#never lost my head over two such yeehaw fools like with these two!

[useragarfield]

9K MAKE ME CHOOSE:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ @aleksmorozvas ASKED: Zoe/Wade or Damon/Elena?

Wade, you are the piece of me that's always been missing. Through your eyes, I see myself in a whole new, better way. And with you, I know true love. I am in the most pain I've ever been in my entire life! And you know who I have to blame for that? But I wouldn't have it any other way because I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you.

[victoodles]

I Have no Sweetheart but You (Arthur Morgan x F! Reader)

I’m back on my yeehaw bullshit baybee! Find on AO3!

Escapes don’t come often for Arthur - the weight of others’ expectations fall heavy on his already bad shoulders. Though he bears these burdens (as always) with a slight gruff and a spur of his horse as he goes wherever he is needed or told. On occasion it’s both.

But when he finds himself with a moment of time to call his own, he uses the luxury of choice to spend it with you. There aren’t enough hours in the day he can give to you, but he tries his best despite that shortcoming.

Patience is a virtue, and you are the human embodiment of that sentiment. You never complain, even when he is gone for weeks at a time. His basis for comparison isn’t vast, but he considers himself lucky whenever he catches an earful of the caterwauling Molly directs at Dutch most evenings.

When you hear the rhythm of his horse trotting into camp you are there to greet him with a warm smile, like clockwork. Your embrace bridges the gap between you, making him feel like he was never really gone at all. Arthur doesn’t consider himself eloquent like all those fancy romance novelists, but he thinks you feel like home.    

It comes as a surprise when Arthur asks if you would be so kind as to accompany him to the Saint Denis. Your answer is yes, of course, but you hadn’t expected him to make such an offer of his own volition. Usually when he talks about the aforementioned city (to which he considers to be the bane of civilization) his choice of vocabulary is quite...colorful.

You tease him, asking what this stranger has done with the real Arthur Morgan, and he gifts you a hearty laugh. You’ve softened his rough edges; your jests are not taken to heart and he is not crippled with self-doubt. He appreciates this carefree atmosphere you provide, it gives him room to rediscover himself after years of molding who he was to fit certain schemas.  

Tit for tat - he promises he won’t tell a certain Mr. Morgan of this illicit encounter; he saw you from across the way and was instantly captivated by your beauty. His heart took over any sense of rationality - he had to have you. He reminds you of the highbrow men you grew up around in the very city he detests, the only difference here is that he’s being genuine. That, and he’s a wanted outlaw. But you choose not to busy yourself with that minuscule detail.

You cast your hand over your chest dramatically, feigning offense. “Why, you beast! What kind of woman do you take me for?” Despite abandoning the life of a high-society woman almost a decade ago, the mannerisms are not forgotten. Arthur isn’t the only one trying to grow from past projections.

Arthur smiles sheepishly, dropping the act, and apologizing for offending his dear lady. He offers you his hand which you gladly take, finding a secure place around his arm. “Just wanted to treat ya to somethin’ nice is all,” he admits as he leads you to his Thoroughbred at the precipice of camp.

He knows you would never concede with the notion, but with all this time away he feels as if he’s been neglecting you. After years of watching John act a fool, dancing around the responsibilities of being a husband and father, he fears he might be looking in a mirror sometimes. What he wouldn’t give so you could have some sense of normalcy in an otherwise hectic life. You always gently remind him normal is rather drab, and his anxieties are temporarily assuaged for the time being.

Calloused hands take ahold of your waist as Arthur effortlessly lifts you onto the back of his horse. The action is unnecessary, he’s aware, but he relishes touching you whenever he can. You know this all too well, and gladly accept his assistance. And they say chivalry is dead.

Arthur finds his place behind you, urging the mare away from quiet campgrounds and towards the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis. He’ll put aside his disdain - you deserve time away from the dirt and debauchery despite your insistence to the contrary.

The ride is peaceful, dusk begins to grace the sky with brush strokes of pink and orange. Clouds nomadically drift along the horizon as Arthur passes the time with languid kisses to your cheeks and the side of your neck. With privacy comes his unrestricted affection. His stubble’s tickle is a more than welcome feeling against your skin.

Smog-riddled skylines of Saint Denis remind you both of your quickly approaching your destination; factory smokestacks paint the picture of civilization’s impending “progression” - much to Arthur’s chagrin. Dirt paths transition into cobblestone-riddled pathways; the steady clop of his horse’s hooves distract him from these unseemly surroundings.

