#canonically married with weddings on the hillside and they are so loved

[junie-bugg]

Prospects and Propriety - Chapter One

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

“We’re very similar, you and I.” He turns the leaf over in his palm one last time and then presses it into my hand. His fingertips are warm where the leaf is brittle.

We are, aren’t we? Me, a girl forced to marry by the rules and expectations of society and him, a boy whose freewill was stolen away before he could even walk. We’re both prisoners. Destined to fates we did not choose ourselves. Now I see what was so funny to him.

The two of us: we are absolutely tragic.

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Author’s Note: 

This is a story inspired by my love of Everlark and Jane Austen’s novels. I am in no way an expert on the Regency period and I include fashions/details that are not historically accurate.

The setting is an alternate England-like Panem.

The plot is my own (Gale is not Mr. Darcy people, don’t get it twisted) but does borrow aesthetics and ideas directly from Jane Austen and Suzanne Collins.

The cast of characters is a mix of canon Hunger Games and original characters I’ve created.

I plan on including links to music and ambiance videos I used while writing so feel free to explore those! I typically play nature sounds and music together on my laptop so sorry if you're reading on a phone!

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cc9ofwF-e4

(If you want to listen to this on Spotify it's called 'The Secret Life of Daydreams' from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.)

Word Count: 1,727

Chapter One

I run my hands through the tall grasses at my waist. It’s the perfect morning. The crisp air doesn’t quite hold that harsh bite of winter that will soon sweep the countryside in blizzards and ice. Emerald leaves hint at the coming autumn with the slightest tint of yellow along their stems. The sun shines bright through branches and I watch the forest come alive with squirrels and chipmunks that scurry through the thick brush. The dirt path I followed to get here grazes the edge of the woods, but I’ve abandoned it to traipse through the wild-flower dotted hillsides instead. 

From this high up, I can see everything. The village of Whitley lies to the west. I can just make out the rooftops of the squat brick buildings off the main square. By this time the merchants will have opened their shops for business. The rest of the countryside is peppered with grand estates and bountiful farmland. Rivers gleam like veins of silver and dirt roads are wreathed in the dust kicked up by horse-drawn carriages. I wish I could stay and sit here all day. I would drink in the sun and drown in the low hum of insects, though Haymitch has warned me of the nasty gossip that follows a lady with a tan and a set of freckles. 

A lady. I almost snort. Apparently, that’s what I am. Or what I need to be if anyone is ever going to ask for my hand in marriage. The thought ruins the good mood my morning stroll had put me in. I throw myself down among the tall grasses and begin plucking mindlessly at their stems. 

Haymitch Abernathy, the legal guardian of me and my sister, has never been one to force us into doing things we dislike. I’m allowed to ride my horse alone, hunt with a bow and arrow, and take off into the woods whenever I please, like some woodland nymph from one of my father’s old stories. If it wasn’t for Prim and my greenhouse back at home I would probably live out here. Until it got cold of course. I’m allowed more freedom than any other young girl in the county, I’m sure. But not even Haymitch can protect me from matrimony. 

My sister is excited for me. I imagine she’s fantasized about her wedding since she knew what a wedding was. To her, marriage is a romantic fairytale. A strong, handsome man of large fortune will sweep her off her feet and give her an estate to run and small, cherub-faced children to care for. To me, marriage sounds like a death sentence. They say if I’m lucky, I’ll marry for love as well as for fortune, but I never want to love someone as much as my mother loved my father. Because when he died, in a way, so did she. The only person I know that I truly love is Prim. 

Primrose Everdeen, my little sister, was never the outdoorsy type like me. She’s fair, with golden blonde hair that hangs in ringlets past her slight shoulders, and a face as fresh and as pure as a spring dewdrop. She spends her days drawing, flower arranging, and studying languages with my old tutor Mrs. Winthrop. 

“She’ll be a highly accomplished woman by the time I’m done with her. Mark my words, this young girl is special,” Mrs. Winthrop had said to Haymitch mere days after first starting Prim’s lessons. She had been my tutor for years and had never said anything nearly as flattering about me. Sullen Katniss Everdeen must have been a lost cause in her eyes. 

I’m four years older than Prim who’s a mere twelve. We share the same parents, though we look almost nothing alike. Where she received the fair skin, blonde curls, and gentle blue eyes of our mother, I received the olive-toned, straight black, and storm grey palette of our father. 

I sit up suddenly, aware that I left home hours ago and it must be getting time for my lessons. I dread heading back to that stuffy room where I’m required to sit straight and learn to be “lady-like” under the scrutinizing gaze of Ms. Effie Trinket, my new tutor. Manners are of the utmost importance to her, seeing as she makes her living off of teaching them. She considers being late an unforgivable sin. 

