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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 10

Masterlist

Shoutout to my bestie @acollectionofficsandshit for all the drunk comments she made while betaing this one... Wish you guys could see them lol

Word Count: 4.8k

Recommended song: “Amnesia" by 5SOS

Pierre paces in his dinky trailer at the Circuit of the Americas and desperately tries to forget you exist. He had already taken down the pictures on the wall but the images were burned into his brain. He had shoved your shirt under his bed, having absolutely no idea how it had made its way halfway around the world to taunt him.

He was slowly unraveling like a spool of thread on a loom as you wove him irrevocably into the tapestry of your life.

The race in Austin started in less than two hours and you hadn't texted him. Not once in the handful of years he'd known you had you neglected to wish him luck before a race, even if it was 2 am your time or you had exams, you always took thirty seconds to warn him to be safe and finish well.

He was beginning to think you hated him for how he'd acted at the gala last weekend, jealous and possessive from afar. Talking to you would have been the better choice. But seeing you laugh and dance the night away had hurt too much. He’d slipped out early after Victoria assured him she could find a ride and sped home to fall apart.

He had only barely managed to piece himself together in time for the race.

Pierre checks his phone for the third time in as many minutes and swears under his breath. He didn't know why he expected it to ring and for your face to pop up at this point. Even if you called to tear into him, he'd still fall to his knees at the sound of your voice. He just wanted to hear you speak, didn't care what was said, only that he could latch onto your words and lose himself in them.

Hope sparks when his phone chimes but he nearly throws it across the trailer when he sees Charles' name.

Heard from her yet?

No. At this point I'm beginning to think I never will again.

Maybe she fell asleep early?

It's 5 pm in London. I'll bet you she's eating a bowl of takeout from the Chinese place down the street, not sleeping.

Its still possible. Don't dwell on it. This isn't the headspace you wanna be in before a race. Block it out. I don't wanna see my best friend wind up hurt today.

Pierre didn't reply, if only because Charles was right. Worrying would get him nowhere. After his shitty qualifying yesterday, he started thirteenth on the grid so he had his work cut out for him. Austin offered plenty of opportunity for overtakes; he could get the job done if his team made the right calls.

And if he made it to the podium, you would have to text him.

The thin mattress groans when he sits to unlace his hastily tied race boots. He folds his legs to sit criss cross and places his palms on his knees. The familiar pose already has some of the tension leaving his shoulders as his eyes slide shut. He breathes in for ten seconds, reflecting on what ails him. He holds the breath for five seconds before releasing it slowly.

He repeats the process until he comes to terms with the fact that you won't be wishing him luck. That was your choice; there was nothing he could do about it and therefore no sense reading into it. He had done all he could to convince you to trust him. The ball was in your court; he had to be patient and wait for you to take a shot.

“Focus,” he murmurs to himself, forcing any erroneous thoughts from his head. “Walk through the track.”

The circuit at Austin was challenging, consisting of a mix of 20 sweeping corners and scattered hairpins. He was almost lucky in a way to be starting so far back on the grid because turn one was only a few hundred meters from pole and their tires would be slightly colder and less grippy upon arrival than his would be. The few extra seconds afforded to him by starting thirteenth could mean the opportunity to leap frog past his rivals in the first corner.

The counterclockwise circuit meant he would have to keep an eye on his front left tire too, as it would wear faster than the others. He'd change gears an average of 66 times per lap, higher than similar length tracks like Monaco. Pit stops cost an average of nineteen seconds, meaning he would need to build a significant gap to the driver chasing him in order to avoid the threat of any undercuts.

There were too many variables occupying space in his mind to afford you a sliver of it.

Some time later he decides that his four leaf clover tucked safely in the worn leather of his wallet will provide all the luck he needs and switches on his pre race playlist after popping in his ear buds.

"Sights on the podium," he murmurs to himself, hand on the doorknob. "Let's race."

The bass flows through him as his feet carry him to the Alpha Tauri garage on autopilot, through the back entrance and to his plain white driver room. The familiar beats are a numbing salve spread on his frayed nerves, his anticipation rising like a crimson wave in his veins. He leaves his clothes in a haphazard heap in the corner and changes into the white fireproofs hanging nearby, thoughts momentarily veering to you knocking on the door and stripping them right back off.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, he runs through his usual stretch sets until Pyry arrives to walk him through reflex exercises.

"How's your head?" Pyry asks, running him through more cool down stretches. "Do we need to take a minute and do some meditation?"

"Beat you to it," Pierre grunts out, pushing back against the hand on his head to work his neck. "I'm good."

"You sound better than you have all week, I'll give you that. Keep that focus, use it to propel yourself forward."

"Run me through the lineup again," Pierre requests, "I need something else to think about."

Because if he let his mind follow the path it wanted to, it would inevitably lead to you and undo the work he had done to avoid that. He needed to be empty of anything that wasn't racing, anything else was an unnecessary distraction that had the potential to end in disaster.

Pyry rattles off the grid in order of who Pierre needs to overtake, pausing between each name to give him time to recall their driving styles and potential chinks in their armor to exploit. He knew from tapes of previous years that Stroll often ran wide into turn one, giving Pierre the option to brake late and sweep up the inside. Vettel was half convinced the track was cursed, so his mind would work against him enough that Pierre could exploit it and get past at some point. He continued until he got to Hamilton and Max locking out the front row, where he would need a bit of luck to overtake.

"You got it?" Pyry asks, stepping back.

Pierre rolls his shoulders and nods.

"Get shit done mate," Pyry says and bumps fists with his driver. He slips out to allow Pierre a moment to center himself before slipping into his race suit, leaving it half unzipped and tying it around his waist before following his trainer.

Pyry leads the way to where the matte navy and white car waits, mechanics swarming it like studious worker bees tending to their queen. No one talks to him save his engineer because words from anyone else threaten to break his carefully constructed race mentality. If they wanted him to bring home points, they knew to leave him alone once he was suited up.

His mind is blank of anything but statistics as he twists his ear buds in and pulls on his balaclava and helmet. As his vision narrows to the sliver of track he can see through his visor, so does his focus. With forty minutes to lights out, he's directed out onto the track. He rips the wheel to the right as he exits the garage, getting a decent powerslide for his efforts.

There was no doubt in his mind that he would land on the podium, if only to see the look on your face when he did.

**********

It took an unfathomable amount of restraint to keep yourself from calling Pierre to wish him luck.

You texted Max instead, wishing him a safe and comfortable podium a half hour before lights out. He hadn't responded, likely already in the garage with his trainer going through his pre race routine.

The pace Max had set the day before had awarded him pole position and the margin between him and Hamilton had been enough that you were confident in his ability to hold off the Mercedes for all fifty six laps.

If you were honest with yourself, you were disappointed that the Alpha Tauri you so desperately tried to ignore would be starting in thirteenth. You try not to think about it, instead queueing up SkySports and opening your laptop for pre race coverage. You avoid the interviews in favor of listening to the commentators analyze the grid.

"It should be an easy win for Max as long as he fends off Hamilton until the first round of pit stops. The undercut works well here, as Red Bull proved last year, and I'm sure they plan on doing the same thing this year."

You hum in agreement, gingerly sipping your steaming tea. You really ought to consider a career as a sportscaster at this point based on how often you came to the same conclusions they did.

"I think one of the biggest shakeups is Russell starting all the way up in eleventh after his amazing qualifying for Williams yesterday. Think he can hold onto that position?"

"He's got some fierce competition not far behind in the form of Alpha Tauri. Gasly starts thirteenth- surprisingly far back on the grid given the otherwise flawless performance he's shown this year. But it seems likely that he should be able to overtake-"

You flick the tv on mute, unable to stomach listening to them sing his praises. You numb your mind with social media until the Formula 1 theme plays on your laptop, alerting you that there's a few minutes until race start. Tire blankets are peeled off and the drivers weave their way through the formation lap with the exception of Kimi who takes his traditional straight line approach to warm up his supersoft tires.

Most of the front runners are on ultrasofts, indicating a two stop strategy. It was Pirelli's recommended approach, and you were glad that Horner heeded their advice for once and let Max use the ultras in Q2. It would give Max the upper hand over Hamilton who starts on the yellow sidewall tire and thus slightly slower lap times.

Crofty and Brundle break down the notable turns as the cars line up on the grid, pointing out the sharp hairpin only a few hundred meters from pole position. If Max got away clean, he would be ahead of the cramped pack and have an even better edge over the silver arrows who would be forced to queue behind him.

The traditional "lights out and away we go" kicks off the grand prix, engines roaring into the first turn. Max does manage to get away clean and is awarded with an immediate advantage. Turn one proves tragic for the Alfa Romeo of Raikonnen and the Asthon Martin of Stroll who collide and cause Kimi to spin. They rejoin at the back of the pack, your eyes snagging on the navy and white of an Alpha Tauri as it streams past.

Your heart spins in a similar fashion when the GAS driver tag leaps up two places in the timing table, suddenly in eleventh due to the incident. Your gaze snaps to the laptop humming on your legs before you remember its Max's driver cam you queued up. The Dutchman is silent as his engineer relays information about the incident and informs him of the widening gap between those chasing him.

“Confirm received,” Gianpiero says calmly. No matter the situation or how heated Max got, he always kept his head. It was what made the duo such a good match and had likely kept Max from going off the rails on more than one occasion.

“Yeah,” Max says shortly, clearly pissed about how quickly Hamilton was approaching. “Let me know when I’ve got enough charge to get out of range.”

“Yep, will do. Just keep this pace and you’ll hold him at bay.”

Live coverage replays the incident between Stroll and Raikonnen from the view of onboard with Pierre. The instant the 10 on the halo appears in the center of your screen you suck in a breath. He yanks the wheel to avoid colliding with Ocon, who had to do the same to keep from hitting his teammate as they navigate through the carnage.

You chew on your lip and try to refocus on the battle between the front runners. Not much is happening in the midfield for the next thirty or so laps and Max just barely manages to build a solid enough gap between himself and Hamilton to dive into the pits comfortably without losing places.

Your phone rings and you answer it without checking who it was as the only person you wouldn't answer was currently occupied.

"Hello?"

"Why the fuck didn't they pit Daniel?!"

You grin, noting the blistering beginning on his front left tire as SkySports switches to his onboard camera. "Because he's about to pass Charles," you tell Dan's girlfriend. She didn't call you often during races. It was likely that she knew you were nearing your wits end and this was her way of offering support.

"He won't be able to with those tires- oh." She breaks off when Daniel passes a DRS detection zone and his rear wing opens, allowing him to pass the Monegasque with ease.

"Told you," you say with a touch of reprimand. "You're always too nervous about those things. Daniel knows how to drive, just trust him to get the job done and he'll bring home another trophy for your apartment."

"I don't live here," she points out and you roll your eyes. She had lived in London as long as you had known her, but she was almost always at Daniel's apartment whether he was in town or not. Daniel digs in as the camera follows him for a lap, highlighting the widening gap between the McLaren and the Ferrari.

"You basically do. At this point, you're paying rent for a dusty one bedroom apartment on the east side that you set foot in maybe once a month." She scoffs but you push on, "a waste of sterling if you ask me, when you're at Daniel's every time I ask you to do anything."

"You act like I never- there goes Pierre!"

His name sparks dread in your gut as your attention flicks back to the screen in time to see him overtake Bottas on the inside of turn one. He'd managed to claw up to fifth with the move, somehow gaining places while you weren't looking.

"Good for him," you croak, trying your best to be genuinely happy for him. He was pushing the car to the limit and you'd be amazed if he didn't wind up on the podium along with Dan and Max. Charles and Hamilton were the only ones in his way, and something told you Charles wouldn’t put up much of a fight when his mate reached his gearbox. Hamilton would prove a challenge but he had been making tiny mistakes all day. Nothing significant, though enough to add up to him barely holding onto second while Daniel rode his gearbox.

"He's got ten laps to get past those two," she murmurs as if momentarily forgetting you were on the phone.

"Can we talk about literally anything else please?" You whisper, half tempted to shut off the race completely.

"Babe, you have to face the music at some point. Either you never want to see him again or you love him, which is it?"

She never failed to be anything but brutally honest. You appreciate it because everyone else let you brush off your problems, but she called you on your bullshit. She would needle you about it until you folded.

"I think it's better for both of us if I pretend we never met, don't you?"

"Easier for you, yes," she agrees. "But it'll kill Pierre. You don't think you could keep in touch with him, just as friends?"

"I don't know if I can handle that. I can barely look at him without wanting to bawl my eyes out."

She sighs, pausing to contemplate what to say. Voice soft, she continues, "Why don't you just take him back? Clearly it's ruining both of you. Are you really gonna let the press wreck the best you ever had? I know its hard but-"

"I'm not like you," you cut in. "I can't just ignore the articles and the comments and pretend there aren't people out there that hate me for being with him. They came to my house, disrupted my family. Hell, Ben can't even go to school without being mobbed by his classmates demanding answers. If my suffering is what allows my family to go about their lives then so be it."

"If that's what you wanna believe."

You sigh, tangling your fingers in the hem of your shirt. "It is."

"Alright," she says, voice teetering on a knife's edge. "I know better than to try to change your mind when you're like this. He's on the podium by the way. Oh, and watch what you say to Max- Pierre will read into it."

She hangs up without a goodbye, leaving you to deal with the realization that the podium is indeed VER RIC GAS on your own. Your eyes are glued to the Red Bull and McLaren drivers, blatantly ignoring the one in the white suit as the anthems play and the champagne is sprayed, turning away to busy yourself with making coffee when Daniel hands his liquid filled race boot to third place.

You weren't quite sure how you were supposed to watch what you said to Max- there was no reason to in your mind. Max was your next closest friend on the grid and you had every right to congratulate him if you wanted to.

Resolute in your decision, you text Max and Daniel a quick congratulations before shutting off the TV and closing your laptop.

Max's insane custom ringtone he'd selected for himself nearly makes you jump out of your skin when it blares from your phone.

"Hey great race-"

"Did you see it? I wasn't sure if you'd watch it- did you see my move on Hamilton when he tried to get past me?" He was talking a mile a minute like he was still out on track. "I was like- and then Dan tried to overtake me on the final lap and I was like no way! And then-"

"Max," you chime in, dragging out the 'a' with a sing-song voice. "You're rambling."

"Oh right. Yeah but I made it! Led every lap and finished with another win."

"That's great." You force as much enthusiasm in the words as possible, trying to match his chaotic energy. "You did great. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but I'm proud to be your friend. You beat a world champ!"

"It means a lot-"

"Who's that?"

You stiffen at the familiar cadence. You had assumed Max was back in the garage when he called, but he must have still been in the podium room. You could picture him in his race suit, smudges of grease and dirt staining the pristine white. Beads of sweat probably ran down his neck, begging to be brushed away by your tongue.

"Uh, no one," Max says in a lame attempt to cover up his digression. "I gotta go," he whispers to you.

"Let me talk-"

"Wait don't," you start, but the call ends abruptly and you blink. You stare down at your phone, completely dumbfounded. Of course his instinct would be to talk to you, to share the euphoria of a podium with you. It was the first victory in three years he wouldn't have you to celebrate with.

It was only a matter of time until his resolve popped like the cork on his champagne.

**********

Pierre's phone is in his hand as soon as Max hangs up. He hefts his trophy in the other, a wild grin on his sweaty face as he snaps a picture. He makes sure he's the only one in the frame, shamelessly wanting himself to be the center of your attention.

"Mate," Daniel pipes up, catching his eye, "you think that's a good idea?"

Pierre sighs, cutting the Australian a glare. "I'm just trying to fill her in."

"Wasn't your plan to give her space?"

"It's been a week, isn't that long enough?"

"Take it from me, sometimes it takes months for someone to figure things out. Hell, you know how long it took me to sort through my feelings for-"

"I know," Pierre cuts in. "I know. I just- a snap can't hurt can it? C'mon, I just got a podium! If it goes bad I can blame it on the post race jitters."

Daniel holds up his hands and shrugs. "You're a grown man. Do what you want."

Pierre studies the photo, scrutinizing the way his hair was plastered to his head and the awkward way he'd posed to keep anyone but himself out of the frame. It's his genuine smile that he knows will do you in, and ultimately the reason he sends it.

His phone is a lead weight clutched in his grip as he winds through the paddock, constantly stopped by vips and team members congratulating him. None of what anyone says registers, he just tries his best to match their mood and sputter praises about his team's contributions to his podium.

The snap you finally send back is only from the eyes up, but it's enough. He's surrounded by people in his driver room, but for ten seconds it might as well have just been him staring at a sliver of your face on a screen.

The tiny lines at the corners of your shining eyes tell him you're smiling, which is a step in the right direction even if you won't let him see your entire face. It's enough to reignite the hope that slumbered in his chest while waiting for you to pull the trigger and make a move.

He sends back a video of the people in the room, who cheer when they realize they're being filmed. 'Wish you were here,' is what he captions it and sends it without giving himself a chance to overthink.

Ten minutes pass with no reply.

The beer he’s already consumed have given him a pleasant buzz as well as an excuse to make a bad decision or two. He takes another video of the room to post to his Instagram story, 'Missing you' written in the lower left corner.

Fuck, he hopes you'll see it and regret leaving him on read. Instead all he gets is a text from Charles chastising him for stirring up drama.

Really Pierre?

Blame it on the alcohol, he texts back.

I know you aren’t drunk. You can’t form a coherent sentence when you are.

Guess i gotta drink more then

Pierre doesn’t turn anyone bearing alcohol away. He's two celebratory shots deep when Daniel finds him sulking in a corner. "You've got my girl texting me freaking out over your story. I've seen it and I gotta agree with her. Was that really necessary?"

"She left me on read," Pierre says like that was enough explanation. His head was spinning and it was getting hard to keep the room upright. "And it's the truth. I miss her like hell. I want her here. She was supposed to come, you know? I was gonna have her fly in with me on the jet. She doesn't start class again until June. I had this whole week planned out. I was gonna show her Texas- she’s from New York and..."

He trails off when he notes Dan’s pitying smile. Daniel sighs and runs a hand through his curls. "I know. I get it, okay? I know it's hard but you can't force it. You've gotta let her come back on her own, all you're doing now is pushing her away."

He was fucking clueless when it came to these things. He'd had you for a few precious moments and now that he'd lost you he didn't know how to act. His mind was running on hazy autopilot; he barely knew which way was up, let alone did he trust himself to make any sort of important decision.

He stares down at the shot he'd been handed at some point before throwing it back. The cheap whiskey burns his throat but he barely registers the sting. "Should I take it down?"

"She already saw it," Daniel says gently, as if he anticipates how bad the fuck up will hurt. And it does. It hits him like a tire wall at two hundred kph, knowing that you were probably ranting or crying on the phone with Daniel’s girlfriend. "But yeah, that's probably best. People are already wondering what happened between you two, no need to throw fuel on the fire."

"You're probably right-" Pierre cuts off when Charles arrives with a grimace on his face. He shakes his head and gives his friend’s shoulder a squeeze.

"For once I'm not the dumb one."

"You're a dick, you know that right?" Daniel says, allowing Pierre to delete the post. It takes him a few tries before he gets it down, but undeniably rumors will be circulating in the morning if they weren’t already.

"Honestly what were you thinking?" Charles demands, edging towards full blown yelling. "I told you to leave her be. The gossip stemming from this isn’t gonna help.”

The last thing he needed was someone else telling him how stupid his decision had been. At least Daniel had the decency to show sympathy.

"Honestly?" Pierre responds with the same intensity, his anger flaring. "Honestly, Charles, I was thinking that she was happy for me but was too afraid to take the leap. She haunts me. Every second I’m awake I have to force myself away from her. Even when I’m asleep I can’t get away from her. So I don’t know, maybe I wanted to haunt her too."

“This isn’t the way you win her back and you know it.”

“I know!” Pierre throws up his hands. “But what else am I supposed to do? She won’t talk to me. She has no problem talking to Max or Daniel but apparently she draws the line at me.”

“You know it’s not-” Daniel's eyes flick to his phone and he fights back a grin. All it does is remind Pierre that he lost the person that could bring that sort of smile to his own face. "Fellas I wish I could stay and help but I gotta get going. Charles, I think Pierre needs another drink." He slaps five American dollars in the Monegasque's hand. "First one is on me."

Pierre is too deep in a spiral to care when his friend drags him from the party to a bar just south of the circuit. Somehow it was within walking distance; the floor was sticky and the lighting was for shit but he didn't care.

Pierre's focus was on downing shot after shot, erasing the broken image of you his mind had conjured up. He never should have posted the story. It only served to feed into what the media had been speculating for the past week and dredged up more tension between you.

Pierre stops checking his phone two shots later. The liquor provides a wet blanket over his senses, dousing him in cold water and scrambling his brain. He could barely remember his own name, but yours still lived in the corner of his mind.