He’s out of his element, he knows this, but he can survive an evening amongst the real wolves. Men in tailored suits with overly coiffed hair claiming to be peddling this and that, all in a pathetic attempt to further their life by ruining another's.

Do your worst - he’s never faced a problem that couldn’t be solved with a bullet from his Cattleman.

In front of him, you look around in a way he could only describe as nostalgic. Despite the foul memories, he can’t take away the fact that this was your home. Arthur wonders when was the last time you freely wandered these streets.

Mentally kicking himself, he doesn’t think he ever bothered to ask. His line of work focuses primarily on the day-to-day and very rarely on the when, where, and why. You understand this.

He recognizes that you don’t miss the lifestyle - a girl raised to become a rich man’s parlor piece. But maybe there’s something here, amongst the glitz and glamour, that a piece of you yearns to be a part of again.

It happened with Mary, who’s to say history won’t spare him from its vicious cycle of repetition.

He briefly entertains the thought, but it’s properly discarded and replaced with the sensation of your hand on his. You squeeze it gently, silently affirming you’re happy to be here - with him.

Joys of civilization be damned.

The sign for La Bastille Saloon is alight for the evening, bulbs twinkling faintly as they prepare to rival the stars above. Arthur hitches his horse before holding his hand out to you for the second time that day. You regard his choice of dining with a tilt of your head and a smirk. A jest of some sort most likely dancing on your tongue already.

“La Bastille? Monsieur Morgan, très bonne!”

Arthur looks at you, befuddled. “T-tray bone?”  He could be well spoken when he wanted to be, but Arthur wasn’t very cultured per se. You had to give him credit for trying though, the poor dear. A light peck on his lips will suffice. He certainly appreciates it.

“It’s French,” you explain, which does nothing to alleviate his confusion.

“I’ll take your word for it princess,” he chuckles dryly as he lowers you from the saddle.

“Merci,” you continue to tease, playfully sticking your tongue out at him. He guffaws at your impishness as you head for the saloon- tit for tat.

La Bastille exudes old-money sophistication. A place of luxury meant only for those born into the lifestyle. Posh men and women bid you both bonjour as Arthur leads you inside by the small of your back. He pays them no mind - this is a foreign game and he has no interest in learning the rules.  

The setting sun against the stained-glass windows casts an array of dulled colors against the polished wooden floor. It’s a pretty sight - Arthur momentarily feels at peace.

Obnoxious chatter about local politics and the burdens of the wealthy reminds him of where he is. While it can be nice to see how the other half live, it quickly becomes grating. He needs a drink.

In standard Arthur fashion, he pulls out your chair and you settle into a small table with a streetside view. You lean back against the plush velvet, smiling to yourself as Arthur walks briskly to the bar for a well-needed whiskey.

It’s a wonder he manages to catch the eye of the barkeep at all. There’s some washed-up socialite squawking in his ear about the city’s imminent regression into an uncivilized ruin. An attitude Arthur can agree with, though he wishes it would happen sooner rather than later.

Arthur finally gets his opportunity to order, and promptly returns to your side with a flute of champagne in hand. Your eyes light up, thanking him sweetly as you take the glass. He grins, agitation washed away as he sits down across from you. With your company always comes a sense of relief; the crosses he bears feel lighter.

He extends his glass towards your own and your smile only widens. You lean forward, elbow perched on the table with your chin in your palm. “What would you like to toast to, Mr. Morgan?” You ask him coyly, idly swirling your drink around. Again he responds with genuine, albeit rare, laughter.

“How about,” he pauses to mull over his words. There’s a list of things he’d like to celebrate, to verbally reaffirm he’s grateful for. Living to see another sunrise, the gang and their health. But ultimately he decides to go with-

“Us.” It’s the one that feels right.

You’re beaming at this point as you raise your glass.

“To us.”

The two of you officially start the evening with a harmonious clink.

***

“A-and I told the purty lady tha’ Micah, the s-slithery snake, had said some ‘ungentlemanly’ things bout’ her.” Arthur emphasizes aforementioned things with air quotes. He takes a generous swing of his whiskey and proceeds with his drunken tale. You’re hanging onto his every word.

“She practically had STEAM coming out er’ ears when she got to the bastard. Slapped him s-SO hard, Micah blacked out! Went down like a sack o’ b-bricks!” Arthur exclaims. You squeak in surprise before taking a less than dainty sip of your fifth helping of champagne. You’ve lost count for your cowboy.