With this in mind, I take my time gathering wild-flowers. There are so many at my feet, their delicate white and yellow petals peeking up amongst the grasses. I deftly craft two flower chains. One for me, which I place on the crown of my head, and one for Prim clutched in my hands. I notice some dirt under my nails and smile, wondering what Effie will say when I arrive late and grimy. 

She purses her lips and crosses her arms as I enter the room. “Where were you?” She demands in that high pitched voice of hers. 

“Out,” I shrug. I hadn’t seen Prim on my way in so I’m still clutching her flower crown. I offer it to Effie instead. “Flowers?” She squints at my offering, probably checking for bugs, before gingerly taking it and placing it down on a side table. 

“Katniss, I need you to take today’s lesson seriously.” Her clipped tone sets my teeth on edge.

“I always do-” I start, but Effie cuts me off. 

“Don’t lie to me, Katniss. I know you don’t care for etiquette. I know that to you a spoon is just a spoon, even when that spoon is a soup spoon and should only be used for soup!” 

Again with the soup spoon thing, it was one time. But she’s right. I find learning manners and etiquette a waste of time. I’ve only been out in society for a short while. I barely attend balls seeing as I’m sixteen and prefer to stay at home anyway. I look up and realize that Effie is still talking at me.

“Are you even listening? Mrs. Winthrop was right, you are hopeless.” She sighs and wipes non-existent dust off of her shimmery lilac skirts. “It is imperative that you start paying attention and make some kind of progress in these lessons. Mr. Gale Hawthorne has recently taken possession of Templeton and is traveling here, as we speak, to take up residence indefinitely. Do you know what this could mean for you?” Suddenly, her annoyance melts away and is replaced by a teary, almost hopeful expression. The way this woman’s emotions swing back and forth between happy and exasperated hurts my head. She comes to clasp my face between her palms. “Mr. Hawthorne earns ten thousand a year, Katniss. Ten thousand!” 

I have in fact heard of the Hawthornes. Maybe those lessons have had more of an impact on me than I thought. I was forced to spend months poring over books filled with the names and family trees of wealthy, well-known families that I had either already been acquainted with or might be acquainted with in the future. A healthy knowledge of people, especially rich people, will get you far in life. At least that’s what Effie says. 

Gale Hawthorne is the eldest son of the wealthy businessman Ezra Hawthorne. I forget exactly how Mr. Hawthorne first made his fortune but the word mine sticks around in my head. What his mine produced, I’m not sure. Precious gems? Gold? Coal? All I know is the Hawthornes are incredibly wealthy, and Gale being the eldest son inherited when his father died. He is in possession of everything from the family fortune to a legion of servants to the many extravagant houses in Town. Now it seems he’s grown tired with the city and has decided to try his hand at country living. Good, I think. A wealthy man who’s used to the high society of the Capitol won’t last long out here. He’ll be out of my hair before the month’s up. Effie must not realize this since she’s still staring happily into my face. 

“And?” I ask.

“Well, he’ll fall in love with you and ask for your hand in marriage!” She beams as if this is obvious. “If you play your cards right of course. For instance, he won’t find you very agreeable if all you do is scowl at him like you do me-” I jerk out of her grasp. 

Of course. Marriage. It’s one of the only things Effie has talked about the entire time I’ve been her pupil. 

“Yes, Mr. Abernathy warned me that'd you'd be. . .avoidant. But don’t you see? That’s the reason I’m here. To teach you how to win a husband! It’s an art you know.” She sighs, probably seeing the panicked look on my face, and slips back into a tone of tired annoyance. “You’ll have to marry someone, Katniss. Might as well marry knowing you’ll spend the rest of your life in the lap of luxury.”

She’s right, of course. There’s no way for women to make their own living. I can’t go to university to study business or law, I can’t run my own shop, I can’t inherit Haymitch’s estate or fortune. When he dies the money goes to some estranged cousin on his father’s side. I am a woman, therefore, I am destined to either marry or die poor and unprotected. And Prim…

If I don’t marry, then Prim can’t marry. One of the rules of proper Panem society is that a younger sibling cannot marry unless the eldest has, meaning I must be happily settled before my younger sister can even entertain the idea of love. If I don’t get married and Haymitch goes and does something stupid like die, there will be nothing I can do. For either of us. We’d be turned out of the house and left to beg for scraps. And I will not let that happen to Prim. Not again. 

I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat and spend the rest of the afternoon paying careful attention to Effie. She’s trying to teach me to communicate with men via body language, long gazes, and the fluttering of lashes. 

This is the only way to save Prim, and with each horrible flutter I produce and each disappointed sigh from Effie, I feel my chances slipping away.