Even drunk, he refused to forget you.

Two hours and who knows how much alcohol later, Charles helps Pierre back to his hotel room.

Pierre falls asleep as soon as he hits the mattress, head too blurry to dredge up memories of you.

#are you feeling the angst yet #pierre gasly #pierre gasly X reader #formula 1 #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfiction

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lady-plantagenet · 4 years

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What hasn’t already been said: The Spanish Princess 2

Episode 1: CamelNOT

[Lively Music Plays]

I shit you not... that’s what it said in the CCs.

Tower of London (?)

*Catherine looks at the array of crowns like a museum curator and the proceeds to strut down the halls*

Wolsey: *gives her this strange look which is a mixture between damn girl and the eagle is my spirit animal.

Then Catherine gets fake detained and taken to Henry in what must be a strange variation of the whole Robin Hood/Maid Marian roleplay they historically engaged in.

... did she just call his erhm manhood his kingship? Well that’s original, I’ll give them that. Also funny how Bessie Blount initially looks on in fright... don’t worry girl that will be you soon.

———————————————————————

*the four ladies have a brunch friendship moment together*

I see Blount is among them... I see they are setting her up as Catherine’s friend in order to play up the whole betrayal.

Alright. Jokes aside, I realised how much I’ve played myself. I was inspired by @melusineloriginale ‘s sporks (which if all this TSP episode posts got you in the mood for PG show mockery I urge you to check out here - you’ll thank me later). In truth, Henry VIII’s early reign is a bit too late from my main area of focus for me to make intelligent jokes.

I’ll content myself with just bullet-pointing random thoughts that came into my head, and if some intelligent thought gets through, well that would be the pinnacle. In any case I’ll aim to not parrot some of the stuff that’s already been said, repetition can get annoying.

This image embodies this post, but maybe not the show. I’ve noticed those Starz productions get better by the end.

First Scenes:

- The recap just reminded me how much I will miss Margaret Beaufort in the coming episodes. I know her portrayal was innacurate but Harriet Walter just made everything better.

- They are making such a big deal out of this whole ‘we were crowned together, we rule together’ thing in this episode - it makes no sense. Catherine was an influential Queen but she was definitely no more than a consort and never saw herself as more.

- Ruairi’s new haircut is pleasing to my eyes.

- When she says ‘Abuelo’ it’s super adorable awww

The Ferdinand and Charles V scene:

- Bessie Blount looks so much like Ursula Pole lmao. Also they totally got the Pole children’s birth order wrong and UGH WHERE IS GEOFFREY POLE???

- I like Mary Tudor’s actress and her facial expressions. However, this whole polyglot image they are representing is innacurate. I am fairly certain she knew no spanish and I recall reading a contemporary account which said that she was not very learned.

- I’m pretty sure it would be considered bad luck to prematurely crown your son ‘Henry IX’ while you’re still alive.

- I actually like the whole Grape motif in this episode. It’s probably the smartest thing they’ve come up with so far for this episode. I know a lot of you will be all like ‘there’s no record of Ferdinand being abusive’ but this choice sort of makes sense when you recall Joanna’s treatment. Also I appreciate them for not being tacky and showing flashbacks of more overt abuse eg physical. The sugared grape is also fairly symbolic (the sugar is like a gilding, the grape easily crushable)

- OMG the guy from Garrow’s law is playing Thomas More!

- AND PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME IM NOT SEEING THINGS? Margaret Pole x Thomas More is happening?? Please god that is a historical crackship I am getting behind. Yes. This is what I’m most invested about.

Margaret Tudor and Scotland Scene:

- The whole ironic cutaway to Margaret being all depressed after Charles Brandon’s statement about her charming Scottish king is such a cliché movie technique.

- If this were a more artsy film I would think the whole setup resembling a stereotypical middle-class family breakfast was done on purpose for humorous effects or to create a link with the past. But here I don’t have as much trust in the producers. I think they just failed to capture the time period accurately.

- The modernisms continue: ‘Negassi please stop playing’ idk, there just something so modern about this for some reason ahaha

- Also again, I’m getting tired of all this ‘Catherine is basically queen herself’, ‘Catherine is a political genius’, ‘Catherine Catherine Catherine’ ugh. I don’t think the producers understand that Henry VIII was a very autocratic and traditional ruler. He didn’t make any show of joint-rulership (correct me if I’m wrong).

- The teeth thing is funny, smart and I liked it.

Back to Westminster:

- I like Ferdinand’s actor!

- Also Catherine’s response to ‘who are you loyal to?’ was not that smart. I feel like the producers wanted us to be impressed. What if Spain and England’s interests conflict, ey??

The Joust:

- I care too much for the whole Margaret Pole plotline. I’m so invested.

- I could watch a series of More and Pole just exchanging lines. I love the actors too and this is my hope for this series. The whole frustrated parents is SO CUTE.

- I didn’t know More tutored Reggie, I would be curious to know more.

- The way compton says groom to queen’s stool is freaking hilarious. He looks like a pervert.

- Henry Pole is a darling and must be protected at all costs.

- Oh Christ oh Christ that eyeball shot was just... good job on the special effects guys. Don’t know what the point of that choice was.

- I found the whole armour mentions after interesting, it looked so set up as a PR campaign because Stafford speaking about the armour just sounded like a statement agreed on beforehand ‘should have worn the same’ and the Catherine with ‘steel in the bones’ and Ferdinand’s impressed face (it was him playing them?)

- Am I giving this show too much credit?

- Also whats up with “God save the Queen?”

War Counsel:

- Henry VIII’s actor is quite charismatic in this scene. It’s almost as if Catherine is the hothead and Henry the wise one that speaks less but more significantly. It almost feels like they gender-swapped them.

The Bedchamber:

- Did Catherine breastfeed the baby? I thought it was Anne Boleyn. Doubtful... I’m tired of the trope of ‘you’re a good woman if you insist on breastfeeding the child yourself despite social conventions’. For a feminist show, the writers seem very attached to some 1950s perceptions of motherhood.

- I feel like the age difference between Catherine and Henry is well conveyed.

Scotland Again:

- ‘All the sheep were pregnant’ 👀 oh touché Margaret. oh my. Did she just?

- I know they are playing out this disenfranchised Margaret arc to reinforce how great Catherine and Henry are (cheap technique) and to build up to her involvement in Flodden (innacurate historically but I know what the show will do). But I will say this: the humour is pretty good in the Scottish scenes! But I know it’s unintentionally so... (I highly doubt they wanted us to laugh at Margaret hitting James or calling Alexander a pig).

Westminster and the baby chamber:

- What’s are those red splotches on the babies face??

- Oh that shot of Margaret and silent Reginald :((( it makes me sad.

- And now the Poles are at church! I just love the look of them.

- That scene of Maggie and Catherine was needed, as we didn’t get the best friends vibe much in this episode. The whole thing looked a bit pagan though, but it was nice :)

The whole Ferdinand’s betrayal segment:

- The grape motif again was fitting, him snapping the fruit right before she gets to it even despite her knowing what he’s like and what he’ll do, was a good parrallel.

- I’m tired of hearing of this ‘Camelot’. Even in the novel, Camelot was Catherine and Arthur’s dream and... can we just live it up with Arthur?

- Ursula Pole’s, Bessie Blount’s and Mary Boleyn’s actresses look way too similar.

- I fail to see why Catherine thinks she’s turning into her father... she doesn’t strike me as much of a game-player or subtle two-facer.

- I’m intrigued what will happen with Oviedo and Lina... I feel like they won’t stay in England long.

- He was made knight bannaret... nice... but why does he thank Catherine publicly for this? It was in Henry’s gift that he was made a commoner Knight.. if this transpired irl Henry would have been gravely insulter.

Catherine’s Dead Baby and thereafter:

- Guys. In all seriousness, I don’t think the TV series is trying to imply that Catherine killed the baby with her negligence. I mean, they are so bent on us liking her they wouldn’t do that. It would be a bit too ballsy anyway. Remember the red splotches I mentioned earlier? Could those have been a sign that he was already ill but no one noticed/was in denial?

- The pebbles in hands would have had more emotional payoff if it had been established earlier if you know what I mean. Basically, this episode is too fast and entire arcs begin and end within it which extinguished any build-up.

- Oh man Henry is so sweet in this, how will they build him up as the tyrant he was historically if they keep this up?

Scotland Again:

- I must admit, I don’t like all those nicknames they keep using. But somehow James calling Margaret ‘Meg’ is nice and seems fitting.

- What’s a hermana sister?

England Last Mourning Scenes:

- YOU DID NOT BUILD CAMELOT ughhh

- Why is Catherine giving the speech and not Henry?? It turns out Catherine was more emotional historically then the whole perception of ‘perfect queen of stone’ to which some people hold her. However, I doubt it would have been proper of her to give a speech in such a emotional manner.

Conclusion:

6.5/10

Some of the dialogue was stilted, the costumes are confused as to which era they’re supposed to be (aesthetically distracting) and many other characterisation issues.

I don’t have high hopes for this series in terms of cinematography or art but I sure as hell expect it will be entertaining. So far, everything is just getting set up and I find some aspects promising. As you can tell I am truly excited over how the Margaret Pole plotline. I am also interested in how Henry will be portrayed, with Catherine being so OTT and pushy this episode Im starting to Stan him more. In this show he appears sensitive and serene and kinda... adorable. Kind of like a little brother hanging onto his sister’s skirts.

But in a way that is a disservice to the real historical figure which would not tolerate such a representation. I am very irritated by this whole ‘joint-rulers’ thing which is just sooo innacurate. These STARZ shows have an obsession with showing women turn into men for the purposes of feminism - I see.

Catherine overpowers Henry too often and it sometimes feels like he’s HER consort. Of course, the feminism in this show is schizophrenic as we get the overemphasis of Catherine as a 1950s motherly ideal with the whole breastfeeding angle (“you’re better than other noble woman who would find this beneath them”, “they’re not as motherly as you”).

So the relationship dynamic between Henry and Catherine is a bit off at the moment, but oh well.

Mary Tudor is a bit distracting with her dark hair but I find the actress extremely endearing and promising. I know there will be emphasis on her storyline too and I hope they’ll not be clichéd with it.

#the spanish princess #the spanish princess 2 #lady plantagenet's series reviews #not my best #but I've been ill for most of the week and wanted to get this out before episode 2 comes tommorow #feel free to send me an ask if you you have anything to say #I'd love to see if anyone else thought some of the same things

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the-awkward-outlaw · 4 years

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Hello ! Can u write an imagine where Arthur s/o kills Micah and she is banned from the gang. Would Arthur follow her ? Thank u :)

Man, I have been in the biggest writing funk for the first time in like nine months but I finally got this one done! Here you go, Anon! Sorry about the wait.

(Author’s note: Arthur doesn’t have TB) (BTW, Arthur is husband material and no one can change my mind)

It’s already been a long, exhausting day and it’s not even midday yet. You hate it here, always will without a doubt. Beaver Hollow is just a complete shit show and the gang has seriously deteriorated.

You miss how things used to be. You can remember how everyone was: Mary-Beth and Tilly giggling over romance novels, Sean bragging about how tough and smart he was, Uncle’s jokes, Hosea’s stories about his past and how he always added a note of wisdom. Oh Hosea. He was just another casualty of Dutch’s plight against modern America.

Everything’s changed since Hosea died and the boys returned from their tropical trip. Javier doesn’t sing or play the guitar anymore, no one laughs, people fight constantly. It’s a burden and a pain to be in the camp nowadays, and you hate it. The person who’s changed the most though is Dutch. He’s not the caring, almost paternal figure who was just struggling slightly to help everyone get back on their feet like he was right after the Blackwater mess. Now he seems to be on a suicide mission and intent on taking everyone in the gang with him.

The worst thing about the whole situation is Micah. He’s always known how to butter Dutch up but when Hosea was around, he kept himself in check. Now that Hosea’s gone, he’s been in Dutch’s ear the whole time and you haven’t liked it. You’re not the only one; Arthur and John have been suspicious about the whole thing.

Arthur’s faith in Dutch has been severely shaken. He questions Dutch much more than he ever used to. Dutch doesn’t like it, and he keeps on lying, saying he’s going to get everyone out. All he’s done is killed Cornwall, blown up a bridge, brought Pinkertons closer to camp than ever and used the war between the army and the Wapiti into his favor, even getting the chief’s son locked up during a feud.

Arthur walks over to your tent after donating a deer to Pearson, who’s drunk again. He’s been coming to you to talk a lot more lately, though you’re not sure why. You’ve had a crush on Arthur for ages but never acted on it. You two have been friends for what seems like forever and you refuse to destroy that over some silly feelings you have. You’ve wondered if Arthur has a crush on you too. It’s just the way he acts sometimes, things he says. The way he wanted you to come with him to tell Mary he didn’t want to be her errand boy anymore. The way you catch him staring at you sometimes. How he always wants you to go off hunting with him but won’t invite anyone else.

Just as he’s about to say something to you, Dutch calls him over. Arthur gives you a yearning look and then turns around to go see him. A few moments later, someone catches your attention, pulling you away from your work, with their voice. It isn’t Arthur, though or even John or Mary-Beth. It’s Micah.

“Ah glad to see you’re putting an effort into keeping this place running. We can use all the help we can get,” he simpers.

“The fuck do you want, Micah?” you snarl.

Micah’s always been a pebble in everyone’s shoes but now with Hosea out of the way and Dutch going crazy, he’s been acting like he’s in charge of things. He keeps badgering people to do their chores (which most of them have been) and that everyone needs to pull their weight. This doesn’t bother you, what does bother you is the hypocrisy of it all. He never does a damn thing. The last job he helped with was murdering Cornwall but you felt he did it out of a personal interest and less of a needs-to-be done basis.

“Always gotta be so bitter,” he says, smiling. “You know, if you were a little nicer, people might actually like you. Too bad nothing can be done to make you pretty though. Unfortunately you’ll just have to stick to nice but ugly.”

You throw down the sewing you’d just been doing and stand up, marching over to him. He wisely takes several steps backwards as you whip out your pistol.

“Give me one more goddamn reason, you cockroach,” you hiss. “I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

He whips out his own gun and points it at you. “You don’t have the guts, little girl.”

“Wanna bet? You ain’t the first person I killed, though I’m not sure I can really define you as a person.”

By this time, your argument has attracted the attention of many of the others. They form a circle and watch, but no one dares interrupt. You get the feeling that most of them want you to kill him. The majority of them have had problems with him too.

“Woe!” Dutch says, walking over with his hands in the air. “There is no need to have guns drawn in camp. Both of you fools, put them away.”

He stands next to Micah and glares from him to you. Arthur stands a few feet behind him and shakes his head at you, clearly trying to stop you from doing something reckless.

“She started it, Dutch,” Micah says, his gun still drawn.

“Bullshit! You’re the one going around insulting everyone. Trust me, if I don’t shoot you now, someone else will. Like Lenny said back in Colter, when you fall there’ll be a party.”

“Watch your mouth,” he growls. “Keep flapping your gums and you’ll end up just like Lenny and Hosea. Better yet, maybe you’ll get your head shot off like good ol’ Sea-”

Before he can finish, he’s silenced by your bullet slamming into his neck. He sputters and drops his gun, grabbing at his gushing neck. People start yelling and Javier and Bill grab you, making you drop your gun.

“Let go of me!” you scream as Micah falls to his knees. Dutch glares at you, clearly shocked. As Micah slumps down onto his stomach, he stomps towards you. Javier and Bill hold your arms tight and you can’t fight them off.

“You know the rules, Y/N,” Dutch says quietly. “There’s absolutely no reason to shoot anyone in camp unless they’re traitors.”

“How do you know Micah wasn’t a traitor, Dutch?” you snarl. “Ever since Guarma, those damn Pinkertons have been nipping at your heels more than ever.”

Dutch lowers his brow. “I’m going to give you five minutes to get away from here. Never come back, Y/N. I never want to see you around here again.”

Javier and Bill let you go, but you look around, silently pleading with the others to help you. No one does and your eyes finally fall onto Arthur. His mouth is partially open but his eyes say he wishes you hadn’t done it. He says nothing though, and you feel your stomach drop. Of course he’d choose Dutch over you. He’s known him for twenty years and Dutch saved his life. You’ve only known him a few years and maybe helped him get out of a few scrapes. You’ve got nothing on Dutch when it comes to Arthur. You don’t blame him either. No matter what kind of mess Dutch has gotten everyone into, Arthur’s been doing his best to keep things together. All you’ve done is create a bigger mess for him to clean up.

You know it’s time for you to leave. There’s no doubt in your mind that Dutch is just crazy enough to kill you, and the clock is ticking. You push your way between Tilly and Karen and go to your tent, packing everything up quickly. You feel everyone’s eyes on your back until Grimshaw barks at everyone to get to work and for Charles and John to get Micah’s body taken out of camp. You throw everything onto your horse and then run off down the path, feeling your heart break. You’ll never see any of them again, not even Arthur. Your best friend and the man you love will never be part of your life again.

********************************

It’s been three weeks since you were forced to leave camp. You’ve gone back west, back to where you’ve always belonged. You’ve found a small cabin not too far from Aurora Basin in Tall Trees. When you first arrived, the cabin had clearly been abandoned for a long time. You cleaned it up and made it habitable. You’ve decided to hang up the hat on being an outlaw. The Pinkertons won’t be coming out this way looking for the Blackwater robbers, not when they know exactly where Dutch is, so you’re safe out here. Besides, you weren’t even involved in that mess, so no one will associate you with that.

It’s been lonely but peaceful out here. No more having to rob people, no more feeling like you’re chasing your own tail in Dutch’s crazy schemes. No more having to worry about anyone else besides yourself. You’ve missed them though, all of them. You miss joking with Tilly and Karen, discussing books with Mary-Beth, listening to Javier’s stories about Mexico. Even Pearson’s cooking since you’re not much of one yourself.

More than all of that though, you miss Arthur. You miss the sound of his voice, the conversations you had during long hunting trips. He was the only person you could tell anything to. There were many nights you spent under the stars with him and even a few curled against him to keep out the cold. You miss the way he smelled, the way he’d hesitatingly touch you. You two were a perfect hunting team, you were able to track and kill prey without hardly saying a word. You try to settle with the idea that you’ll just have to reminisce in the memories of him but to forget a future with him in it. Not that you had much hope for that before. Arthur may have told Mary to take care of herself from now on, but you always knew he;d never go for you.

You’ve been fishing in the lake for some time and gotten hardly any luck. You sigh and decide to call it a day, collapse your pole and pick up your almost empty bucket. You head up the road, feeling lonely and missing the company of your family. When you round the bend leading to your cabin, you look up and see a familiar face.

“Arthur?” you say quietly, not sure if he’s really there or not.

He rubs his jaw and looks at you, clearly searching for the right words. You stop and look for him, your stomach clenching. Has Dutch sent him? Dutch said you only had five minutes to get out of camp, but not that he wouldn’t hunt you down. The only reason you can think that Arthur’s here is because Dutch told him to find and kill you. You hover your hand over your gun, hoping you won’t have to use it.

“Arthur, please let me explain,” you say. “You know Micah was just making things worse. Let’s just put this all behind us, okay? Just tell Dutch you killed me, at least do me that favor.”

“Dutch didn’t send me, Y/N,” he says softly, his hands on his gunbelt. He takes a step towards you but stops when you back up, clearly worried. He raises his hands. “I ain’t here to hurt ya, darlin’.”

Darlin’? He’s never called you that before. He’s always addressed you by your name. If you didn’t know Arthur, you’d think he might be lying and pretending to be harmless, but you know him too well. He doesn’t lie.

You blink heavily, feeling your eyes water. “Why else would you be here, Arthur?”

He sighs and takes another step towards you, his hands still up. “Y/N, I ain’t followin’ Dutch no more. You said it weeks ago, he’s gone crazy. He didn’t get better when you left either. Micah might not have been around to stir him up, but he’s just gone worse. He was real angry when Charles and I went and broke Eagle Flies out of jail, tryin’ to clean up his mess.”

Arthur goes on to say how the army tried to kill Chief Rains Fall for the oil on his land and how the gang went to help try and save Eagle Flies as he went to get revenge for his people. By the end, Arthur got trapped beneath a soldier and nearly killed. Dutch had been the only one there and could have easily saved him, but chose not to. When Arthur confronted him about it, a huge fight broke out between them and Arthur decided he’d had enough. He snuck John, Abigail and Jack out that night and then decided to find you.

“I knew you’d come out west, Y/N. You’re too much like me, this is where you’ve always wanted to belong.”

“But why would you want to come after me, Arthur? I understand why you left, but why come after me?”

