looking up at the sky, Tony pointing at something, Katie giving a little laugh as she playfully gave him a dig with her elbow, causing Tony to laugh as well.

“Feels good doesn’t it?” Nat spoke again, and Steve looked at her. “Actually being back together, doing something.”

“I know these past five years have been shitty for you, Nat.” Steve said gently and she shrugged.

“It’s not all been bad. Seeing you and Katie bring up the kids has been kinda awesome.”

He smiled and pulled her into a hug. “You know, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

Nat smiled and then took a deep breath. “It’s getting late.”

Steve looked at his watch and blinked. It was almost midnight. He nodded.

“Okay, tell everyone to wrap up, we’ll reconvene in the morning, say eight-ish over breakfast?”

She nodded and walked back into the room she’d left before. Steve gently opened the door that led to the outside and both Katie and Tony turned to face him.

“We’re finishing up for the evening.” He smiled gently “Back to it tomorrow morning.”

Tony nodded and Katie gave him a last hug before she turned away and followed Steve inside.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked she stepped inside.

Katie nodded. “He was just having a moment, thinking about the Parker, that’s all. Then he got on some rambling story about stupid shit I used to say as a kid.” She took a deep breath as Steve slid his arm over her shoulder. “He was talking about how I once told him I was going to be an astronaut and fly amongst the stars. That’s why ‘Drops Of Jupiter’ will always be our song.”

“Well, you might not be an Astronaut, but you got up to space.” Steve pointed out and she gave a little laugh, before she sighed.

“Yeah, suppose I did.”

*****

"Is it weird to feel like I kinda miss this place a little bit?” Katie turned to look at Steve as he walked out of the en-suite in nothing but his boxers. “I mean, I know it’s not like we’ve never been back in here since we moved but still…”

“No, I don’t think so.” Stev shook his head, crossing the room towards where she was stood by the window. He wrapped his arms around her, dropping his chin to her shoulder. “This was our home for a while after all, sometimes I still miss DC, you know.”

“Yeah.” Katie turned in his arms. “Although I think I prefer our home now.”

He smiled and dropped a kiss to her lips. “My home is wherever you are baby" 

"That’s so lame!” Katie snorted.

“Hey.” Steve pouted, mock hurt flooding his face causing her to laugh even more.

“You wanna unpack, Soldier?” She asked, patting his chest, nodding to the case that lay at the foot of the bed.

“Tomorrow.” He mumbled, dropping his mouth to hers again, his hands sliding down her back until he gripped her ass and easily hauled her up against him. She giggled as she wrapped her legs round his waist, a sound he would never tire of hearing.

“You got other plans for me, Stevie?” She teased. Steve looked at his wife and with a quirk of his eyebrow he smirked as he carried her towards the bed.

"I distinctly remember you reminding me that this room is soundproof, and I intend on making the most of us not having to worry about disturbing the kids.”

He dropped her gently onto the soft mattress and she smiled at him, reaching up to brush back the longer locks of his hair that had fallen forward over his forehead, before her hand made it round to the back, tangling in the shorter ones at the nape of his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.

And that was it. Suddenly he was pulling the t-shirt off her, his mouth nipping and sucking at her bare chest as she writhed and keened underneath him. His hand worked into the waistband of the shorts she was wearing and she gasped as he slid his fingers into her.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much.” He sighed, making her groan again as he continued to tease her with his hand. Eventually she couldn’t take it anymore and she wriggled underneath him.

“You want something?” He asked and she raised her head, glowering at him.

“Steve if you don’t fuck me right now I swear to God I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” He teased, his fingers curling against her spot and she gasped. “What you gonna do?”

“I’ll tell Jamie where you hide your stash of British Chocolate.” She looked at him and his hand paused.

“You wouldn’t!” His eyes widened, horrified at her threat.

“Oh I would.” She smirked.

“I don’t like being threatened,” his eyes darkened, “especially when it’s simply because you’re being a brat and not getting what you want.”

“Yeah?” She propped herself up on her elbows before she smirked and replayed his words right back to him. “What you gonna do?”

With a grin Steve sat up, grabbed her hips and flipped her over, lowering himself down again. He hovered over her, chest to his back, his mouth tracing a line down her spine as she continued to whimper. His lips formed a smirk against her skin and, as he reached the dip of spine he wriggled out of his boxers and grasped her hips, pulling her ass off the bed. He easily discarded her underwear, another pair he had shredded, but he didn’t give a fuck.

He positioned himself behind her, tip of his cock teasing her entrance. “This what you want?” He practically purred and she groaned.

“Yes, Jesus Christ! Just fuck me already, Steve!”

In a swift movement he buried himself in her and her face dropped to the pillow, muffling her moans.

“Not tonight, Kitten” he growled, as his hand reached out and gripped her hair and he pulled gently on her loose braid, so she was propped up on her elbows. “I told you, I wanna hear you.”

Katie bit her lip as he started moving, hard, fast, deep. Every thrust was rocking her very core and she was putty in his hands within minutes. His hips snapped back and forth, loud grunts and groans filled the room, mingling with the sound of skin slapping on skin as he continued his ferocious pace, his hand on her shoulder pulling her back onto him with every thrust he made.

It was crude, coarse, animalistic, a far cry from their love making the night before but no less pleasurable for either of them.

Katie’s hands fisted into the sheets, her toes curling, her entire body trembling as the pleasure mounted, his cock brushing her walls. Tearing his eyes off the sight of his cock disappearing over and over again into her, Steve bent over her to nip at her neck, a little harder than usual, and he spoke into her ear with a growl. “You feel so good. So fucking good.”

"So do you.” She moaned to him as he kept up his relentless pace, and she felt the release creeping up through her belly. “Shit, Captain…”

“Come for me, Doll.” Steve groaned and a loud cry ripped from her throat as her hands fisted tighter around the sheets and her entire body shook. Unable to control herself she collapsed and in a flash Steve curled his arm around her waist, holding her up. A few short thrusts later and he was done, giving into the ecstasy himself and he collapsed forward, letting Katie down as gently as he could before he face planted onto the bed, sweating and spent. Katie was led front down next to him, breathing deeply into her pillow. Eventually she mustered the strength to turn her head, only to see Steve led on his stomach, looking at her, a smug grin on his face.

“Fucking hell.” She mumbled and he laughed, reaching out to brush her hair behind her ear.

****

“How long did you fight these guys?” Rocket asked, standing on his chair. They were watching footage of the Battle of New York, having started on the analysis of the Mind Stone. The obvious point, as Steve had said to Natasha the previous evening, had been the time in New York when both the Tesseract and Loki’s Sceptre were present. Katie looked at him across the table which was laden with half eaten bowls of eggs, bagels and a Bloody Mary for Thor.

“Oh I dunno, two, two or three hours.” Katie shrugged, glancing at Tony who was sat behind the animal, an electric razor in his hand as he trimmed his beard. He nodded his concurrence as did Natasha. 

“Hours?” The raccoon scoffed. “The Chitauri are the suckiest army in the galaxy, why didn’t you just blow up the mothership?”

A silence fell across the room and Katie exchanged a glance with Thor who looked at the Racoon, narrowing his eyes.

“We didn’t know that was a thing.” Steve muttered, somewhat lamely from his vantage point-stood behind his wife, arms folded across his grey Henley clad chest.  

“YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT WAS A THING!” The raccoon bellowed and began to howl with laughter. Thor was still looking at him, now with the piece of celery from his drink held in his hand, almost like he was wielding his axe. Steve could tell he was debating throwing it at the animal and part of him really wanted the God to hit him right on the snout with it. The Soldier’s attention flitted to Tony who gave an angry, silent huff and stood up. He held a finger to his lips, telling Steve to keep quiet and he simply raised an eyebrow watching as his brother in law nonchalantly stepped over to the racoon who was still laughing 

“EVERYONE KNOWS…THAT’s A-” the gleeful gloating was cut off as Tony ran his razor straight up the racoon’s back, shaving a line into his fur.

Katie spat out the coffee she had been drinking, choking as Scott began howling with laugher. Banner’s roars filled the room and even Steve couldn’t help himself as he threw his head back in glee, clutching his chest as his laughter rang out. Natasha was snorting too and Thor pointed his celery stick at him.

“That serves you right, Rabbit.”

“That’s a shitty thing to do!” Rocket glared at Tony, who shrugged.

“Stop being an asshole then.” Tony shrugged simply, and the Raccoon sat down, arms folded. As they continued to discuss their plan for getting their hands on the sceptre, Katie couldn’t help but snigger as his paw kept straying to the naked line of skin which stretched up his back.

An hour later they were another stone down, and Steve was feeling bolstered. Tony took himself off to the lab, realising that they were making fast progress and he wanted to start working on their own gauntlet for when they brought the stones back, Thor going with him to advise as he explained the stones had to be in a certain order to harness their power correctly. Nobody bothered to tell the God they all had a picture of Thanos’ glove imprinted in their minds forever. 

The rest of them were sat on various sofas and chairs by the large windows as Nebula explained about the Soul Stone, telling them that Thanos found it on Vormir.

“What is Vormir?”  Natasha asked in a very business-like manner as she scribbled on a pad where she was sat on the arm of the sofa, feet on the cushioned seat. Katie was perched on the edge of the arm next to her, in an identical position almost, with her left arm gently looping round Steve’s right thigh, her hand coming to rest on the inside of his leg, just above his knee, her hand stayed still, relishing the feel of his solid muscle against her palm.

“A dominion of death, at the very centre of Celestial existence.” Nebula explained. Nat paused looking up as the woman’s voice grew sombre. Katie noticed she had tears in her eyes.  “It’s where Thanos murdered my sister.” 

Steve looked down, arms folded, as an awkward silence fell on the room. Katie exchanged a glance with Natasha, then Clint, no one knowing what to say. Steve took a deep breath, Nat began scribbling again.

“Not it.” Scott muttered.

Steve let out an exasperated breath and glared at him.

“What?” Scott asked, innocently

They broke then for lunch. Once they had eaten, Steve took a break, taking Jamie and Emmy outside to play a bit of ball as their son was growing restless. Katie knew it wasn’t easy for him to relinquish control but she encouraged him to take a bit of time with the kids, Clint and Rhodey joining in so they could form teams. Thor disappeared off with Rocket and Nebula somewhere, most likely to raid the booze cabinet, whilst Katie, Tony, Nat and Banner continued their brainstorming. 

The siblings lay on the large table, surrounded by papers and books they’d been making notes in, Natasha lounging in a chair whilst Bruce lay on the floor. 

“That Time Stone guy.” Nat spoke, tapping a pen against her teeth.

“Doctor Strange.” Bruce offered his name up.

“Yeah, what kind of doctor was he?”

“Ear-nose-throat meets rabbit from a hat.” Tony quipped, making Katie snort as she looked up at the ceiling.  

“Nice place in the village, though.” Banner mused.

“Yeah. Sullivan Street?” Tony asked, his hand pinching his nose as he tried to think of the address.

“Bleecker.” Banner corrected.

Suddenly something in Katie’s mind clicked and she sat up slightly. “Wait, he lived in New York?”

“No. He lived in Toronto.” Tony groaned sarcastically and Katie dug him harshly with her elbow. “Yes, he lived in New York.”

Katie looked at Natasha as she sat bolt upright, understanding immediately.

“Guys, if you pick the right year, there are three stones in New York.” Nat pointed out what Katie had seen.

Tony paused, before he tilted his head to look at his sister who raised an eyebrow grinning at him, as Bruce sat up suddenly in surprise. 

“Shut the front door!” Banner looked around at Natasha, then Katie.

“Three stones, one bird.” Natasha quipped, smirking. 

*****

Steve felt the familiar bristle of adrenaline as he looked at the holograms which were displaying the different locations and dates. His eyes not leaving the displays for a second, he spoke clearly and confidently “All right. We have a plan.” He walked up towards the screens. “Six Stones, three teams. One shot.”

The other Avengers gathered behind their Captain as they all either rose from their seats or stepped forward from where they had been stood, staring at the screens, the determination seeping from every single one of them hovered in the air which was practically crackling with anticipation.  

Katie slipped her hand into Steve’s and he looked round at them all.

“Get some rest, we’ll reconvene first thing in the morning to make the final preparations. We go first light the morning after.”

The team all began to excitedly chatter and move about and Tony stopped, turning to Katie and Steve.

“We’ll take the kids up to the house tomorrow afternoon.” He nodded “I know we’ll only be gone for seconds but…”

Both Katie and Steve agreed, neither of them wanted them around whilst the Stones were at the compound.

“They can stay there until we’ve done the, reverse snap, the ‘pans…’” He quipped, saying the word backwards and Steve rolled his eyes.

*****

Katie had tears in her eyes when she bid the kids and Lucky goodbye the next afternoon, but she had to laugh when Jamie showed her the huge bag of M&Ms Natasha had sent him off with, along with a kiss and a cuddle from his favourite Aunt to keep him going until she saw him next time. She’d also slipped Emmy a crisp twenty instructing her to spend it when Pepper took them into the small village near where they lived to visit the Art Store the Teenager loved so much.

Steve eventually managed to steer Katie out of Pepper and Tony’s house, back to the car, Tony lingering slightly longer to say goodbye to Pepper. The drive home was almost completely silent, the three of them lost in their thoughts. They hadn’t been on a mission together with the full original team in over seven years. It felt odd, yet strangely familiar. 

After a final bit of prep, Katie trying on her cat-suit, surprised to see it actually fit, they collapsed into bed, although neither of them could sleep. Katie turned over, scooting closer to Steve as she lay her head on his chest, her mind churning. Over the mission, over the stones, over the kids. Steve let out a sigh and kissed her head.

“I know you’re nervous…” 

“I’m not nervous.” Katie shook her head against his chest. “Steve, I’m terrified.”

Steve closed his eyes and sighed, whilst the last five years had overall been kind to him and his family, he was desperate to bring everyone back. Not just for himself, but for the entire world, universe even. He hated failure, hated feeling like they could have done more. And this time tomorrow they’d know one way or another whether they truly had one final shot at undoing it all. 

And if not, well, the last five years were about to become their forever reality, and it really would be time to quit. 

*** Chapter 54

 **Original Posting**

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 9/12 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: T Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Dr. Mitchell (Pitch Perfect), Beca Mitchell's Mother, Aubrey Posen, Jesse Swanson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, skateboarder!beca, Romance, Angst

* * *

Beca’s knees hit hard concrete as she falls off her board, the sensation of fabric and skin tearing sending pain shooting through her legs. She hears Briggs call out to ask if she’s alright from somewhere near the top of the ramp, but Beca waves him off.

The external pain is welcome; it gives Beca a break from her internal heartache.

She struggles to her feet and bends over to instruct the damage on her knees. Just as she’d suspected, her pants are ripped up and one of her knees is bleeding as a result of her skidding across the ground. Beca winces slightly at the sight of blood, but just straightens up and makes her way up the ramp to where a first aid kit was waiting.

The new hole in her jeans gives Beca convenient access to her wound, so she sets to work cleaning it out. Beca pours some water over her knee, ignoring the slight sting that comes as a result, and digs around in the first aid bag for a Band-Aid. She hears someone plop down on the bench beside her – probably Wyatt based on the now present scent of weed in the air – but chooses not to speak until prompted.

“So, Beca,” her friend says after a moment.

And there it is.

“So, Wyatt,” she replies in kind, her focus on unwrapping her precious Band-Aid from its wrapper.

Wyatt chuckles goofily next to her, and Beca fights off a grin at the familiar sound. “What’s going on with you, dude?” he asks, nudging her shoulder a little bit as he lights up a joint beside her. “You’ve been home for Spring break for, what- five days now? Why haven’t you regaled us with any stories from your time amongst the knowledge seekers?”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Either you’re not high enough to forget how to use big words, or you’re just high enough to start using them.” She glances at him teasingly with a raised eyebrow.

He wiggles his own eyebrows in response. “I’m gonna go with the second one,” he replies cheekily. Beca just laughs and steals his joint for a quick drag of her own before returning her attention to patching up her knee. Wyatt continues smoking quietly beside her.

“School sucks, man,” she says after a moment, choosing to keep her eyes focused on her wound. She smooths the bandage out over her cuts with some level of satisfaction, enjoying the way the injury seems to disappear completely. Out of sight, out of mind. “It’s just as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“I mean, yeah,” is Wyatt’s remarkable response. Beca looks at him to see an indifferent look on his face as he watches other skateboarders goof off around them. “There’s a reason none of us wanted to go to college. It’s a waste of time.”