[milwrites]

Weird that it happened twice, right? introduction - masterlist

A/N: hey! this is a multi part fix i’ve been working on for a good while now; it’s a reader insert but written in the first person because i’m awful in second , but the main character isn’t described at all other than small, but compared to 6”2 cowboys it doesn’t really mean much... it will have smut in later chapters and is john x reader :)) also loads of smut and not too much angst at all.

word count: 3.9k

T/W: there is a lot of swearing later on, smut, canon typical violence and lightly described sexual assault although there is no graphic detail.

Brilliant, quick of wit and sharp of mind, are all words that were once used to describe me, the bastard born daughter of an English lord. My mother a simple welsh girl who an aristocrat fell in love with, who bore an aristocratic child, who died through complications during the birth of her daughter. I’m told I was held by my mother for only a few short moments, and was named by my father while taking my mother’s family name in remembrance. I was despised by my stepmother of course, who saw even a child as a threat, the bright eyes and aquiline nose too much of a reminder of the love her husband had had for another while married. This meant I was shunned and despised for most of my early life; spending my adolescent years split between being taught to read, write and speak various languages, and learning to ride, shoot and hunt, having verbal abuse thrown at me by my darling stepmother at every opportunity. It shaped me into a fiery young woman, and having been left virtually in the company of men and the closest thing to a mother I had in the form of an early feminist governess, I had many unbecoming ideologies for a woman: I had no desire to be married off, wanted women to vote and I believed myself to be equal to a man. the indignity.

At 13 I bred my beloved mare; the sire being father’s proud 18 hand thoroughbred, the dam the most stunning bay warmblood mare I had hunted on from an early age. Bonnie was born healthy and full of life; her personality only matched by her striking markings - she was bright bay with piercing blue eyes, black points and 4 white socks - and I fell in love on sight. For the next 3 years I spent hours bonding with the filly, teaching her manners in-hand to begin with, and slowly breaking her as she approached her 4th year.

- 1898

The crisp September air heralded the start of Autumn. Green leaves in the grounds faded to russet and brown, falling delicately into knee deep piles. Squirrels chattered from treetops, you could only catch glimpses of their brush tails before they bounded away. The changing season meant my birthday came around, complete with the usual lack of attention; it was widely ignored by the family as I was widely ignored as a rule. It came as a shock therefore, when the lady of the manor approached me in one of the many corridors, to wish me a happy seventeenth, complete with a saccharine smile, and to tell me that I was needed in the drawing room. “and for the love of god wear a dress,” she had added waspishly - the soft demeanour slipping.

I didn’t own that many dresses, opting for shirts and breeches most of the time, and so I was left with only the choice of a gaudy rose pink affair or a deep green silk that was scandalously low cut. Unwilling to pass on the chance to annoy, I opted with the green, sweeping my hair back into a simple knot, adorned with small silver pins and a pendant at my throat as ever. It had been my mother’s, and I refused to take it off since it falling into my possession. “Stay here Piglet my darling.” the terrier wagged her furry little tail and leapt onto the bed, challenging me to move her.

My shoes made little noise on the polished tiles as I moved toward the drawing room doors, hesitating as I opened it, a flutter of nerves in my abdomen. A man in his late forties stood up as I shyly moved into the room; all my confidence and bravado leaving me as I left the comfort of my own company. his eyes lingered on my body for too long, raking over the artificial curves the corseted gown created, my exposed clavicle and the delicate sweep of my neck and jaw. “Vesta, this is Mr Edwards. You are to be wed to him in the comings weeks.” “No.” I wasn’t sure if I’d heard it correctly to begin with, the refusal leaving my mouth before my brain even registered what was happening. A delighted smile was plastered on my stepmothers face; thrilled to be getting shot of the young woman who reminded her husband every day of the love he had lost, whom she would never compare to in his eyes. “I’m not marrying you. I don’t intend to marry. I do not wish to marry anyone, but most definitely not you.” He once again dragged his gaze down my body, and told me in no more words that it simply wasn’t my choice, my parents had made it for me and I would be leaving the manor as soon as we were wed. Panic welled up in my breast, and I stalked from the room and ran to the grounds, cursing the impracticality of a dress the whole time. It was leant on the wall of Bonnie’s stable, absent mindedly playing with a blade of hay that I saw my way out, saw the door of my cage open ever so slightly. “You know what, girl? I do believe our time here to be coming to an end, one way or another, and yet i don’t think i’ll be leaving the way any of them expect.” I spoke to the horse as though she may respond, and although the only reply I got was a prick of the ears and an affectionate head butt, it felt like the most I’d ever been listened to in my life.