Arthur looks side to side, checking if the coast was clear. “Now don’t go tellin’ nobody darlin’ but,” he hunches over the table and whispers, “I lied to that gal. I jus’ wanted to see her mess Micah up somethin’ fierce.” You put a hand over your mouth to contain the onslaught of giggles that wrack your chest.

“Arthur! Tu es un coquin,” you chide playfully. He responds to your “scolding” with a chuckle of his own - you had taught him some French over dinner. He had to admit he found the language rather beautiful. Or maybe it was you speaking it that he found to be beautiful. He quickly concludes it was the latter.

A lively tinkle of piano keys suddenly catches Arthur’s ear. The pianist plays a jaunty tune with a gusto that has him tapping his foot in tandem. He never thought much of those fancy records Dutch played, but there was an undeniable wonder that live music encapsulated. “Well would ya listen to that darlin’,” he says with an impressed whistle. You’re clapping along softly as well, delighted with Arthur’s childlike fascination.

“I used to play you know,” you say with a swell of pride. While almost nothing in your youth was learned voluntarily, you are grateful for your musical prowess.

The sillies come back full swing when Arthur’s eyes widen and his mouth gapes in awe. “You used to tickle the ivories?!”

“I dabbled,” you shrugged nonchalantly, biting your lip to refrain from grinning madly. “Piano and violin.” Arthur looks at you like you’re otherworldly. Your cheeks are heating up from the intensity of his gaze.

“Darlin’ you,” Arthur is  rendered speechless for a beat, “you are incredible.” His sincerity is palpable, it practically sweetens the last drops of your champagne. Your blush spreads when his hand finds yours, softly tracing your knuckles with his thumb.

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear shyly. The more delicate sides to Arthur’s nature are reserved for you (and occasionally Jack). But regardless of your exposure, you still feel the fluttering of your heart like that of a lovesick schoolgirl. “Arthur,” you say his name so melodically each time, he can hardly believe it belongs to him.

He interrupts you (unintentionally) when he notices you’ve both topped off your drinks. “Oh! It looks like we’ve run dry,” he pushes himself up and gathers up both of your glasses. “I’ll go fetch us some more.” You reach for his arm, hoping he’ll let you pay for this round. He’s old fashioned, in a good-hearted way, and simply won’t hear it.

“Now you just stay here and keep our seats warm, princess,” he says with a quick kiss to your cheek. Arthur swaggers away before you could try to get smart with him. You opt to blow a raspberry at him instead.

You turn to the streets outside your window. Evening had cascaded into night, the end to yet another day. Shop owners had closed up and were hurrying home to their wives, beggars to their respective allies. Everyone seemed to have a routine, a place to be. You were born here, yes, traversing these streets countless times as a girl. Yet now you felt like nothing more than a ghost - a mere drifter.

How passing strange.

“Goooood evenin’ ladies and gentlemen!” Arthur’s booming voice pulls you from your thoughts. You whip your head around to find him standing atop the saloon’s grand ebony piano. His quest for drinks apparently abandoned, as evident by the two empty glasses left on the stairs. You’re no match for the giggles this time around.

The bar is eerily silent. Everyone directs their attention at Arthur, expressions ranging from horrified to absolute bewilderment. The ex-starlette nested by the bar actually looks amused for the first time all night. An unsure pianist holds a crisp dollar bill from Arthur as he awaits further instructions.

“I wanna sing a ditty for that,” he points to you, “pretty lil’ peach o’er there!” All the women look to you, wanting to satiate their morbid curiosity and practically shaking from secondhand embarrassment. How would a lady respond to such an inebriated act of buffoonery?!

You’re certainly no caliber of lady they’ve ever seen.

Much to their surprise, you’re positively radiant during Arthur’s pleasantly uncharacteristic address. He very much was the type to speak softly and carry a big stick. But with the help of some liquid courage, he’s publicly showcasing his devotion like the fool in love he is. It’s a good look for him. Arthur smiles from ear to ear, blowing you a kiss. He turns back to the pianist and nods, being counted in by a few gentle chords.

“I have no sweetheart but you, dear. You are the one that I love.”  

You audibly gasp at his choice of lovers’ ballad, a sensual tune that had many a young girl dreaming wistfully about romance. While Arthur’s rough, low slurring isn’t what the composer had in mind, the allure isn’t lacking. A few of the previously judgmental women (though they would never admit it) seemed to turn envious at the attention you were receiving. Some unlucky husbands were definitely in for it tonight.