Uncertainty flashes through Beca’s mind at that, but she ignores it and turns her head away to watch Briggs grinding a rail with mild interest and a slight scowl. “You’re telling me.”

“So have you had any fun at school at least?” Wyatt asks after a small lull in the conversation. “Like, do have anyone you hang out with, or are you doing the whole ‘lone wolf’ thing again?”

The question causes Beca to briefly think back on unwelcomed memories from the last few months- most having to do with a certain redhead that Beca’s been spending the entirety of the break trying to forget. The only problem is, Chloe Beale is not someone that you can just forget.

Try as she might, Beca can still remember the look on Chloe’s face as she walked away from her after semi-finals. The hurt and heartbreak that shown on the other girl’s face as Beca declared they were nothing is there in Beca’s mind every time she closes her eyes, which had also caused serious sleeping problems for Beca. Instead of sleeping, Beca had devoted her time to skating and partying with acquaintances- just like the good ‘ol days.

Though the parties may be a welcomed distraction, Beca has found herself yearning for the quiet afternoons she and Chloe often spent together: walks around campus, doing homework in Beca’s dorm room, lazy Sunday afternoons where Beca would run her hands through ginger locks while Chloe napped.

Beca hated how much Chloe made her not hate being at school.

She also hated how often she checked her phone for notifications. It was automatic at this point; every so often she would turn her screen on to make sure she didn’t have any texts that came through, but each time she looked, she was met with the sight of no new texts.

Beca clicks on her phone now, just to make sure.

Nothing.

Whatever. Didn’t matter.

She snatches the joint from Wyatt’s fingers. “You know me,” she says after inhaling smoke deeply, letting it out in a slow stream with her next exhale. “I’ve never been one to be overly attached to anything.”

“Amen to that, man,” Wyatt agrees, stealing the stick back to finish the rest off. He stamps the bud on the ground with his sneakered toe and pushes himself to his feet. “I’m gonna go show Briggs up on that rail. You wanna come?” he implores, then chuckles. “You could probably show us both up, to be honest.”

Beca forces a small grin on her face. “I think I’m actually going to head home,” she says instead of accepting, getting to her feet as well. “My mom is taking me out to dinner before I leave again.”

“Right on, dude,” is Wyatt’s response. He fist bumps her before riding over to where Briggs is, and Beca waves in departure to both of them before hoping on her board and making her way out of the skate park.

Beca takes the long way home, skating leisurely since she was in no rush. Her mom wasn’t taking her to dinner; in fact, Beca had hardly spoken to the woman since getting home for break. Long work hours on her mom’s end, plus Beca’s attempts at distracting herself have just resulted in not a whole lot of time spent together. Beca didn’t mind, though. She doubted her mom would have anything substantial to say to her anyways.

The sun is just setting in the sky when she arrives home, and Beca uses her key to unlock the empty house’s door. The front entryway is dark, but Beca doesn’t bother turning on any lights yet, opting to just rely on the fading light shining through the windows. Beca automatically heads in the direction of the stairs that lead up to her room, but pauses while passing the front room.

The piano that she has spent so many hours playing sits in its usual place under the window, the setting sun outside casting a faint orange glow on the polished wooden surface. The keys are covered, much in the way they were when Beca left for Barden. Beca studies the instrument for a moment before turning and taking a step away from the front room, but stops after only two steps and turns back around. She squints at the piano.

“And what do you want?” Her voice cuts through the empty air in the house, and Beca takes a few cautious steps towards the instrument.

The piano does not reply.

“Look at me. I must really be crazy, talking to a piano,” she mutters, laughing numbly. She wipes a finger through the dust covering the lid and slowly sinks down to sit on the piano’s bench, resting her elbows on the covered keys and putting her head in her hands. “Why am I such a mess?” she asks dejectedly.

Still, the piano remains silent.

Beca picks up her head and flops her hands down in her lap. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and places it on the bench next to her, turning it on briefly to check for notifications. As usual, no new messages appear on the screen. Beca sighs and glares at the piano as if it was judging her. “You’re not much help at all, you know that?” she tells the instrument.

Again, no answer.

She spends another moment squinting at the piano before letting out a resigned puff of breath. “Fine,” she murmurs under her breath as she lifts the fallboard up to expose the keys. “You win this time.”

When Beca places her hands on the keyboard and begins to play, she feels as though the piano finally responds to her. Beca plays with no real direction, no thoughts going through her mind. Her fingers dance over the notes on their own free will, and Beca finds herself taking comfort in the way the familiar action of playing eases her troubled emotions.

Soon enough it has gotten dark enough outside that Beca can no longer making out the piano very well, seeing as she hadn’t bothered turning on any lights upon arriving home. Beca pulls her hands away from the keys and reaches up to close the fallboard, but hesitates before she can pull it down.

The keys have spent enough time closed off, Beca thinks.

Beca wrinkles her nose at how lame that metaphor is for her life.

The keys remain uncovered as Beca rises from the bench and makes her way up to her room.

* * *

“What’s your favorite song?” Chloe asks, propping herself up on elbow from her place lying on Beca’s bed. Beca herself sits on the floor facing the bed, busy cleaning marks off the grip tape on her board. She looks up at Chloe’s question.

“I would’ve thought that you'd know I don’t listen to all that much music by now,” she replies wryly, focusing her attention back on her board.

Chloe huffs and pushes herself into a sitting position. “So you don’t have any songs you like?” she presses. “Not even from when you were a kid?”

“What’s your favorite song?” Beca retorts, redirecting the question.

“That’s not fair,” Chloe pouts.

Beca raises an eyebrow at her. “Then why’d you ask me the same question?”

Chloe opens her mouth, trying to come up with a response to that, but ends up shutting it again a moment later. Beca holds back a smug grin and looks back down at her board.

“Okay, well the thing is,” Chloe starts again. Beca sighs and sets her skateboard to the side; she’d have to work on it some other time. “It’s not a fair question because I don’t have just one favorite song.”

“Okay, what are you favorite songs, plural, then?” Beca asks, chuckling and shaking her head. She pushes off the floor and flops down on her stomach next to Chloe, who is still sitting upright, now deep in thought.

“Well, there’s Titanium, for obvious reasons,” Chloe starts out, shooting a suggestive wink towards Beca, who immediately flushes and lightly shoves Chloe’s leg with a laugh.

“Gross, dude. What else?”

Chloe begins to think again, and Beca ignores how easy the smile that comes to her face is as she watches the ginger ponder. “I’ve always been a big fan of ‘Here Comes the Sun,’” she eventually decides, nodding her head at the conclusion. “My parents used to call me their little sunshine when I was a kid, so I’ve just always had a soft spot for it.” Chloe starts humming the melody quietly and looks down at Beca with a smile on her face.

Beca listens to Chloe, debating with herself internally. Eventually Beca sighs a little and rolls onto her back. “Somethin’ Stupid,” she says, eyes trained on the ceiling.

Chloe’s humming ceases. “What?” she asks, a crease appearing between her eyebrows.

“It’s a Frank Sinatra song- a duet he sings with his daughter,” Beca explains further. “My dad and I used to sing it together when I was a kid, before he, uh, walked out.” She clears her throat awkwardly and starts picking at her cuticles. “My dad wasn’t the best singer, but he always loved singing with me, which is a good thing since I always wanted someone to sing with. My mom played a little guitar, and she would pull it out on occasion and try to play some chords along with us, even if she usually didn’t do a very good job.” Beca chuckles a little at the memories of her mom and dad playfully teasing each other when one of them would mess up a note or chord. It was the healthy kind of fighting- the kind of fighting that was more for show and flirting purposes than anything

Beca’s thoughts stray to nights spent listening to her parents actually fighting with one another, which dampens Beca’s moment of brief reminiscence instantly. The smile falls from her face while she shrugs as best as she can while laying down and laces her fingers together over her stomach before meeting Chloe’s watchful gaze. “I dunno. I guess the song has always just stuck with me, even through all the rough years.”

A soft smile forms on Chloe’s lips, and the other girl leans over to kiss Beca gently. Beca closes her eyes contently at the action, letting Chloe pull back after a few seconds and resisting the urge to deepen the kiss.

“Thank you for telling me that,” Chloe whispers, face still hovering close above Beca’s. Beca grins a little.

“You’re the one that asked the question,” she replies just as quietly. “Of course I was going to answer.”

Chloe giggles a little before leaning in to kiss her again, and Beca lets herself get lost in the way her heart beats fast and how her lips turn up in a smile with each new kiss.

* * *

The scotch that Beca had stolen from her mom’s liquor cabinet sits next to Beca on the roof, untouched save for a couple sips taken about an hour ago. It was weird, but drinking her feelings away didn’t have quite the same appeal as it did a few months ago. Roof time used to be drinking time for Beca, but she just didn’t feel like numbing her feelings at the moment.

It was so hard going back to feeling sad and numb after being truly happy for the first time in years.

Beca checks her phone.

Nothing.

She sighs and stares at her screen until it automatically fades to black again. Beca rests her crossed arms over the top of her bent knees and rests her chin on them, focusing on the lights of the city in the distance. From here she can just make out the shape of the Space Needle, as well as a few other buildings she sort of recognizes. The noises of cars passing by from nearby is the only thing breaking the silent night air, and Beca lets the familiarity of it all wash over her, soothing her a little.

“Knock knock,” a voice says behind her.

Though Beca is surprised by her mother’s unexpected visit, she doesn’t turn around to greet her. “Hey,” she says with no enthusiasm. Beca hears shuffling as her mom climbs out the window and onto the roof.

Her mom slides her way over to sit beside Beca, and out of the corner of her eye Beca sees her eye Beca’s drink, but doesn’t comment. “How you doing, kid?”

“Fine,” is Beca’s automatic response. She winces slightly at the snappy tone she uses. “Just, you know, tired and stuff.”

“And stuff,” her mom echoes, humming a little. The woman says nothing else for a while, and Beca feels herself become more anxious the longer they sit there together. Beca finally turns her head to look at her mom and sees that her eyes are also focused on the city lights.

“What are you doing here?” Beca finally asks, a little shortly.

Her mom shrugs. “This is my house, isn’t it?” she says, seemingly unbothered by Beca’s tone. “I think I have the right to sit on my own roof.”

Beca huffs. “Yeah, but what are you doing here with me?” she tries again, turning away from her mom again. “You’ve been doing a pretty good job at ignoring me all week, why stop now?”

Her mom sighs sadly. “Listen, Beca, I know I haven’t been the best mother lately.”

Beca rolls her eyes. “That’s an understatement,” she mumbles under her breath.

“And I’m sorry for that,” her mom continues softly. “I’m so sorry that I shut you out after your father left. It wasn’t fair to you in any way, and I’m ashamed that it’s taken me so long to realize that I was even doing it at all.” Her mom’s voice tightens as she talks, and Beca feels a lump form in her own throat in response.

Beca chooses to remain silent.

“I was so focused on my own hurt feelings for so long that I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you. It felt like I was in a mindless daze for three years, and it was only after you went away to school that I was able to snap out of it.” Beca turns her head slowly to see tears on her mother’s face, shocked by the first show of real emotions since right after her dad left. “It didn’t hit me until I was truly alone how terrible I’ve been the past few years,” her mom says, wiping tears off her cheeks. “I- I don’t know if you’ll be able to forgive me, but I’m willing to work to earn your forgiveness in whatever ways I can.”

Beca looks into pleading blue eyes, so much like her own, and feels all the anger and resentment she’s harbored towards her mother melt away. “You don’t have to earn anything,” Beca tells her gently, and Beca can see the surprise on her mom’s face at the words. “Of course I’ll forgive you. It was a rough few years for both of us, and I definitely could’ve handled it better, too. Just,” Beca puts on a faux stern face, “don’t let it happen again.”

A relieved, albeit shaky, chuckle sounds from her mom and Beca smiles at her reassuringly. “Are you too old for hugs from your mom?” she asks, holding out her arms hopefully.

The lump in Beca’s throat tightens even more. “I’ll never be too old for a hug from mom,” she says thickly before leaning into her mother’s embrace. Beca closes her eyes contently as something settles in her chest, making her feel calm.

After a moment of just sitting and holding each other quietly, Beca’s mom pulls back. “So,” she says, brushing a lock of Beca’s hair behind her ear. “How’s college? Is it as bad as you thought it would be?”

And just like that, Beca is spilling out everything that’s happened at Barden like the last three years of miscommunication never happened between them. She tells her about her job at the skate shop, and about how annoying Jesse is. She tells her about joining the Bellas and what competitions are like (though she leaves out the getting arrested part).

Beca spends a lot of time talking about Chloe- about how she convinced her to join the Bellas, about how kind and understanding she is; how she doesn’t seem to mind Beca’s perpetually grumpy mood and constant sarcasm.

About how she feels like Chloe has steadily broken down her walls.

How Chloe makes her want to be a better person.

“And mom, I,” Beca takes a moment to catch her breath, just now realizing how long she’s been talking for. Her mom doesn’t seem to mind; there’s a light in her eyes that Beca hasn’t seen in a long time, one that Beca hopes is here to stay for a while. “I started playing again.”

Her mom’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Piano?”

Beca smiles a little. “Piano, yeah,” she confirms. “Chloe asked if I did anything other than skate one day and I just… showed her. I didn’t even think twice about it.”

“How did it feel? Playing again,” her mom inquires.

“It felt…” Beca trails off for a moment, trying to find the right words. “It felt like I never stopped.”

Her mom smiles. “And based on the way the piano keys were open earlier, you’ve been playing ever since?”

Beca laughs. “I knew I should’ve covered them up again. Is that the only reason you came up here to talk to me?” she teases without mirth.

“No, but I was curious about it,” her mom reveals with a chuckle of her own. She sobers up a moment later. “I’m glad to hear that you’re playing again, though. I know that it’s something you used to really love.”

“I mean, it’s fine, I guess,” Beca says with a shrug, her tone giving away to the fact that she’s only joking.

“And,” her mom says hesitantly, “Based on the way you talk about this Chloe girl, I’m thinking piano isn’t the only thing you love.”

Beca’s mouth opens and closes at that, shocked to say the least. Her phone lights up with a Snapchat notification from Briggs, drawing Beca’s attention to the screen. She swipes the notification away and takes a moment to look at her screensaver. It’s a picture of she and Chloe, taken a couple of days before semi-finals. Chloe holds the phone while kissing Beca on the cheek, Beca’s face wrinkled up in fake discomfort. Chloe had teased Beca about how cute she was when she was grumpy, to which Beca had just rolled her eyes affectionately without complaint.

The memory brings a tender smile to Beca’s face. “Yeah,” she tells her mom, still looking down at her screensaver. “I guess you’re right.”

[porkchop-ao3]

By The Fire: RDR2

So here I go again, dipping my toe into a new fandom! Well, not really dipping a toe, more like falling in face first. I’ve been talking on here a bit about how I’ve been playing Red Dead Redemption 2 and you know it was just a matter of time before a fic appeared. Ngl, this blog is likely going to become all about this now... Sorry folks :’)

Anyway, this fic is Arthur Morgan x Female Reader and it’s NSFW, some nice, fluffy smut to warm me up to writing for this fandom coz this probably ain’t gonna be my last fic haha. Rockstar Games literally owns me at this point, between GTAV and RDR2 I’m certain they are designing games to specifically fuck me up. 

I hope you like this fic featuring reader and Arthur spending some alone time in the wilderness in a tent! Whoever reads this, whether it’s someone who already follows me or someone new, enjoy!

-

The crackle of the fire, the heat of it against my skin, the sweet, smokey scent of the wood burning, it all felt like home. I loved being out in the open like this, in the wild, with only the occasional rider passing on the nearby trail to disturb the sounds of the wilderness. My eyes had softened a while ago as I stared into the rippling, sparkling flames, I was in a trance; mind blank. Around me I listened to crickets purring, the rustle of critters in the bushes, the gentle wind through the trees. It was peaceful out here, it was nice to spend some time away from camp, here little could break me out of my trance. Not even when I heard movement behind me, fidgeting, the slide of fabric and the crunch of dry earth as Arthur moved.