He lowers his hand and walks up to you until he’s only a couple feet away. “Because I care about ya, Y/N.” His gruff voice is soft, sending shivers down your arms. “Because you’ve always tried to help me. If you’d been there, I know you woulda saved my life, not leave me to die like Dutch did. I did everything I could for him, even almost died for him multiple times. I gave him everything I had and got nothin’ to show for it. I’m done, darlin’. I want to be with you.”

Your entire body is shaking as he talks. He closes the distance between you and wraps his arms around you. What little strength you had holding you together crumbles and you sink into his chest, tears leaking out of your eyes.

“I’m sorry I weren’t there for ya when you killed Micah,” he says, rubbing your back. “To be honest, I was happy when you killed Micah. He’s been a giant thorn in my side since he showed up and I’ve wanted to shoot him myself since Sean died. I was just shocked that you’d done it so quickly. I shoulda gone with you when Dutch forced you out.”

You shake your head into his shirt. “No, it’s good you didn’t. If you’d left with me, Dutch would have hunted both of us down. He knows how essential you are to everything, he wouldn’t like it if you left with me.”

He sighs and leans his cheek against your head. “Well, I’m here now, darlin’. If you’ll have me, I’d like to stay with ya as long as I possibly can. You’re my best friend and…” He pauses so long you look up at him to find his cheeks red. “I gotta be honest, Y/N, I’ve been sweet on ya for years.”

It’s your turn to blush and you smile. “Really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We had things so good, Y/N. We been friends so long, worked so well together, I didn’t wanna ruin that. Besides, I know you wouldn’t have feelings for me. I’m just an old, dirty outlaw. I ain’t worth no one’s time.”

You grimace at him. “Arthur, I hate how poorly you view yourself. You wanna know what I think about you?”

“I suppose, though I doubt it’ll be anythin’ good.”

You sigh and stretch up, placing your lips against his. They’re soft, though slightly chapped. He tenses up when you touch him but after a second he responds. His lips move with yours and you trace his with your tongue. After a moment, you pull away. He’s cheeks are darker but he’s smiling.

“That’s what I think of you, Arthur. I’d love it even more if you decided to stay with me. I’ve been sweet on you for the longest time, it’s been so hard for me to keep it out of our relationship. I just didn’t wanna ruin our friendship.”

He smiles in and leans in to kiss you again. You feel the first surge of excitement and happiness since you got kicked out of the gang. You can’t wait to see what the future has in store for you now.

#arthur morgan #red dead fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #awkward asks #arthur morgan x reader

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normadeathmond · 4 years

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the spanish princess ep 2 thoughts

I’ve been enjoying all the reaction posts so here’s mine (spoilers included):

- I’ve had kind of a revelation this week regarding The Spanish Princess. This show is basically the modern day version of those dubiously accurate medieval historical chronicles. Not only do we have extra supernatural elements (the cuuuuurse, prophetic dreams), but we also have the contemporary authors’ personal biases inserted all over the place, and the addition of mythical stories about the heroes (Catherine fighting at Flodden this week). For some reason, this has made me a lot more forgiving towards the show. (it probably also helps that my fave Maggie B is dead now, so I don’t have to worry about them shitting all over her anymore, and I don’t have a particularly strong attachment to any of the other historical figures depicted)

- erm wtf, did anyone else catch that scene with Maggie and Edmund de la Pole in the previously on that we’ve never seen before?? I guess this plotline was supposed to be included in episode one as well, which probably would’ve helped it feel a bit more developed and less like something they suddenly remembered had to be tied up from last year. The whole sequence of Edmund being reintroduced and killed off in less than five minutes was very rushed.

- I’m glad baby Henry’s death hasn’t been totally forgotten, but do we really need so many grief-stricken sex scenes between these two? These are supposed to be the years they’re deeply in love, let them have some happier sex

- ehh I’m not sure that Catherine’s big reveal to the council actually changes much. A very early pregnancy, possibly with a girl, doesn’t really make the line secure. I think the focus should have been on Henry’s own desire to prove himself in battle, which would also have added to the humiliation when Catherine successfully defeats the Scots while his military exploits fizzle out.

- I really like General Howard, Peter Egan is fantastic (albeit a bit too polished for a grouchy, uncouth soldier type)

- “and now this book is closed” - god I hope so, bc I hate Maggie’s plotline from last year. It was interminable watching her whinge about how unfair it was that the Tudors suspected her of plotting against them because she had always been the most loyal person ever, as though she was suffering from some kind of selective memory loss about literally being a spy for the Yorkist rebellion in The White Princess. ffs Maggie can be either a completely innocent woman unfairly maligned by the Tudors or she can be a badass Yorkist rebel, not both.

- it seems her memory problems are back this episode because she goes storming off to complain to Catherine about Edmund de la Pole getting his head chopped off, conveniently forgetting than she was also heavily involved in his plot and her family is only out of the Tower thanks to Catherine interceding for her with Henry. Catherine was 100% in the right here, Edward of Warwick was innocent whereas Edmund de la Pole was a fully cognisant adult who spearheaded a revolt to take the throne (and likely would’ve had both Henry VII and Henry VIII killed if he had succeeded), so the idea that she’s suddenly heartless because she apologised for the former’s death but not the latter’s is ridiculous. The whole scene, including Maggie’s kids’ ‘whoomp here she goes again’ reactions, unintentionally have her coming off as rather hysterical.

- hopefully the rest of her story this season focuses on her mending her relationship with her sad silent son instead and possibly getting her leg over Thomas More

- ahhh Lina’s face when Catherine bitchily says she’ll be having a girl. Catherine’s not going to be able to stop herself from lashing out at her now that she has twin boys.

- first the clothes comment last episode, now they have Ursula saying Charles may not be good-looking but he’s rich as fuck. I guess she’s being set up as a gold-digger.

- is it just me or does the Anne Boleyn’s actress look a little bit like Charlotte Hope? The dress they had her in when Henry returns even looks like something Catherine would’ve worn in season one. I’ve no idea why they’ve brought the Boleyn girls in this early though – are they going to be sent to France then come back later? Henry still has to make his way through Anne Hastings, Bessie Blount and Mary Boleyn before he gets to Anne. The episode summaries make it look like his infidelities won’t start until episode four so he’s going to have to have a new girl every episode to get through them all.

- I’ve kind of come around on the whole Catherine-in-armour thing. Frock Flicks wrote an interesting article this week where they pointed out that while historically battle armour for women did not exist and women very rarely wore armour, depictions of women in armour have been around for a long time and would have existed in the Tudor period. In this pseudo-historical retelling of Catherine’s story mythologizing her as a warrior queen, it does make sense to carry on that visual tradition and have her armoured up.

- Unfortunately I think they did kind of undermine the visual impact of the armour on screen by focusing on it so heavily in the promos for the season. Possibly it wouldn’t have affected a casual viewer so much, but anyone who’s followed the show’s promo cycle has been seeing pictures and clips of Catherine in the armour for weeks now, and when she entered stomping down the corridor in her full battle gear it didn’t blow me away like the first look at that outfit should have done.

- I know this series is never going to have the budget of Game of Thrones, but Flodden was a disappointment, from the rousing speech (“mothers are warriors too, amirite ladies?”) to the battle itself. You can tell they really wanted this to be their big epic action sequence and unfortunately it felt underwhelming. I remember the battles in TWQ/TWP being much more impressive, for what was probably a similar budget.

- as soon as I saw how heavily pregnant Lina was this episode, I knew a birth/battle juxtaposition was coming. I get what they were trying to do with the whole ‘childbirth is women’s battlefield’ theme, but the attempt to fake-out Lina’s death fell flat - there’s no way they were killing her off. (I’m not sure why she was giving birth in the hallway, with apparently no midwives, but it was inadvertently hilarious watching Maggie - the only one with any childbirth experience - try and talk her through it while the other three were basically no help at all.)

- also everyone being like “omg Princess Mary you can’t possibly be at the birth” felt so out of place given that Meg and Catherine were both hanging around a battlefield at the same time

- on the one hand I did like that Catherine didn’t end up being some amazing warrior just off instinct; she’s almost immediately pulled off her horse, staggers around looking confused as fuck and then is shocked when she actually kills someone. But on the other, what was the point of all the warrior queen build up if she barely even does anything useful on the battlefield? (also why did they have her kill someone who looked so much like James?? I’ve seen several people think she killed James herself and I thought that too until he was shown being taken down afterwards - it was needlessly confusing)

- JAAAAMES. I’m so sad he’s gone. Georgie Henley knocked it out the park this episode, especially in her big mourning scene. Although given how sweet he and Meg were this episode, and her comment about him being her best friend, it just makes the punch last episode seem even stranger.

- I’m so sad we were robbed of seeing Catherine try to send James’ corpse to Henry as a victory gift and have to be talked into sending just the coat. If you’re going to make her ride out in armour let her keep her savage penchant for gruesome war trophies!

- oop, Catherine absolutely fails to sell the lie that she’s pleased about Lina’s two boys, and Lina can definitely tell.

- with Maggie B gone, Wolsey is the new evil religious cockblocker in town!

- I would like twenty more scenes of Lina and Oviedo being cute and bitching about their work days thanks

- I like Catherine defending Howard to Henry. It would have been nice if there was more time to show the development of a begrudging respect between those two.

- overall I found this episode disappointing. The big sequences weren’t impressive in the way last week’s were and there weren’t enough character moments to make up for that. I’m still looking forward to the rest of the season though, especially Meg, Mary and Maggie’s storylines.

#the spanish princess

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journal-of-an-outlaw · 4 years

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Price to be Paid - Chapter 33

Read on AO3 here

Dear Journal,

I always hate starting these things. Never know what to do to signify another passage starting when the ending of the other was just on the other side of the page. Be it days or months, the one thing that never changes is how close my last entry was. I guess this is to document my thoughts so that when I’m an old man I can look back and reflect on how life used to be. Most of the time I just draw something awful and leave a caption so when my eyes can’t see right anymore I’ll know what I was attempting to preserve. If I make it that far I’ll have plenty of stories to tell.

Anyways.

I know the last time things seemed to be doing well. I got married to a woman who changed me. Dutch had a plan to get us out. John and Abigail were getting along just fine, even little Jack was learning to hunt rabbits and small critters. But it all changed so quickly, where do I even begin…

The bank. I know that damned job was where everything went wrong. Micah and Dutch never stopped talking about it the whole time we were in Guarma so I couldn’t forget any detail even if I tried. And I did try. The first week stuck in that humid hell I was too angry to speak and drank myself into a stupor that would rival Reverend Swanson; alcohol helped me ignore the pain in my chest where my heart used to be. Maybe that’s why he drank. To forget. Everyone tried to talk to me but I wasn’t in a place to listen. They tried to tell me everything would work out, that she was alright and we just had to focus on one thing at a time. But that was bullshit. I just kept seeing Hosea get shot and my wife being carted away, and I was stuck helpless to do anything against it. I’ve never before realized that was my worst fear; watching from the outside as people I love get hurt.

The Pinkertons showed up too fast to not have known about it before but there was no way any of us would have ratted out the gang when we were so close to our goal, so close to leaving and putting behind us any thought of betrayal or being on the run any longer. I spent more than one night stuck on that island replaying it over and over but I couldn't make sense of it.

I should have been faster. I shouldn't have let Dutch separate us. As soon as that snake Milton yelled I knew we were done for.

I shouldn't call him that. I know I can come up with something worse. Technically he is my father in law, but he is the reason Hosea is dead and the woman I love is...gone. Who knows where he’s hidden her away. No wonder she never told me about that mess, I would have never believed someone so good and true was family with that vile man.

She probably thought I’d hate her for keeping the secret, but the truth is I couldn’t care any less. Sometimes you don’t get lucky enough to pick your family. I know that better than anyone.

Micah claims they planned it together, for her to distract her father long enough for us to escape, but I’m not too sure yet if I believe that. I saw the look in her eyes. Panic. Fear. Then that stubborn heroism that should have told me to drag her out with me no matter the cost. It was in the set of her mouth, and how her eyes narrowed enough to give away her thoughts. Just a few of the things I love so much about her. But in an instant she was gone. Locked eyes in the middle of the chaos was the only goodbye I got.

Losing Hosea was hard, to say the least. He was more of a father to me than Dutch was in all the ways that mattered. He taught me to swim and fish and how to read the leaves and stars at night. He taught me that waiting is sometimes the best strategy, and to never go anywhere without a good strong lie as to why you’re there. He was kindness and compassion, but also cleverness and hard edges when he needed to be. I looked up to him more than I knew and his absence will leave a painful hole that cannot be filled.

But my grief is nothing in comparison to Dutch’s. His...it’s like a pain he’s unwilling to admit is there. Like he’s afraid that acknowledging it will break the damn he’s built and everything will come crashing down. I worry what it means for him, for me, for all of us. Hosea was truly the angel sitting on Dutch’s shoulder.

I somehow made it out of Guarma and that whole mess alive. A boat took me back and I had the unfortunate luck to land in Van Horn. I must be getting old, my bones seem to have absorbed some of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling for nearly a month now. But I got myself a horse and should be back at Shady Belle tomorrow afternoon to whatever wreckage is left from my former life.

The thought of seeing my wife seemed to be the only thing getting me through the days since that cursed robbery. Her smile, the sound of her laugh, her soft hand in mine. I miss it, sometimes so much I am nearly brought to tears and in those moments I understand why Dutch doesn’t talk much about Hosea. Like watching the sunrise with burning eyes, sometimes the pain that comes with it makes you aware that it happened at all.

Part of me knows that what’s waiting for me at Shady Belle isn’t good news, but I can’t think about that just yet. Hope is the comforting shadow beside me.

I should have known better than to expect a good night’s sleep. My eyes were so blurry I mistook a tree for a man on the side of the road. Even my body knew that nothing is how it should have been.

Shady Belle was empty. Well, worse than that. It had echoes of the gang being there, our last hurrah as we rode out to the gates of victory so blind to what was about to happen. Cans littered around where we ate together, scuff marks all across the dirt from our boots, even a small pair that must have been Jack’s. The worst though was a carving I found on one of the poles of the front porch of my initials in a heart that she must have drawn without me knowing. I tried to etch it into my notebook but found I couldn't stand there for more than a few moments without the familiar pain of missing her taking over my senses. Maybe one day I won’t feel like I’m being ripped apart by all of these emotions.

Inside was empty. Nothing remained of the time we spent in those walls. I couldn't bring myself to check the room I had shared with YN for the fear of being entirely overwhelmed again. Instead I found a letter from Sadie Adler, a woman of many surprises, waiting for me in the living room. She must have known I would come back.

The quiet didn’t last too long before a couple of Pinkerton fools in the employment of Mr. Milton came around. From what I overheard they returned to Shady Belle every single day to see if we had returned but had no such luck. That meant two things; that the gang got away safely and the other’s from Guarma hadn’t come to the house. For a few moments at least my heart settled but that didn’t last long. These days it never did.

I rode straight to Lakay even though I despise the damp, disgusting heat of the swamps. My eagerness to see people I knew won over my hatred for the area. Eventually I found my way to a small village, if you’d even call it that, of buildings set up along the river bank. Time and humidity had worn away at any pride these homes must have held, the moss clinging to anything that needed to be filled back in. It was silent save for one man in the farthest hut chopping away at some type of meat.

Pearson for the first time in my life was a sight for sore eyes. Luckily Abigail was behind him and Sadie behind her so I was quickly welcomed with warm arms and a bowl of stew that was the finest I had ever tasted. There were questions, so many questions, but they held their tongues for the time being and let me settle into a bed for a few hours of sleep. Finally the exhaustion caught up with my body and I was overcome with aches and a cough, but that I ignored too.

Tilly, Uncle, Lenny, Karen, Sean, Mary Beth, Strauss, Molly, Charles, and everyone else was safe and hidden away. We were safe for the time being.

Micah and Javier arrived the next day with the same story. We all needed rest, but there were things to do. John had been captured and taken to Sisika. Abigail pulled me aside and asked about YN and I did my best to hide my pain, but she told me what happened after we got caught in the gunfire. She was taken somewhere north, or at least that’s where the wagon headed, and some man named Staten was her watcher. My blood nearly boiled, but Abigail calmed me down until the agony of losing her ripped me apart and I had to go sit on the dock before anyone else saw me. How am I to deal with this alone? I would give anything to have her back by my side again, father be hanged.

Not two days later a rain storm kept us inside, and set up the dramatic entrance for Dutch’s grand return. Things all broke loose. Abigail was yelling about John again, Micah on about something else. The man didn’t even have a chance to sit down before he was bombarded again. We raised a glass to Mrs. Adler for saving the gang in Dutch’s absence, her and Charles were the only reasons things continued on.

She found me staring at the water the next morning. I was sitting there, thinking of my wife, and Sadie must have known. She tried to talk about knowing loss and feeling my pain, but there’s no one in the world who knows what I’m going through. What we’re going through. My wife is somewhere I don’t know and I can do nothing about it. Every second of every day I feel like a failure for letting her down. I want to be there for Dutch as he needs the support, but I can’t help think that as time ticks on she’ll forget me and move on. Not sure what I’ll do if that happens.

Bill Williamson is a right fool. That night he came busting into the sleep house going on about how hard we were to find, saying he asked everyone he could find, and I knew trouble couldn't be too far behind. Only someone truly hoping to meet death walks into a nest of vipers. I had just finished my glass of whiskey when I heard her voice.

At first I thought I imagined it. There were plenty of times that the desperation in my mind had boiled long enough that her sweet tones called to me from somewhere just beyond my reach. At first I longed for them, for any gentle reminder that she was as real to me once as the glass currently in my hand. Then after a while they hurt to hear and the words got all jumbled together. Like she was farther away than ever. Like I needed reminding.

But sitting inside that house I heard her clear as a bell. Not the words she spoke, it was far too loud inside for that, but I could tell it was her. My heart knew too and started pounding in time with the rain hitting the roof. Dutch saw me and asked why I had frozen in place but Abigail had heard it too. She stood and stared at me, wondering what was taking me so damn long to move but it was like my legs had grown twice their weight. I finally got myself up and pushed through the sudden silence around me to stand at the door.

There she was again. She had to be real. But she sounded...off. Like something was wrong.

Calling for me, for us, or anyone. I was so full of terror I couldn’t breathe. But someone touched my shoulder and I came back to life, opening the door and finding my dream standing before me. Wide eyed and desperate, much like myself, but there was a warning in her eyes I couldn’t decipher from so far away. Her hands were up in the air shaking like a leaf. Her head shook slightly. I was overcome by a need to preserve this moment of reunion and committed her to memory for once she was back in my arms and I could draw her in this here journal. Honestly I can’t describe how I felt knowing she was at least alive. My heart wanted me to run to her and throw caution to the wind, but my gut told me something worse was lingering in the shadows with an alligator grin.

Just from looking at her I could tell Milton had damn near starved her for the dress she wore was much too large, hanging off her arms and shoulders. The blood was what cued me in. Rust red stains splattered the front and ice filled my veins at the realization of who’s ghosts she wore wrapped around her. That bastard Milton paraded her around in a costume like he was putting on a show, but I was done being a puppet.

Arthur Morgan was nobody’s fool.

Arthur.

His eyes were murderous but whether that was aimed at you or not remained unknown. The rapid thumping in your chest flooded into your ears as well but the words passing between you didn’t need to be spoken. You didn’t need to hear them to know what he would say.

Seeing Arthur after all that time was a breath of fresh air in a world that had been a dusty haze for the past month. It was awful and wonderful at the same time to be standing so close yet unable to move any closer. Your soul ached to return to its rightful place. The stress of standing there with the weight of all that had happened could be seen as your hands shook and your shoulders tensed and your heart broke all over again.

More light passed onto the muddy ground as the door behind Arthur opened and a few cautious faces moved out. Dutch. Abigail. Bill. Lenny. Charles. Sadie. Anger and confusion colored their expressions. You hoped they all could understand.

A strange feeling passed through you as you noticed Micah was nowhere to be found.

Arthur took in deep, heavy breaths as you held eye contact. Under any other circumstance standing beneath the stars in the dark of night would be almost romantic, especially with the twinkling fireflies blinking their messages all around you. But the rain and the tension crackling across the night like lightning changed that. In fact it changed everything.

The rain covered the sound of wagons rolling in and the footsteps of Pinkerton agents as they crept around the perimeter to trap the Van der Linde gang from escaping. The lightning bugs hid the glints of metal from the guns being raised and taking aim. And you, the queen of the chessboard, were meant to hold the outlaw’s attention as the plan slid into place around you. Your father had been almost gleeful explaining it to you and it made you sick.

“YN...what’s going on?”

Dutch held his hand out in front of his adopted brother but kept his eyes trained on you.

“Don’t say anything, Arthur. We don’t know what this is.”