You pay the pettiness no mind, you’re too focused on your own personal performer.

“Close to my heart I would hold you, there where the roses once grew. While in the silence I told you, that I had no sweetheart but you!”  

Arthur feels strangely lighter, unburdened by his role in the gang - in the world even. Pinkertons, Cornwall, Dutch, it all fades away. There’s just you and him - a man and a woman in love. Simplicity has never sounded so divine.

“Say that you always will love me. For I have no sweetheart but you.”  

You’re already cheering before Arthur can bring his song to a close. It encourages a handful of others to also applaud, paired with some catcalling from a certain regular near the bar. Arthur has never been fond of being the center of attention, but right now you swear he’s thriving in the spotlight.

He’s reveling in it, until he isn’t.  

Arthur is swaying atop the piano, his balance leaving him as all that alcohol finally takes its toll. He’s an imposing fellow, but the cruel mistress called whiskey can knock any man down. Literally.

The pianist pushes away from the piano, fearing not just for his nerves but now his physical well-being should this cowboy collapse on him.

To Arthur’s credit, he doesn’t.

“Thank yew and g’night, Saint Denis,” he says woozily just before he falls to the floor with a hard thud. You yelp in shock as you shoot up from the table, knocking your chair over in the process. Saloon patrons don’t know who to watch at this point. Arthur, flat on his back mumbling dreamily to himself. Or you politely shoving your way through a throng of people to reach him. They soon decide to return to their own evenings, having been involuntary participants in your own for long enough.

You take a quick detour to clumsily toss a few coins the bartender’s way. At this point, a bed for the night is not a choice but the only option. Arthur decides he must be the luckiest man alive as he sees not one, but two of you heading his way.

[oozmart]

Dance Till You Die

I wrote a oneshot fic for my OC Dahlia.  Hope yall enjoy it :)

Dahlia leaned over the order window of the food truck.  No customers, finally.  The dinner rush hit and now everyone was out enjoying the music, dancing, laughing, having fun.  

“You see that?” Drayton asked.

Dahlia didn’t even blink, she knew what he was about to say, “They’re all out there workin up a sweat and an appetite, they’ll be back for seconds in no time!”  She rolled her eyes.  Drayton was all work, no play.  He didn’t understand, he’d never had real fun before.  He was busy taking care of his brother’s, his family.  Dahlia respected him for being a devoted family man, but she never liked his bossy attitude.  

Dahlia was a rebellious teen, akin to that guy from Footloose.  That was one of her favorite movies.  Any movie that had dancing was her favorite movie.  She wanted to go out and dance with the crowd more than anything.  One night of fun.  All play, no work.  

“I know what you’re thinkin, lil missy…” Drayton accused, wagging a finger at her, “You’re gonna stay right here and help me prep for the after-dinner rush.”

“There’s no such thing as an after-dinner rush.”  Dahlia retorted, not moving from her spot.

Drayton groaned.  She was stubborn, that was one of her worst qualities, but she was the only one who could come help him with the food truck when it got busy at events like this.  These outdoor concerts are some of their most successful sale days.  This was for two reasons: For one, they sold a lot of sandwiches.  For two, a lot of people from out of town would come to see these bands play, which meant more prime meat for the Sawyer’s to catch.  

“Come on now,” Drayton began, “everyone’s workin today.  Bubba and Chop are out there waiting for meat, and you’re here helping me sell it.”  He couldn’t see her face, but he knew her eyes were rolling.  

Dahlia turned quickly, leaning back on the counter, “What if I just went out and danced a couple of songs?”

“NO!”

“AW, COME ON!!!  I never get to go have fun!!!”  She whined.  

Drayton stayed quiet, he wouldn’t hear anymore of this nonsense.

Dahlia creeped up behind him.  “One song?” She asked with a pouty face and a gentle tone.  He didn’t budge.  She had to appeal to his business side to win this battle.  “How about this,” she bargained, “I go out and dance with some people, and I tell them ALL ABOUT Drayton Sawyer’s AWARD WINNIN’ chili?  Hmm?”  

She grabbed his hand and pretended to dance with him.  He stood still and furrowed his brow.  This child was bizarre.  “This music is GRROVY!” She acted out the scenario, “Sure does make me hungry…” She squeezed his hand, “I got an idea!  Why don’t we go get some chili from that there truck?  Ya, that one!”  She sniffs the are, “MM, I can smell that choice meat from here!”  