Not a month prior, a train belonging to my father in america had been robbed; broken into and stripped of everything - he’d lost thousands and was furious: a Mr Van der Linde’s name being cursed daily. It seemed to me that perhaps Mr Van der Linde and I may have something in common: a shared lack of respect for the upper class? Or a personal vendetta against the family? All I really knew at that time was that if I could somehow contact this man, I may have someone to run to.

A week elapsed, and somehow, through pure chance and luck of the universe, I had a vague idea of where Dutch Van der Linde may be. I wasn’t stupid enough to belive that I would instantly find him, and for him to accept me into his “gang” with open arms, but if I could just find him and explain why I was there, maybe I would have a shot at starting over. A train ticket was easy enough to acquire, and I secured my place on a ship to america with little difficulty as well, even finding one that allowed me to bring Bonnie, the prospect of leaving her broke my heart - and the terrier that had been my faithful companion for so long as well.

-

Dawn. Silver beads of dew clung to every blade of grass, condensing in the cool air before running to the earth. The tiny wren and humble blackbird joined the dawn chorus, finches and tits lining the steadily emptying branches whilst singing their merry tunes. Life in the grounds was also stirring, stable hands and gardeners milling around; their tasks for the day stretching out before them. It meant that while dressed in a similar garb to a groom we went unnoticed as we rode through the estate, the terrier hidden completely in the long grass. She would snap occasionally at the insects taking flight, or stalking the frequent rabbits peeping out of their warrens. It also meant that most were too busy to see the bulging saddlebags attached to my horse, or the handguns holstered at my thighs. I kicked Bonnie into a faster canter as the imposing boundary walls came into view; moving as fast as we could toward the freedom I fancied I could almost smell.

Time seemed to pass differently as I trotted through the country lanes, my thoughts filled with images of the west: cowboys, outlaws, buffalo and saloons - an intoxicating mix of roughness and freedom that I ardently longed for. I barely noticed that I was at the town, even less that I was perilously close to missing my train. Rushing, I managed to get bonnie into the livestock carriage of the locomotive, and myself into a compartment that was empty before the train slowly left the station, and I took the first step away from home. English countryside blurred as the train picked up speed, yet I felt as though I had to take in every dry stone wall and rolling hillside; it was the last time I would see my home soil, and for all I had had a less than pleasant upbringing, the moors and heathland itself had offered me solace and chance to breathe. I felt tears threaten to spill from my eyes, blurring the landscape further, and I clamped my lips together harshly to hold them from scalding my face - this was no time to cry, I remember chastising myself.

I could see bustle of Liverpool docks from the carriage windows in little time, causing my heart to thump with excitement and a flash of nerves to hit me when I spotted the liner that would be carrying me to America. I shivered, blinked a few times at the bright sunshine and pungent smell of tar, kerosene and wrinkled my noise at the tang of the ocean. A familiar squeal caught my attention and I turned in the direction of it to see two men struggling with Bonnie, my golden-brown horse rearing and threatening to kick out. “Here, I’ve got her,” I had rushed over to the men, who handed me the horse gratefully once I’d flashed my identification to prove the mare was mine. “Easy now, girl, i’m here.” I liked to think the horse settled a little, when in reality she still eyed up every man, horse and boat, displaying no signs of being any calmer.

The liner called for passengers to begin boarding, asking for those on horseback to come on before those on foot. I felt another kick of nerves, but clicked Bonnie forward onto the boarding bridge and on into the boat itself. Her stall was clearly marked and I felt easy enough leaving her there, happily munching on a hay net. The stable hand reassured me that the mare would be exercised every other day, and I would be able to visit her whenever I pleased. I’d hidden Piglet in my luggage, selfishly wanting my angel as close as possible.

-

6 weeks passed, and a longer 6 weeks had never passed since for me. Yet they faded into nothing when I heard the age-old cry of “land ho!” and could see American soil at last.

Bonnie took a lot of reassurance to walk down the bridge into Blackwater port, taking against the shouting of workers on the ground and the sounds of building work in Blackwater itself. Once we were off the boat, I made a beeline for the bank, with Bonnie looking sideways at every person, horse and inanimate object that had the audacity to move in her direction. I recalled the architecture of Blackwater being so much less ornate than even the most basic of English homes. The buildings were boxes, from that which I could see, no detailing on the facade or patterning to the brickwork. I hitched up outside the bank and walked in, giving the bank teller my warmest smile and hoping that I looked old enough to be withdrawing such a huge sum of money. I answered the teller’s questions with as much confidence as I could muster.

“(L/N). Yes, here’s the key. Yeah. All of it please.” The teller obliged me without question thankfully and I stowed it all into my satchel while still within the bank, unwilling to let anyone see the depth of my wealth.