A voice hissed behind you. The horrible reminder that you were not there of your own accord. You were not there to be rushed to safety, to explain and convince those you loved that you have never walked out those bank doors if you thought any harm would have befallen them.

“I…” The words faltered as they mingled with the falling rain. “I am here to...offer a deal on behalf of Cornwall Kerosene and Tar, the United States Government, and the Commonwealth of West Elizabeth.”

“A deal!” Dutch snorted. “And what would that be?”

Tears rolled down your cheeks at the thought of what had to come next. Only when your shoulders shook from the tension of holding them back did you look away from Arthur, praying to anyone who would listen for a way out of this.

“You have nowhere left to run.” The words were plain but landed like a slap in the face. Milton had prepared a lengthy monologue and you fought to remember all of it. “My father has chased you relentlessly and ultimately you will submit. There is a price big enough on your heads that bringing you in dead would still earn him a fortune. But there is dignity and pride in turning yourself over alive instead of ending up d-dead like that...fool Hosea Matthews.”

The hiss behind you continued as the people in front of you balked at your words. It hurt to know Milton was twisting the knife in but you held the weapon.

“If you come without a fight, you will all be allowed to live. If not, I can’t -”

“Allowed!” Dutch responded. “What is this, there’s no honor in this choice. I will not be commanded like some dog after what your father did to Hosea!”

This time the words hurt you and you answered with a flinch.

“Dutch, please,” you licked your lips, your eyes darting to Arthur. “You don’t have to fight! Everything will be alright, just listen to me -”

“Everything will be alright?” The leader repeated back. “I believe nothing of the sort. Mrs. Morgan, do you know what happens to folks like us who the law doesn’t see favorably? Who aren’t the shiny, golden children of society? They are hung like common street criminals and forgotten in the ashes of our history books. I refuse to fade away as an ink spot upon a page, I refuse to let others make my choices for me, and I refuse to listen to a bully who hides like a coward behind others! We demand to be more than that legacy fated for us by others. We demand our god given right that others only dream of, freedom!”

His speech was beautiful but it didn’t change the fact that mere feet behind you sat a Maxim gun, manned and ready to fire, if they didn’t listen to your pleas. Dutch’s pretty words did nothing to stir the rebellious spirit in your chest and instead caused more tears to run down your cheeks. The flare of his independence was bright, but that meant it couldn’t burn for much longer.

You weren’t the only one affected by Dutch. Behind you the men lying in wait rustled out of the bushes and crept up with their guns drawn, each footstep stringing tension across your shoulders.

“I was wrong about your father, YN.” Dutch drew in quick breaths at the sight of the ambush. “He’s not only a coward, but a fool too. You see, he’s underestimated us once again and that will lead to his demise. Now, boys! For Hosea!”

The world erupted in gunfire and smoke around you. At Dutch’s signal everyone hiding inside fired away at the agents planted around the swamp, yelling and filled with rage at the thought of revenging their beloved Hosea. Loss was a strong motivator, and as you clamped your hands over your ears you wondered how long the haze of distraction would last. The maxim gun fired continuous deafening rounds and all you could hear above the ringing in your ears were the screams of people you loved. Your knees sank into the mud as panic rippled across your skin.

Milton shouted behind you, commanding his men like he was trying to storm the gates of hell.

Dutch retreated into the cabin leading his rebel crew in a secret assault against the forces of perceived evil who had come to change his ways.

Where did you fit into all of this? What was your place and how did you go about getting there? Was your only hope to run and hope it would find you? It only took a moment to come to you. There was only one anchor in this hurricane and it was the same one you returned to time and time again.

Arthur Morgan.

As Dutch retreated Arthur hesitated to leave you behind. His eyes darted through the dark to try and find you while he ducked for safety. Terror clenched your heart and you screamed for him to get out of the line of fire, you would find him.

Forcing tension into your shaky limbs you knew you would regret it if you never even tried to get to him. The air above you was filled with shouts and raindrops and gunshots but nothing could distract you; this was your only shot and you would not throw it away. A door to your right swung open and light flooded the ground and you took off pumping your legs as hard as you could to cross the muddy ground getting closer and closer to your goal.

Breathe. You had to get to him, you were so close.

Behind you bodies hit the ground and you had no doubt that Arthur had taken most of them out. He had incredible aim in the worst of times, and this was definitely one of those. Even Dutch couldn’t rival him and after a few competitions no one else had bothered.

“YN! Over here!”

“Javier!”

You had never been so happy to see the dark haired man in your life. He grabbed your arm and pulled you inside, yanking you down to the floor immediately to avoid another spray of bullets from the gatling gun.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to help!” You pleaded with him. “Someone needs to take out that gun, what can I do?”

“Stay down, Dutch has a plan!”

You both ducked to the floor as a window shattered above you.

“It better be quick, we can’t hold out for long!”

From outside one of the agents yelled above the chaos. “There’s too many of them, we have to retreat!”

“No!” Your father bellowed back. His voice was too close for comfort. “We do not back down, we have the power of the law on our side.”

“The power of the law ain’t fighting two of the best shots this side of the Mississippi, boss! We are!”

Javier let out a breath that sounded like a laugh and shook his head. “Mrs. Adler’s out there too now, won’t be long. Between her and Arthur I don’t think the Pinkerton’s stand a chance.” There was a pause as Javier eyed you warily. “Your father, that is.”

“Javier -”

But you couldn't finish your sentence as the back door flew open and someone called out to him. He nodded at you and crawled his way to the door to see why he was needed, leaving you alone to hide from the debris falling all around. As the door shut behind him, you caught a glimpse of red coat tails that looked awfully similar to what Micah usually wore.

More men were dying outside, you could hear the yells of defeat as the maxim gun came to a stop but you were running out of time. Something inside of you said the clock was ticking and you needed to move.

Breathe. In, out. Breathe.

“Where did she go?” Milton bellowed from outside. The bullets had stopped and the air felt deathly still. “Where did that bitch go?”

“Don’t you talk about my wife like that!” Your heart swelled at Arthur’s words.

It sounded like he was in the barn next door. If you could sneak without being caught this was your chance for a getaway. Perhaps the only one.

“Get out here now before I blow this whole place to hell! Turn yourselves in and die with nobility.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Block him out, he’s bluffing. A ball of nerves formed in your stomach like a hard thing weighing you down and you fell to the wall for support as you gathered the courage to move again.

“Agent Milton, I believe this is where we part ways. You are alone and outnumbered, give it up.” Dutch answered.

“Never, Van der Linde. I am tasked with bringing you and the others in…” his voice tapered off as soft clicks rang out and you imagined from your hiding spot behind the wall everyone aiming in his direction,

“How about this,” the dark haired man suggested. “You and I can make a little trade. Me and my friends here will walk out of here safely and you will not pursue us if we give you something you want.”

A bark of laughter responded. Milton was not pleased with the child's play that interrupted his duty. “And what would I get out of this deal?”

“Your life?” Dutch shot back. “A chance to live another day? No?” There was a pause as Dutch walked forwards and you dared a peek out of a nearby bullet hole to observe the scene. “Maybe something a little more valuable. Your daughter for instance?”

Two rough hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders and yanked you upwards and you let out a cry of disbelief. They hadn’t made any noise walking up, or perhaps you were too trained on listening to the conversation outside to notice.

“Get your hands off of me!” You cried out at the same time Arthur yelled something from outside.

“Shut up, Princess Pinkerton. And walk.”

You should have known. Did the man who walked you down the aisle really have no regard for your life? Micah gave you a shove to move forward and you hesitated for only a moment. All you wanted was to help your family escape safely and to keep your father from enacting his twisted sense of justice. You wanted to feel safe and free, but there were too many obstacles holding you back. Was this really all your life would be?

With dirty hands you wiped your cheeks, squaring your shoulders and preparing to face him again. It wasn’t going to be easy. But there didn’t seem to be another choice.

“Dutch what in the hell are you playing at?”

Falling rain once again met your face as you walked out and took in the tense scene before you. Dutch, Arthur, Bill, and Charles all had their pistols focused on your father who in turn stared down his barrel at Dutch. The two men were everything the other despised, and you were caught in the middle.

“My daughter?” Milton still seemed shocked to see you. As if he hadn’t been the one to bring his own child to a gunfight and had simply found you there.

Arthur was held back by the iron grip of Charles as he habitually tried to come to you. The look of pure sorrow on his face broke your heart but there wasn’t enough time to think about yourself and how you felt. Soon he would be out of sight.

“That’s right. Take her, and the two of you leave and never come back to chase us around the country. Me and my friends will never cause another day of trouble for you and we all leave with our lives. Isn’t that what we want, after all? To live and go our own ways?”

It felt like he had slapped you across the face with his words. The fact that you were the bargaining chip was not lost as you stared down the man with newfound hatred.

“Don’t I get a say in any of this?” You snapped back. “Or am I unimportant enough to both of you that my value lies only in my silence?”

“Oh Mrs. Morgan,” Dutch chuckled darkly. “I have missed your temper. But today, my dear, is not the day to fight like it's your last. Be a good girl and run along with your father.”

Something in his tone made you hesitate, the hatred pausing for just a moment. Was there something else going on? Had he not abandoned you just quite yet? It was a glimmer of hope but that was all you could find so you held it close. He gave a slight nod in return.

“Fine. But I won’t forget this.”

Dutch’s gun slowly moved to take aim at your head and you caught your breath at the sight. He was filled to the brim with frustration and rage. But somewhere in his eye was a calm collection as he formed a plan.

“Now get out of here. Both of you. And don’t come back.”

Milton’s free arm shot out and gripped yours too tightly, his eyes still focused on the outlaws escaping of their own design before him. His men were all dead. There were two horses left to ride out and no wagon. He had truly and utterly lost but he refused to admit it.

Arthur’s eyes were dark as you tried to meet his but he wouldn't look at you. The flush in his cheeks gave away how worked up he was and you wondered if it was all too much and he had found his breaking point. You wouldn't blame him if he didn’t want you anymore, things were just so damn complicated. It hurt but his happiness came first.

Your father took a step backwards and dragged you with him and panic hit your stomach.

“Dutch…Dutch! Don’t let him do this,” the tears started no matter how much you tried to keep them in. “You don’t know what it’s like, please.”

The small group watched you with hard eyes of confusion and hesitation and you didn’t blame them. Sadie had a mean look to her, but that was probably from the heat of battle. Charles looked sad and your heart ached for your friend. Even Bill looked hesitant to send you off with Milton, but no one moved against Dutch. Something whispered to you this might be the last time you saw them.

You fought every step of the way but eventually Milton got you on a horse and tied the reins to his with a length of rope. Any last drops of hope were drained out of you at the sight of the others breaking away hurriedly. It was just Dutch, Arthur, Sadie, and Micah left that you could make out through your tears as your world fell apart.

“Stop crying, I can’t think,” Milton muttered harshly.

“Everything I love has been taken away from me, by you! And now I’m stuck with you again I think I have the right to be upset.”

“You have no right to anything,” he replied. “You are nothing in the eyes of anyone and that’s all you will be.”

The horses started moving and you looked behind you one last time. Without the rain the evening appeared softer; the firebugs had come out to blink to one another and the moss swung lazily around the canopy. Dutch had finally lowered his weapon but you noticed Arthur was gone from the group, no doubt off to chuck your wedding ring into the bayou and let the memory of you fade with the small metal object as it sank into the murky riverbed.

If only you could touch him, feel him, let him know that nothing was his fault and every mistake had been tallied in your name. Arthur had scrubbed his slate clean in your eyes, it was time he saw that too. You missed him more with each step your horse took away.

It was torture to to ride on with your father as emotions swirled all around you. He pushed the horses at a fast trot to leave the swamps as quickly as possible, paranoia creeping up on him like the sounds of crickets at his back. You could no longer hold back the sobs that shook your body. Sorrow at losing everyone again. Nerves about going back to being a prisoner. Utter and complete heartbreak at the thought of Arthur hating your every fiber. It was all too much. How could one person cope with this much feeling?

“I ever tell you why I joined the Pinkertons in the first place?”

Milton’s voice caught you off guard and interrupted your sorrow.

“N-no, and I don’t care -”

“I joined,” he continued on. “Because I wanted to put order where there was only chaos. The Pinkertons were a respectable organization I could put myself behind, gain respect myself and do something worthwhile for society. We left Boston after your brother...died and I couldn’t stand the pain. My work eventually came second to drinking and I knew then that was my lowest point.”

“But you kept drinking, you still do,” the thought of stale whiskey making you shiver.

“Since you ran off I haven't touched a drop. You see, in the past I myself was the chaos and I needed order to save me. Our family was broken but I couldn't look past my own pain to see that you both needed me instead of the shell of a man I was parading around as. Your mother is a good woman and pulled me up when I needed it. She packed us up and moved us out all on her own. I was simply a shell.” You had never heard your father talk like this and wondered what brought about the nostalgia. It was strange to hear about a time you dreamed so often of but in reality knew nothing about. He looked softer as he spoke. “I never wanted to be like that again. Yes, I still drank to forget but I was finally in control where I belonged. We had a good house, in a good town. I had a good wife and a good daughter. Only when that bastard Van der Linde moved in did you start to get reckless, going to town with that dark haired woman and forgetting where you came from. It didn’t take me long to realize you were the only thing left I had to steer away from chaos. My little girl.”

His honey-covered words were hiding something but you couldn’t figure out what it was. The way he spoke of chaos and control sounded religious; he truly meant to save others the same way he found for himself. You sat in silence for a moment before thinking of something to say.

“I’m not your little girl anymore,” your voice remained steady. “To be honest I’m not sure I ever was. Growing up with a daddy who drinks and hits you takes away any kindness he offers and twists it into something evil.”

“You see what I mean?” Milton’s temper flared for a moment and he carefully brought it back in. “All of them, they turned you away from what’s right. They worship savagery.”

“These aren’t things that changed because I met them, they were always wrong! Do you really not see that?”

Milton hesitated before answering. “The life you lived there wasn’t...These people are just playing pretend. They have no sense of contributing to something larger than themselves and it’s so small minded, you were raised to know better than that.”

“Maybe I don’t want to contribute to something,” you muttered. “Maybe I just want to know what it is to not live bound to any rules other than what I need. I’ve seen your justice, father, and I don’t want any part of it.”

Weariness slipped into your bones at the conversation. It was the longest you two had spoken in months, almost a year, and his blind passion did nothing to sway your feelings towards the Pinkertons.

“I’m sure you’ll change your tune. Your mother is too.”

Your head shot up at that. “Mother knows what you’ve done? And she agrees?”

Before he had a chance to answer, a horse came thundering up the road behind you. Squinting through the evening fog you couldn’t make out the rider but had a feeling in your heart that it was someone you knew. They drew closer and with each passing second you grew more anxious. Your father pulled out his pistol and kicked the horses faster.

“Milton!” A feeling of relief washed over you at the sound of the voice. “You ain’t going anywhere with her. Give it up!”

“Arthur!”

The hose below you let out a nervous whinny. It struggled against you pusining to turn with your legs and the yanking from the rope as your father pressed it to go faster than before. You were desperate to get to your husband but it was nearly impossible with no control and you wanted to cry out in frustration.

“Get back, Mr. Morgan. We had a deal but I’m not surprised you snakes went back on it,” your father spit, looking back. “You’ll get nowhere with this stunt.”

“Stop, please stop!” You begged. Arthur was gaining closer with every second.

Milton spun around to check on the pursuer’s progress and the look on his face was murderous. Rage flushed his face and the pressure to flee made the veins in his forehead stand out at a horrifying attention. He paid you no attention as he kicked his horse again.

With less than ten feet between you Arthur kept one hand tightly on the reins and held the other out to you, reaching as far as he could to try and bring you to him. As if on its own, your arm stretched to try and meet his fingertips. You held on to the saddle horn and tried to ignore the sounds of protest coming from your father that drove the horses on somehow.

“Just a bit more, darlin’. I got you. Don’t be afraid!”

“I’m not, I’m not!”

The sound was bordering hysterical. The distance between you was all you had to overcome and then you would be safe and home in Arthur’s arms again. Your heartbeat matched the echoing of hooves around you at the thought of making it to Arthur and simultaneously what would happen if you didn’t.

His blue eyes held yours with no malice and your own fears melted away momentarily. For a month you had been kept apart, by Dutch, by your father. It was time to end all of that.

Just as your hands brushed one another in their first reunion Milton screamed and whipped around to face the two of you.

“Enough! I’ve had enough of this!” The pistol in his free hand raised to take aim at the moving target. “Leave us now or die!”

“No!” You screamed, moving in front of Arthur as best you could to shield him. “Father stop!”

“Milton put the gun down!” Arthur’s voice was low and hard, anxiety weaving its way through at the thought of either of you getting hurt. By now he had a firm grasp on your wrist and the pressure of his hand on you gave you strength. Your mind ran wild trying to think of a way to get out of this alive.

But there simply wasn’t enough time.

The missing heat from Arthur’s fingers registered at the same time as your scream ripped through the muggy air. You clawed at the empty space next to you and watched in horror as a red stain blossomed across Arthur’s shoulder beneath his hand. He looked up almost bewildered.

“Arthur! Arthur no!”

You twisted out of the saddle and fell to the ground with a hard thump. The impact hurt but you pushed it aside. You had to get to Arthur.

Milton stayed silent but circled back around. You ignored him and ran, if you could get far enough you could both still get away. But hope slipped out of your grasp as he came closer.

The shot hit him right in the shoulder and he was bleeding. A lot. Harsh, ragged breaths pulled in and out of Arthur’s chest as he applied shaky pressure to the wound and cursed in agony. You knew there was no way he could ride both of you in that state.

“How could you!” You screamed at your approaching father. “That is my husband you just tried to kill!”

“Milton -”

“Enough of this foolishness!” Milton shouted, spit flying in his desperation and rage. “I will not have you acting like a child any longer. This ain’t over Morgan. You tell Van der Linde -”

“YN -”

“We’re not leaving him! He could die!” Milton gave you a pointed look. Anger bubbled up inside of you. “No, I refuse to go with you.”

“You don’t have a choice. If he dies no one will come after us and you will stay with me. If not,” your father shrugged. “I’ll kill him later.”

Just as you went to join Arthur, Milton grabbed your arm. You struggled and pulled to no avail. He was stronger and dragged you further and further from your husband who held himself up precociously, blood covering his chest.

“I said enough!” Your father yanked you one last time and looked down at you with rage and a hint of pity in his eyes. “You clearly need to be reigned in more than I thought.”

A blinding pain exploded on your right temple and radiated down your neck. Arthur cried out but the sound was lost as your father brought the flat end of his pistol down, hammering it into your temple to knock you out. Unfortunately it worked; you couldn't fight him anymore and Arthur was all but dead if no one knew where he was to help him.

Your last fleeting thought before losing consciousness was that this had to end. The chasing, the fighting, the pain of losing good people who didn’t deserve their fate. It was time to take back the control others had over you and set everything right that had toppled into chaos around you. In a twisted sense your father’s words about disorder and structure were true. Just not in the way he wanted.

You were no one’s pawn and never would be again.

#rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #fanfic #price to be paid #chapter 33 #I don't think I posted 32?#oh well

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the-busy-ghost · 4 years

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TSP S02E06 Thoughts

Ok I’m late to the party today so I assume everyone has commented on most of this already and therefore I was just going to quickly sum up any other observations. But I’m only twenty minutes in and I already have SO MANY THOUGHTS

- Apparently Cardinal Wolsey is not allowed to speak to anyone now and if he does this is Suspicious. But since Katherine isn’t exactly talking to her daughter either, tbh Henry is actually quite fair to be all ‘Why would you care’.

- When Henry gets all bitchy towards Wolsey re: the chancellorship, both Wolsey and Katherine’s poker faces should be a reaction image.

- Poor Mary at least she has Margaret Pole

- Ok I would love to go back in time and save all the historical infants from an early death if I could but I STILL don’t understand how the Duke of Ross is still alive. Poor kid should have left the scene six years earlier. AND STILL NO MARGARET DOUGLAS. While I’d like to be hopeful and assume that @glorianas hatesex idea is going to pan out, tbh with the way they’re developing Angus’ character I worry this will be another badly handled r*pe scene, IF they bother to add Margaret Douglas’ birth in at all.

- Smol James is Smol. I would die for all of the children in this show. Protect them at all costs.

- But anyway who tf is ‘Hal’ Stewart. I might be wrong (I haven’t read every source ever) but tbh ‘Hal’ is not a common abbreviation of Henry in Scotland- Harry (Harrie) is much more common as a form of Henry, and is indeed the nickname that Margaret’s third husband was commonly known by. Sadly, ‘Hal’ just makes me want to snigger and make ‘England and St George’ type speeches (though even in that line, tbh, it’s Harry not Hal). “Hal Stewart” sounds like he should have a handlebar moustache and say ‘jolly good’ and fly spitfires. Or like he’s the descendant of expat Scots living in Canada.