Drayton was the one rolling his eyes now.  He had to admit, this wasn’t a horrible idea.  “Fine,” he caved, much to Dahlia’s delight, “you dance a couple songs and round up some customers.  If you don’t come back with a line of people you’re gonna be on dishwashin’ duty for a month for slackin off!”

Dahlia beamed, “THANK YOU!!!!”  Still holding his hand, she pulled her older-brother-figure in for a hug.  Drayton was not a touchy person.  He shoved her off and brushed off his suit.  He mumbled something under his breath, probably about the plight of small business owners, but Dahlia was already out the door and down the steps.  

She hopped outta the truck and ran out to the dance floor, a square of dirt surrounded by 4 beams suspending fairy lights and American flags.  She was wearing her old cowboy boots, high-waisted bell bottom jeans, and a crimson red blousy tank top.  She was so excited she thought she’d just explode.  The music was blasting from a small DJ on the North side of the dancing area, from its speakers played Elvis Presley’s classic, “Jailhouse Rock.”  Dahlia didn’t care that she didn’t know anyone out there, once the music hit her ears she lost herself to the sound.

Nearby on a hill, looking down at the festivities, Chop Top and Bubba sat in the back of he truck.  During big events like this, they’d keep an eye out for anyone leaving alone or drunk and if they looked like a good target they’d take’em out.  While exciting in theory it was a lot of waiting around.  They’d already been sitting around for over an hour and no good targets left the festivities.  People probably wouldn’t be leaving till well after midnight.  

“This blows,” Chop Top complained to his mostly silent brother, Bubba, “we should be home listenin to that radio lady and havin ourselves a well-earned break!”  Bubba nodded as his older brother yammered on about how bored he was, until something down below caught his attention.  He quickly shook his brother’s arm and pointed down to the dancing square.

Chop Top squinted, “What?  Someone finally leavin?”  Bubba shook his head and kept pointing to a specific person.  “WAIT A MINUTE?  IS THAT…..?”  Bubba nodded excitedly, as he got his point across.  “DAHLIA GETS TO HAVE FUN AND WE DON’T??!?!?!!”  Chop Top whined.  Bubba shrugged, he thought seeing his girl out there would cheer him up, but it only seemed to rile him up more.

Dahlia danced like her life depended on it.  Between songs, some people applauded her, she didn’t think anything of it.  She was in the zone.  

“Howdy,” a tall, burly man approached her, tipping his cowboy hat, “you’re a mighty fine dancer!”  His compliment made her smile.  She thanked him, and before she knew it, he was offering his hand and they were dancing together.

With his purple rounded glasses atop his head, Chop Top looked through a pair of army binoculars he kept in the truck, stunned at the sight of his own lover taking the hand of someone, a stranger!  “What game you playin…?” He muttered to himself.  He looked the cowboy up and down through the lenses.  He was probably about his height, but much heftier in the arms.  Strong.  Chop Top gave a small huff as he put down the binoculars.  Bubba picked them up and began to watch the dancers with curiosity.

An old fashioned square dance began, and Dahlia and the stranger partnered up.  He spun her around and picked her up by the hips above his head, she squealed with excitement when her feet left the ground.  When the dance ended, his hands lingered on her waist.  She suddenly remembered the promise she made to Drayton, “Oh!  You know what we should do right about now?”

“Oh, I know what we should do… Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her away into the darkness.  Bubba gasped, and urged his brother to look through them himself.  Chop Top didn’t budge, still upset about the sour night he’d been having.  

Bubba acted quick and hopped out of the bed of the truck and into the driver’s seat.  He didn’t drive often, but he knew how.  To Chop Top’s surprise, the vehicle started moving.  He rolled around in the bed before climbing through the back window to shout at his baby brother, “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!?!!??!”   Bubba let him yell, he didn’t care right now.  He had to go save Dahlia.  She always looked out for him so he had to do the same for her.

They twisted and turned through dirt roads until they stopped to a grinding halt, down behind some trees near the festival.  Bubba frantically turned off the lights and hopped out of the car to get his chainsaw.  Chop Top was on his heels going off still, “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOIN DO YOU?!?!?!  THIS AIN’T THE WAY SHIT WORKS!!!!”

Bubba saw by the line of porto-potties, the stranger pulling Dahlia behind him.  Bubba quickly shushed Chop Top and pointed.  When CT turned his head his face flushed at the sight.  The stranger’s hands were on her waist, he was trying to whisper sweet nothings in her ear.