“Armadillo then my girl.” I spoke gently to her, setting off down the dusty trail to the small town around 20 miles from Blackwater. Piglet barked happily as we broke into a canter, running alongside us until she tired, me slowing bonnie when she did.

It struck me as we rode that everyone around me was much more heavily armed than I was, my twin browning m1900’s seeming lonely without a repeater or rifle backing them up. “Seems to me like we may have a little stealing to do.” I remarked, vaguely talking to Bonnie and more speaking out to myself, a dreadful habit one picks up from spending too long in one’s own company.

We set up a small camp a few miles from Blackwater, not wanting to push too far on the first day and frankly I was slightly overwhelmed by how different it was from the sleepy rural setting of my home estate. The first ball of tumbleweed that had crossed our path had set Bonnie rearing, the mare presuming it to be alive, and Piglet tearing after it, engaging the “quarry” in a chase. The arid desert daunted me somewhat, I didn’t like that sand stretched as far as the eye could see, only broken by towering rock formations and train tracks extending into the distance. It felt lonely and inhospitable.

I composed a letter by the light of the fire, using a page torn from my journal and a pen I had taken from my father's study, struggling to word it and frequently finding myself gazing into the darkening night, unable to find the right words. Once I was reasonably happy with it, I addressed it to “Tacitus Kilgore” an alias I had heard rumours of, used by Van der Linde for mail, and stowed it in my satchel to send the next day. It embarrassed me that I hadn’t fed my girl all day, and so tossed an oatcake and a chunk of carrot to where she was tethered to a broken tree stump, and tore a hunk of bread off for myself to eat with the ration of meat I had bought in blackwater earlier, and downed it with a bottle of beer. Warm, sleepy, and full, I lay back onto the bedroll and watched the stars, the only unchanged sight I had come across. Lulled by the blissful familiarity, I fell into a dreamless sleep, the howling of the coyotes waking neither me nor the dog curled into my side.

-

The road to Armadillo was quiet, all sounds muffled in the canyon Bonnie was steadily carrying me through. I soaked up the warmth of the blazing sunshine with a contented sigh, and it came as a welcome surprise when I saw a speck on the horizon moving toward me. It crossed my mind that this may be the only person I would see until I reached the town, where a hold up would be much more conspicuous and a sure-fire ticket to jail. I just hoped they had what I needed. The speck turned into the clear shape of a horse, large and quite heavily built from what I would see, with a rider who looked to be male. The horse came further into view and I decided that it was a war horse of some sort, a Hungarian Nonius perhaps, dark brown with a creamy mane and tail, and the rider had two guns strapped to his back.

I dismounted bonnie and set her a little off the road, and pulling a face mask on, I stood in the middle of it - pistols drawn and loaded. The rider pulled his horse to a halt in front of me. “You mind movin’, doll? Got places to be.” That voice. It was a drawl, incredibly attractive and dripping with arrogance. I glanced up at his face to see that he was disarmingly beautiful: a sharp jaw and high cheekbones, dark eyes framed by long eyelashes and jaw length raven black hair. Easily the most perfect man I had, and ever would, have the fortune to come across. “No can do I'm afraid. This is a robbery.” My voice was crisp and I patted myself on the back internally for not wavering or backing down. “Off your horse. Now.” I pointed one gun at him, motioning with the other for him to dismount and move to the side. I think would have sounded awfully threatening if my ever-useful dog hadn’t, for lack of a better word, wiggled, over to the man and started licking his hands. “Pig!” I hissed, sharply beckoning piglet with my head. I continued the holdup. “Guns on the floor. Then hands up, handsome, where i can see them.” My anonymity gave me an unexpected wave of confidence that I never had otherwise, and my voice had taken on a slightly flirting tone. I went and picked up his rifle, admiring it in my hands for a moment then strapped it to my back, and took his revolver to toss it back toward him. Unable to walk away from the horse, I went over and offered it a peppermint from my pocket, letting it snuffle in my pants after finishing to try and find another. “You are aware I'm still her ain’t you?” The man’s voice turned my head and I whistled bonnie back to mount her, his rifle the only thing I had actually taken. “Er- thank you,” I spoke nervously, pleased that he had put up little fight, and seemed amused rather than angry. “‘M john!” he called after me as we cantered away. “Probably better you don’t know who I am, isn’t it?” I questioned back at him finishing by throwing him a mocking salute.

A few days passed and I made good use of John’s rifle, taking a pronghorn down and living off of the meat until I could reach another shop. I had posted the letter and having stayed near the post office for a night or two, had received a reply to meet Dutch in Armadillo saloon the next day. Bonnie was fresher than normal after having had two days wandering in the heat while we waited for the letter and while I continued to acclimatise myself to the environment. It was a cooler day when we approached Armadillo, meaning I allowed the horse to really go - a fast canter that moved to a gallop within seconds and set the wind racing through my hair. It was with a great amount of reluctance that bonnie returned to a walk through Armadillo’s empty streets, and with even more reluctance that she halted to be tethered outside the saloon.