We'd set up camp here a little while ago and he'd been napping in our little tent. It was really only big enough for one person, but we managed when we huddled up together; something neither of us minded one bit. We'd been hunting, it'd been a good day for it with the clear sky and low winds. The horses were nearby, heads bowed as they slept too, we'd worked them hard that day. Our hunting trip had gained us two whitetail bucks and a few rabbits; we were yet to take them back to camp, deciding we would rest for awhile as the sun set before heading back. Pearson wouldn't need the meat until the morning anyway.

Something touched my shoulder and I jumped, my heart squeezing and thumping as I turned with a gasp. It was just Arthur.

“I'm sorry, didn't mean to spook ya’,” he chuckled as he scooted closer, sitting down beside me in front of the fire as he put his hat on. “Was getting a little chilly in there.”

“I thought you were asleep,” I smiled softly at him, reaching around him and rubbing at his upper arms to warm him up quicker, he held his hands out near the flames.

“I was, for a little while. Realised you hadn't joined me yet and couldn't get back to sleep. What'chu doing out here?” He asked me, his voice as low, rumbling and quiet as it always was when we were alone together. I let go of him, letting my hands drift gently down his side and across his back as I did.

“I jus’ don't feel too tired,” I told him. “Thought I'd let you have the tent without cramming in next to you.”

“You know I don't exactly mind that,” he chuckled, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking up at me from the campfire. “You wanna head back to camp?”

“Not yet,” I answered quickly, meeting his gaze. “I'm not quite ready to face Miss Grimshaw after this morning.”

“I don't blame you, she can be a little scathing at times, but she means well,” Arthur chuckled, rubbing at his jaw, I could hear the scratch of his stubble.

“I don't always think she means well. Sometimes I think she just likes raising her voice and terrorising us girls. We all do our bit, Arthur, you can see that, right? But the minute someone sits down to read a book, or… or do somethin’ fun, she's there, calling us idle. Ya’ know I saw her strike Mary-Beth the other day?”

“She did, huh?” he frowned a little.

“Since then I've been avoiding her like the plague. I can take a hit but I'd rather it not be from the matriarch of our own community. S'morning she started yelling at me about sleeping in, only shut up when I told her I'd been up all night with Swanson, stopping him from hurling all over the good hides.”

“I'd take no notice. Just keep doing what you're doing, you'll be fine,” He gave my knee a pat then rose to his feet with a grunt. “'scuse me a minute.”

I watched as he headed off towards the treeline to relieve himself. He disappeared from sight for a few moments before coming back, he was still fastening up his pants as he strolled back to the fire. I smirked at him and leaned back on my hands. He caught my eye and smirked back.

“What's that look for?” He asked in amusement. I shook my head.

“Nothin’. Just thinking about how long it's been since I saw those pants come off and stay off,” I teased. He laughed quietly, cheeks darkening just a little. I never would've guessed how easy it was to make Arthur Morgan blush.

“The move to Clemens Point's sure kept us all busy, huh?”

“Sure has. Course, all of John's bullshit last time we had a little fun on camp doesn't help, I thought we were quiet but I guess he's got ears like a… well, I don't know. Somethin’ with exceptionally good hearing,” I laughed, pursing my lips as I looked up at him. John had only just stop teasing Arthur and I about keeping him awake all night, shaking Arthur's bed to pieces. Neither of us had been bold enough to try anything again since.

“I don't know about that,” Arthur shook his head slowly, running his thumb across his bottom lip. With his head tilted down, I couldn't see his eyes; obscured by the brim of his hat.

“About what?”

“'bout us being all that quiet,” he stepped around the fire and sat back down just inside the tent. I cocked a brow at him even though he wasn't looking. “Well, I was. You, though…”

I scoffed. “I was quiet, I know I was ‘cause I was conscious of it the entire time,” I said, a little too defensively.

“Well, not when you was…” he trailed off. I let out a puff of breath and crawled over to him on my knees, grabbing his chin and lifting his head to meet his eyes.

“Not when I was what?” I tilted my head and held onto his shoulder with my other hand, looking down at him. Something warm and inviting slipped into his eyes and he licked his lips.

“You yelled my name like you was searching for me when you were finishing, I liked the sound of it too much to put my hand over your mouth.”

My instinct was to shove his shoulder and give him a bit of a scolding, on account of my prudish upbringing. But living with a bunch of outlaws had done all of that out of me and instead I let the heat in my lower belly lead the way and I lowered my voice so he'd be the only one to hear even if someone was sitting right next to us.

“You wanna hear it again?”

A low sound rumbled in his chest and his eyes dropped down to my waist where his big hands settled, wrapping around me, making me feel small and protected in the best of ways.

“That'd be nice,” his tone, light and airy and cheerful, made me smile and I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. I pinched the brim of his hat between my thumb and forefinger, delicately lifting it from his head and placing it down on the ground. He kept his eyes trained on mine the entire time, lips set in a playful yet subtle smile.

Arthur had let his hair grow out. It came right down to his shoulders, parted and swept over to one side; I'd teased him about it once or twice, telling him he needed a good trip to the barbers. But running my fingers through it and hearing the way it made him hum had me hoping that he'd keep it that way, at least for a while.

Keeping my fingers nestled between the soft, honey-brown strands, I kissed him. His lips were soft against mine and quick to react, moving with mine and parting easily. Arthur kissed deeply, he was a man who let his actions speak for themselves and he poured everything into those kisses of his. Each and every time felt special, even chaste pecks on the cheek before leaving for a job, he'd linger there, pressing firmly and closing his eyes, making me feel as though none of the others were there to see. His kisses were just for me no matter who was watching.

I pulled back to breathe, breath stolen and difficult to get back when I caught the look in his eyes. So blue and rich, catching a bright orange reflection from the fire behind me, it made me wish I was a painter so I could capture it on canvas. Arthur was beautiful. And he was looking at me like I was too.

“I'm serious, Arthur. I will let you have me, right here, if you want me.”

“Oh, I want you,” he nodded, saying it like it was obvious. He pulled me closer, pressing me down into his lap until I felt his growing hardness between my legs. I shuddered, tilting my head back and looking up at the sky, it was getting real dark, the stars appearing bright above us. I was sure the rest of the camp would be wondering about us, but I couldn't bring myself to care.

Arthur took the chance to kiss my exposed neck, planting a row of three down the center of it before tilting to the side and burying his face, inhaling, groaning softly just for my ears. His hands slid firmly up my sides as he pulled back, they moved over my breasts before finally reaching the top button of my blouse, then he hesitated.

“May I?” Ever the gentleman.

“You may,” I answered sweetly, all proper and with a little grin on my face. I looked down to watch his thick fingers work the delicate buttons and thought about how cute he was. I wouldn't have minded if he wanted to rip the damn thing off of me, but his patience and his effort endeared him to me.

He finally got the last button open after tugging my shirt out from my work jeans, pulling it open to expose my camisole. I often wore skirts and petticoats around camp like the other girls, but all that fabric was cumbersome when trying to hunt. Speaking of layers of fabric, Arthur sighed when he saw my camisole, thin white cotton and a little low cut with the top few buttons left undone.

“All these layers,” he muttered playfully, sliding my blouse off my shoulders before untucking my camisole. “‘s like they're trying to keep me away from you,” he looked up at me with burning arousal in his eyes.

I bit my lip and glanced behind me, eyes scanning the surrounding area. Nobody had passed by for ages, but it didn't stop me from leaning back and reaching up to release the flaps of the tent behind us. At this, Arthur scooted backwards further inside, pulling me with him. The light from the fire bled through the fabric of the tent, dousing both of us in a warm glow. I grasped the hem of my camisole and lifted it over my head, my bare breasts were close to eye level for Arthur and he didn't hide his eager viewing of them, a gravelly moan of appreciation leaving him.

“My god, aren't you beautiful?” He rumbled, hands covering me, squeezing softly, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they hardened.

I sighed and arched into him, my own hands going for his shirt and unbuttoning it much faster than he had managed with mine; smaller hands made for more delicate work. Arthur let go of me only long enough for me to remove his suspenders and slide off his shirt. I ran my hands down his bare chest, enjoying the feeling of fine hair over hot skin, all clinging to firm muscle. He was so unbelievably handsome, his body strong and fit from his work, he didn't seem to realise it though as he stared up at me like he was waiting. Couldn't he see I was appreciating the view?

“Not quite as easy on the eyes as you,” I replied to him, running my tongue along my bottom lip and rolling my hips against his erection, hearing him gasp.

“I ain't nothing special, you could'a gone for any one of the yong’ns, Lenny, Charles… 'stead you went for me,” he whispered, letting his eyes roam my body and my face as he leaned back on his hands, taking a moment to admire me.

“That's right, I went for you. Know why?” I purred, trailing my hand down his torso, watching his belly tense as I unintentionally tickled him. Arthur stared at me expectantly. “'cause I'm sweet on you, not anyone else. You made me fall in love with you so easy, with all your quiet charm and your gentle calmness when you're strolling around camp like y’ do. You're a handsome man, Arthur, not only that; a good one.”

“You know me better than that,” he muttered, a look of mild disapproval appearing on his face.

“You're a good man,” I repeated, not shifting. I couldn't understand why he was so against me saying that. “I could argue that 'till the cows come home. But somethin’ tells me you'd rather take care of this first,” I rocked my hips and he exhaled, eyes closing momentarily.

“You'd be right,” he groaned, eyes flashing open as he took my hips in his hands and flipped me over. Our blanket was thin but it was soft and protected my bare skin from the earth as he laid me down on it, leaning over me. His hand undid my belt buckle and then my jeans, tugging them open before slipping inside.

I sighed softly as his fingers stroked through my folds, making me buck. Arthur chuckled, watching my face carefully as he found my clit and rolled it under his middle finger slowly. He was always so gentle, so attentive to my reactions, so thorough and generous. He was the first man I'd laid with who paid so much attention to my pleasure.

His fingers moved down, two pressing into my opening. He smiled and hummed quietly. “Already nice 'n’ wet for me.”

“You make it so easy,” I teased, stroking my hand up his thick bicep, squeezing along the way. He pushed deeper, stroking that sweet spot inside me. He was firm with it, just as I needed. I rolled my head back and gasped, hips tilting, encouraging him. He continued like that for a while, playing me like a fiddle, like he knew so well how to. Before I could get too lost in the sensation, he removed his fingers; lifting them up to his mouth to get a taste of me.

My face heated and I swallowed hard, I always felt this strange mix of nervousness and arousal whenever he did that, but he always seemed to enjoy himself. With a pleased sound that resembled a growl, Arthur hooked his fingers in my jeans and pulled them down my legs along with my underwear, quickly realising he'd jumped the gun and pausing to remove my boots before undressing me completely. Once I was naked he leaned down to my body, pressing kisses to my breasts, the hollow beneath my rib cage, my navel. He seemed upset when moving further down had his butt poking out of the tent; there just wasn't enough room.

“We ought'a treat ourselves to a night in a hotel at some point,” he said, kneeling between my legs as he parted them, hands caressing my thighs. “I wanna do everything to you.”

“Mm, Arthur,” I breathed, sitting up so I could reach the bulge in his pants. I stroked him through the thick denim, running my fingers along his length and feeling the outline of the head; his breath hitched when I touched him there. I unbuttoned his jeans, pushing my hand inside and wrapping my fingers around him, my strokes were dry and awkward in the confines of his clothes but he still rocked into them with a deep groan.

He pushed his pants down to his thighs, exposing his cock fully before stroking my hair. I tilted my head down and licked my palm as daintily as I could before touching him again. In our position, his cock was too low for me to reach with my mouth so instead I kept my kisses confined to his torso, peppering his chest and abs with them as my slick hand worked him.

“That's nice…” he whispered, hips finding a gentle rhythm with my hand. “I really needed this,” he admitted.

“Me too,” I agreed, my lips ghosting over his nipple before my tongue poked out to flick it. Arthur groaned and stilled my hand, easing me off of him and pushing me to my back. He was breathing heavily now and he pulled off his boots and kicked his legs free of his pants with a sense of urgency. He descended upon me, holding his weight above me but our bodies were flush. He kissed me, his tongue dancing into my mouth as his hips ground down, his cock sliding between my legs against my slick core. We moaned into each other and I wrapped my arms and legs around him, pinning him to me.

Arthur pulled back just enough to look into my eyes and with a careful motion of his hips, he entered me. Our breaths escaped us and it was almost like a sigh of relief as he filled me up.

“God, I love you,” he sighed, kissing my temple a number of times.

“Mmm, say that again.”

“I love you. I really do.”

“I love you too, Arthur,” my voice wavered as he pulled back and thrust back in, grunting into my ear. He pressed his face into my neck, kissing me and huffing heavy breaths there as he thrust, soon finding a rhythm and a pace that had me clinging to him. He was so close, pressed so firm against my chest I felt every breath, every moan vibrate through me, his hand cupped the back of my head, protecting it from the hard ground. He surrounded me in every way, filling all of my senses.

My every inhale overwhelmed me with his scent; fresh clean sweat. Smoke and fire. A hint of something metallic – probably blood from when he'd effortlessly hoisted a buck over his shoulder – and the distant smell of soap from his last bath. He smelled very much like the man I knew him to be. Hard working. Strong. Gentle.

My ears, my right one so close to his mouth, heard every sharp exhale, all of his grunts of exertion and groans of pleasure. The wet smack of his lips as he kissed me now and then right below my ear. The slap of his skin against mine as he moved quicker, chasing both of our releases.

His shoulder was close to my face and I kissed him there, tasting saltiness on my lips from perspiration. I decided to all out lick him, not caring how improper that might be; his resulting growl of indulgence told me he didn't either.

My eyes traced the curve of his spine, the contours of his muscles, each scratch and dent of every scar that mottled his back. My hands traced them too, feeling the transition from smooth to rough as they passed wounds from the past. All of my senses. Everything completely filled with him. I tracked my short nails lightly over his back and he moaned, moving to press his forehead against mine.

His proximity meant his body rubbed my clit with every thrust, it all felt so wet and hot and sensitive between my legs and Arthur was working me close. I realised I'd scratched him a little too hard and would've apologised if he didn't seem so damn pleased about it, rolling his head up to the heavens and howling in pleasure.

“That's my girl, leave your mark,” he praised.

It wouldn't be the first time I'd done so. I remembered before the camp knew about us, overhearing Arthur being ribbed by some of the guys when he'd been shirtless, washing O'Driscoll blood from himself. They thought he'd been seeing escorts. He'd simply chuckled, not trying to deny it if only to protect my honour; that was probably about the time I realised how hard I'd fallen for him.

“Oh, I'm close!” I sang out, fingers pressing into the muscle of his back, nails leaving crescents. Arthur growled in satisfaction, upping his pace just a touch more. I cried out and tossed my head back; would've cracked my skull probably, if his hand wasn't there.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me hear you,” he said, his face hovering inches from mine so those alluring blue eyes were all I could see, hardened with a tinge of lustful devilishness when they were usually so soft when directed at me. I was teetering, the crest of my climax creeping up and stealing my coherent thought.

“Oh god, Arthur!” I yelled, vision going white as my pleasure peaked, throbbing, pulsating, making me pant and wail in a way I definitely couldn't get away with at the camp.

“Jesus, that's it. That's my good girl,” he was speaking through clenched teeth, rough slams of his hips turning jerky, losing rhythm. With a strangled cry of pleasure, he pulled out of me, continuing the motion of his hips to grind his cock against the space just above my pussy. He came over my belly with a release of tension, jaw going lax and his throat letting slip glorious, indulgent sounds.

Sometimes, at the height of it all, I wished he'd finish inside me. He never did though, always keeping his head about him when I simply couldn't. We did not need any surprises, and anyway; feeling hot, wet stripes being spilled across my belly gave me a thrill all of its own.

I cupped Arthur's face, stroking moist strands of hair from his eyes. Those eyes, they'd stared up to the heavens as he came, now they were coming back to me. His breath puffed over my lips and I kissed the corner of his mouth, wanting more than anything to give him a proper kiss but knowing he needed to catch his breath more than I did. He'd been doing all the work, after all.

He exhaled loudly, rolling over to one side and landing next to me with a thump that probably smarted a little, given the hardness of the ground. He didn't complain though, draping his hand over my front, momentarily forgetting what he'd just put there. He cursed, sitting up and looking around for something to clean his outstretched, cum-smeared hand. I giggled and he looked at me with an amused smirk.