- I would be a lot more surprised that Angus is sneaking in and out of places if you weren’t all literally living in a very open house which would be very difficult to defend, I mean what do you expect to happen if you have obvious enemies, very few attendants, and you park yourself in HOLYROOD PALACE

- Cut it off Meg

- Oh wait so YOU’RE not safe there and your own children aren’t safe there but you’re perfectly happy just leaving James IV’s kids there? I should say ‘kid’ singular but I think we’re past waiting for the TSP writers to use google and realise that all of James IV’s other children are over the age of eighteen by 1520. But if Margaret DID have custody of them (which seems unlikely) she’s just dumped a young girl (maybe nine years old? We don’t know but that’s my guess) in a palace with her apparently shitty ex-husband and buggered off up to Edinburgh. Agnes Stewart come pick up your daughter please, don’t leave her here, or at least send your niece back to do it since she already knows the way

- Why are they even including so many offhand remarks bout James IV’s kids so much at all if they plainly don’t know anything about them? Is this ever going to be relevant to the plot? Or did they just want to have them in the first episode to show how ‘hard done by’ Margaret is but then realised they couldn’t just ditch them without losing the audience’s sympathy for her.

- Margaret getting the conveniently placed big old book on marriage law down from the shelf (every household should have one)- but really Meg, you must have seen enough shady divorces in 16th century Scotland to know the name of a good lawyer who could do this for you

- Once again though, does Angus have NO kinsmen or retainers any more? Or was he just cutting about the Canongate on his day off from Being Evil and thought ‘I’ll go check in on the wife then shall I, she’ll have Drink which is also now something I am to be associated with’

- I am LOVING the blatantly Georgian architecture at the gates to a very disappointing Field of the Cloth of Gold. Really TSP should have just gone full Reign and embraced its inaccuracies to make a fun teen show with a load of ridiculous modern dresses, would have been more bearable than this

- I would like to address however, the fact that this show has been going on about how terrible it is for princesses to be married off to older men all season, but what are we now supposed to root for four-year-old Mary to be betrothed to the much older HRE, rather than the dauphin who is MUCH closer in age? Can the writers make their minds up? Who are we supposed to think is in the right?

- Wee Mary’s face when Katherine spoke to her for the first time- that’s probably the first time the kid has ever heard the fancy queen lady actually talk to her though, so I’m not surprised but genuinely it was quite funny.

- Someone save this child please.

- IS THAT CHARLES V- WHY IS CHARLES V HERE?? GOD IT IS JUST UNINVITED GUESTS GALORE THIS EPISODE

- Also I may be wrong but I’m pretty sure he can’t just ride across France to get to the English Pale with only a couple of attendants and w/o a safe conduct or any other notification that he’s coming? This is just Margaret Tudor riding unattended through the Borders all over again.

- Gotta love Katherine just producing him out of nowhere though, the writers really do not care about the holes they dig themselves into but the implication that Katherine can just summon emperors whenever she likes is fantastic (does she keep him in a box??)

- Katherine about the horse- “He’s trained to kill a man with a single kick”. Don’t even hesitate Guerrero, you have four legs and there’s apparently three sixteenth century kings in the area, go to town

- Charles V just buggering off again, fading into the background like he was just Katherine’s own personal imperial amazon delivery man

- Have they decided to have the Evil May Day in 1520? Why?

- *Henry and Francis approach* *Theme from the Good, the Bad, and the Ugly plays*

- FUCK WOLSEY’S DAVID ATTENBOROUGH NARRATION REALLY MADE ME LAUGH, CHRIST I THINK I BROKE SOMETHING

“What a magnificent sight, two kings meeting for the first time, this rare species, almost never seen in daylight, both approach the watering hole...”

TBH I think their coordinated bow should also have had some narration Wolsey, if you really want Attenborough’s job after him. But it’s even funnier because they both genuinely looked so awkward stepping slowly towards each other, I just can’t

- Henry’s been buying his crowns from the same Burger King Autumn Range as Chris Pine in Outlaw King I see

- FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT PLEASE BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF EACH OTHER I GENUINELY THINK THAT WOULD BE FUNNY I HAVE SEEN POSH BOYS FIGHTING THEY’RE TERRIBLE BUT IT’S REALLY FUNNY

- Pfft Wolsey’s evident panic is funny but I would like to copyright Stafford’s little eyebrow twitch where he’s obviously thinking ‘Let me hold your coat Henry’

- Katherine of Aragon following at a slower pace while Claude gives her a sideways glance is also mildly amusing, like KOA could not look less bothered. I know the wrestling was historically accurate but honestly Henry and Francis being all aggressive like they’re actually willing to kill each other when I bet they just get outside and hug weirdly is probably going to be hilarious.

- Once again Maggie, please take that child and RUN

- I was right, it IS funny. Please Wolsey we need more Attenborough narration for this fight.

- Everyone standing around occasionally clapping awkwardly and looking vaguely unimpressed is like what would have happened in Bridget Jones if Hugh Grant and Colin Firth’s fight scene wasn’t soundtracked.

- Yeah so the wrestling was accurate but tbh I’m not sure that Henry staggering out of the ring looking like James II right before a stabbing is. In my experience if a ginger monarch in tights is wearing that expression you run, no matter who you are.

#TSP #Margaret Tudor #Ranting again #There was just too much nonsense and we're not even halfway through #I am genuinely enjoying how ridiculous this is though

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tj-is-tired-blog · 5 years

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"Dammit" (RDR2 X Reader Fluff Headcanon/Blurb/Thing?)

Hey there um I accidentally posted an unfinished ask instead of saving it as a draft because I'm a fool and I can't find it anymore but I remember almost exactly what it was so yeehaw

@crimsonredemption asked: "Hey hey hey hey can you do 'fell asleep on my shoulder' and 'carrying you to bed' with arthur or javier from rdr2 with a gender neutral reader?" (Or something along those lines)

Answer: Hell yeah bröther let's do both

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Arthur:

What started off as a simple fishing trip turned into so much more. You started at around three in the afternoon. About one or two hours after you set up a fishing spot, you found what seemed to be a stray dog. The dog looked malnourished and weak, but he still had a light in his eyes looking like he was filled with hope. He kind of reminded you of Arthur.

"Hey Arthur I found a dog!" You shouted with glee. You were petting the dog with your eyes lit up with joy. Arthur chuckled at how child-like you can be.

"We have a dog at camp (Y/N). We don't need anymore smelly animals than we already have." Arthur put his pole down and walked over to you. You were treating the dog like he was your son. The cowboy, now sitting next to you, was having fun watching you try to care for the dog.

"C'mon look at him! He looks like you but as a dog! Dog Arthur... Darthur!" The dog barked at you when you said the dumb name.

"Awe is that your name? Darthur, you're such a good bo a h." You said trying to imitate Arthur's soft spot for dogs. He was just laughing at how stupid the whole situation is.

"(Y/N) let's getchu' home." You looked at him with a pouty face and tried to fake cry.

"But the d o g." He shook his head and smiled.

"You're tired, c'mon. Get yer stuff." You frowned complied, stomping over to where you left your pole and bag o' fish. The dog followed you and you smiled widely

"I've been chosen!" You shrieked to the world. You looked over at Arthur only to see him loading his stuff on his horse, trying to hold in a laugh. He shook his head and broke. The cowboy, who rarely shows emotion of joy, was laughing a hard laugh. You smiled at this. Someone made tough man Arthur™ laugh and it was because of a dumb lil' doggy.

"Lessgo'." He said between laughs. You picked up the dog, disregarding Arthur saying they don't need anymore pets, and mounted your horse.

"Put the dog back-"

"But Arthurrrrrrrrrrrrrrr..." Arthur just smiled and rolled his eyes. The whole trip back you two were just cracking jokes and making sarcastic remarks. You checked on the dog every now and then, as it was slightly uncomfortable to ride on a small saddle with a larte-ish dog. When you did get to the camp it was about six o'clock at night and everyone was eating their dinner. You hitched your horses and you went to get a bowl of stew for the dog, and for your dinner.

"Now what in the hell is that." Micah, not really asking but demanding™, said, pointing to the dog.

"That is my new dog, and if you get anywhere near him I'll cut your eye out." You smiled sweetly, and continued to try and cool down the stew on the way to Arthur's tent. While waiting at his tent you were 'reading' a book you stole from Dutch. You were really doodling on all of the pages until it was unreadable. Then a certain yeehaw-man that you've spent your whole day with walked over.

"Why are you in my tent?" He looked genuinely confused.

"I can't leave evidence." You simply stated. Arthur huffed and looked at the page you were doodling on.

"Wait... Isn't that Dutch's favorite book?"

"Who knows at this point, you can't read it. Even the title isn't visible." You said snickering. Not once did you look up through the whole conversation. You just continued 'reading'. Big baby boy Arthur sat on the cot and you just kind of cuddled next to him. It felt natural.

"Where's your dog, (Y/N)?" You shot up and looked to where Micah was. Your sweet doggo wasn't there, so that's good. After a fierce whistle there was a bark, and both Cain and the stray walked over. You started making baby noises and pet the dogs. After your cute little dog fit, you closed the book with the pencil in it, and hid them in the wagon next to Arthur's tent.

"Why do you put it by me?" He whisper yelled.

"I can't be the one who gets caught. I'm the favorite." You added sarcasm to the last bit and flopped next to Arthur.

"You might be the strangest person I've ever met." He mumbled.

"Yeah, I know." You yawned out.

The next hour was just you two telling stories about your childhood. It was mildly emotional because you two just wished you could go back. Everything was less chaotic back then. You laid your head on Arthur's shoulder while telling about the past and slowly dozed off. Arthur was rambling and venting so he didn't notice you were asleep for a good while. When he eventually did figure it out, he just kind of stared in awe. He's never seen you so peaceful. You only had three emotions. Angry, sarcastic, and dog. Nothing more, nothing less.

He sighed and tried to pick you up. He struggled a little because not only was he tired and sore, he was trying to be gentle. It doesn't happen often because Arthur, being the big beautiful idiotic brute he is, thinks he's only good for destruction. But as we all know, that's a fat lie. Arthur carefully carried you back to your tent and got a few smart remarks from some of the gang members that were still up. He shot them glares and they shut up quickly.

When Arthur got to your tent he was trying to figure up how to set you down. He eventually figured it out after like six minutes. Arthur looked at you and you shivered a little bit. He looked around for extra blankets.

"Dammit..." Arthur laid down and cuddled you. You smiled in your sleep. He was like a big teddy bear.

You woke up with a start in the morning and you had no idea where you were.

"What the..." You looked around mildly panicking and found a note. You recognized the neat handwriting.

"I brought you here don't worry. You didn't get... Y'know." You looked over at Arthur chopping logs. He grinned quickly before getting back to his work.

Javier:

"Hey, Earth to (Y/N)!" You jumped and looked to your left. It was none other than Javier Escuella. He stifled a laugh due to your sudden reaction. You have a tendancy to daydream on guard duty, and now that it was getting later in the evening, you were dozing off every now and then.

"Huh? What? Who?" You yelled out aiming your rifle wherever you could. Javier sure did get a kick out of that. You just grumbled and sat down near a tree.

"Come on amigo, switch off with someone and get dinner. You haven't eaten all day." Javier stated, carving a piece of wood.

"Go trade with uh... Bill or Sean! Those two don't need sleep." You chuckled.

"Nah, I'm okay. Thanks for being concerned, I guess." You looked up at Javier, who yawned and slightly cut his finger with the knife.

"Gah! Mierda!" You shot up from whatever daze you were in, and immediately rushed over to Javier. He was probably being over-dramatic, as it was only a papercut, but you were still concerned.

"Hey wow, are you okay?" You gently held his hand and poured some water from your flask onto it.

"No, it really hurts..." He wasn't lying, but he wasn't telling the truth. It stung a little, but that was the only pain he felt from the small cut.

"Do you need a bandage I-" Javier cut you off.

"You can make it feel better with a kiss~" Javier purred out. You just groaned and threw his hand to the side. Always with the flirting. To be fair you should've expected it. He's almost never irresponsible when carving, or just handling a knife in general. Keyword: Almost.

"You're so stupid." You rolled your eyes jokingly and grabbed your stuff, walking back to your tent.

"Ah mi amor! Come back I miss you!" He laughed. You just scoffed and set your stuff back in your tent. Then you walked over to the campfire. Sitting at the campfire made you doze off again. However, you jolted awake at any sudden noise, trying to make it look like you weren't sleeping. Everyone noticed.

"How come you never go to bed (Y/N)? You always end up sleeping somewhere else." Charles asked carefully.

"Uh... I dunno. Paranoia maybe?" You shrugged and looked toward Charles' direction.

"It's because they always want to cuddle with the Mexican!" Bill mocked. You stood up and stomped over to him. He shrunk back in his seat and you grabbed his collar.

"Say something like that again, and I'll shoot you." You let go and walked to your horse. Little did you know, Javier was watching in the distance. He grimaced at Bill and went to go tell him off. You, however, went to go by the river and camp out for the night. Javier know this, as it was the spot you go to when you get mad.

"Stupid Bill, dumb camp, idiot people..." you mumbled on and on, leading your horse around the river. You grumbled and sat down on a rock.

"(Y/N)..." You whipped your head around and saw Javier. He had a soft, concerned smile on his face.

"Hey." You grumbled, hugging your knees. Javier dismounted his horse and walked over.

"I know you don't want to talk about it..." Javier said softly.

"It's fine. What's up with your eye." Javier beamed and put an arm around your shoulder.

"I knocked out the fucker." You just giggled and laid your head on his shoulder.

"Of course you did." You trailed off, cuddling into Javier's arm. You two sat in a peaceful silence until there was soft snoring from you. Javier looked down and smiled, admiring your features.

"Mi amor..." he mumbled. Javier cuddled you and eventually dozed off himself. You both had a rough night.

In the morning you woke up next to Javier in his tent. He was passed out cold, and snored loudly. You smiled and gave him a kiss on his forehead. Ever so slightly, you could see a grin on his face.

"Damn he's cute..."

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UghHHHHH THIS TOOK FOREVER I'M SO SORRY! It's also a little longer and repetitive than I wanted it to be, but it was kinda fun writing it

#arthur morgan #javier escuella #arthur x reader #arthur x male reader #arthur x gn reader #javier x reader #javier x male reader #javier x gn reader #x reader #rdr2 #rdr #this was kinda fun to write ngl #but these are cheesy lmao #cheese is good #maybe idk #fluff headcanons #blurb

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krycss · 5 years

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Crossroads | oc:Alice Harkins/Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith | RDR2

Ch6: Clemen’s Point (Part 1)

[Read on AO3]

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Author Note: HOLY COW I LIVE. After 3 months there's finally a new chapter! My new job has basically sucked away any and all of my free time plus my energy so I haven't really been up to writing. However, I finally just sat down and finished this chapter. Is it my best work? No. But, it's something and I hope that you guys enjoy it nonetheless.

Arthur shook his head as he grinned at Dutch.

“Hoagy Macintosh? Really? That’s what you came up with?”

Dutch shrugged. “What? It worked, didn’t it?”

Hosea laughed as Arthur just shrugged. He couldn’t argue that, it did indeed get them close to the Sherriff of Rhodes. Which is not exactly how Arthur saw his day going when this was meant to be a simple fishing trip with the old men. They’d rescued Trelawney from the law after he’d gone and gotten himself caught, Arthur ran down some escaped criminals with a Deputy Archibald, and Dutch being Dutch, he smuggled his way into the good graces of Sherriff Gray. “Hiding in plain sight” as he called it.

Arthur could feel a familiar tingle in the back of his mind; he’d ignore it for now. As long as they didn’t bring any attention to themselves they were fine. They’d have enough trouble as is with the rival family feud that the Deputy had told him about. Arthur couldn’t help but wonder what Dutch had planned in that head of his about the rumors of gold.

Still, as Dutch had put it earlier, this was a lovely day. It was time for fishing.

They’d just gotten off their horses, spotting a series of boats near the fishing spot Hosea had found.

“I got a good feeling about fishing here,” Hosea said between his grunts from pushing the boat. “Supposed to be some incredible sturgeon.”

“Okay, here we go.” Arthur hummed as they finally got the boat into the water. “Let me row. You boys are too old for real labor no more.”

Dutch chuckled from the other end of the boat as Arthur took the oars from Hosea.

“And you’re too dumb for anything else.” Hosea quipped back, lightly thumping Arthur on the back of the head.

“You’re still too quick for me, old man!” Arthur said between laughs.

“I enjoy picking on children.”

He’d missed this. It’d been far too long since the three of them had done anything together. There were days when Arthur wished things could go back to those times. Things were simpler. There were less mouths to feed, and less drama. Less worrying about whether someone was going to die tomorrow because there were just too many people to keep track of.

Still, he wouldn’t change things, despite thinking about it. Especially now with Alice. And Charles too, he supposed. Arthur still wasn’t sure about things. He kept thinking that he didn’t deserve anything remotely similar to another relationship after what had happened with Mary. God forbid, he thought, if things ended up how they did with Eliza.

Arthur shook the thoughts from his head as he felt a pull on his fishing pole. After a bit of finagling, he’d managed to reel in a nicely sized steelhead trout. He threw it in the boat to bring to Pearson later.

He eventually tuned out the chatter between Dutch and Hosea until they caught his attention again.

“So,” Hosea said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “How are you, Arthur? How’s Alice?”

Arthur suddenly found his fishing pole very interesting.

“Oh, indeed, Hosea.” Dutch joined in, accentuating the syllables. “There’s certainly some interesting chatter around camp lately.”

“We’re fine.” Arthur gritted through his teeth.

“And Mister Smith?”

“I will tip this boat over.”

The two older men laughed. Arthur began rocking the boat just a small bit earning a yelp from them both.

“Seriously though.” Gone was Hosea’s mirth. “How are you three? There is chatter around camp, not always the friendly kind, and I’m sure it’s…difficult.”

Arthur sighed. He had hoped things in camp would remain rather normal but, there was hardly any privacy within their gang. Once one person put two and two together – or three and three - then it spread like wildfire.

“We’re figuring it out.” Arthur collapsed his fishing pole, having suddenly lost interest.

“I’m sure it can’t be easy, ‘specially for you.” Dutch also put away his pole, easing himself down onto the bench in the boat. “You’re still hung up about one woman and here you are, sharing Alice with another man. Don’t think I’d be able to handle that.”

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek. For a man whose eyes constantly dragged over other women when he had Molly back at camp, Dutch had some nerve.

“As I said, we’re still…figuring things out.” Arthur chose his words carefully. “’sides, who says I can’t handle this sort of situation?”

Dutch gave him a look that caused Arthur to roll his eyes. Sure, this wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to accept but, despite it only being a few days into it, so far things were good. Mostly just a little awkward as the three of them work out the details. They’re playing it by ear. However, it was all still so new and to be honest, Arthur really didn’t feel like talking with the two men about the early stages of his relationship. Relationships? He still hadn’t figured out what to call Charles in this particular scenario.

Arthur shook his head. “How ‘bout we head out?”

“Already?” Hosea spoke as he took a small trout off the end of his line and tossed it back.

“You ain’t been chasin’ down outlaws all afternoon!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hosea slapped Arthur on the shoulder as he sat down.

Then they were off. Arthur spotted the horses following along as he rowed down the shore. His spirits were lifted when Hosea and Dutch began singing, Arthur didn’t know all the words but he kept up with the ones he did. With the sun setting to his left, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like this was the official beginning to something new and beautiful.

******

Alice had to admit, the humidity brought on by being this far south was well worth the convenience of having a lake right next to camp. Her and Mary-Beth were taking advantage of their new lake-front property by going for a quick bath in the little cove to that Kieran had told Mary-Beth about at some point. Their bath quickly turned into an afternoon of lounging on the shore, their feet still in the water once their chores were done. Mary-Beth, it seemed, had an ulterior motive.

“So,” She wiggled her eyebrows towards Alice. “You’ve gotta spill the beans. How in the world did you manage to wrangle not one, but two men?!” She clasped her hands together, sighing dramatically. “Handsome ones to boot! It’s like something right out of one of my books!”

Alice splashed Mary-Beth, causing the girl to squeal.

“Is that why you dragged me out here?!” Alice was trying her best to glare at her friend but was fighting a losing battle with her smile.