I took a deep, steadying breath. My new life was within grasp, all I had to do was not fuck this up. I pushed though the doors, hiding my wince as the smell of stale alcohol filled my nostrils. The bar seemed like a good place to start; while I really didn’t want to be hammered, a little dutch courage wouldn’t hurt me in the slightest. “A whiskey, please.” I ordered while pulling the change from my pockets, forcing a small laugh at the bartenders joke about me looking too young to drink. I downed the shot in one go while telling myself that the burn as it slid down my throat was nice. A man in a red waistcoat caught my eye, and he noticed me starting eerily quickly, beckoning me over with a move of his head. He was with two other men: one older looking who had warm eyes, I thought, and another who seemed to be more battle worn, but smiled at me nonetheless. “Y/N L/N?” the red waist coated man asked. I nodded with a small smile and recognised him as Dutch van der Linde from the bounty posters that my father had acquired. “You’re a little smaller than i expected-” he began, before the older man cut him off. “That’s a fine weapon,” he remarked with a twinkling grin, and although a little confused, I replied that I had grown fond of it, but admitted that it wasn’t technically mine. “Ya stole it?” the other man asked, to which I grinned and inclined my head. The men then introduced themselves: the older man was Hosea Matthews, the younger Arthur Morgan, both of who’s hands I shook, Dutch's too. Dutch spoke again, holding my letter in his hand and wondering aloud why a fine young woman such as myself had fled England without a word and was so desperate to become an outlaw in his gang. I quirked my brows and drew in a breath, telling him my whole sorry tale, ending it by drawing the money from my bag and placing it on the table before them. “I was cut from the will, for refusing to marry that old man. But my father had started an account for my mother before she died that i found the key for. This is all of it.” Hosea was already counting the money, his brows creeping further up his head with every note he found. “This is over 10,000 dollars.” he talked only to dutch at that moment. I began to explain that I wasn’t trying to buy myself into the gang, that I could shoot, hunt, scam, and was excellent with horses, to which Arthur paused me to explain that no one thought I was, giving me a short smile and pouring me another whiskey. We were the only people in the saloon, so when the doors creaked open for a second time it drew our gaze to the man entering the room. “Ahh, Marston!” Dutch called to him and beckoned him over. “This is our newest addition, not much younger than you my son.” I frowned a little, then a wide smile cracked my face in two as his words sunk in. A relieved laugh left my lips unchecked and I thanked the men happily. My voice must have seemed familiar to Marston, who had been looking to Arthur to gauge his reaction, because he looked at me for the first time. I raised my head too, curious to see who this younger man was. We both froze as our eyes met. “Hello again, darlin’.”

A look of disgust passed over Arthur's face. “Please tell me y’all haven’t...” he trailed off. “I’m - sorry?” I offered, moving to pull the rifle from my back. John laughed at me, telling me I could keep it if I wanted, he’d already replaced it. I stuck out my hand, which he grasped firmly, hands warm and calloused against my skin. “Y/N L/N.” “John Marston, for the second time.” He shot me a wink as he said it, and I looked away, embarrassed. Dutch broke the following silence, asking what the hell just happened and why I was giving him a rifle? John answered before I could, looking slightly pink in the face as he told them that I had robbed him few days earlier. All three men erupted into uproarious laughter, Dutch giving me an approving look that sparked a warm glow of pride within me: I hadn’t had approval or praise like that for the past 12 years.

chapter one + colter next :))

[cutegirlmayra]

Im not used to asking these,but i admire your work!

(x Archie comics)

So, I’m pretty sure only in Underground and Archie Sonic was ever a prince..? It’s not actually modern canon that he is one. But I can pull a few strings here and there and do my best to combined Underground with Modern :) Making it more a ‘past’ than anything else, and awww~ This is your first prompt request for me? ;w; so excited then!!! I hope you enjoy it :) as always~

Prompt:

Sonic was his usual self for a while, until a fancy letter arrived that took those fond times of laughter away from him…

He was sitting with everyone outside of Tails’s workshop on a hillside, close to Angel Island when a mailman handed him the letter with a neat-looking seal attached to it.

Sonic’s smile immediately faded, taking the letter and suddenly looking it over in his chair…

His feet were up, one over the other, and warming by the campfire as the others laughed over stories they were telling, before Tails noticed the shift.

Amy took notice of Tails’s silence and also looked curiously worried over to Sonic. Knuckles caught on with a few blinks, turning to the main attention of everyone else’s interests…

In their little friendship circle, Tails took notice of the man leaving…

His head cocked upwards to look over the fire’s glow… and squinted passed the flames.