“You laughin’ at me?”

I sat up and pulled a clean handkerchief out of the pocket of my jeans and pressed it into his dirty palm. “I'm not laughing at you, I just think you’re cute.”

“Cute?” This both surprised and amused him. I leaned back, folding my arms behind my head.

“Yeah, cute,” I grinned. Arthur cleaned up his hand, then did the same to my front before leaning over me.

“I suppose you think grizzly bears are cute, too.”

“Sometimes,” I shrugged, my eyes on him as he came closer. He pinched my chin between his thumb and forefinger, pressing his lips to mine in a languid, tender kiss. When he broke it he sighed softly, looking down at my mouth with lingering desire.

“We should probably get back to camp, get some proper rest,” he said, though he didn't sound all too enthusiastic. He had a point though, our bedding was a lot more comfortable there, and there'd probably be some food left in Pearson's bubbling cauldron. As much as I'd have loved to stay out there alone with Arthur, my stomach had other ideas, and I could've done with a good night's sleep.

“You're right,” I agreed begrudgingly.

I sat up and stretched before redressing – plucking Arthur's hat up and placing it on my own head – feeling thoroughly relaxed and loose in the afterglow. Arthur joined me in dressing and I watched with a hint of sadness to see that body of his covered up again. Oh well, I thought, he looked just as good in those fitted jeans and the shirt with the top buttons left open. He fastened up his suspenders then crawled out of the tent, reaching in to help me up once he was out. I helped him take down our little campsite and we packed our things on our horses. Before we left, Arthur glanced around, turning in a circle with a puzzled frown on his face. I smirked.

Arthur looked up at me, not registering a single thing out of place before asking; “You seen my hat?”

It took three seconds of silence for him to finally realise and with an amused shake of his head and a sigh he snatched the thing off my head.

“And Dutch reckons you ain't cut out for robbin',” he playfully scolded, reaching to give my ass a pat as I turned with a laugh, heading for my horse.

“Dutch reckons a lot of things,” I said as I climbed onto my horse.

“He's gonna reckon we've abandoned him if we don't get back, go on. Lead the way,” Arthur mounted his own horse and followed along behind me.

“I'd challenge you to a race but I know you'd only be embarrassed when I beat you.”

“I'm sure you'd love to try,” he laughed, and I looked over my shoulder at him. “But you're forgetting about that deer on your horse, you don't wanna lose that.”

“Oh, sure. It's about the deer.” I made a show of rolling my eyes as I turned my back on him again. “It’s okay. Maybe next time, unless you think of another excuse.”

“Oh, behave yourself, woman.”

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 3

I had to raise to a T because of this one. Awkward.

AO3 link here.

Peggy is a busy woman. She loves her job, knows how important it is and takes that responsibility seriously, understands how overwhelmingly successful she has to come off considering her role and her gender. However, she loves Steve Rogers too, and is not unmindful of the absolutely miraculous circumstances which have brought them back together. So when he suggests a regular date night, she can’t refuse him. She has her secretary put it in her official work diary that she is to leave the office no later than 5 PM on such evenings, and when some emergency comes up and she can’t avoid missing the appointed time, she reschedules promptly.

And Steve is clearly doing his level best to make it worth her while. He isn’t overly familiar with Washington D.C., doesn’t know the hole-in-the-wall family restaurants or quietly original little spots the way he would back in Brooklyn, and so she often finds him perusing travel guides or the newspaper for ideas about where to take her.

He starts simply, though, with just a picture show, a good idea in the heat of the summertime. It’s the new feature Sunset Boulevard, which Peggy has been anticipating seeing; she’s heard plenty of people buzzing about it. She knows that she should be riveted by the atmosphere and the characters, by Miss Swanson’s performance, but she finds herself distracted.

She’s held hands with Steve before, of course she has, she’s done much more than that with Steve. But there’s something about sitting in the dark theater that makes it different. She feels it more, notices all the little bits of it. She stares ahead at the film and sees nothing, overwhelmed by the smooth skin of his palm, the feeling of his fingers interlocking with hers, the way he sometimes runs his thumb absently over the back of her hand.

She chances a look over at him, disguised as a rearrangement of her hair. He appears captivated by the action on the screen. He doesn’t seem to so much as notice that she can’t focus on anything but him.

He had let her choose the seats while he purchased refreshments. For some reason she had gravitated to the back row rather than her usual preferred spot toward the middle of the theater. Now she knows why. She must already have been anticipating this.

She lifts their clasped hands, places a small kiss on the back of his, just on the middle knuckle. Then another, and a third, pressing her lips down toward his wrist. Gentle, focused kisses, silent and unnoticed except by the two of them.

When he turns to her, Steve looks startled, even in profile. She can see him clearly enough in the flickering light of the screen. “What are you doing?” he whispers, leaning close to her.

“I should have thought that would be obvious,” she whispers back, taking advantage of his proximity to touch his throat with her fingers, then with her mouth.

He shivers, a full body movement, and quickly stills himself into a nearly unnatural quiet. She imagines it as if he is on a diving board, preparing to spring, and readies herself for the heated motion of his mouth against hers. The anticipation of it shimmers within her. She waits for him. But he subsides again, turns himself back toward the screen.

“Maybe not here,” he says out of the corner of his mouth, voice low. He loosens his hand from hers and slides his arm around her shoulder instead.

She could goad him into it, heated words that would get into his blood. Instead she stays still under his arm, more puzzled than angry, more confused than hurt. She misses even the feeling of holding his hand. She spends the rest of the film staring ahead and wishing she hadn’t done anything. She won’t actually enjoy Sunset Boulevard until several decades later.

She doesn’t remember Steve as a particularly good driver - of cars, at least; he’d managed well enough on the motorcycle, until such time as he decided it was more prudent to blow it up or throw it at an enemy combatant - but he insists on surprising her with the location of their next date.

“You could simply direct me,” Peggy says tetchily from beside him, hands folded over the handbag in her lap. Steve laughs.

“You’d put it all together. At least this way I get to do some kind of reveal.”

He does tell her that the drive will take about an hour, which is a mistake on his part as she begins calculating what could be within an hour radius from them. She doesn’t come up with any particularly likely options, though, so she settles in to watch him.

What she notes most generally is a look of confidence about him: he drives with just the one hand on the wheel and glances over at her for long moments, as if trusting that the road will remain straight enough for it not to matter. But every so often he will seem to check himself, placing his other hand on the wheel and straightening himself up in the seat as he focuses through the windscreen. She imagines that at this point he’s used to driving vehicles a bit more advanced than this one. He might have reassured her (and Howard, and Bucky when they’d asked) that there were no flying cars in the future, but she has the feeling that they’ll have developed more updated transportation than her Studebaker.

His hands, she notices, are beautiful on the wheel, solid and confident. She remembers him in the dark of their bedroom last night, the gentle rub of those fingers along her skin, and has to suppress a shivering breath. She slides closer to him, concentrating on smoothing her skirt as he glances over at him.

“How am I to know if I’m even dressed correctly for this outing?” she asks, keeping her voice entirely light, with just a joking hint of a pout. She subtly adjusts her blue checked summer dress over her décolletage and only looks up when he jerks the car straight again on the road.

“You’re dressed perfectly,” he says hoarsely.

She rests a hand on his upper thigh in concern and gives him a bit of a comforting back and forth stroke. “Are you certain you’re feeling all right?”

“Yes.” He clears throat. “I’m fine.” They make one last turn and then he says, with what she disappointingly identifies as relief, “We’re here.”

‘Here’ doesn’t seem to be much of anywhere, but she sighs and gamely gets out of the car and walks through the field where rows of others have parked.

“I read that they just started up last year,” Steve tells her as he hands over a pair of quarters for each of them and leads her into the county fairgrounds. “So it’s not too big just yet.”

He isn’t wrong - the majority of the space seems to be taken up with livestock shows that neither of them have particular interest in, and the limited selection of rides and games is a bit shabby and homemade - but she enjoys walking along the midway together. Steve won’t allow himself to be convinced into entering the pie eating contest, but he does eat several more hamburgers than seems sensible.

“I hope your stomach is as strong as it is expansive,” she teases as they wait in line for the small carousel with its tinkling music. Steve pats his middle beneath his red and white striped shirt.

“No need to worry about me.”

Oh yes there is, she thinks to herself as she remembers the way his abdominal muscles will shock inward as her breath hits them, as she trickles a finger down his torso. She has to shake herself to remember that she is actually sitting on a plaster horse beside Steve, both of them surrounded by children. You’re a menace, Steven Rogers.

They save the shooting gallery for last, selecting places next to each other.

“I’d like the dog,” Steve tells her. “If we’re picking prizes.”

She promises, “Then you shall have it,” and moments later he has his trophy in hand. Not the small stuffed animal he had pointed out - they had taken pity on the boy who had come in third place to Peggy’s first and allowed him to take his pick - but a tin airplane that they both look at with some irony.

“Is it strange that I’m more impressed that you can do this than I am that you can shoot a dime in the air at fifty paces?” Steve asks.

Peggy laughs. “I think you’re perhaps confusing me with Annie Oakley. My skills aren’t quite that sharp, and are generally put to less entertaining use.” She comes behind him, giving over another nickel when the man overseeing the booth glares at them for not vacating the place now that their game has finished. She adjusts Steve’s aim, sighting down to the target.

“These guns are always made with a bit of a defect,” she says, leaning near to him. “They don’t shoot straight. You simply have to make a test shot and gauge how far off they’ve designed them, then adjust accordingly.”

Steve’s next shot gets much closer to the bullseye, although that wasn’t a particular accomplishment based on his previous round. Nevertheless, she squeezes his shoulder, and says softly in his ear, “Excellent work, my love.” He turns toward her, the gun largely forgotten. Their faces are very close. She can practically measure his eyelashes, or match his eye color to an artist’s palette. She begins to count his freckles...

It wasn’t a plan this time, or anything near, but somehow she finds herself pressing him against the far wall of one of the tents. She thinks this one might have had the flower show inside, but her mind is too preoccupied by Steve’s mouth on hers, by the way her fingers have anchored themselves in his hair, by his hands’ daring exploration of her back. When they encounter the strap of her dress, however, he pulls away.

“Um.” He rubs the back of his reddened neck and takes a deep breath in. “Um, I think they’re closing things down.”

He’s right, which is the only reason she joins him in calmly walking back to the car. They don’t speak much on the drive back. Steve is concentrating very intensely on the road. As they approach the city, Peggy says, “You’ve forgotten your plane,” and Steve says, “Win me another next year?” with such hope in his voice that she finds herself forgiving him.

Peggy is a strategist, and her mind begins planning officially seducing Steve on a date before she’s consciously set herself to the task. When he takes her out to dinner, she twines her legs with his beneath the table; he loses his train of thought sufficiently that she has to order for him, but recovers himself by eating his way through what seems like an inhuman quantity of the spaghetti she requested. At the newly opened drive-in, she settles against him, touches him entirely chastely but affectionately beneath their shared blanket, and pointedly does not mention the spacious backseat of her car. (He holds himself rigid the whole time, and gives monosyllabic answers to all of her questions about the film on the way home, but doesn’t give her more than a chaste peck until they’re back in the apartment.)

She thinks she has him the evening he takes her to the ice cream parlor. She typically requests a small dish of ice cream, maple walnut or sometimes chocolate, but tonight she looks up at Steve and asks if he would be alright sharing a banana split with her.

“I’m having a bit of a craving,” she says blithely as they move toward the counter. “But I certainly couldn’t finish it on my own.”

The table is small, and they both have to lean over it to share the large sundae. Peggy takes small, considering spoonfuls of ice cream, her face quite close to his as she carefully licks her way through her portion. She is very attentive as he begins to tell her about a very early request he’s received for hand-drawn Christmas cards, asking thoughtful questions about the designs and his scheduling in order to have the quantity ready in time. Strangely, it is he who seems distracted, however, stumbling over his answers and barely able to complete a thought.

“Steve? Are you alright?” she asks him with concern, having thoroughly cleaned and finished - slowly - her second cherry. She twirls the stems between her fingers, this way and then that.

“Sure,” he grunts. “Just an ice cream headache.”

She cuts a section of one of the bananas with her spoon, nursing the whipped cream off the tip as she considers him earnestly. “I wouldn’t think that your enhanced metabolism would allow it.”

“Well, I guess we don’t know everything.” His voice is pitching lower now. “Maybe we should just head home. I think I need to...lie down.”

“But what about the ice cream?” she asks sensibly.

“I’ll buy you another one tomorrow.” He takes her hand and helps her up: disappointingly, the most he’ll touch her for twenty more minutes. (Although the next morning, she wouldn’t say that she’s unsatisfied.)

She mentions it to Barnes one night as he sits reading her newspaper and she makes her final preparations to meet Steve at the art museum, where she plans on making sure Steve pays special attention to the nudes. She has already decided to use the words “curve” and “flesh” at least twice each.

“Has he happened to mention to you why he only just seems to want to hold my hand in public?” she asks grimly as she applies her lipstick.

When Barnes smiles now, it looks nearly real, nearly - nearly - correct. He doesn’t get the memory confusion he had at the beginning. He does, however, still like to come around to their place fairly often; Peggy thinks the silence of being alone reminds him of things he’d rather not remember.

“He thinks he’s being smart,” Barnes tells her.

Peggy sighs. “Which usually means he’s being hopeless.”

Barnes shrugs. “Usually,” he agrees, and turns to the funny pages with the air of Steve and his hopelessness being significantly more her problem now.

One Friday afternoon, she finds herself at the bottom of a stack of paperwork with nothing else to replace it, and so for once she gives herself the rest of the day off. Simply strolling down the street feels luxurious at 3:30 on a workday, and she considers actually treating herself to a pastry or having a browse at the bookstore, but instead she finds herself taking the route home. Hopefully Steve won’t have started preparing anything just yet and they can have a meal out.

It seems she’s in luck: she spots Steve as she approaches their block, sitting on the steps at the corner and chatting with their neighbor Iris, eight months pregnant and knitting yet another tiny sweater.

“Good to see you, Peggy,” says Iris with a wave.

“Hi Peg,” Steve says smiling up at her. He has clearly been enjoying what might be the last of the fine weather for the year; his face is a bit flushed. He has his legs stretched down the steps in front of him. He might not be the boy she lost to the ice and he never will be again, but he is something new instead, something deeply familiar and still open for her endless exploration.

Peggy smiles back at the two of them and nearly goes to sit down herself, but then Iris yawns and starts wrapping up her yarn, clearly ready for a nap. Steve helps her stand up (everyone in the neighborhood has been quietly speculating about twins based on how unwieldy she is) and they wish Iris a good afternoon before they continue up the block.

“Not that I’m complaining, but how’d you get away so early?” Steve asks, draping an arm around her waist as they walk.

“Well, I’m in charge, you see. So I simply stopped in the middle of a meeting and said, ‘I must get home, I’m absolutely desperate for some meatloaf with my man.’”

“You wouldn’t do that,” Steve says as they climb their front steps. “Not for meatloaf.” He waits patiently behind her as she digs out her keys and goes to open the door.

Peggy sniffs as she twists the knob. “You have no idea what I would or wouldn’t do for meatloaf,” and Steve twirls her into his arms in the foyer and says, “Since I’m usually the one providing it for you, I think I have a pretty good idea,” before he bends to kiss her, slow and warm and in front of the still-open door facing their entire street.

She is quiet as they climb the stairs, but she thinks Steve has mistaken it for a satisfied sort of quiet. He hums very softly as they reach their floor, and has changed his shirt and combed his hair before he realizes that she hasn’t moved from the living room.

He starts cautiously, “I thought we were—”

“Why is it,” she asks, “that you don’t mind touching me here, in front of any of our neighbors who might walk by, but when we’re on one of your outings, the idea of any part of my body besides my fingers seems entirely impossible for you to grasp?”

“What?” He blinks, but she recognizes it as more nervous than confused.

“Don’t,” she says dangerously, and he deflates.

“Oh.” He drops down to sit on the sofa. “Huh. I guess I hoped that you wouldn’t notice...that.”

“I’ve noticed, Steven.”

He looks pained, whether at being found out or because of the icy blast of her tone, she isn’t sure. “I just thought that it was more better this way.”