There was really no hiding anything from the rest of the camp. The gang was rather close-knit. Still, the trio hadn’t decided to announce it to everyone seeing as it was a new thing for them and they wanted to keep it as private as they could. The camp caught on rather quickly though, much to their chagrin. Hosea of course had his fair share of comments and jokes. Dutch hadn’t said anything to her personally, but Alice had spotted him talking with Arthur occasionally. Other than that, no one really had much to say after the initially teasing was out of the way. There was still the occasional snicker every so often which was put to rest with one of the three giving a rather nasty stink-eye. Micah had been the biggest agitator so far. His latest comment was during dinner recently. Alice was seated on Charles’s lap by the fire; it was easier for Charles and her to be more open to public displays of affection while Arthur preferred to enjoy Alice’s time away from prying eyes if he could. Micah had picked up on the situation and had been the cause of most of the snickering in camp and this particular night he had made the suggestion that since Alice apparently was being passed around, it should be his turn sooner or later.

Charles had attempted to deal with the situation himself but Alice had beat him to it.

“Mister Bell, even if we were the last two people in this God-forsaken country, I’d still rather die before that happened.” She had said with a smirk, continuing to eat nonchalantly as the people around her laughed.

Micah, of course, hadn’t appreciated it, but Alice and Charles were fairly entertained as he stomped off. He gave Alice one last parting quip about regretting that statement before retreating to the woods.

Alice was brought back to the impatient girl in front of her by being splashed in the face.

“Alright, alright!” She sputtered, spitting the lake water out of her mouth. “But you gotta tell me about you and Kieran, then!”

******

Charles spotted Arthur standing awkwardly on the edge of camp, his back to the water. He had been in the middle of sharpening his hunting knife when he got up to see what the cowboy was up to. When Arthur spotted him he gave a short nod.

“Hey.” Charles walked up next to him, hand on his belt. “What are you doing out here?”

“Uh…” Arthur coughed a little, jabbing his thumb behind him.

Charles could hear laughter and splashing. He could tell who it was by the laughs, the corners of his lips tugging up.

He chuckled. “Keeping watch, hm?”

Arthur blushed. Charles tried not to smile at how easy it was to fluster the man.

“Well now I am. I may have, uh, accidentally spotted them.” He scratched at his stubble. “Figured I’d make sure no one else makes the same mistake. Don’t want to embarrass them, ya know?”

Charles hummed, nodding his head quick.

“What you preparing for, anyhow?” Arthur nodded towards Charles’s hand which was still holding the whetstone.

“The greatest of gifts.”

“An unguarded stagecoach?” Arthur teased.

“No, you simple-minded fool.” Charles nudged his shoulder, letting him know he wasn’t being an ass. “Bison.”

“Bison?”

“Bison. From which you can get anything.” Charles turned around when he heard the sound of the girls getting out of the water. “There’s some over on the Plains, I believe. I saw a couple a long way off earlier.”

“Ah,” Arthur nodded. “Well, good luck then.”

Charles muttered a quick thanks but stopped a couple steps away. He had planned on using it as some time to himself but…

“Wanna come with me? When you’re done here.” He turned back. “I can show you how we hunt one.”

Arthur bobbed his head side-to-side, thinking it over. “Sure, why not?”

“Alright. Well, come find me when you’re done here, then.”

Arthur gave him his little finger salute which Charles nodded at.

He walked away, thinking back on things. He was happy with how things were going. It wasn’t as awkward as he had thought it would be, “sharing” Alice. It’s not like he didn’t know of others in similar relationships during his time on his own. It’s always different when it’s yourself, though. He was happy though, that much he could admit. For the first time in a while. He wasn’t sure how Arthur was fairing, he’d ask him while they were out. Alice seemed to be happy, though. She was smiling more and it seemed like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Charles could only imagine how much stress she had been under trying to figure out her feelings during these stressful times for the gang.

He glanced back at Arthur again when he heard the man explaining his situation to Mary-Beth and Alice. His face was hidden behind his hat but Charles could see the redness of his cheeks and neck as the girls giggled. Charles sighed, that man was far too easy to fluster.

******

Arthur was still trying to fight his blush as he rode alongside Charles towards the Plains in the Heartlands. Having one woman giggling at you while still soaked from water was enough to fluster him, but two? And one of which he was sweet on? Arthur thought this day would never end. Charles eventually broke him out of his thoughts by grabbing his attention.

“So, how are you holding up with things?”

Arthur knew what he meant without asking.

“Still getting used to it I suppose?” He took in a deep breath which caused tickle in his chest, making him cough a little. “I’ll admit I never thought I’d end up in another relationship with someone after…Mary.”

Arthur paused. No one else knew about Eliza…he still wasn’t ready to tell anyone.

“I never thought I deserved it, you know?” He continued. “Still don’t. ‘Specially with Alice. She’s just - she’s too good. And I’m just…me.”

Charles glanced over at him, slowing Taima down.

“She is a good person. Too good for our way life if I’m being honest. But, just like me, she sees the good in you. You deserve happiness Arthur, in whatever way you can get it. And if me and her have to remind you every day then, well, I suppose we will.”

Arthur puffed out his cheeks. Why’d these two have to gang up on him?

“You two are fools.” He mumbled.

Charles huffed a laugh through his nose as he picked up the pace, Arthur following shortly.

The bison were right where Charles said they would be. After telling him the history of his tribe and their closeness to the animal, Arthur was feeling a little stressed when Charles said that he could take one down while Charles went off to wrangle them.

Arthur brought Crayola to a run alongside the ringed-in bison. He took aim at one that was falling behind but still had enough meat on it to feed their ever-growing family.

With two good shots, the beast went down with a loud thump as the others ran off.

“Well done!” Charles called out as he rode up to Arthur.

Arthur found himself sitting up straighter in his saddle at the praise for some reason.

Both men brought their horses to the downed animal, Arthur hopping down to examine it.

“Alright, let’s skin and butcher it.” Charles pulled out the hunting knife he had been sharpening earlier and handed it to Arthur. “Take the horns too. It can all be used.”

Arthur went to work, quickly but methodically. He didn’t want to mess this up. Eventually both of their horses were tied down with either meat or furs.

Charles was looking over the hills surrounding them. Arthur hummed to get his attention.

“What is it?”

“I want to go check something out.” Charles spoke lowly, still staring over the hill.

“Where we goin’?” Arthur asked as he followed along.

“I thought I saw some scavenger birds over here, just want to see what attracted them.”

Arthur nodded, despite knowing the man in front couldn’t see the action. Charles’s shoulders were tense.

They became even more rigid when they came around the hill and discovered the source.

Three bison carcasses, their skin and meat torn to shred from the birds and other wildlife having had time to feast.

Charles growled. “Shot and left for dead, it looks like.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“I don’t know, but I see tracks heading in this direction. I say we follow them.”

Arthur watched as Charles’s jaw clenched, it seemed almost painful. He wasn’t sure if he was more worried about Charles, or what he’d do to whoever they found.

******

Alice had been helping sort through the piles of goods that Sean and Javier had brought in from their latest homestead robbery when Charles and Arthur rushed through the opening of the camp. Alice jumped to her feet, eager to see what the men had been up to while they were away. The smile on her face fell when she saw the expression on their faces. Charles quickly dismounted Taima, grabbing whatever was tied to the back of her and rushed past Alice towards Pearson. Alice watched as he discarded what appeared to be a bag filled with meat before he went straight to his tent, dropped off his things, and headed out to the woods nearby. Alice felt like a windstorm had passed through camp with how quickly Charles had come and gone. Her chest hurt at the expression she briefly saw on his face and took a step to follow him when she felt Arthur’s hand gently grab her shoulder.

“Give him some time to himself for a little bit.” He pulled her close, her back flush against his warm chest.

Alice tilted her head up to look at Arthur.

“What happened?”

“We went out hunting bison. Found some poachers.”

Alice nodded, resting her head back against his chest. She felt Arthur’s chin on the top of her head.

She knew how Charles felt about poachers. It was one of the things they had talked about oh so long ago when she was first getting to know him. She didn’t need Arthur to elaborate to understand that he was right. Charles needed space for a little bit. He’d be back. And they’d be here waiting for him when he did.

The quiet of camp was broken with a shout from Pearson’s wagon. Arthur and Alice looked over to see Sadie currently waving a rather large knife in Pearson’s face.

“For Christ’s sake.” Arthur muttered, resting his forehead on Alice’s shoulder. “Can there ever be a calm day in this camp?”

Alice chuckled, causing Arthur to lift his head to get away from her bouncing shoulder.

“I’m afraid not Mister Enforcer.” She pulled herself from his grasp reluctantly, pushing him towards the scene. “Go on now before we need to find another cook.”

“I dunno, I think our stomachs would be happier for it honestly.” Arthur chimed back, sending her a wink as he stormed off.

Alice shook her head with a smile as she watched the scene unfold from afar. It would seem they might have a new set of hands to help in the fighting if Sadie has her way. Alice couldn’t help but be a little relieved. After what happened in Valentine she wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of being caught in any sort of gun fire any time soon. She still had nightmares about it sometimes.

She gave a wave and a cheeky smile to the grumbling Arthur as he and Sadie rode out of camp on the supply wagon. Alice’s attention went back to the direction Charles had stormed off. She knew there was a bit of a clearing in that area and wondered if maybe he had gone that way. She hesitated as she took a step, heeding Arthur’s suggestion of leaving him alone but, Charles didn’t have to be alone anymore. None of them did. Making up her mind, Alice quickly half-ran to Charles’s tent, grabbing his blanket. She then ran over to her own tent, grabbing her blanket as well. And finally over to Arthur’s tent to steal one of his. She stopped by Pearson’s wagon and wrapped up some fruits and other goods in the blankets and was off to the meadow. Even if he wasn’t there, she knew it wouldn’t take him long to find her.

She wasn’t sure if she was just that good at reading the man, or just extremely lucky but when she finally pushed through the last of the bushes, she did indeed spot Charles laying in the middle of the small clearing. He looked like one of the cats that used to lie around Blackwater, soaking up the sun. Alice knew that he knew she was there. He probably heard her coming a long while off with her stomping through the woods. Still, he kept his eyes closed. He didn’t say anything though – not that he said much – and Alice took it as a good sign to come closer. She sat tentatively on the grass next to him, the blankets bundled in her lap.

“Arthur told me what happened.” She spoke low.

Charles hummed. “I’m sorry about how I charged into camp.”

Alice shook her head, then realizing that Charles still had his eyes closed, she spoke. “No need to apologize, Charles. I understand.”

Charles sucked in a large breath before pulling himself up to sit.

“So,” His effort to change topics was obvious. “What do you have there?”

Alice smiled towards him. “Well, I thought I might try and cheer you up a little and while we don’t have much in camp, figured we could have some sort of picnic. Make sure to save some for when Arthur gets back, though. We all need some time away from camp I think.”

Charles nodded slowly. “He go somewhere?”

“Sadie finally made her attempt at killin’ poor mister Pearson.” Charles laughed at that. “Arthur took her on a trip into town to get her out for a bit. From what I could hear it sounds like she might want to start riding with you guys now.”

Charles hummed in question. “You not planning on going with us anymore?”

“Not into any sort of…gunfights. I don’t know.” Alice sighed. “After Valentine…”

Charles nodded. “I get it. Take your time. You’re a skilled thief anyways, you weren’t exactly known for your gun-slinging.”

“Hey now!”

Both of them were now laughing as Alice tore up a handful of grass and threw it at Charles.

“Well, let’s get this picnic set up, hm?”

******

Arthur was still grumbling to himself when he walked towards his tent. The simple shopping trip with Sadie turned into one of the wildest things he’d gotten himself into in a while. Couldn’t argue that the woman could hold her own though. He had a feeling she’d be making herself known in the gang fairly quickly at this rate. Still, doesn’t mean he likes being shot at out of the blue.

“The hell?”

Arthur scratched at the stubble on his chin when he reached his tent. His blanket was missing.

“Who the hell steals a blanket?”

He turned around, doing a quick search of the immediate area. His eyes were drawn to Alice’s tent not too far away. His brow furrowed.

She would. She definitely would.

As he made his way to her tent he glanced over towards where Charles’s stuff was set up and noticed that his too was missing.

“What in the world is she up to…?” He mumbled.

He announced himself before pulling the front flap of her tent open and peeked inside. No blanket.

“Looking for someone, Arthur?” Javier’s voice came from behind.

Arthur turned around. Javier was putting away his rifle from his watch.

“She headed off after Charles not long after you left. They went that way.” Javier chuckled as he pointed towards the small trail on the other side of camp that led to the woods. “Have fun, amigo!”

Arthur shot him an annoyed glare before thanking him and walking in that direction. He wasn’t all that surprised to hear that Alice had gone after Charles even after being told to give him some time alone. She was just too good. There were some days where Arthur was worried that the life they lead would taint her but, somehow she’s kept it.

As he got closer, using the tracking skills Charles had taught him what feels like ages ago, he finally heard laughter and chatter coming from ahead. He felt a smile form on his face immediately.

“Surely that ain’t true!” He heard Alice yell out in laughter.

“It is!” Charles replied with a loud laugh of his own. “It was knotted up so badly that we had to shave it all off in the end. There was no fixing it. It took forever for my hair to grow back. Mother was furious.”

Arthur stepped the bushes and his chest warmed at what he was seeing. There was a large pile of blankets sprawled across the grass. Some food piled in one corner, some having already been eaten. Alice was sitting cross-legged in front of Charles, doing something with some flowers. Seemed like she was making a version of one of Jack’s flower necklaces. Charles was sat behind her on his knees, he was currently working his way through an intricate braid in her hair.

“Well ain’t this a pretty picture.” Arthur called out as he walked closer.

“Arthur! You found us!” Alice smiled wide and waved in his direction; she could only turn her head so far with Charles’s hands in her hair.

He sat on the edge of the blankets and pulled off his boots, throwing them next to theirs. He picked up a can of peaches and quickly scarfed it down while Alice wasn’t paying attention. He’d gotten one too many lectures from her about how he shouldn’t just breathe in his food.

“What’chu two up to?” He said between bites.

“Well, we wanted to kill some time while waiting for you to finally show up, so I asked Charles if he’d braid my hair for me.”

“Couldn’t exactly say no.” Charles smirked. “Haven’t had the chance to braid anyone’s hair except my own in a long time.”

Arthur hummed. “Seems difficult.”

“Wanna learn?”

Arthur’s eye brows shot up, he had said that out loud?

“I….I don’t know. Think my hands are a little too…uncoordinated for this kind of stuff.” He mumbled.

“Just follow what Charles does!” Alice reached back and patted one of Charles’s hand. “Could he braid yours or is that…?”

“It’s okay.” Charles turned and smiled at Arthur. “If you want to follow along that’s fine. I’ll show you something simpler.”

He quickly finished up whatever braid he was doing on Alice and then stopped, letting go of some strands and moving some others around so that he was only holding three this time.

“You sure?” Arthur moved slowly behind Charles.

There was a part of him that kind of hoped Charles would change his mind. But then there was this other part of him that wanted to be able to do stuff like this for Alice as well.

Plus, he had always thought Charles had nice hair for a man. He also didn’t want to offend him if it was a…cultural thing.

“Come on.” Charles smiled at Arthur over his shoulder and then swept all of his hair back with his free hand.

“Now I’m kinda wishin’ I could see because I can only imagine how this is gonna go.” Alice snickered from up front.

“Watch it, missy.” Arthur playfully growled.

He could spot a grin on her face from the side. The stubborn part of him wanted to change his mind just to wipe the grin from her face. But he was already holding three strands of hair between his fingers so it was a bit late for that.

“Hey, it’s not your hair he’s practicing on.”

Charles and Alice laughed at that while Arthur just gently tugged on one strand of Charles’s hair.

“You two hush and let’s start.”

Arthur was forever thankful for Charles’s patience and trust as he learned some basic braids. He was currently being shown a little trickier one which involved four strands of hair so that Charles could finish the same braid on Alice. Whatever Alice was working on, she seemed to be finished as Arthur couldn’t see her hands moving anymore.

“Now just tie it off.” Charles said as he finished with Alice’s hair.

“I’m no expert but I don’t think I did half bad!” Arthur chuckled to himself, he tucked some fly-away strands behind Charles’s ears, feeling the man shudder.

“Only one way to find out!” Alice quickly turned around, shuffling on her knees to look at both men.

Charles just smiled and shook his head as he turned to show off his hair. It was braided from about midway on his head. There were some spots that were definitely messy or sticking out of place, but overall Arthur was happy with it.

“Not bad, Arthur. Not bad at all.” Alice grinned up at him.

“Don’t need to cut it all off?” Charles teased, earning a soft shove from Arthur.

“You knew the risk.” Arthur snickered, then his attention turned back to Alice. “What was you workin’ on anyhow?”

“Oh!” Alice leaned back, reaching for her mystery project. When she turned back around she was holding a crown made of daisies. “Since you don’t exactly have as much hair as me and Charles, I figured I’d make you something braided as well so we can all look nice together.”

She sounded like she was joking, but Arthur could tell that she was still a little nervous in giving it to him. Whatever witty comeback he had ready was stowed away in favor of a soft smile. He grabbed it from her hands, placed it on his head, and leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. He chuckled when he heard her squeak a little.

“Well ain’t this a pretty picture?” Charles laughed lowly, mocking Arthur’s earlier statement.

Arthur and Alice looked over to see Charles lounging back on his elbows watching the both of them. He had a small smile on his face.

“Aw, you want a kiss too?” Alice cooed.

Charles smirked, lowering his head a bit. He looked up through his eyelashes. “Maybe.”

Alice giggled. “Fine, you big baby.” She crawled towards him, sitting herself on his lap.

Arthur had thought he’d be more jealous seeing the woman he cared for sitting in the lap of another man. Especially knowing that the other man was her…other man. Instead the twist he thought he felt in his stomach was more like butterflies. He didn’t quite know how to describe it or what it meant. He found himself smiling at the cute scene that was Alice grabbing Charles’s face with her small hands and squishing his cheeks as she planted an exaggerated kiss on one of them. He was broke from his reverie when he realized they were both now staring at him.

“W-what?”

“Your turn, Arthur.” Alice teased, tapping Charles’s other cheek.

Arthur sputtered, feeling his face heat up. Surely she was joking? He scratched the back of his neck, trying to figure out what to do. Also to think about why he wasn’t exactly…against the idea? He glanced back towards where camp was, briefly.

“I-I don’t-”

As if sensing his dilemma, Alice backtracked. Charles leaned forward, knocking into Alice, mumbling that they’d get him next time. Arthur squinted over at the two of them – leave them alone and they scheme apparently. And now the stubborn side of him was surfacing again. He stood up quickly, causing the two of them to scramble to their feet. They were already starting to apologize again for teasing him when he marched towards the two of them, rather than back to camp like they must have thought he would. Before either could say anything else, Arthur walked up to Charles. The man was only slightly taller than Arthur, looking at him with a question behind his eyes. They stared at one another, Arthur’s eyes flicked from Charles’ to his lips. Arthur let out a quick huff of air before leaning forward and placing a quick kiss to Charles’s cheek. When he leaned back he looked between the two of them as his face burned hotter. Alice was sporting a small smile, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Charles was blinking rapidly and Arthur couldn’t help but feel a little smug about surprising the man - it was hard to catch him off-guard.

“We should probably head back to camp.” Arthur coughed, once the situation finally caught up with him.

Charles quickly agreed and the three went to work on picking up their supplies.

The next couple weeks for Arthur were an interesting time, to say the least. He was following up on Dutch’s plan to get Arthur close to the Grey family while Hosea worked on the Braithwaites. Turns out, that meant playing mailman for two kids in love from rival families. Really made Arthur think about his relationship and how at least the camp wasn’t going to kill them for being together at least. Turning into a mailman then somehow turned into becoming a wagon driver and newly appointed women’s suffragette member. To say that his feelings regarding a certain man back in camp were the least of his worries was an understatement.

Things between the three of them were definitely different after that day in the field. They didn’t talk about it but the air had certainly changed between them. Where before there would be little looks between him and Alice, Arthur now found his eyes drifting to Charles as well. It was as if he was seeing the man in a new light and all it took was one little moment. The moments by the campfires which had previously been awkward, with figuring out how they would all sit together, was now a mish-mash of the three of them practically sitting on top of each other. Alice frequently found herself seated on one of the men’s laps with her legs across the others’. And when no one was paying attention in camp, Arthur and Charles found themselves sitting closer than they had in the past. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t heard of things like this before between two men. The addition of a lady was new to him but Charles had told him stories from his travels that it wasn’t exactly rare either – usually just hard to spot out in the open. However, Arthur was still wrapping his head around his feelings for Alice, he didn’t need to be more confused about things. There was still that nagging voice in the back of his mind that sounded a lot like Mary telling him he didn’t deserve this. He found it amazing how just seeing people that he had known for months and years in a different light could quite literally flip his world.

Arthur bit the end of his pencil as he looked down at his notebook at what he had been writing.

He sighed, loudly.