“He doesn’t look like the normal mail-delivery guy.” it sounded like a joke, but he was… just observing in all seriousness.

Amy frowned too, narrowing her eyes in suspicion a bit too. “And I’m pretty sure no mail comes at this hour…” she looked with concern over to Sonic, her expression softening in her care. “Is it urgent?”

Sonic continued to stare at the letter, having leaned back far down in the chair already, he seemed frozen in his own thoughts…

The lights flickered as he shifted his eyes over the first few details of the letter’s heading and address… before sitting up and leaning on the edge of his little lawn chair, and rubbed the back of his neck.

“…Heh, must be serious.” Knuckles put his hands together and also leaned forward, waiting for Sonic to clue them in. “Care to enlighten the rest of us?”

“…” Sonic was still a moment, before smiling up to Knuckles, “Isn’t it illegal to read someone else’s mail?” he joked, but it was clearly an avoidance mechanism.

“And Knuckles?”

He perked his head up, along with an eyebrow… just slightly raising to answer his call.

“You’re far passed due enlightenment.”

“Hey!”

“The rest of us have evolved since then.” Sonic teased, before leaning back and starting to open the letter.

The laughing stopped and so did his hands…

He looked around and gave everyone a teasing scold. “Can’t a man have his privacy?”

They smiled.

But didn’t look away…

He got nervous suddenly, shifting his eyes to all of them and then getting up to sit in the chair normally again.

“Hey, what is this?” he held his arms out, questioning them. “Can’t you all take five minutes to talk with each other instead of relying on me to get the party going?”

Their smiles grew, a few heads tilting as if they were innocent to his claims, but also clearly knowing they weren’t being so.

“We want to know.” Tails piped up, also putting his hands together and leaning on the edge of his seat. “I don’t recall you ever having a pen pal.”

“And it better not be a girl..! Ehem.” Amy spoke rather quickly and loudly on that one… but silently restrained herself from accusing him further.

Sonic gave her a look,… “It’s not a pen pal. And it’s not one person…” he then looked at the letter in the light.

He took it out and quickly skimmed it.

His eyes grew soft and gentle… as if nostalgia of fond memories returning.

The crew were silently waiting…

Sonic then looked around, and tossed the letter into the fire, leaning back with his hands looping behind his head and legs kicking up over the other.

“Ah, well! Wrong address.”

“Sonic!!” the three jumped up but were too late.

The fire took the letter, but Amy could make out one word…

“High…” she squinted her eyes, tilting her head as the paper burned to yellow, red, and black; curling up on it’s ends. “…Ness..?”

“Highness?” Tails gave her a funny look.

Sonic broke from his chilled stature and suddenly clung to the chair, his feet flying everywhere before landing to the chair in his shock, eyes wide open.

Knuckles looked over and smirked suddenly, “Ohh… I bet it’s some code word, huh!”

Sonic weakly smiled but that ended quickly, looking at the ground.

“Must of miss read it, Amy.” He sat back and folded his arms, looking away.

Amy pouted, puffing up a cheek. “I know what I saw!”

“I saw ‘ess’. So I believe her.” Tails stood firm on that too, before looking back to Sonic with a matching offended expression. “And with how you freaked out,… I’d say she was right on, too!” he pointed, accusing him of lying to them.

“What are you not telling us, Sonic?”

Sonic was surrounded.

turning his ‘trying to not freak out’ eyes back to his friends, he noticed that Amy, Tails, and Knuckles had all gotten up and walked over to him.

Tails held the chair and Amy put her hands to her hips as Knuckles glared and took Sonic’s chest, lifting it up and back down.

“Come on! Ol’buddy…” Knuckles smirked. “Fess up! Who you writin’ too..?”

“Er… It’s not who I’m writing too… it’s whose writing to me.” Sonic admitted, sweat dropping at how serious they all were for wanting to know. But they were also just playing… and he knew that.

Knuckles let him go, blinking. “Wait… the highness… is who you’re writing? W-wh-wha-woah!” he stumbled back as Amy knocked him away, tears in her eyes as her fists came up to her face.

“WHAT!? Oh, Sonic, it can’t be true! Tell me you’re not cheating on me with some… some.. Princess!!! WAH-HA-HA-HA!!!” She started to cry, raising her hands to her eyes as Sonic sweat dropped again, his eyelids coming down at Amy’s dramatic explosion.

“W-well.. you wouldn’t be half wrong…” he mumbled, before getting up.

“Look, look. Everyone calm down.” he swished his hands out, trying to calm the guys down.