“Better for whom?”

“Well,” he says, a bit of courage to the sticking place in his tone, “for both of us.”

She puts her hands on her hips and asks, “Why would you think that, when I have clearly been signaling otherwise on my own part? We live together, Steve, and I’m certain you remember what we do in the privacy of our own home even if you pretend otherwise. Why would you think that this type of behavior when we’re out together was something I wanted?”

“Fine.” He stands. “Maybe it was for me. Maybe now that I have this life, our amazing life we’re starting together, I want to slow things down, just a little bit. I’ve lived everything out of order and for once I want to do something normal, I want to take you out and have it just be about the date because we didn’t get a chance for that part. I want to take the time we never had.” He closes his eyes, looking lost in the middle of their sitting room. “I’m sorry if it was selfish. I just—For once I wanted to do things right.”

“Oh, Steve.” She sits on the sofa herself and sighs so deeply that her shoulders rise halfway to her ears before dropping. Steve must sense the de-escalating tension, because he sits down cautiously beside her. Gently she says, “I wonder if perhaps you’ve forgotten how very much good has happened to us out of order. For us, that is right. I know it’s not...traditional, but so little about us is, and that’s something that I love.”

“I usually love it too.” He waves a hand a bit helplessly. “But I thought maybe this once we could mix things up, do them in the order most people do.”

“Well, we aren’t most people, but I think I would be willing to compromise.”

“What did you have in mind?”

She holds up one finger. “We continue with regularly scheduled date nights.” She adds a second. “You kiss me at least once on each one, publicly.” A third. “I won’t force you into exhibitionism.”

He looks at her for a long moment, at the fingers she still has extended into the air. He gently unfolds a fourth one. “I’ll tell you if I don’t mind a little exhibitionism for once.”

He surprises her the next time by choosing to take her bowling. He kisses her once for every strike and twice, in consolation, for every split. When she wins, he dips her so deeply that she hears whistles from the adjoining lanes.

“You do earn marks for enthusiasm,” she tells him once they’ve come up for air. “But I think it will be a good while before you catch up to me in terms of creativity. You’re still a work in progress.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “We have plenty of time to work on it.” And he kisses her again.

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 33

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 33: Faith, Hope and Love, Pt. 2

It was the first of October and unseasonably warm in the state of New Hanover. The day before, the Reverend and the Mother Superior had stopped in Rhodes to see the red clay dirt and to talk of God and his many shapes and formulas. Swanson wanted to study the marriage vows as well, as it had been a long time since he’d performed any such ritual and even longer since he had thought about the meaning of love. They walked through the town, silently, getting the red dust on their boots, and they gave money to a sad veteran and then they found a little wedding going on at the chapel, between a very young man and a very young woman who both looked about eighteen years old. The young woman had a pregnant belly under her modest blue dress and there was nobody else in attendance except for them and a few worshippers only half-listening in the pews. It didn’t seem to affect anything about the way that they looked at each other. They were in love.

Swanson wondered if they had run away or if they were orphaned or what was going on. It put him in distress. He thought of Arthur as a very young man and all that had happened to him. A couple of times, he had gone with Arthur to see Isaac, when Arthur was only maybe 25. He was not the only one who had met Isaac back in those days. Hosea, too, had gone to meet the boy, and even John. Swanson couldn’t remember whether Dutch had ever gone or not, but he strongly remembered Dutch urging Arthur to bring them both back to the gang with him, where he could keep an eye on things. Dutch didn’t see anything good coming out of Eliza living alone. Of course, he had been right. He was often right in those days, but those days had gone south some time ago.

Isaac had been a serious child, and very sweet. He was shy and sensitive. But he was not sad. He just preferred caution, and solitude. He liked crayons and paper, and he liked to sing. He was happy, and he always remembered Swanson and Hosea when they came. He liked kites. Swanson remembered Isaac and Arthur going into town once to purchase a kite, and then flying the kite together on the lawn. It was a magnificent shade of red against the bright blue sky. Isaac had a very thick head of dirty blond hair, like Arthur, but Eliza’s dark eyes, and he trusted Arthur, idolized him even, despite Arthur’s limited presence in his life. Eliza trusted Arthur, too. Eliza and Arthur were good friends, it seemed, and maybe they were trying to reignite something, but Swanson did not remember them being in love. Arthur had already started up with Mary at this point, though it was new and not something anyone spoke of. Whatever he had with Eliza, it was responsibility. It was trying for a very adult arrangement, in a way, and of this, Swanson remembered being proud. Arthur tried very hard. He did the best that he could for as long as he could.

The last day Arthur went to see them, the gang was camped nearby, and he was supposed to just be gone for the night, but he never came back. Nobody knew what was going on. He was gone for several days with no word. Finally Dutch went out to find him, and Swanson and Hosea went along because they were very worried. Bad things had been happening. The O’Driscolls were a different animal in those days, and the blood feud was fresh in Annabelle's wake. They searched for a long time. When they finally found Arthur, he was lying in a creek with all his clothes off, and he hadn’t eaten, and he was half-dead with whiskey. At first, they thought he’d been kidnapped and left for dead, but that was not the case. He couldn’t speak through the booze or the weeping, but eventually he did manage a few words. They got em, he said. Got em both.

Dutch and Hosea hauled him up and got him dressed and Swanson helped Dutch ride him home while Hosea went into Butte to see what the hell was going on. When he came back a day later, he said he’d gone and found Eliza's father, learned that she and the boy were dead, robbed and killed—maybe by bandits, but it could have been debt collectors. Nobody was sure, and there was no way to know, and Arthur couldn’t tell them anything.

Nobody blamed Arthur for their deaths—other than Arthur. Eliza’s father, it turned out, had always liked Arthur. He was sick, and they were a poor silver mining family, and they didn’t think much for the law as it had provided them with very little in those days, and so he thought that Arthur, despite his reputation, was decent for all he provided to his daughter—monetarily, and in the way of companionship. It wasn’t long then before Dutch went on his vendetta, trying to find the men responsible. Of course, he failed. The men responsible were not O’Driscolls. They were nobodies, in the wind. They were ghosts, and you cannot catch ghosts or shoot them in the back.

Swanson thought about their deaths almost every day now. How random, and how needless they had been. He remembered Mary staying away for a long time after that. One night, she came, a couple of weeks after it happened, and Arthur could not face her properly because of the booze. Hosea’s wife, Bessie—she had a kind streak, and she was the one to send her away. Mary seemed ashamed and upset with herself as if the whole thing were somehow her fault. Swanson found her crying near the camp, and he asked her if she was okay and needed a place to sleep, but she just got stoic and rode away and did not come back for a long time. She was not too self-sufficient when it came to dames, and Swanson worried for her safety, but he didn’t know she had a family. One day she came back, and it was okay again. Arthur came out to see her. He was nearly sober, and it all changed, very slowly, but he never really recovered. Not for years. Swanson was certain that this had been what poisoned his relationship with Mary—more so than her father, or any of that nonsense about his lifestyle. He would have left the life. He wanted to marry her, but she couldn’t make the choice. She begged him for a child, so he could make the choice for her, but he wanted a promise, a guarantee. Few people knew this about what happened between them. Reverend Swanson was one of the few.

That day, back in Rhodes, he and the Mother Superior left the chapel wedding and went to the saloon, where they shared a pitcher of lemonade, and continued their discussion:

“Love is about more than repopulation of the earth,” said Sister Calderón, taking a big drink. “Not all those in love will have children, but that does not take away the fact that their love is true. Love is like a tree. It fills the air with life. It is necessity to living.”

That night, they took the red-eye train overnight to Emerald Station. Arthur’s money had been enough to buy them both tickets and a meal in the dining car. When they were too tired to continue, they sat in separate rows, and though Swanson slept very little, Sister Calderón seemed to fall away into dreaming with hardly any trying at all. He wondered what that must be like, to be so safe inside your faith that you slept without fear.

Swanson leaned with his forehead against the cool glass, watching the hills and the plains and the meadows go by. He thought of Mary Beth. In the days when he was so drunk he could hardly see, Mary Beth had been kind to him. She was a kind girl. She was a little like Eliza, a little like Bessie, a little like Annabelle. All of them, he thought, but she was not them. She was loud and openminded, and she didn’t get dour, but she did get pensive, and she was no moral paragon, but she got pissed off when men said the untrue thing. She brought him coffee all the time. She would try to set him straight. Get it together, Reverend. We need you, she would say. She had a good head on her shoulders. She was even teaching that O'Driscoll to read. He did not know if she was lying all those times she told him he was valuable to the gang, but even if she was, it helped. It always did. She was good for Arthur. Sometimes, he worried that after Eliza, and then Mary, Arthur would be alone forever. He had a talent for self-punishment of the likes the Reverend had never seen—outside himself, of course. The drinking, the loneliness. But now, he was not going to be alone anymore.

Eventually, Swanson drifted off to sleep with the sunrise, feeling hungry but cleansed from the day. They made an early morning stop in Valentine, where the train idled for a little while and many passengers boarded on their way up north. Swanson awoke to Sister Calderón shaking his shoulders and the loud sound of the train whistle, like a foghorn.

“Reverend,” she said as she nudged him, ceaseless. “Reverend, wake up. I cannot carry you to Mr. Morgan’s wedding. You must carry yourself!”

He sat straight up. “I am ready,” he said, feeling like he was facing fifty directions at once. “I am ready, Sister.”

“Of course you are,” said Sister Calderón. “That much was never in doubt. Now, let’s go, quickly. I need to stretch my legs! It is a beautiful day!”

Meanwhile, Arthur was out with Lawrence Winterson in the barn, feeding the hounds their lunch and talking about the minor complexities of their lives.

“It feels like the closer we get to leaving,” said Arthur, sitting in a wooden table chair, scrubbing one of the pretty mutts behind the ears, “the more loose ends we’ve got to tie. There are responsibilities pulling at me from all sides. And all of this…uncertainty.”

He watched as Lawrence finished pouring the kibble in the red bowls. The hounds all went to the bowls upon the noise. There were five in all. Lawrence was a thin man but hale, his hair very gray and peppery. He stood up and dusted his hands together. “I thought you would have been accustomed to uncertainty by now, given what I know about your life. I mean that realistically, not as an insult.”

“I understand,” said Arthur, looking down at his knuckles. “And I am accustomed to uncertainty. Just not like this.”

“You mean Mary Beth?”

“Yes.” He thought he should be asking Hosea about all this in the end, but it was too messed up. Too close to home. He was looking for objectivity. “I went from—beating down debtors for money, robbing small town banks, and just a whole hell of a lot of…what you might call mercenary work…to this. To getting married, having a baby with a girl I’ve known for four years. You know I never been able to make it work before, a better life—whatever that means—but I never really gave it the try it deserved. I should have. Many years ago. I’ve had…a lot of chances that I blew. I blew em real bad. But now, it’s different, and part of that is because Mary Beth, she’s in it with me. This—predicament. She ain’t like me. She’s innocent to a whole lot, but she’s still a outlaw. She still runs with wanted men, and she don’t got the price on her head, but she does have this sort of…thing about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she’s wanted in three locals west of the Mississippi. For thieving. All petty stuff. They’d never hang her. But still. It’s all she knows. She was orphaned at twelve, almost the same as me, lived on the streets. She never had no chance. She’s lucky she made it this far. We both are. And we owe Dutch, and Hosea. They—gave us everything that we got. I mean hell, they taught me to read. They took care of me. Now, getting free—it’s like we’re untangling the roots of a thousand year old oak tree, trying to dig it up with our bare hands. It ain’t even about the money, I mean—I got money. For us. Me and John, together, we got just enough. But there are so many more. There are good people. Innocents and people who got nothing and nowhere to turn to but the goddam gang. It’s been the only family a lot of us have ever known. We leave them behind, exposed, in the lurch, I know that we will never be able to outrun that, and the guilt, it’ll tear us apart.” He took a deep breath. He’d never been able to see things so clearly in all his life, and yet the path was hidden.

Lawrence sighed and placed his hands in his pockets. He leaned against one of the heavy, load-bearing beams of the barn. He did not seem overwhelmed by any of this. He was so calm, so even as a man. “You seem very wise to your predicament, Arthur,” he said. “I don’t know what you’re looking for. It seems you know exactly what you have to do.”

“I do?”

“All I can say is,” said Lawrence, “consult Mary Beth. And remember that from here on out, you’re partners. Whatever decisions you make about your lives, like the kind of decision on whether or not you think you can leave people behind, just make sure you do it together, and that both of you are all in. You might be surprised at what happens.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you think I expected to end up owning a bed and breakfast in New Hanover?”

Arthur thought on it. He slouched back in the chair, placed his hands on his belt. “What was you expecting?”

“Something far more exciting, I assure you,” said Lawrence, smiling. “Then again, I’ve met you. And I’ve met Dutch van der Linde. Excitement comes in all forms, I suppose.”

Arthur found this to be tremendously funny. He took a toothpick from behind his ear and set it between his teeth as he laughed. “Well, that is true.”

The hounds finished their eating, licking their paws. Some of them licked their bowls. But then, all at once then as if on some sort of cue, they perked up and went for the barn door, scratching and barking. Lawrence slung the shotgun over his shoulder. He threw open the doors but whistled for them to disperse. They sped up the grass toward the two familiar faces coming in on foot, but then they split off, going in all directions. A few came back to lick their bowls. The rest disappeared into the tree line.

“Is that your Reverend?” said Lawrence, taking off his glasses to clean them.

Arthur stood, vindicated. “That is him.”

“Who’s that with him? A sister of the church?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur, standing now. “That there is Sister Calderón, Mother Superior at the Catholic church in St. Denis. I’m not sure what she’s doing here, but I guess it’s a good thing.”

“Another blessing, perhaps?” said Lawrence.

Arthur was chewing that toothpick to little splinters. He waved. They waved back. Sister Calderón was rushing toward him. “It’s nothing less than a blessing, I assume.”

“Mr. Morgan!” she said. She dropped her valise as soon as she got to him. To his surprise, she hugged him. Quick, but tight. She held his hands in both of hers. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Sister,” he said. “Now don’t shoot me, but I must say I am mighty surprised to see you here.”

“She’s with me. I hope it's all right,” said Swanson, wiping the sweat from his brow with a white handkerchief from his pocket. “She’s here for…guidance.”

Arthur placed his hand on Swanson’s shoulder. “I knew you’d come, and of course it's all right.”

“Thank you, Arthur. It is an honor.”

Arthur introduced Lawrence then who saw them both inside. But Arthur stayed out for a little while. He went to water the horses and then to brush out Sarah’s mane, as he assumed Mary Beth was busy, and he didn’t much feel like any more idle chit chat with anyone other than her. He leaned against Sarah and put some braids in her mane, and he smoked a cigarette for his nerves.

“What do I do, girl?” he said to her, patting her behind the ear. “What do I do?” She nuzzled him. He fed her a sugar cube, which she enjoyed. He smiled, comforted. Horses were simple.

Hamish arrived. He tied up Buell and came up holding a fishing tackle box that he had filled with a few things for the trip. He did not carry many earthly goods with him. A random weary traveler looking for a bed had come through as well the night before—a man by the name of Kelly—and so the Wintersons, with the unexpected presence of the Mother Superior, were one room short. John and Abigail offered to bunk in the kids’ room with Jack, but Hamish called it unnecessary. He said he’d just set up his tent and sleep on the lawn. Everyone thought he was kidding except for Arthur, who found it totally in character.

For an altar, John nailed together a cross with pieces of sawed lumber from the shed. Abigail decorated it with some wildflowers that Jack had gathered from the edges of the property, all while Lizette helped Mary Beth into her dress, and she braided her hair and kept things very simple, but pretty. Hosea gave Arthur a horseshoe he’d found in the stable and some little sleigh bells from Lizette’s sewing drawer to keep in his front pocket. “For good luck,” he said. Dutch gave to Arthur the tailored silver jacket, which immediately solved Arthur’s lack of certainty over what to wear.

“It’s…wonderful,” said Arthur, admiring himself in the mirror in Lizette’s sewing room—the same room where Lawrence had stitched up his arm many weeks before. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, my boy,” said Dutch, smoking his pipe. “A man needs to look his best on a day like this.”

“I hope you didn’t pay too much.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’d spare no cost.”