He had it bad.

Before he could continue down the confusing rabbit-hole that was his emotions, he heard Molly call out for him from across the way. She was seated under a tree near the horses, overlooking the lake.

“Yes, Miss O’Shea?” Arthur helped her to her feet as he neared.

“Ah, call me Molly, would ya?” Her accent lilted. “Arthur, how is Dutch? I-I mean how does he seem to you?”

Arthur grumbled, shaking his head lightly in confusion. “About the same as usual, I guess?”

“I…I really love him, you know, but if he…” Her train of thought shifted. “Like he always says, loyalty is everything, so…”

Molly placed her hands on her hips, trying to find the right words. Arthur was still trying to figure out what she was trying to get at when Uncle called his name, running up to them.

“Excuse me, Miss O’Shea.” Uncle pushed past her with a gentle hand on her shoulder earning a glare from the woman.

“What’chu want?” Arthur growled.

“I bring a gift,” Uncle smiled. “The great gift of information.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “So, you got some tip off, so now, I can risk my neck, and make you some money, while you lounge around.”

Molly waved Arthur off, realizing she wasn’t being heard anymore. Arthur gave her an apologetic smile.

“You know, Arthur, bitterness, it works on the inside, as well as on your sour face.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, trying to walk away from the man.

“If you say so, but you can go find some other fool to run your errands.” Arthur sniffed as he leaned against the nearby tree.

Just then, Charles and Bill happened to walk by and Uncle flagged them down.

“Bill, come over here!”

Charles gave Arthur a questioning look from where he was to which Arthur shrugged as he lit a cigarette.

“Will you be my other fool?” Arthur didn’t have to turn around to know that Uncle was smiling at him as he said it. “You too, Charles.”

“What are you talking about?” Bill questioned with his hands.

“Arthur’s above a little stick up I heard about.”

Arthur’s head shot up. “No I’m not?”

“Well you just said-“

“Hey, I’ll do it as long as you ride with us.” Arthur spoke as he moved to stand next to Bill and Charles.

Uncle sputtered. “I got a serious medical condition.”

Arthur wheezed as he blew smoke out. “Yes, you are a compulsive liar.” He grinned at Uncle who puffed out his chest.

“No need to be like that. Charles, have I ever lied to you?”

Charles’s face scrunched together in confusion. “I hardly know you.”

Arthur smiled at his confused expression when Charles looked over at him. It was adorable, really. Arthur coughed on the smoke he inhaled when he gasped at that thought.

“Exactly.” Uncle continued, ignoring the coughing fit Arthur was having. “Now you boys should do this, it’s easy and I’ll only take a small commission for my information, but it’s now or never.”

Arthur rolled his eyes once more as he put the offending cigarette out. “Then it’s never.”

“Oh, God help me.” Uncle sighed dramatically. “Fine, I’ll do it!”

Arthur laughed, knowing he’d won. “Well, what is it?”

Arthur and Charles walked side by side as Uncle explained the job, sharing a knowing look.

This probably wasn’t going to go as planned.

******

Charles leaned his head against his forearm as he kept watch in the barn. He just knew this just was too good to be true. Nothing ever seems to go as planned anymore for the gang.

It had all started fairly well. The act of stopping and robbing the wagon went fine, it was just the addition of extra security that threw a wrench in the plan. So now here they were, crammed in a dilapidated barn with no horses, just hoping that no one would find them out here in the middle of the night. They had put some pretty good distance between them and Cornwall’s men but still, Charles was wary.

He flinched every time Uncle or Bill would snore, knowing it could blow their cover. Charles looked down at his feet to where Arthur was resting, his head leaning against Charles’s leg. Charles reached up and ran his hand over his hair. There was a small braid behind his ear that Arthur had put there the other day. He had used the excuse of wanting more practice but Charles could see through it, even if Arthur couldn’t.

It was during a late-night fireside chat that Charles had confessed that he perhaps had been thinking of Arthur as more than just a friend. He was a little surprised at Alice’s reaction at first. She had a little bit to drink that night so her emotions were high and had asked if that meant he’d rather have Arthur than her. Charles had laughed at that which just caused the poor girl more confusion. She understood though when he explained that it was just the same as her having feelings for both men, that he had feelings for her and Arthur. Or at least, he was considering it. The day Arthur kissed him – albeit on the cheek – he knew his feelings were confirmed. It was different than his feelings for Alice. With Alice he felt as though he had found his other half, his soul-mate, if he dared use the term. He could see himself with her as long as their way of life would allow. And however long society would allow, since it was a stickler for their kind of relationship. But with Arthur it seemed as though he had found a partner. It just felt natural. Two people who were very similar but also so different, coming together. It just worked.

Charles shook his thoughts away – those could be saved for another day. The other men were starting to wake up. Arthur suggested trying to get out of there now that it was nightfall. Uncle started grumbling something but Charles was quick to shut him up.

His eyes squinted as he spotted lights coming over the hill in the distance.

“Damn.” Arthur whispered, coming to stand next to Charles. “L-let’s just keep this calm. See what happens.” He motioned for everyone to get into hiding.

Charles backed into a corner, engulfing himself in the darkness. He could see Bill clear as day and was not confident that the man would remain hidden if anyone decided to check the barn.

Just as he had that thought the owner of the home shouted to the men knocking on his door about some noises in the barn. Charles cursed to himself. He and Arthur stared at one another as two men came closer to the barn. If they were fast enough they could probably take the men out without the others noticing too quickly. They nodded to each other, as if coming to the same thought. The men walked into the barn and Charles was certain they just might get out of this alive until Bill slipped on something in the back of the barn, causing all hell to break lose. Charles was quick to pull out his sawed-off and shoot the man closest to him. Arthur got the other man but they could already hear the shouts from the men outside the barn, as well as more being called in as backup. They were surrounded. Every opening to the barn that Charles could see was blocked and his hopes of all of them getting out alive was quickly dwindling.

“Behind you, Charles!”

Charles turned around but before he could fire off a shot, the man was already dead. He turned back to see Arthur nodding at him, reloading his gun.

They were firing from every angle but the number of enemies never seemed to go down. Charles grunted in pain as he felt a bullet whizz by his face, no doubt adding another scar to his collection.

“They’re coming in from all sides!” Bill yelled out.

“Oh, shit…fire!” Arthur yelled out. “The oil from that lantern!”

Charles look around, trying to assess the situation. Burning to death or getting shot to death cornered in a barn was not exactly how he saw himself going out. His irritation was growing with every passing second.

“Nicely done, Bill.” He growled out. “They teach you that move in the army too?”

“Can’t you keep your fat feet still for ten goddamn seconds?” Uncle chimed in.

Bill looked between the two men for a moment. “You got us into this!”

All of the men went back to shooting as their attackers got steadily closer. It was like there was no end to them.

“How about we stop robbing Cornwall’s men for a while?” Charles glanced at Arthur who returned a knowing look.

“I didn’t know we was robbing Cornwall, aright?” Uncle retorted, clearly annoyed that his plan didn’t work out.

“If we don’t get out of here soon we’re charcoal.” Arthur looked around at the barn as it started falling apart. Beams were now blocking a lot of the open windows.

Charles put his sawed off away, focusing on trying to find a way out while the others kept shooting. He headed towards the back wall. It was the side with most of the fire, but was also the side with none of Cornwall’s men. He assessed the standing wall, wondering how hard it would be to break through when another beam fell from the ceiling causing him to jump back with a shout.

Charles turned to the men. “This whole place is catching!”

“Come on, old man!” Bill yelled out as he ran towards the opposite wall.

Charles winced as he watched Bill ram his leg through the wood. No doubt he’d be feeling it later if the adrenaline wasn’t working through his system. Uncle was quick to follow Bill out of the barn as they both fired away at anyone outside. Charles stepped through, looking back at Arthur who was still firing shots away in the fire.

“Come on, Arthur!” He yelled out, his voice harsh from the smoke.

He ran back, grabbing Arthur by the hand to pull him out of the building. They didn’t let go of each other until they were heading towards the woods nearby, following Bill and Uncle. They had a bit of a reprieve as it seemed no one had noticed they had escaped for the time being.

“Where we going, Bill?” Charles called out, wondering what the plan was.

“We’ll try to lose them in the woods!”

They reached a dried riverbed.

“Let’s split up a bit, try to confuse ‘em.” Uncle whispered. “Arthur, with me.”

Charles and Arthur looked at one another briefly. Charles knew the man could handle himself, still, his newfound feelings didn’t make it any easier to separate from him in this situation. The four parted ways and Charles begrudgingly followed Bill.

“Anything dumb, Williamson, and you’re on your own.” Charles grumbled.

“Oh, shut the hell up.”

******

Alice had just come back from a rather successful hunt – three rabbits, a turkey, and a rather nicely sized deer. She was helping Pearson skin the rabbits when Uncle, Bill, Charles, and Arthur finally returned. She knew they had left for a job yesterday but it was supposed to have been a simple robbery. Sufficed to say she spent most of the night a nervous wreck which is why she felt the need to go hunting this morning.

She quickly dropped the rabbit she was skinning, shouting an apology to Pearson as she ran towards her men.

“Charles! Arthur!” She nearly collided into Arthur from her speed.

The men smiled down at her, enjoying her worry over them.

She took the chance to look over the men individually to make sure they were intact. They were both rubbing her arms as she reached their faces, her neck craning up to examine every angle. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the wound on Charles’s face. It was just a scratch but still, that was a very close call. She wasn’t sure if it was because it was her time of the month or not, but her emotions seemed to be heightened as the thought alone of how close she could have come to losing Charles was enough to cause her chin to start wobbling and her eyes to burn. Both men sighed as they pulled her in close to their chests. Alice gripped their shirts, taking in the smell of them. They smelled of smoke. She could feel them surround her, hugging each other as well. She didn’t care if everyone in camp was watching them, she was just glad that they were okay.

“Ya’ll can’t keep giving me heart attacks like this. You hear?” She tried to sound firm but the sniffle that followed didn’t help.

“Yes ma’am.” Arthur hummed into her hair, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

Charles hummed in agreement, squeezing her tighter.

The three released one another but Alice was still riding on her emotional high. Again, she didn’t care that they were within view of everyone in camp. She grabbed Arthur’s face and pulled him down to meet her as she crushed their lips together. When she released him she did the same with Charles.

She could feel her face beginning to warm. Sure, she had kissed both men in private. But they had never kissed her in front of each other. That day in the field was as close as they had gotten. But Alice didn’t care. It felt right. Still, she kept her head down as she looked up at both of them through her eyelashes. They were staring between each other and her. As if figuring out what to do next. They smiled. Alice couldn’t tell if she should be happy or afraid that they both smiled at the same time. She tried to back away as they both leaned forward but Arthur grabbed her by the waist before she could get too far. He pulled her in close, dipping her back a bit to kiss her hard. A little too hard, but she wouldn’t complain. The man was much larger than her it was easy for him to forget. Alice had to grab onto his suspenders in order to keep her balance. When he placed her back on her feet she felt Charles spin her around before she had time to think about what was happening. Her stomach did flips as she was lifted into the air, her body seemed to weigh nothing to the man. It was interesting being taller than Charles and it certainly made kissing the man all the more interesting. She grabbed handfuls of his hair as they kissed and by the time he placed her back on the ground all her previous worries were long forgotten. She smiled between the two men before she heard applause and whistles from behind her. She jumped in her skin, quickly hiding her face in her hands as the camp whooped and hollered. Alice laughed to herself as she heard Arthur yell at everyone to mind their own business.

“Come on you two, let’s get ya’ll cleaned up.”

#fic: crossroads #my ocs: alice harkins #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x oc x charles smith #arthur morgan x oc #charles smith x oc #arthur morgan x charles smith #arthur morgan #charles smith #rdr2 fic

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annewithagee · 6 years

Text

Know Love When You See It (1)

“I can’t do this, Gil. I can’t open this door. What it it’s too late? What if we came all this way only to find it was all for naught, because she... she..." A story in which Gilbert's health remains perfectly fine, but that's not enough to bring Anne peace. Alternate ending to AotI. Shirbert.

fanfiction.net / AO3

Chapter 1 A Love Letter

Rusty purred longingly, trying to get his young Mistress’s attention. Anne smiled gently at the sound and reached out to caress the determined feline and yet, her sight remained fixed on the book she held in her other hand,

It was clear that even Rusty didn’t have enough charm to make her abandon Lord Tennyson’s fine work.

“Really, Anne, I never imagined you’d be one to spoil a cat,” Stella scolded her gently. “You used to barely tolerate these animals, and even then you only approved of the clean, well-mannered ones. And here you are, letting the least mannered cat of all lie on Miss Patty’s lovely sofa and encouraging his stay!”

Anne barely looked up at her.

“We let the Sarah-cat and Thomas sleep on the finest of our cushions, darling,” she protested softly. “It wouldn’t be fair to treat Rusty differently. And his manners have improved immensely since we took him in, don’t you think?”

“Well, there wasn’t much to improve to start with.” Stella grimaced. “He had no manners at all – he could only go up from there.”

“I say the important part is that he decided to improve at all. I know what it’s like to be judged for the improper behaviour when there has been no one to teach you anything about it in the first place. I can only marvel at my own initial indifference and lack of understanding towards this unlucky fellow.”

“Oh, enough of this cat talk!” Phil interrupted impatiently then. “You better tell us about this book you’re reading, Queen Anne. You look as if you’ve been wanting to laugh for the past quarter and I am dying to find out why. I’d love to borrow that volume later, too; I could certainly use a good laugh right now.”

“You could always use a good laugh, Phil, no matter what your mood currently is,” Anne retorted cleverly. “And don’t make it sound as if you had any reasons to feel miserable.”

“Tease all you like, Anne, it won’t change a thing. I may be the one getting married next month, but that certainly doesn’t make me any less nervous, no matter how happy I am. I keep having these awful nightmares about Jo changing his mind and leaving me, or about my family suddenly deciding to oppose to the marriage and consequently ruining everything I have hoped for – right when I finally started to believe that I could pass for a respectable wife, even for a minister.”

“Dearest Phil, you know theses nightmares have nothing to do with your future,” Anne protested gently, suppressing a laugh caused by both Philippa’s words and the sight of Stella, mercilessly rolling her eyes at them. “You know Jonas loves you too much to ever give up on you, and even if your family decided to interfere with your happiness in any way – which I am sure they will not – you would not pay it much mind anyway.”

Phil sighed deeply as she sunk on the closest chair. “You are perfectly right, Queen Anne, as you usually are. You know, sometimes I wish I had your wisdom; but then I realise that Jo might not want me so much if I were and I immediately regret making any silly wishes. Anyway, you have not answered my question about your reading: what is it?”

Anne allowed herself a small chuckle this time.

“Something you would not find very amusing, I’m afraid,” she explained softly, her eyes returning to the pages in question. “I’ve been skimming through Lancelot and Elaine, stopping only when I came across the parts dearest to me.”

“And that’s what made you glow so much?” Stella joined the conversation once more. “Why, Anne, I’ve always known you had a rather queer taste in literature, but I would never assume you’d find such tragic poem comical.”

“It’s not so much the poem itself as the memory it brings. I remember discussing it at school in Avonlea, weeping and sighing over poor Elaine’s fate with my friends. I was the most emotional, of course, but the girls were not far behind me.”

Stella nodded with a little more understanding. “I can see how that’s amusing now, although I’d still expect a smile rather than a laughter as a natural reaction to it.”

“That’s because you haven’t heard the best part yet!” Anne responded with a sly smile and began recounting their unfortunate attempt to enact the aforementioned poem on the bright waters of Barry’s Pond. By the time Anne came to the infamous scene of the leaking boat, all three had been shaking with laughter, tears of joy glimmering in more than one pair of eyes.

“Really, Anne!” Phil exclaimed in what was supposed to be a stern tone but couldn’t be due to the cheerful trembling of her voice. “We have lived here together for nearly three years, have known each other for four and for all this time you have not thought it appropriate to treat us with a story like this! Why, I am sure you would have spared me at least one miserable night if you had.”

“She hath kept the good wine until now,” Stella answered, trying as she might to sound as serious and composed as the paraphrase required, and failing spectacularly. “I am only surprised she didn’t wait for Priss to come back – the poor girl will be devastated when she learns how much fun she has missed.”

“There is no need to worry about that,” Anne hastened to explain. “Priscilla had known the whole story long before we even arrived to Redmond and I can assure you that her reaction was every bit as fierce as yours.”

Stella pressed her hand against her chest and sighed with emphasis. “Oh, now I see! Priss gets to know everything in advance while we have to beg! Now, Anne, I am positively wounded!”

“And you two are getting off topic again!” Phil intervened again, this time throwing her arms high in the air for a better effect. “Truly, how you can focus on such nonsense when the great finale is still ahead of us is beyond me.”

“You were the one who started it!” Anne contradicted her with another short laugh.

“I beg your pardon, but my comment was fully justified and in some ways it still referred directly to the story you had told. But enough of this! How did you get off that bridge, Anne?”

The auburn-haired girl chuckled again, a little nervously this time, as she lowered her eyes and fixed them on the text once more.

“That is the part in which my pride suffers most,” she said quietly, forcing a light, careless tone that suddenly felt so inappropriate. “You see, I didn’t really mind climbing that pole – of course, it was uncomfortable and comical, and very different from the romantic scene I had envisioned; but at least there was no one there to see me. And all I needed to do was to hold onto that pole until Mr Barry came to help me out in my distress. He would laugh, of course, but I couldn’t care much for it – he had been an eye-witness to my antics too many times already. Unfortunately, my rescue came from a different party entirely.”

Anne expected her friends to interrupt her with more witty remarks; however, they made none.

“There was...” she picked up hesitantly. “There was a boy in our class, who went rowing on Barry’s Pond that day. He saw me and came closer, offering to take me to the shore in his flat.”

“How romantic,” Stella mused teasingly at that.

“Oh, hardly!” Anne protested vigorously, as if she had been fourteen again, listening to Diana’s most ridiculous comments. “I have never thought of my classmates in terms of romance, but it wouldn’t have been half so bad – half so humiliating – had it been any other boy than the one that came. Dear me, how I hated him then! I had been angry with him before, but it was nothing compared to what I felt on that moment under the bridge.”

“And is there any chance we might know the poor chivalrous knight?” Phil asked, wriggling her eyebrows meaningfully. “Could it be Charles and his big, bulging eyes?”

Anne’s own big eyes widened in surprise at her friend’s abrupt assumption.

“No, not at all!” she denied firmly. “I have never hated Charlie, although I have never been particularly fond of him, either. In fact, I think I’ve always cared too little for him to hold any such strong feelings towards him.”

“Poor Charlie,” Stella remarked with an absolute lack of sympathy. “But if not him, then who?”

“The same boy I had ignored for the three years prior and continued to do so for another two, both at school and at Queen’s – and whom, I believe, you have got to know quite well during our stay here.”

Stella was close to choking on her astonishment. “You mean...”

“Gilbert Blythe, yes,” Anne admitted with a small smile. “And I truly wished it had been anyone but him back then.”

“Not so fast, my dear,” Phil exclaimed now. “I know you and Gilbert have not always been friends – it’s certainly hard to call you friends now – but you can’t tell me you used to hate him!”

“Oh, but I did! Or at least, I wholeheartedly believed so.”

“The same Gilbert who is always so kind and considerate, no matter how little he likes the company he’s in?”

“No, the one who had pulled my braid and called me ‘Carrots’ on our very first day of school.” Anne countered cleverly, her smile widening at the sight of shock that had reflected on her friend’s faces almost immediately. “Well, I suppose you didn’t expect to hear that about him.”

“And that’s why you weren’t friends for so long?” Stella asked with disbelief.

Anne nodded, regaining some of her temporarily lost composure. “We were sworn enemies at the time – at least I was. Gilbert tried to apologise and make things right, but my eleven year old self wouldn’t hear of it; and then I suppose I kept thinking of him in that way because my rise and sense of dignity demanded it. Not to mention, I’ve always had that bit of a competitive strike, and since Gilbert soon turned out to be the only real rival, beating him in class became another matter of honour to me.”

“And you didn’t make your peace that day by the pond?” Phil asked again.

“No,” Anne responded, with a little bit of melancholy – sentiment – embarrassment ringing in her voice. “It was the last time my pettiness made itself known and consequently robbed us both of two years of friendship. He went furious – as furious as someone of Gilbert’s personality can be, anyway – snapped and walked away. He had been a rival before, but he had never seemed to care much about it… But after that encounter he became just as ruthless as I had been from the start.”

“In that case, I suppose your fiery arguments here at Redmond were not even half as bad as we all thought,” Phil muttered under her breath. “It must have been nothing compared to what you two had done at school.”