“It’s not my girlfriend…” he sternly gave Amy a look, and she started to sniff and calm down. “It’s also not JUST their title…” he looked to Knuckles.. and then to Tails. 

“It’s mine.”

He lowered his hands, and took a deep breath.

“That was my brother and sister… My sister’s getting married.”

The group’s jaws all dropped at the same time.

“S-sister?” Tails stated.

“Brother?” Knuckles replied.

“MARRIED?!?!?~

“This can’t change anything.” Sonic shook his head, moving his hands out again to his friends, looming a bit over them.

“I don’t want anyone thinking they can’t just be real with me.”

“So… you’re a… prince?” Tails leaned his head forward, looking up and blinking disbelievingly up at Sonic.

“Woah.” Knuckles took a step back for a minute. “…I need another smore.” he wobbled back to his chair, sitting down and shaking his head. “Whoo.. that explains that pompous attitude of yours.”

He shook his head, as if it all made since, as Sonic glared at him with a poutful frown.

He didn’t seem to appreciate that deduction.

Tails laughed, but then gripped his head, “Woah, I think I’m light-headed. You mean to tell me… my best friend… is royalty?!”

“A royal pain! Hey, that actually makes MORE sense now!” Knuckles billowed another insulting laugh, as Sonic folded his arms and gave him a killer look.

“Explains why he’s such a stinker too…”

“Amy!” Sonic unfolded his arms and threw them up, done with them judging him. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you-!”

Amy jumped up on the chair and hugged him, “Aw! My prince! I knew it was meant to be! Emmm~ My own little fairy-tale.”

He looked like an over-sized doll in that girl’s hands… and he didn’t look too happy about being in her arms either…

Tails chuckled nervously, pointing weakly to the two, “Haha…ha… I love how no one is questioning this.” Tails gestured around him, as if this was ridiculous. “Don’t tell me.” he put his two fingers to his forehead’s temples and closed his eyes.

“…Runaway?” he peeked back up at Sonic. “Are we gonna go with cliches with this fable?”

“LEGEND.” Sonic teased, and got Amy off of him.

He pulled her arms down, and gave her a look like, ‘Okay, stop.’ and then turned to Tails, hopping down as Amy followed him, not disturbed by his discreet asking for less ‘hugs’ from her still.

“I’ve been asked to bring some company along…” he gestured a weak hand out.

“Tails?”

“Oh-ho. Me? Sitting through a boring, royal wedding? That’s got to be the funniest thing I’ve ever-”

Sonic nonchalantly walked by him. “My sister’s ladies-in-waiting have mentioned wanting to be some intelligent men for a change…”

“-On second consideration, is food involved?” as if not hearing, but clearly analyzing what Sonic was saying, he turned to his best friend.

“Oh… three or so meals? Maybe four for the… ‘party’ occasion?” He turned with a smirk. “But my sister said there’d be a buffet.”

“…And will this buffet be symbolic of our previous discussion?”

Sonic and Tails both tilted their heads in.

“Tails, I promise you both.”

“And they like shorter men?”

“What are you two talking about?” Amy didn’t hear what Sonic mumbled as he passed by Tails, so the two turned and wrapped an arm around each other’s shoulders, laughing quietly to themselves.

“And Amy… I’m sure you won’t object to… meeting royalty?” he beamed sarcastically to her.

“Oh, you know I have to meet your family, Sonic.” she placed her hands back on her hips, “After all, I’m sure she’ll LOVE me! Ah-! Will she love me? Oh no! If I don’t get your sister or brother’s approval I may never be able to marry you!” she turned to an aside as the two looked at each other with comical expressions.

“Cause I’m sure they control his life.” Tails rolled his eyes, and then the two looked back at Knuckles.

“There’s still room for one more… buddy ol’pal of mine..?” he was clearly teasing him again, but Knuckles looked back up, and then away to poke the fire.

“I don’t think I’d be able to fit in with such a crowd…”

Tails lowered his eyes and smirked, “Buffet, Knuckles. And I mean the literal kind, cause the figurative were offered to me, you savvy?”

He broke arms with Sonic and hit Knuckles lightly in the shoulder and laughed, gripping his stomach.

“I’m only playing.” he admitted, “I’ll go to support you, Sonic. And nothing more.” he winked to him.

Sonic smiled and nodded, but then leaned in to whisper, “You better be. Cause you know the code, Tails. Bros before-”

“Flowered prose. I get it.” he smiled back.

Amy was still freaking out, and Sonic rolled his eyes, kicking a leg out to go over to her.

“I better calm the ‘raging seas’ before it floods the ‘good news’.”

“Ah! I knew it!” Knuckles leaped up, pointing accusingly at Sonic.

“You are speaking in codes!”

Sonic and Tails rolled their eyes.

(Haha, this was fun xD)