Arthur sighed. Accepting the jacket from Dutch was difficult for him. It put guilt inside him, even as he wanted to believe that it was provided free of condition. It got him so messed up. Arthur allowed himself to be flattered either way. He was impressed by how Dutch had estimated his measurements, and the jacket truly was beautiful. He didn't want to make room in his chest for more questions, even as they forced in against his will. He swallowed it all down. Learning the truth about Annabelle had made Arthur sympathize with Dutch in the way of men rather than to see him as a father, and in some ways, this made things even more difficult than before. He wanted to talk to Dutch, as friends, comrades. He wished they could find a way to unravel the many layers of subterfuge and showmanship surrounding their relationship, but he didn't know when, or how. It was so hard, planning a confrontation like that. He didn't know how, and it was not the right time. His only recourse on that day was to ask neither Dutch nor Hosea to stand beside him during the ceremony. He asked only John.

Because even after so many years of being at odds with one another, John was true. Arthur knew this, and unlike anything with Dutch, he knew he could count on it. John was uncomplicated in his loyalty to Arthur, and once he made a choice, the choice was made. Arthur wasn't great at communicating his appreciation for this, but he tried. He did. He hoped that choosing him for a groomsman would show John that he was serious—about leaving, about their friendship, about everything.

The ceremony was held at sundown. It was very simple and pretty. John stood beside Arthur, looking proud and young. Abigail stood beside Mary Beth. The rest of them all stood around watching in a half-circle with their hands clasped in front of them or behind their backs, or their hands in their pockets. There was a breeze coming through to cool their cheeks. The sky was red.

“Love is patient,” said the Reverend. He was nervous, but he was so happy for Arthur and clear with sobriety that day that he found himself growing sentimental at almost every turn. “Love is kind. It does not envy, and it does not boast. It is not proud. It does not dishonor others. It is not self-seeking, nor is it easily angered. It keeps no record of wrongs. Love does—it does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.” He looked at Mary Beth then. She looked very young but beautiful in her dress. She was sort of silly, he thought. She liked to have fun. That day, she looked at Arthur like she was both relieved and also excited. She seemed to hurry along the Reverend with her posture, standing up on her tip-toes even though she did not have to, like she was eager to get it over with so she could kiss her groom and get on with her life. She wore no veil, only a modest crown of daisies, made for her by Jack. She took an eyelash off of Arthur’s cheek, which amused Arthur. She held it out to him, and he blew it off her finger for a wish.

“Love always protects,” Swanson continued, smiling, adjusting his collar, addressing his notes, and his Bible. Arthur and Mary Beth both looked at him as the wind rustled through their hair and Mary Beth's dress. “It always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” He then addressed his congregation, suddenly infused with a strange confidence. “A very wise woman once taught me that love is about more than procreating the earth.” He looked at Sister Calderón. She was excited. She waved at him, urging him forward. He nodded once, cleared his throat. “She said, ‘Love is like a tree.’ It is life-giving. That is what she meant. It provides. All life must end, but a life full of love is a life provided for. It affirms who we are, what we want, what we’re made of, our potential.” He looked at Arthur. Arthur was very calm. You could sort of see the gears turning behind his eyes as he contemplated this day, but it was all slow. It was very slow and even. “Love can be lost,” said Swanson, thinking of his own life, thinking of Isaac. “But it can be found again, as we witness today the union of two lost souls who have, in the time since they’ve met, found completion within one another. Life is—it is ever trying. But we cannot give up.” He blinked. He saw Dutch, standing near the front, his eyes heavy, cast down to the earth. “We cannot give up,” said Swanson. He closed his own eyes. Then he looked at Arthur once more, and Arthur nodded.

Swanson continued on to the rings after that. The rest of the ceremony came to him easily. He didn't fumble for the words, nor did he have to look at his notes. Arthur had a very pretty ring with a purple stone for Mary Beth, and Mary Beth surprised everyone, including Arthur, by having a ring for him as well, one that she had stowed away in the pocket of her dress. It was a gold band.

“I bought this,” she said to Arthur as she fitted the ring on his finger, “from an estate sale in Blackwater. Boy, that seems like another life now, don't it? Anyway, I thought it was fine, because it has a pretty filigree on the metal, and I kept it in a jewelry box, because I thought maybe one day I’d get to give it to a man that I loved. I wouldn’t wanna give him contraband. I was always dreaming. The day after you proposed, I put it in Watson’s saddlebag so that I’d always have it. I was ready for this day.” She was smiling, holding his hand in both of hers. “I didn’t know it would fit though," she continued. "That’s a nice surprise.”

Everyone laughed, even Arthur, who was looking down at the ring. He was not a man prone to ornamental decoration, but this was okay. It was pretty, and it was from her. He looked at the Reverend, full of decision then, the first real decision he had ever made in his adult life. He cleared his throat. “Let’s get on with it,” he said. “Read the vows, Reverend.”

The sun was almost down now, leaving a ring of gold over the trees.

[bxtch26]

Your backstory❤️Arthur Morgan ⚠️mentions of smut⚠️

“Thank you kindly Mrs. Morgan, this will go right to tonight’s stew!” Pearson beamed as you brought in some game you hunted. You tipped your hat and returned the smile. Keeping the smile as you walked away, shaking your head and chucking. Mrs. Morgan. Who would have ever thought that’d be you? Arthur Morgan is your husband. Has been for 5 years. Though you’ve been sweet on one another for all of 10 years. You both grew up in the Van Der Linde gang. Him 15 and you 13. You both came to share Dutch's vision of a life lived free from civilization and the rule of law, becoming one of the first members of the gang. You learned to ride a horse, shoot a gun, throw a lasso, fish, hunt, track, drink, smoke, curse- you name it- together. At first you were both very angsty young fools who hated the world. But Dutch was the first person to show you both compassion. He’s always been a father figure to you two, John as well. Johns always been like your brother, you love him so. You and Arthur had been making goo goo eyes at each other for months before either of you made a move. You had no idea what you were doin, neither did he. You just couldn’t get each other off your mind. He was such a tough burly man but also so kind on the inside, a side most don’t see. It was one night Hosea gave you a tip about a robbery. Small homestead, easy pickings. You immediately asked Arthur to come with you, like you always did. That was the first night you slept together. The man who owned the home had his hands on you before you could retaliate and Arthur’s trigger finger was hot. You had killed people before, it was just still a strange thing. You both rummaged through the house making small talk here and there. When you got to the upstairs bedroom there was a huge bed and fireplace. It was amazing, way better than anything at camp. It was getting late anyway so you decided to stay there, after making sure the coast was clear of course. One thing led to another and you both finally shared your feelings while sitting in front of that fire. Oh you were such love struck fools. Your first kiss was sloppy, you didn’t know what to do. Let alone in bed. But after guidance and laughing your asses off it started to feel good, for both of you. Dutch had already had “the talk” with Arthur, Mrs. Grimshaw same with you. So Arthur knew to make sure you didn’t go do a silly thing like get you pregnant. Not yet anyway... It was a bit awkward after that. You didn’t know really what to do with yourselves. But it was obvious. Both of your faces turned bright red around each other. You both grew more comfortable with public displays of affection. He would leave you a few small flowers or some game or cup of coffee by your cot every morning. He would give you drawings of your horse or just you. Sometimes you would just sit back to back while you both drew and wrote in your journals while enjoying one another’s company. You would always go on missions together. Sing in front of the fire. He always came to you first if he was hurt. Needed stitches or a bandage. Soon you moved into his tent, on his account. Sometimes you would spend the night in his, and vice versa. But soon enough Arthur wanted you to know he was taking things and you seriously. It didn’t ruin things like everyone says in the films and books. You just grew closer. Having someone to hold at night. Someone near and dear to you. Ain’t nothin much better than that. You still remember when Arthur proposed to you. My god he was a nervous fool sweating bullets. He took you out on a small boat, to a beautiful patch of flowers and trees you’d never seen before. Right after he got on one knee and asked he apologized if it sounded “dumb.” You just shook your head at him

“Shut up and kiss me you silly man.” You guys got married a week later, right in camp. Reverend Swanson officiated it, John was the best man, Abigail your maid of honor. Jack threw the flowers down the “aisle” which was really just a dirt path. Javier strummed his guitar and sang as you two danced away. That was almost 6 years ago now. You have never been happier. You haven’t lost any feelings for him like they say happens in long relationships. If anything you grew closer and grew to love him more. And even after being together for so long Arthur was still a flushed mess around you like a school boy with a crush. It’s hard to find something like that in the life you two led. But you knew what he was , and you understood. He knew what you were, and understood. You’ve never had to go through anything alone since you joined this gang. Boy if your momma could see you now. Married to a gunslinger. Who could have guessed it. Still the best thing to ever happen to you. Some people still deny it, especially Micah.

“Why are u wasting time on that old man?” You would just continue you chores and ignore him. In town when you went to the saloon to get a drink people would look at you funny. But you never cared. Nor did he. It was you and him, the rest of the world didn’t matter. At this point you two were so comfortable with each other. He would grab your ass when you bend over to clean off the camp tables. You would lick your lips and watch him chop that fire wood with those few top buttons undone. He would shake his shoulders revealing more and roll them when he could feel you staring. You teased each other all the time like that, like you were still kids. When he came back to camp from long stressful missions you would dress up in your skimpiest laces you saved up to buy from Valentine just for him. His eyes would grow wide and he would drop everything. You would offer a massage while he told you about his day. You had both learned quick that making love at camp required strength to be quiet. Something you always found difficult with him. You could see his struggle too. You would have quickies at camp, it’s no surprise they would hear and know. If you could spare the teasing then it was worth it. But most of the time you would go out together. Whether it be a hunting trip or to a hotel you would just go out periodically to get some time alone. You had found an abandoned cabin years back, and it was often your meet up spot. But you didn’t always have sex. Just holding him in front of the fireplace and playing with his hair and singing to him was all you could ask for. On days where Arthur was particularly stressed he would take you to Saint Denis. He would buy you a nice dress, and get himself a nice suit. He would style his hair, you preferred him to keep it long. Made him even more handsome, and it was nice to grab on to. You loved nothing more than going to a nice dinner with him. He would never act like something he wasn’t, just wanted to treat you. He took care of you, and vice versa. “To death will we part.” You couldn’t imagine sharing a life with anyone else. You smiled remembering all the fine times you had with your man as you found him sitting in front of the fire. He saw you and grinned, immediately holding his hands out to welcome you to his lap. You sat, legs draped over his. He nuzzled into your neck, breathing in your scent.

“Hi sweetheart.” You melted into him, grabbing his hands on your waist and intertwining your fingers.

“Hey you.” You replied as he leaned back, allowing you more room to nuzzle into his chest. You turned around to plant a sweet kiss on his lips that earned a collective aw from the camp. Except one. Micah came out of no where, scoffing at you two.

“You’ve grown soft Morgan!” Arthur’s grip on you tightened but his face was relaxed.

“My lady ain’t made no complaints of me getting soft yet!” You blushed, smacking his shoulder and laughing into his neck. The others around the fire laughed too at Micah’s failed attempt to ridicule you two. You were both so nervous of how the camp would accept you relationship, but it’s become the norm now. Mr. and Mrs. Morgan. Arthur continued to rock you to Javier’s playing and singing. He hummed along to the music into your hair. He knows you love when he does that. You reached back to place his hat on your head so you could play with his hair. You know he loves it when you do that. Dutch spoke up, asking Molly to dance. Arthur tapped your thigh, signaling that he wanted you to get up. When you did he grabbed your hand and walked you to the front of Dutchs tent, next to him and Molly. You both started to dance slowly. Swaying to the music coming from the rest of the camp. He held you close, both hands in your waist, your hands locked around his neck. He preformed a few flares, twirling you and dipping you causing you to giggle into his neck. Dutch whispered sweet nothings to Molly next to you two as she giggled into his neck as well. It was a strange thing, in a camp of outlaws to see couples dancing sweetly with nothing but love for one another. You may be bad people, but you can feel love. You can make connections with people, you can have love. Gunslinging is nothing like you read in the papers. You brought your head to rest on Arthur’s shoulder, him the same as you guys hugged each other closer. When the music ended, Arthur bowed and you curtsied. The night went on with singing and drunken fun around the fire. Soon Arthur joined a game of poker with John and Uncle. You were in his lap, legs draped over his thighs, one hand on his cards the other around your waist. He said you were his “ lucky charm.” You sighed happily, resting your head back and in the crook of his neck. You must have fallen asleep you were so tired because the rumble of his chest from laughter woke you up. He reached forward to pull the money pile to him, grabbing your waist tight to keep you there. You blinked at him, his eyes on his new cards when he finally turned his gaze to you and gave you a sweet smile.

“Didn’t mean to wake you darlin’. Get some rest.” You nodded sleepily, resting on his chest as he continued to play. Uncle teased Arthur, saying

“You sure you ain’t gonna quit out? Seems you got your hands full” Arthur just scoffed at him

“They way your playing I could play blindfolded and still win.” You smiled into his chest before falling back asleep. You woke up suddenly when he scooped you into his arms before you could say anything. You gasped and giggled, holding onto his shoulders. He carried you bridal style to the tent you shared, you laughing all the way. He set you down on the cot and cupped your face with both hands. He drew you in for a soft kiss, your small soft hands over his big rough hands on your face. When he pulled away, he caresses your cheek before straightening his back and beginning to take off his boots and belt.

“We should get some sleep darlin’. Got a surprise for ya tomorrow.” You started to do the same, discarding your boots and belt.

“Oh? That wouldn’t have anything to do with tomorrow being our 6th year bein’ married, would it?” He smiled as he crawled into bed, arms open for you. You crawled on top of him, entangling your legs and nuzzling into his chest. His scent finding you as he wrapped his big strong arms around you, bringing you into his warm embrace that made you feel at home. He took a deep breath, chuckle rumbling through you.

“Maybe.”

[tiny-maus-boots]

Wild West AU pt 4

A/N: I dunno why. Blame @lilhan. There is Bechloe and there is Staubrey. If you’re not into one or the other or either please run far away. Thank you. I own nothing. Generic disclaimers. Please enjoy.

A/N: Parts 1, 2 and 3 can be found on Ao3 and thank you to @chloes-yellow-cup for doing the thing with the posting and all that stuff.

Aubrey watched Beca and Chloe make their way toward the alcove where Katherine always kept something warm going for the road weary. Her gaze drifted over to Stacie who had slumped a little over the table. One pale brow rose and she sighed. “Really?”

Stacie shifted uncomfortably and gave a small grunt of annoyance. “I don’t see another way. And no one else is coming up with any brilliant plans either.” It was defensive and Aubrey’s first instinct was to start an argument but she knew they didn’t have time for it and this wasn’t the place. And truth be told she knew Stacie was right. Sort of. She just didn’t like the idea of it.

“Okay. I’ll grant you that, love. You just sometimes forget words can be bombs too.” Stacie’s eyes drifted up to hers and Aubrey shrugged and looped her rifle strap across her chest before rolling up her cleaning kit carefully in the thick canvas pouch. Long graceful fingers made quick work of tying the roll neatly with rough strings of jute. When she turned back to Stacie she could see that she was being carefully watched. “Beca cried for a week Stacie. She didn’t even cry that much when we had to pull buckshot out of her ass after El Paso.”

Stacie’s lips twitched at the memory of it and Aubrey sighed. Amusement right now wasn’t appreciated. “Okay okay. You’re right. I maybe could have said it better. We just…don’t have time to be delicate.”

Aubrey gave a slight nod and reached out to ghost a hand over Stacie’s shoulder. Her fingers squeezed gently in a show of comfort and support. It wasn’t like her to do often but Stacie made it hard not to reach out and touch, especially when the moment was so heavy. The taller woman tipped her head to the side, bumping her forearm in acknowledgement of the gesture. “I know. It’ll be okay.” Stacie nodded and let it go with a deep breath. “I’m gonna go check on those riders. Take my kit up when you go?”

Her partner gave another short nod but winked to show she was okay. Or would be anyway. Stacie was right, delicacy was not a luxury they could afford at the moment. It still didn’t make any of them feel any better about Jesse being back in Beca’s life even for a brief moment, much less that they suddenly needed his help. She gave another squeeze to Stacie’s shoulder and marched off to the back wall of the main cavern. Aubrey pulled her leather gloves on as she angled her path to the sturdy timber ladder that rested at the opening to the tower. Her rifle clinked comfortingly against her back as she climbed up and over the stone lip to a narrow rift between the walls. It was too tight to go through without taking off her holsters and rifle, an act that always made her feel so damned vulnerable even when alone on a thin stone ledge. She pushed her gear through the crevice then slid through with breath caught tight in her chest.