Anne smiled more sincerely now. “Oh, you should have seen us then. Poor Miss Stacy barely managed to answer our overly grown hunger for knowledge, not to mention that we must have been a terrible distraction from other students, who undoubtedly needed her attention much more than we did. In the end she would just give us more to read, if only to make us stay quiet for a moment at least.”

It was Phil’s turn to nod. “You two really have a history.”

“That we do,” Anne agreed a little wistfully. She brightened up the next moment, however. “But, as one of my dearest friends often says, enough of this! The story was meant to cheer you up, not to make us go down some cold, hostile memory lane. We still have a whole afternoon ahead of us, and I’m not going to waste it in any way. We only have a few short days before we leave Patty’s Place for good, and I am determined to make the most of it – and you don’t even try to talk yourselves out of it!”

“And what would you have us do, Queen Anne?” Stella asked a little sceptically, for which she received a frown from Phil. Seeing the exchange, Anne could hardly do more than laugh wholeheartedly at them.

“I have no idea, my dearest Kindred Spirits!” she cried out with eagerness that didn’t match her words nor the atmosphere from mere moments earlier and yet, her voice resonated with sincerity that could not have been denied. “We can dance and we can sing, or we can leave the house and set off on a journey, if only it doesn’t take us too far away from this most beloved place. I once said that I had two homes – Green Gables and Patty’s Place – and I can’t tell you how happy I am that my feelings towards that matter have not changed at all. It is reassuring to know that one can truly love more than just one place so much.”

“I suppose it must be so, or no one would ever find happiness after they married – save for the people who stayed in their own houses and those who never loved their homes in the first place,” Stella concluded.

Anne nodded in agreement with her words. “It is very true, but let’s not forget those who must leave their homes for reasons other than marriage. Oh, Phil, please don’t give me that look, even if I have deserved it. I know you are still angry with me for what happened yesterday, but I promise you, it has nothing to do with what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?” Phil asked calmly, refraining from a more blatant comment that was springing to her lips.

“I meant us. Four college girls, thrown into a new life, away from their families, their neighbours, away from the people and places they care for so much. It could have been such miserable four years, full of stress and loneliness, with homesickness threatening to take over us any minute – and instead they were four years of great friendships, and three of them have been spent here. I’m not sure if I could have born to go through the many challenges Redmond had in store, had it not been for the sense of safety this place has given me.”

“Oh, and here I thought it was our unconditional love and support that had pushed you through!” Stella exclaimed, her hand once again flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture. “Now, you have really hurt my feelings, Anne. Excruciatingly!”

Anne laughed wholeheartedly at her friend’s words, basking in the joy this wonderful comradeship could give.

“Tease all you like -” she said with confidence. “you will not succeed in ruining my good spirits. The day is just too lovely for any sort of pettiness; you can say whatever you want and I won’t take offence. I’m in a forgiving mood – I feel you that if the worst of my enemies came to visit me today, I could not hold grudge against them.”

“Poor Gilbert!” Phil cried out then. “If only he had known that day would come, he might have waited for it, instead of trying to make peace with you over some pond only minutes after he had so unnecessarily rescued you!”

Anne did not find the comment worthy of her answer and decided to resort to violence instead. In one swift motion she grabbed the nearest cushion and threw it at Phil, hitting her right in her smiling face; the latter squeaked in shock but caught the missile in perfect reflex and threw it back at her aggressor without hesitation.

That was the setting in which Priscilla found them in.

“I leave you alone for an hour and you turn into children we used to teach!” she exclaimed in the tone of a perplexed matron, as if she had been at least a decade older than her frivolous friends. “Truly, Anne, what would the board of Avonlea school think if they saw what their favourite schoolmarm does when left unsupervised?”

“I have never been their favourite, so how would I know?” Anne answered her question laughingly, catching the cushion that had once again flown in her direction; however, she refrained from tossing it back. Priscilla raised her gaze to the ceiling, most probably asking the Good Lord to give her patience necessary for dealing with the force her companions undoubtedly were.

“They should take away your B. A.s for behaving like this,” she muttered under her breath as she shrugged off her coat and took off her hat. “I’m not surprised to see Anne or Phil act like that, but you, Stella? Why, I believed you to be the sensible one at least.”

“Don’t lump me together with them,” Stella opposed. “These two won’t listen to anyone and certainly not me.”

“They better do listen to me, though, because I have some great news that should interest them. I’ve been to the post office and there was at least half a dozen letters addressed to us.”

“And I bet half of those are for Phil,” Anne commented teasingly, standing up and approaching Priscilla, ready to take some of the many packages the other girl had brought with her. “Let me take these, Priss, as I’m sure none of those letters are for me. After all, I never receive any letters on Monday.”

“How can you be so sure?” Priscilla asked suggestively. “What if I told you that it’s your turn to receive Phil’s usual, ridiculous share?”

Anne shook her head vigorously. “Impossible! The only letters I am waiting for are the ones from Green Gables and those always arrive on Wednesday, and sum up the whole previous week, together with Mrs Lynde’s great commentary on the minister’s latest sermon.”

“Maybe, but it doesn’t change the fact that one of these letters really has you name written on it – and the handwriting does look to me as if it was Mrs Lynde’s, indeed.”

“It can’t be,” Anne repeated; but the treacherous smile was beginning to blossom on her joyful countenance and not a minute passed before she had whipped the envelope from Priscilla’s hand and pressed in to her chest, barely deigning the item with a glance.

“This truly is the most wonderful of days!” she said excitedly. “Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, you bring this! Dear Priss, you really are a herald of good news!”

And with that she ran towards the sofa and sank on it once more, impatient to learn the contents of the letter that had already gladdened her so much.

“My, my, Anne!” Phil remarked with a dry smile and a slight rise of her eyebrows. “Judging from your excitement, one could think it is a love letter you are holding; if I didn’t know any better, I would swear it was Roy Gardner who had written to you again.”

“Oh, but it as a love letter, and it’s the most beautiful one – better than any suitor could ever send!” Anne protested firmly, glancing from over the letter with her bright eyes. “No one has ever loved me more dearly than those who lived at Green Gables and I doubt anyone ever could. Green Gables letters always are the most affectionate ones; even if sometimes I am the only one who can feel and see it hidden between the lines.”

“Even if those lines are written by Mrs Rachel Lynde?” Priss asked.

Anne nodded eagerly.

“Even if,” she confirmed resolutely. “Mrs Lynde is a dear soul and a true Kindred Spirit, even if our first encounter seemed to prove the opposite; besides, it never is just Mrs Lynde that writes, although she addresses the envelopes to spare Marilla the trouble. Oh, I can’t wait to read about all the scrapes Davy has got himself in since the last time! I did not expect this letter to come for the next two days and now I can’t imagine delaying it for another minute!”

The three friends gifted her with the same bemused look before chuckling cheerfully.

“Well, in that case I suggest you go to your room at once, Miss Anne,” Phil advised with feign seriousness. “Otherwise you’ll just keep talking to us and we’ll never get to learn what this precious letters is really about.”

“I am not going anywhere.” Anne protested for the last time. “I will sit here for the whole time and share all of the best parts with you immediately. Oh, what a feast this is going to be!”

#anne shirley #gilbert blythe #marilla cuthbert #anne of green gables #anne of the island #romance #family #friendship #angst #hurt/comfort #multi-chaptered fic

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slow-button-off · 2 years

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I was just able to look at the qualifying results and wow tomorrow is such a strong opportunity for Ferrari to take points off Max/RB! George Russell on pole is not what I would have expected hahaha but happy for him. Do you think with Ferrari’s pace they’ll both be able to overtake him? I’ve seen a lot of people talking about team orders tomorrow and I know Ferrari literally said today that their goal is to maximize WCC so they will give priority to the faster driver. But, I also can’t help but think back to Mattia’s quotes in France/Austria about Charles being a champion. If Carlos is by far the faster car tomorrow and they don’t use team orders then I respect that but if Charles has the chance to take more points off of Max, I would hope Ferrari would do all they can, even if that means using team orders. Idk this whole thing is such a mess because it’s creating so much toxicity amongst Ferrari fans and now it just feels like Charles and Carlos fans are constantly going at each other.

Hiya!

It's an incredible opportunity with Checo suffering 2nd RB driver syndrome and Max having electrical issues with his PU.

I'm happy for George! Even if I'm not his biggest fan. It looks like Merc might've figured out how to switch on their tyres for a Quali push lap!

But at the same time Ferrari especially Charles struggled with getting his tyres up to temp. They didn't seem overly worried about it tho. Even if the weather tomorrow is probably not gonna be much warmer than it was today during quali.

Idk what Merc have done but looking at everyone's FP2 long runs Ferrari should have an easy time. It's not a track where it's easy to overtake but Ferrari should have the pace advantage (in FP2 it was about a second to Merc) and worst case should be able to overtake via the pits with like an undercut or whatever they come up with. But we don't know if and how much they've changed since FP2. And what fuel load everybody was running during FP2.

Part of me hopes that now that Carlos first win is out of the way that it won't take them as long to swap the cars should Charles be behind and faster. The faster car in front is always better for the team result. And if that's Carlos then it's Carlos.

I hope that they can get past George quickly because I doubt that it'll take Max that long to at least make up some positions and it's always better to put space between them and Max.

I am a bit worried about strategy because it's two v one and I am scared that they're gonna go experimental with one of them and that'll fuck things up.

I feel like a lot of that toxicity is created by the media because they are gagging for Carlos to beat Charles. And like me personally I get annoyed when there's all of this talk and the leadership thing and what not. Like some of the questions Mekies was asked were bait af. That last one here and like all of them here.

I'm not better than anyone else I am toxic enough myself. I just would like it if people stuck with the facts. I'm just over seeing people say that Carlos has been faster now for a couple of races when that's factually incorrect. Like pace is quantifiable and it's numbers. Carlos was faster in France. And I really don't mind saying it. But like that's one race not the last couple.

Anyway, I just really can't stand it when people use something that can be and is measured to make a point and then it's wrong or they don't bother to look it up and go with their feelings instead.

But I don't think that them saying the have a 1 and 2 will make that any better. I would like it because I think it might help them with strategy but I really don't think that it would make things less toxic.

#📨

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arrow-guy · 7 years

Text

The Lighthouse (2/??)

Summary: The town is sleepy, the people are nice enough, but life gets turned upsidedown when the God of Thunder literally falls out of the sky.

A/N: I meant to only post holiday fics this week, but I finished this and it’s Thorsday so there was no way I couldn’t post it. I hope you like this part as much as you did the last! (Also! Quick little thing! The god who is speaking to the reader is not Loki, as I’ve seen a couple people tag this as such. It’s a surprise as to who it is, but it definitely is not Loki.)

Pairing: ThorxReader

Word Count: 1861

Warnings: None

Part 1

“Holy shit,” I stand up, shaking my head. “This isn’t happening. Thor is absolutely not in the middle of this massive crater in the forest twenty minutes outside of town.”

I’m afraid he is.

“Ooh, you don’t get to talk, creepy and misleading disembodied voice. You’re the one who got me into this mess.” I cross my arms and stare down at the unconscious god in front of me. “How did he get here anyway?”

It’s not my story to tell. You’ll have to take him back with you and make sure that he is alright.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You expect me to play the nursemaid and rescuer?” I laugh hysterically. “This isn’t what I signed up for, buddy pal. I never asked for any of this.”

Believe me, you’re not my first choice. Everyone else I tried to contact couldn’t hear me. You are the only human within a fifty mile radius of your town who is worthy to hear the voice of a god.

“Voice of a god, huh?” I rake a shaking hand through my hair and stare down at the blond man on the ground. “And which god am I speaking to?”

Unimportant. Get him into your vehicle and get him somewhere safe. Don’t forget the hammer.

“What?! He’s supposed to be six hundred something pounds! I don’t have the bodily strength to lift more than eighty, not to even mention that I’m probably not even close to worthy enough to lift Thor’s hammer!”

You yourself may not be worthy, but your companion animal certainly is. Send her to find it, and don’t worry about his weight. It won’t be an issue.

I sigh and look around the clearing, trying to find something that I might be able to roll Thor onto to drag him out of the crater. Daisy barks once, and shoots off around the crater, momentarily slowing now and then to sniff the ground before running off again. She disappears into the trees and, at first, I feel a pang of worry before realize that the disembodied voice said that she would be able to carry Thor’s hammer and that she’s probably gone off in search of it.

“This would be easier if campers would litter more often,” I huff out a breath, and fold my arms across my chest.

What were you hoping to find? Human rubbish?

“I was hoping for a trashed tent or even an abandoned tarp,” I answer, circling the unconscious god in the middle of this mess. “Something that would at least help me drag him out of here without breaking my back or giving him about a million splinters.”

Have you tried picking him up?

“I told you I have zero upper body strength. There’s no way I’ll be able to lift more than his arm.”

I thought I told you that his weight wouldn’t be an issue. Now the voice just sounds annoyed and I roll my eyes. You would do well to listen to me, human. I’ve told you twice already, and I’d rather not repeat myself a third time.

“Fine, I get it. Three strikes and you’re out and all of that.” I stare down at Thor, wondering about the best way to pick him up, thinking back to the videos I used to watch when I was seriously considering joining the military. “Fireman’s carry.”

What.

“I’ve watched videos of women who were five three carrying men nearly three times their weight long distances using the fireman’s carry. If what you’re saying is true and I don’t have to worry about my lack of strength, then I should be able to carry him back to the car the same way.”

As long as you can safely get him out of the crater, I don’t care what you do.

A loud thump followed by a round of excited barking pulls my attention away from Thor. Glancing around the clearing, I can see Daisy in the distance, standing next to what I can only assume is Thor’s hammer, shaking her tail excitedly.

I rub my hands together and crouch down and haul Thor up, my hands under his arms, sling one of his arms over my shoulder and push him up with the other, hooking my arm around one of his legs. I struggle to stand up momentarily before he seems to lighten immensely and I almost fall over due to lack of weight.

“Well that was unexpected,” I mutter. “Couldn’t have made him lighter before I picked him up?”

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I roll my eyes. “Of course you don’t.”

I begin the trek back up the crater wall, occasionally having to kick the toes of my boots into the soft soil to get a firm foothold. It takes longer to get out than it did to get in, but I thankfully manage to avoid any falls this time.

As soon as I make it over the lip of the crater, Daisy is right there with the hammer in her mouth, her tail wagging faster than I’ve ever seen before.

“Did you do a good job, pup?” She moves her head around like she wants to bark, but doesn’t want to put the hammer down. “Good. Can you show me how to get back to the truck?”

She takes off into the underbrush without warning and I have to carefully pick my way through the bushes to follow after her. I try my hardest to avoid any tree branches and blackberry vines that we come across, but as soon as we set foot back on the trail I can see multiple small scratches, scrapes and cuts along his arms and hands.

It isn’t long after we find the trail again that Daisy and I are at the trailhead and standing in front of the truck. Shifting Thor around so that I can hold onto his arm and leg with the same arm, I dig around in my bag for the keys and unlock the passenger door. I try to very carefully place him in the passenger seat, only managing to bang his head once he’s actually in the truck when his head lolls back and smacks against the back window.

I heard that.

“Shut up,” I mutter. “Alright, Daisy lady, you have to ride in the back on the way home, okay?”

She just wags her tail and heads around to the bed of the truck without waiting for me. I quickly follow her and pull down the back gate. Crouching down, I pick Daisy up and lift her into the bed of the truck before closing it up again. I giggle as I circle back around the truck to the driver's side.

What are you laughing about?

“I just lifted Thor’s hammer,” I answer, closing the door and starting the engine.

No, you didn’t.

“Oh yes I did, I just put it in the bed of my truck with my dog.” I pull a U turn and head back to town. “Technically I lifted the hammer, and that totally counts.”

I’m not sure that counts, but whatever makes you happy.

“Thank you,” I drive on in silence, occasionally checking on Daisy in the rearview mirror to make sure she’s doing alright. “I’ll still be able to carry Thor once I get back, right?”

I would think so, yes.

“Well, that’s good because there’s no way he’ll fit on my couch so I’ll have to get him up to the third floor.”

Three floors sounds a bit excessive.

I laugh. “You’d think, but I live in a lighthouse. There isn’t really anywhere to go but up.”

When we turn onto Main Street, most of the debris from the storm has been cleared away and everyone seems to be back to their normal daily schedule. I wave to Diane Crawford as she crosses the street to Grover’s Grocery about six blocks away from the lighthouse.

Then I hope the enchantment holds long enough for you to get him upstairs.

I laugh. “So do I. I’d rather not be the one who has to drag him up the stairs on top of the reason he’s got a headache.”

I can almost hear the disembodied voice laugh before they respond. I imagine that he would appreciate that.

“I’m glad that you think so, disembodied voice.” I pull into the driveway and kill the engine. I quickly get out of the car and let down the back gate so that Daisy can get down. When she hops down, I unlock the door to the house and push it open. Daisy brushes past me so that she can greet Charles. I shake my head and head back to the truck to retrieve the unconscious god in my passenger seat. “It’d be really cool if you’d tell me what your voice is so I don’t have to keep calling you “disembodied voice”. Just a thought.”

Perhaps in the coming days, if you treat him well.

I frown as I heft Thor up onto my shoulders. I kick the car door closed and carefully make my way into the house. Charles winds through my legs as soon as I’m through the door and I have to shoo him away before I can head for the stairs.

“I don’t really understand why you’re being so secretive,” I barely manage to miss hitting the inner pole of the spiral staircase with Thor’s head as I try to get up to the third floor as quickly as possible. “You obviously know a lot about me, and I have little to no knowledge about Thor and I know even less about you. If I’m going to be helping him, I need more information.”

It’s not mine to give.

“Great, well when you’ve got permission to spill the beans, I’m all ears.”

I hit the third floor landing and slowly pull open the door, trying my best to avoid dropping the god of thunder. As soon as we’re through the doorway, I’m hit with an almost crippling wave of nostalgia. I haven’t been in my father’s room since he passed. Everything is exactly the way he left it and it still hurts to know that he’s not just testing me to see if I really can take care of the lighthouse on my own.

I bite my cheek to distract myself from the memories and pull back the duvet so I can offer Thor some kind of comfort for when he wakes up. When he’s all covered up, I pull a set of clean clothes from my father’s drawers and set them on the wooden chair a short ways away from the bed. The jeans may not fit, but the fisherman’s sweater definitely will. I leave a note on the clothes, and when I’m sure that I’ve done everything I can, for the time being, I head back downstairs to find something to do.

Are you alright?

I shake my head and comb my hands through my hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Are you sure?

I snort. “Look, if you’re going to withhold information, I can do the same.”

Fair enough.

------

Part 3

Okay, Thor was quite unconscious in this part, but I can promise that the next part will be much more lively. Thank you guys so much for reading! If you liked the piece please reply to the post or shoot me an ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!!!

Tag listers:

(if you’d like to be tagged in future parts, comment on this post or just shoot me a message!)

@lost-yet-never-found, @tempestinatea-cup,@helmerfan43,@pokemaniac1,@baguettegirl,@ididnotseethatcoming,@chronolockcd,@creaturefeatures101,@wintcrcaptain,@arianaamaris,@nerdycinderella,@imagine-assembling-the-avengers,@wordstothewisereaders,@ptprocrastination,@1950schick,@neverenough24,@amayasymone23,@liladeldiamandis,@thebeutifulsunriseofmoi,@numbersdonotwinbattles,@super-potter-4ever,@kaykay0522,@arfrona-and-marvel,@ek823,@deansbaby67supernatural,@ilovebeingjoyful,@always-a-marvel-addict,@furrywerewolfcollector,@evansscruff,@theamazingworldofmarvelfics,@maurici65,@swing-dance-into-my-heart, @kissofvenom922, @not-that-type-of-person,@marvel-at-stucky,@arianaamaris, @dawn-phantomhive, @superwhovian80, @always-a-marvel-addict,@fangirlwithasweettooth,@lunalovegood2,@awesomeahwu,@thedoctorlivesthroughbooks,@kitkatgaming,@wordstothewisereaders, @mairhof1,@fantasiesfortomorrow,@leahhavoc,@awesomea102938,@samwinchesterswifey,@kaywolves,@anthonysfark,@childrenofhumanity,@bucky-barnes–winter-soldier, @gucci-zjm,@howdoesoneadult,@nyotapon,@redroomproperty,@sscarletwitchess, @saved-by-words-and-music, @thefandomplace, @themeechofitall, @yourbuddyyourpalyourbucky, @claws-of-vibranium, @here-to-wreak-havok, @gcneral-organa, @always-an-evans-addict, @sian22redux, @skeletoresinthebasement, @marvelbase001, @lady-thor-foster, @vanene20 , @chelzwwefan , @occamybarnes , @fandomlady-scar , @stormyfandoms

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