Jesse wasn’t a bad man exactly, at least not bad for a man in the business of stealing cattle and horses. But even moderately decent men do stupid and terrible things when pushed. Aubrey remembered his face when he had come to tell them that his last ride had been a disaster. Jesse had fair near crushed his hat in his hands, his shoulders shaking with sobs as he explained how many of his boys had died, how Beca was just as good as dead.

Chloe had slapped him then, so hard Jesse had stumbled back a few steps with the force of it. For several heart rending moments they had thought Beca was gone and dead like so many of the Swanson Boys and to find out that she was alive… But Jesse had given up the idea of getting her back, of being with her to the end whatever that may be. He had given up and ridden away as a posse dragged Beca through town behind their horses.

Aubrey picked up her weapons and settled them into place as she scanned the horizon carefully. She easily fitted one booted foot into small toe hold and reached up with an easy stretch of her body to a hand hold above. The climb was easy, foot hold, hand hold, reach and pull. The rhythm of it soothing some of the ache that came of thinking about what almost happened.

None of them lost any time, they saddled up and rode out from the Beale family ranch in a thunder of hooves and encouraging shouts to their horses. Jesse had stood by the side pleading for them not to make it a funeral of four but he may have well been speaking to the deaf for all the heed they paid him. By the time they’d gotten close enough to town two days later the sickening shouts of angry glee were rising to a fevered pitch. Beca had been pulled roughly onto a hastily erected gallows, a coarse noose wrapped around her neck and tightened. She’d fought them with a vicious head-butt even then and Aubrey had never been more proud to call someone her friend.

Aubrey had intended to spare Beca the suffering of a horrible choking death. It would break Chloe…it would break all of them for her to do it really, but a shot through the heart was a damn sight better than the suffocating panic of being strangled to death. Chloe’s quick inhale of breath and the sound of her revolver clearing its holster made Aubrey focus harder, reminding herself that there was still a chance. Her gaze narrowing to the most finite point in the distance until all she saw was the rope going taut as Beca’s weight pulled the slack. Her first shot would have severed the rope clean through if Beca hadn’t been so damned squirmy but she supposed given the situation it was understandable.

Needless to say they managed to get Beca back even if Chloe and Stacie had to take down half the town in their getaway. They hadn’t seen Jesse again, he’d been gone when they arrived back at the ranch. It was just as well because she was certain that Chloe would have emptied every single round she had left into his worthless cowardly carcass.

Aubrey reached the pinnacle of the ridge and leaned against a large bounder. Her sharp eyes immediately picking out the shapes of three riders in tight formation and a fourth man further behind walking his horse and stopping every now and again to look for tracks or check one of the shallow empty caves. It was clear that the three ahead were familiar and used to riding with each other. They rode with a lazy gait that suggested they spent long hours riding, probably herding. The other however walked with a clipped practiced gait of a military man.

They weren’t close to the entrance of the Caverns by any means but there was a familiar nagging in the back of her mind watching the solider move about. It was the curiosity really that caused her to find the edge and quickly pick her way around the ridge to a rocky outcropping just above the party’s heads. She was close enough to hear the rumble of masculine laughter and teasing.

“C’mon pretty boy, you gonna poke around in every cave and culvert? They ain’t here, hell, there hasn’t been a sign of anyone campin’ out here in months. We’re headin’ back, now you comin’ or not?”

Aubrey watched the tall broad shouldered man take a deep breath and sigh before nodding. “Yeah. Yeah I’m coming. G’wan ahead I’ll catch up, I just want to circle back one more time.” His voice made her lip curl and her hand instinctively hovered over the grip of her gun. The three other men scoffed but turned their horses east and cantered away at a good clip leaving the lone rider to mount his horse after kicking a loose rock to skitter across the ground. Once he was settled in his saddle he turned his head to survey his progress.

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation when she leapt lightly off the edge of the overhang with her camp knife in hand. Aubrey landed heavily behind him, the horse side stepping with a nervous grunt. When the solider would have turned she pressed the blade of her knife firmly to his neck and snarled in a low, rough voice. “If you turn around I swear to the Almighty that I will cut you a new mouth, Avery Posen.”

Her brother froze and swallowed thickly, the reins going slack in his grip. “Aubrey?” She could hear the incredulous wonder in his voice and it gave her a deep sense of satisfaction. “So it’s true…you’ve taken up with outlaws and thieves. I thought it was a mistake, you running off with that whore…” Her knife dug in just a little deeper, drawing a bead of blood and her brother stopped speaking.

“Careful. I’m partial to the pretty lady, and I don’t take kindly to people bad mouthing her.” She knew it was pushing him, throwing it in his face that she had made her choices but Aubrey didn’t care what he thought. She didn’t care what any of them thought. She had left the overbearing and more often than not heavy handed strict religious rule of her father’s home and never once regretted it. Avery had struggled under their father’s roof some but had left for the Army as soon as he was able. He’d missed the swift decline into madness that their father had fallen to but he had seen enough to know her life had been hell already.

But Aubrey had been there to patiently suffer it all. Until she could bear no more and fled for her life into the desert to the only sanctuary she could think of. If not for Chloe, Aubrey would surely be dead this very day. “Aubrey. This is serious business, the Army is taking a special interest. If you’re caught up in this you have to come clean. I’ll help you get out if you’re…if you’re being…forced into unnatural acts…”

She used her free hand to pull the pistol from his holster and toss it into a patch of cacti. His words gave her pause and she blinked at the back of his blonde head. “Are you asking if I was kidnapped or lured into this?” Avery didn’t have to answer, she could tell by the set of his jaw and the stiffness of his shoulders that he did think exactly that. That he still hoped she was somehow redeemable or at least not culpable. It made her tired all of a sudden and she sighed, pulling his Army bayonet free of it’s sheath to toss it a good bit away. “Why is the Army so interested in this?”

He didn’t answer and she pulled her fist back, landing a swift hard punch to his kidneys. She hadn’t always hated her brother but she had learned to over time when he did nothing to stop the way she was mistreated, even taking a sadistic pleasure In it from time to time. He sagged to the side a little with a grunt and a wheeze. “You think you can go around blowing up garrisons without the Army investigating? You’re wanted criminals and your time is up. We won’t stop until we have you. Then may God have mercy upon you because the United States government will not. Harlots and thieves will find their place in Hell. You know this Aubrey. Just do the right thing and come back as my prisoner. Let me help you.”

His words seemed right, or should have seemed right. Her gut told her otherwise and she scoffed softly. “You’ve never raised a hand to help me a day in our lives. Not even when Daddy took his best hunting knife to my face. If thine eye offends thee pluck it out. The memory of her father’s harsh voice as he cut her took the air from her lungs for a moment and she shook her head. “I hardly believe you want to help me now.”

He turned as much as he could with her knife still dangerously close to his neck though no longer pressed so tightly as to draw blood. “You’re my sister Aubrey. I want to help you. Just cooperate and we can work this out.” His eyes so like her own met her gaze. “Tell me where to find it and this can all be over.”

Aubrey’s fist came back harder than before and when he doubled over she brought the hilt of her knife down on the back of his head knocking him out cold. She slid from the back of his horse and tied his hands to the pommel. His body sagged dangerously to the side and she considered leaving him to his death but she found herself hesitating at the idea of letting him die. No matter what he’d done in the past or what he wanted from her now…she wasn’t there yet. Wasn’t ready to cross that her own line in the sand. Not yet at least. Aubrey looped the rope around his waist and tied it off quickly. She tipped her head up to look at him with a sad sigh. “I almost believed you. I wanted to. But you’re just here for the gold like everyone else. Bastard. Yaaah!” She gave the horse a solid slap to the haunch and sent it bolting away. She watched it go until Avery was just a speck in the distance. “Well. Shit.”

Whether they hated him or not, they were most definitely going to need Jesse’s help now. Angry townsfolk were one thing, but the United States Army was another affair altogether. It was looking like their time had finally run short.

[phantombones]

RILEY HAYES-GOLDSTEIN really is the spitting image of MARGARET QUALLEY, right? For someone only EIGHTEEN ( VIRGO ) years old, RILEY has been forced to endure so much. Yeah, that HALFBLOOD has been scraping by at the sanctuary since MARCH, 2028, working as a SUPPLY RUNNER in the DIVISION OF FORAGE. SHE identifies as CIS-FEMALE and is known to be SARDONIC and PESSIMISTIC but also WITTY and MORALLY RESPONSIBLE. Best of luck surviving through this.

CHARACTER PARALLELS: Daria ( Daria ), Seth Cohen ( The OC ), Veronica Sawyer ( Heathers ), Ron Swanson ( Parks & Rec ), Rory Gilmore ( Gilmore Girls ), Pam Beasley ( The Office )

PINTREST: [ x ]

TRIGGERS: parental abandonment, mentions of drugs and alcohol.

LIKES & INTERESTS: Cult Classics - Movies ( Heathers, Dead Poets Society, Sixteen Candles, Ferris Buellers Day Off, Cruel Intentions, The Breakfast Club, Almost Famous ), Blue raspberry Slushies, Donuts, Judaism, Arctic Monkeys, Lana Del Rey, The Smiths, the color blue, writing poetry, e. e. cummings, art museums, greek mythology, rmemes, Rolling joints on her favorite books, biblical mythology, astronomy, astrology ( she finds it very entertaining in a mocking way and would never admit there’s a small part of her that enjoys it ), Star Wars, black cats, black cats named Boggart, black nail polish, tattoos, carnivals, comic books, ferris wheels, puns, the sea, jellyfish, NPR every morning, going to the beach at twilight, 4 am drives, 5am runs, spliff.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Observant, Cooperative, Strategic, Witty, Intelligent, Resilient, Responsible.

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Reserved, Pessimistic, Sardonic, Secretive, Curious ( it will get her into trouble ), Awkward, Suspicious.

When you meet Riley Hayes, a picturesque childhood in a picturesque suburbia is not what you would expect and yet it was exactly what she had. Born on the cusp of summer and fall, Rachel and Christopher were over the moon to have their daughter born on August 28, 2010. Finally, a child to complete the perfect family unit. Maybe they had hoped for a boy despite what science said ( hence the name Riley & a full name for a boy they had prepared ) but, they had a daughter and for the first ten years of her life they pampered her greatly. Trips to the coast every summer to visit his side of the family where Riley was praised for being such a pretty, good girl, and what seemed like infinite love from her father was doled out as long as she was what he wanted her to be. The younger girl was cooperative, it was in her nature it seemed, because she loved seeing her parents happy with each other. As long as Riley stayed within the lines, stayed within Christopher’s lines at least, everything would be well. Even when Riley started to develop a few habits and interests that were off the wall, he brushed them aside as childhood obsessions. Never could he accept his family for what they were which is exactly why he left.

The ugly truth was, Riley was an accident and the picture painted had been a lie – not that Riley knew until then. While she knew they had gotten married young she’d never known how much exactly her mother had given up to be with her father. Rachel Hayes had left her family, forsaken her religion ( as Christopher was a very religious Christian man ), the semi famous Goldstein Wizarding name, and moved down south into this suburbia all with the promise of a family. The biggest thing? Magic. When Christopher left a year before Riley entered Hogwarts school, Riley was forced to grow up and pick up the pieces of a broken lost woman who simply couldn’t find herself in the rubble that was the aftermath of her father leaving. But finding out she was an accident was the least of her worries. No matter how much poetry she wrote trying to figure out her mind, oftentimes thinking she was losing it, something within her was different, something within her felt different.

It took a few months to coax the why from her mother, and truly she was her caretaker. It wasn’t until her 10th birthday when she got the letter from Ilvermony that she realized what exactly was off. When she confronted her mother – her mother just poured everything out to her. Who Riley was, who her family was, what she was doing with her life before she met Christopher. At first, Riley couldn’t believe it – – she’d grown up hiding comics under her bed, hiding anything about the supernatural away. Even if her whole life she had felt a weird pull to these people who didn’t belong in her comics, these freaks, she never in her wildest dreams thought she’d have something in common with them. It all made sense though, and finally the pieces of her life started to come together. Riley knew what she had to do, so at the age of 10, she went with her mother to Wizarding NYC to try to find out more. To try to find the family her mother left behind.

After that, everything fell into place – her family was beyond accepting, even if they gave her shit, more than she’d ever known from her dad’s family and her mom started to get better as she become more true to herself. The family reconciled, helping Riley and Rachel move into a flat in NYC, in Chinatown. Rachel got a job at the ministry as an assistant and with the help of some family members and Riley started to prepare for school Wizarding School. She’d never been more happy in her life. New York City was her home, more than her podunk shitty town ever had, and she felt a freedom that made her wander the city, she felt a freedom to finally be herself. The only issue then? Riley wanted to go to a school far away from everything, because even if New York was her home, she needed to a break from being in the states. A break from all these people who knew who her family was & really, a place that was her own to find her own in the world. Easily, she picked Hogwarts and was delighted when they accepted her no matter how far she was. Hufflepuff was the perfect house for her, even if she wasn’t the most conventional or stereotypical kind of one.

For years, she pushed away a lot of the pain she felt – she figured her pain was her own, it was selfish of her to dwell on it or even think about it when she had this new fantastic life. Only in her poetry would she divulge her feelings, only her poetry knew that she felt inexplicably lost in the world the more she saw it. Around her 14th birthday, she met two boys in school who were a bit older than her but the twins ended up being her half-brothers -- as they found they shared a father. A scumbag father who’d also been horrible to them. It was then that Riley wanted to distance herself from her father even more, fiercely signing and writing her last name as Hayes-Goldstein or just Goldstein when she could get away with it.

The thing was, the reminder of her father, the reminder that he was out there ruining more people’s lives, that he was out there spawning more children really intensely messed with Riley’s head. Why wasn’t she good enough for him to stay? Why couldn’t they have been enough? It was stupid, but the thoughts started to consume her and the lost feeling just got bigger. Picking up vices like smoking, smoking pot, drinking beer like she was her own father after a long day of work, anything to escape the feeling that she didn’t really have a place in this world. Not one she could see. What was she even going to do with her life after school? What did she have to offer the world? A loneliness she could not shake slept with her at night like any blanket did, every day felt like she was smothered. Every day there was a new realization that she didn’t know what the hell she wanted to do with her life, and that she didn’t really have a place in the world. When the climate in the Wizarding World of England became a developing war zone, Riley wanted nothing to do with it but because of who she was – because of what her religion reminded of her – she couldn’t just stand idly by. Riley knew that even if she was Neutral, she would fight with her friends if need be, but nothing prepared for a zombie outbreak.

She had stayed in the UK for the family she’d now made there, the dude squad, her cousins, her brothers, her best friend Isa Potter was there as well. She’d just finished transitioning moving into their new place when the news hit and things spiraled from there, staying by Isa’s side the whole way. Now, she’s been at the castle and misses her old life, more so the comforts of it. Netflix. Memes. Accommodations and not having to worry about the end of the world truly being torn apart - and end near. Riley is beyond fucked up and freaked out by the idea of zombies, finding comfort in her religion but questioning it even further -- how could G-d allow this? She did what she could for the effort at Hogwarts, angry, scared, and simply trying to make sure the people she loves survives as well as herself.

ADDITIONAL INFO:

I once called her a Memelord Shitstain. I stand by that.

Cousin to Nathan Hayes! Also bigger roaster of Nathan Hayes!!

If Lana Del Rey and Weird Al’ Yankovic did a duet, that would be Riley’s vibe. LOL.

Never learned how to properly swim really but often dreams of water and loves water a lot. WILL DEADASS run in water and jump in it but doesn’t go too deep even though she wants to.

Riley is very content with the friends she has, the dudesquad, isa, she’s surprised she even has that many and Loves them. But Riley is becoming more open to people and friends as its the end of the world and WHY NOT? 

Riley has a natural inclination towards legilimency, her first sign of magic was actually poking around someone’s mind in a grocery store and influencing them to eat a random frozen meal on accident but it’s not a developed skill in the slightest and truthfully Riley doesn’t EVER want to go into it. It’s really not developed it’s just like a fun fact. a tidbit!

that’s all she wrote!! I hope this is good and please like this if you’d like to plot!!

[dashlung62-blog]

Rye Bread

Rye bread made without yeast. A rye soda bread recipe that will make you fall in love with rye flour.

I have a quick love letter to write today, and I hope you’ll indulge me.

It’s part love letter, but really, I want to let you know which cookbooks I use in my kitchen several times a week. If you reach for a cookbook on a weeknight, or if you reach for a cookbook more than once a week, it’s a good sign.

I have a coffee nook in my kitchen, well, I’m a tea drinker, so I should call it a tea nook, but it was clearly designed as a coffee station. Anyway, since I have no need for a coffee maker, espresso machine, or any of those other coffee tools in my nook, I keep a small selection of cookbooks on the counter.

It’s well-thought-out; it’s the books I love the most and use the most. Not just beautiful books that inspire me, it’s incredible books that make me want to get in the kitchen and cook that very instant. Often, the pages have food splatters and can be a bit sticky, but that’s even better for me.

The cookbooks that I use the most are written by Heidi Swanson from 101cookbooks.com. I first discovered her when I moved to California, and upon first meeting, I believe I told her that she taught me everything I know about California cuisine.

Heidi taught me how to shop at and how to love farmer’s markets, and she taught me about Deborah Madison and all the other great chefs in California that are paving/had paved the way for eating REAL food. Because of Heidi, my top factor when choosing food is where was it produced and how was it produced.

I reach for her cookbooks after every farmer’s market haul. Her stuff is vegetarian, yes, but it’s the most flavorful, unique vegetarian food I’ve ever had that makes you never miss the meat, honest!

In full disclosure, my husband and I are part-time vegetarians. While most people do ‘meatless Monday’ and take one day off each week from meat, we actually only eat meat one day a week or so. It’s not uncommon for us to call instant pot mac and cheese with a salad a Monday night dinner, and enjoy a my orzo pasta salad with feta or my pesto tortellini salad later in the week. Our one meat day might include my honey garlic chicken thighs.

But did you notice a theme? My vegetarian meals rely heavily on pasta. Not Heidi’s.

Heidi’s recipes are inventive and far from your standard vegetarian recipes. I own all of her books, and I cook from them often.

Super Natural Every Day is the one I grab the most, though I am working my way through the very beautiful Near & Far.

Her dish called Otsu is something I make for company, especially company that has food allergies. Plus, it’s my belief that she invented baked oatmeal, and the world is a much better place for it.

More details about this rye bread made without yeast:

Today, I’m sharing with you her recipe for rye bread. It doesn’t have any yeast, and is technically a rye soda bread. It bakes up so crunchy, crusty, and beautiful that it took my breath away the first time I made it years ago.

As I baked this rye bread recipe for possibly the one-hundredth time to photograph this for you, it still took my breath away when it emerged from the oven.

I can’t help but run my finger over the indentations made with the knife before baking–that’s where the real CRUST emerges.

Soda bread made without deep slashes is now dead to me–this is the only way forward.

Honestly, I can’t believe I get to count Heidi as one of my friends. She inspires me so much. A woman who can make bread with just 4 ingredients that tastes this good is an angel.

I keep rye flour in my house now to make this rye bread whenever I have soup or stew on the stove. It comes together so quickly, and serving homemade bread with a meal makes me feel like I’ve got my life together.

For some strange reason, my daughter isn’t that into carbs, unless gnocchi is involved, and she frequently licks the butter off bread and leaves the bread.

However, she loves this rye bread. The dark color scared her at first, so I served it with the dill butter that Heidi recommends in the book, and it sold her. Most commonly, I serve it with salted European-style butter.

Is rye bread gluten free?

No, it’s not. I wanted to answer that question, because I know it will come up.

It’s important to me that Camille learns to love bread and carbs, because there are so many B vitamins in whole grains. I am so grateful this rye bread recipe helps me accomplish that goal.

Rye flour can be a tough sell when it comes to whole grains, but I’ve been working it into my pancakes for two recipe, and I’m considering adding some to my small batch crepes recipe, too.

Ok, onto the recipe now. I hope you love this homemade rye bread recipe made without yeast. It will quickly go into your Fall rotation for serving alongside soup, and I’m sure it will find its way out again for St Patrick’s Day since it’s technically soda bread.

Rye Bread

Christina Lane

Yields 1 small boule

Homemade rye bread made without yeast.

15 minPrep Time

50 minCook Time

1 hr, 5 Total Time

Ingredients

2 1/3 cups (9.75 ounces) rye flour

1 3/4 cups (8 ounces) all-purpose flour

1 3/4 teaspoons baking soda

1 1/4 teaspoons fine sea salt

2 cups (475 mL) buttermilk

Instructions

Preheat the oven to 400, and ensure a wire rack is in the middle position. Line a small baking sheet with parchment paper.

Sift the flours, baking soda and salt into a large bowl.

Make a well in the center of the flours and pour in all of the buttermilk at once. Stir just until a dough forms.

Scoop the dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for about 30 seconds to bring it together.

Using your hands, press the dough into an even flat disk.

Sprinkle the top of the dough disk with about 2 tablespoons of all-purpose flour.

Next, make 4 deep slashes into the dough, about two-thirds of the way through. Be careful not to cut all the way through.

Bake for 30 minutes, and then move the dough to the top rack of the oven. Bake for another 20 minutes to crisp up the surface.

Let cool on a wire rack completely before serving with salted butter.

7.8.1.2

2024

https://www.dessertfortwo.com/rye-bread/

Source: https://www.dessertfortwo.com/rye-bread/

[chawsl]

https://www.thedesertreview.com/opinion/letters_to_editor/ivermectin-wins-in-court-again-for-human-rights/article_98d26958-a13a-11eb-a698-37c06f632875.html

Ivermectin Wins in Court Again: For Human Rights

By Justus R. Hope, MD

 

Apr 19, 2021 Updated Apr 21, 2021

 

One dose of Ivermectin was all it took to get 81-year-old John Swanson off the ventilator. John’s wife Sandra could not believe it. His story is remarkably similar to other cases of patients who were on their way out with advanced COVID-19 but saved when Ivermectin was added.

Ralph Lorigo is the lawyer who now has won three court orders forcing New York hospitals to administer Ivermectin to dying patients. Incredibly, these three hospitals and their lawyers fought against the patients, arguing they did not have the right to receive the drug despite a valid prescription written by their doctors. In essence, the argument was that they did not have the right to try a potentially life-saving medication.

In each of the three cases, the New York State Supreme Court Justices sided with the patient, and in each of the three cases, the patients made near-miraculous recoveries after the Ivermectin was given. In each case, these patients were in the Intensive Care Unit on ventilators, unable to breathe on their own, and universally, after the drug was given, they rapidly improved and were able to breathe on their own.

Judith Smentkiewicz made national news in January when her family hired Lorigo after the hospital refused a fourth dose of Ivermectin. Smentkiewicz's son and daughter called Ivermectin a "miracle drug" in court papers. Attorney Lorigo and his associate Jon F. Minear reported, “This lady was on a ventilator, literally on her deathbed, before she was given this drug. As far as we’re concerned, the judge’s order saved this woman’s life.”

The family of Glenna "Sue" Dickinson happened to see a newspaper article of Judith's remarkable story, and they decided to try Ivermectin as well. 

Sue Dickinson, 65, contracted COVID-19 on January 7, 2021. She suffered progressive worsening and was admitted to Rochester General Hospital on January 12. She continued to worsen and was placed on a ventilator on January 17. The hospital staff advised that her chances of survival were about 40 percent.

With nothing to lose, Natalie Kingdollar, Dickinson’s daughter, reached out to their family doctor, Tom Madejski, who wrote the prescription. The hospital refused to give Sue the Ivermectin. The legal team of Lorigo and Minear drafted an affidavit from Dr. Madejski and sought an injunction. State Supreme Court Justice Frank Caruso ordered the hospital to provide the Ivermectin.

Dickinson, like Swanson, and Smentkiewicz, came off the ventilator and improved as well. The family reported on Facebook that, "She’s making progress each day, and it’s Ivermectin and God making this happen.” She has since been released from the hospital.

Ivermectin is widely used by physicians, as there are now 51 studies from around the world, with 50 showing clear benefit and one showing neutral. However, the lone study showing a neutral effect was roundly criticized as flawed in an open letter signed by a group of 120 physicians. 

Experts worldwide have called for the global and systematic use of Ivermectin to prevent and treat COVID-19. Physicians have recently written about a profit motive by regulatory agencies and Big Pharma to block cheap, safe, and effective treatments like Ivermectin and HCQ in favor of experimental and perhaps more dangerous and arguably less effective vaccines and medicines like Remdesivir. With *Remdesivir costing $3,100 per dose* and not reducing deaths, the choice of Ivermectin is a no-brainer say many doctors.

*Ivermectin costs about $2 per dose*. It is safer than Tylenol or most vitamins, says Dr. Pierre Kory of the FLCCC Alliance, a group of expert physicians promoting access and information through a nonprofit organization. Dr. Kory and Mr. Lorigo have teamed up to help other hospitalized patients gain access to the life-saving drug.

Dr. Fred Wagshul, a Yale-educated physician, is a pulmonary specialist and directs the Lung Center of America. He is also a founding member of the FLCCC Alliance. Dr. Wagshul notes that the typical dose for hospitalized patients is 0.3 mg of Ivermectin per kg of body weight for four days which works out to nine 3 mg tablets daily for four days in a typical 200-pound patient. 

Dr. George Fareed, former Harvard professor, advocates combination therapy of Ivermectin with HCQ in outpatient cases. For the benefit of physician readers, the specific doses are provided in this link.

The big problem is that information promoting Ivermectin is often censored or silenced as quickly as it is provided. Facebook, Reddit, Change.org, YouTube, and others have recently taken down posts on Ivermectin citing violation of "community standards." 

Physicians who employ good judgment and scientific studies are considered violators, as well as those who publish factual accounts of Ivermectin-based recovery stories. A recent article exposed the link between large pharmaceutical corporations and government regulatory agencies who have financial entanglements and massive conflicts of interest.

The disinformation campaign is evident with the publication of articles attempting to cast Ivermectin in a false light, referring to it as an “animal dewormer” that might be a “bad idea” for humans to use. In reality, many drugs are common to both humans and animals for treatment, including antibiotics, antifungals, and antiparasitic agents.

Ampicillin, a form of penicillin, has been widely used to treat infections in children like whooping cough, salmonella, and meningitis. It has been routinely used to treat adults for bronchitis, pneumonia, and rheumatic heart disease. It is also consistently employed in veterinary applications to treat calves, cattle, dogs, and cats.

You would never see an article attempting to smear Ampicillin as an animal drug and warn people against taking it. However, we see this propaganda daily trying to influence the general public against Ivermectin, a life-saving drug that has been prescribed safely and in billions of doses over the past 40 years for parasitic disease.

Dr. Satoshi Omura won the 2015 Nobel Prize in Medicine for his discoveries leading to the development of Ivermectin. In his praise for Ivermectin and its potential to help in the COVID-19 pandemic, Dr. Omura recently compared Ivermectin to Penicillin, “one of the greatest discoveries of the twentieth century.”

Currently, Ivermectin has already been adopted by 25 percent of the world’s countries to prevent and treat COVID-19. Bangladesh, where Ivermectin is broadly used in almost every home, enjoys a 99% lower per capita death rate from COVID-19 than the US. Bangladesh, with 160 million inhabitants, has half the US population. However, it has merely 10,000 COVID-19 deaths. Contrast that with nearly 580,000 US deaths in our country of 327 million. 

However, censorship, corruption, hospital lawyers, and disinformation campaigns have continued to stand in the way of its widespread acceptance in the United States. Many have never even heard of it.

Ivermectin recently won in court in South Africa after a protracted legal battle. Ralph Lorigo has now won his third State Supreme Court Injunction in New York. Will legal strategies also be required in the US to gain FDA approval for Ivermectin to treat COVID-19? 

Dr. Tess Lawrie has entered this David v. Goliath battle. She is an independent research consultant to the WHO, and her work has consistently been used to underpin International Clinic Practice Guidelines. In other words, she has been one of the go-to scientists on which the WHO bases their recommendations. 

She has established a non-profit organization to promote the worldwide approval and adoption of Ivermectin for COVID-19. She is requesting support through this video. 

We owe it to ourselves as human beings to support this work. We owe it to future generations who need medical truth, not corruption, to guide our public health policy. We owe it to the principle of basic human rights. 

Signed,

Justus R. Hope, MD

[keagen]

Interview Video with Nazafarin Lotfi and the Teen Arts Group from University Galleries of ISU on Vimeo.

Nazafarin Lotfi: Subtle Time Online exhibition beginning June 1, 2020

University Galleries of Illinois State University is pleased to present Nazafarin Lotfi: Subtle Time as an online exhibition beginning June 1, 2020. This exhibition is organized by the Teen Art Group at University Galleries. While she was a Fall 2019 visiting artist in the Wonsook Kim School of Art, Lotfi presented her work to the Teen Art Group. She has been working remotely with the group and University Galleries’ staff since that time.

Teen Art Group participants in 2019–2020: Brianna Berndt, Jeremiah Berndt, Grace Bingley, Ellie Braun, Katya Cline, Darrell Cope, Joshua Dahmm, Lydia Fisher, Aspen Goss, Kasia Jankowiak, Grace Marcy, Kathryn Novotny, Korynne Russell, Maddison Satterfeal, and Jeremy Swanson.

The Teen Art Group was founded in 2018 at University Galleries by director and chief curator Kendra Paitz, with support from the Illinois Prairie Community Foundation—Mirza Arts and Culture Fund. Each academic year, fifteen students from Bloomington High School participate in professional development activities, take a field trip to Chicago, and curate an exhibition. The 2019–2020 cohort was led by Paitz; Monica Estabrook, Bloomington High School art teacher; and Tanya Scott, University Galleries’ curator of education. The group visited the Art Institute of Chicago and Millennium Park; participated in art-making workshops, meetings, and exhibition tours at University Galleries; attended an artist lecture by Nazafarin Lotfi; curated this exhibition of Lotfi’s work; interviewed the artist; and developed ideas for educational workshops. Due to the Coronavirus (Covid-19) pandemic, the group’s last three meetings were conducted via Zoom and this exhibition transitioned to an online format. The 2019–2020 Teen Art Group was supported by another grant from the Illinois Prairie Community Foundation—Mirza Arts and Culture Fund.

Nazafarin Lotfi: Subtle Time presents twenty recent sculptures, drawings, and photographs, and premieres two performance videos created since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic. Rooted in her experiences of growing up in post-Revolutionary Iran and continuing her education and artistic practice as an immigrant in the United States, Lotfi’s works address temporal and physical displacement, the ambiguity of borders, and the disruption of expectations placed on individual bodies. She writes, “In all the different work that I do, there is an urgent need to create space, to open up the boundaries and to complicate borders.” For example, her recent paintings are based on her research on stylized forms in Islamic world maps and, in her words, ways to “map psychological landscapes drawn from lived experience.” Meanwhile, the geometric forms in Lotfi’s colored-pencil drawings are derived from the floor plans and architectural details of her own home, as well as those of her family and friends living internationally. Rather than creating representational drawings of specific locations, she addresses memories of space through her process of cutting shapes, combining portions and angles, and collapsing indoor and outdoor distinctions.

Comprised of papier-mâché, found objects, and layered graphite, Lotfi’s sculptures offer surprising relationships between positive and negative space, interior and exterior, lightness and heaviness. They evidence the physical touch of the artist, recall the forms of boulders and other geological formations, and serve as an extension of one’s body in space. Lotfi takes this idea beyond the studio, often carrying the deceptively lightweight sculptures through parks, lifting them near monuments, rolling them through crosswalks, and sitting next to them on bus stop benches, as ways to engage people in public. Since the start of the Covid-19 pandemic, Lotfi has begun making performative videos of her walks through the desert near her Tucson home. In the 10-minute videos, the artist individually walks through the landscape, navigating terrain and wildlife but never encountering another human—the epitome of social distancing. She evidences gaining a deeper understanding of a place, while also providing a portal to a new landscape for so many who are sheltering-in-place in cities worldwide.