“Whats back here?”  Dahlia asked, cluelessly.  She got an unfortunate sniff of the air and reacted, “BLEH, it smells like shit.”  The man began to lean down to kiss her, but she leaned back and turned her cheek, causing his lips to land in the wrong place.  

He chuckled playfully, “Aw, come on, lil mama… The way you were dancin had to mean something.”  Chop Top’s blood boiled when he heard his nickname for her crawl out of someone else’s mouth.  That was his lil mama.  

Dahlia was offended on his behalf as well.  Someone else calling her by that pet name felt dirty. “It meant I like dancing.” She snapped, “If I wanted something I would have asked.”  She took his hands off her hips, but he held on to her hands.  “Please…” she tried to pull away, but he insistently held on.

“You sure?  Dancin gets tiring, don’t it?”  He was determined to get her to say yes.  In his experience, pressure usually wore women down.

Dahlia attempted to promote the business again, as a means to avoid any physical conflict, “Uhh, i’m hungry! Aren’t you?  We could talk about this over a bite of homemade, award-winning chili?  And Drayton Sawyer makes it the best!”  

The man scoffed at the idea.  “That Sawyer guy?  He’s a hack.  Nothin homemade about that shit.  I hear its all canned and processed.”  

Dahlia wasn’t Drayton’s biggest fan, but she respected him and loved him.  He was family, and they protected each other.  With that she was done with this fool.  She raised her knee to his crotch with a hearty thrust and he went down without a fight.  

Chop Top saw the man go down and took this opportunity to burst from the forest and swing his hammer at the fucker’s head.  “YEEHAW!” he shouted as he went ham.  The music was so loud, and the shadows of the porto-potties kept them hidden from any passerby’s sight.  Bubba didn’t dare rev up his chainsaw in though.  He still kept it on him as he ran to Dahlia’s aid.  

She was stupefied by their sudden arrival, “What are you boys doin down here?  Yall are supposed to be watchin for meat.”  She put her hands on her hips.  

“WE’RE SAVING YOU, BABES” Chop Top announced proudly with another swing of his hammer to the man.  His body spasmed as blood poured from the cracks in his skull.  This was normal for the Sawyer boys and Dahlia to see, it didn’t faze any of them.  Rather she rolled her eyes, “I saved myself just fine, thank you very much.  

“Its the 80’s for god’s sake I dont need a man to save me.”  She crossed her arms and shook her head.  She felt a weight on her head.  Looking up she saw Bubba leaning his head on her as gently as he could.  He was so much taller than her it was an awkward position.  Whenever they’d sit around at home he’d lean on her like this, so he thought it would be a comfort for both of them in this moment.  

Dahlia could never stay mad at baby Bubba.  He was like a little brother to her.  She put a hand on his cheek and patted, “I do appreciate you both comin though.  Now Drayton can’t be mad at me cause I helped catch some food.”

Bubba blushed under his leather face and proceeded to take care of business.  He bent down and picked up the legs of the now dead man, whoever he was, and dragged him back to the truck.  Chop Top stayed back with Dahlia, “Ooh, I bet he’s pissed right now!  Why’d  you ditch him?  Dangerous to play hooky on his watch.”  He slouched over slightly and scrunched up his face, “You idiots are always slackin off leavin me to slave over a hot stove!  I gotta do ALL the work ‘round here!!!” he imitated his older brother perfectly.  

Dahlia laughed, she always loved his silly impersonations.  He was good at them.  “Well I didn’t ditch him,” she explained, “he said I could go dance so long as I brought in some customers.”  She paused and shrugged, thinking about it, “Don’t know if I did that, but I guess did something.”  She suddenly realized she’d have to go back to the truck for that fake after-dinner rush thing Drayton kept going on about.  He was going to be upset for sure.  “I better get back before he makes me wash dishes for the rest of my life.”  

As she began to leave, Chop Top snatched her hand. “Uh, i- if you had to do dishes for a year…”. He felt a nervous itch on his scalp and pulled his wire hanger out of his vest and began scratching under his wig, “I- I- i’d help you every day.”  He pulled the hanger out, but before he could nibble at the skin bits he scraped, Dahlia picked at the end of it and stole them, eating them herself.  Chop Top was turned on, but kept it low-key by just giving her a toothy grin.  She winked at him with a cheeky smile.  She knew how she made him feel.  She squeezed his hand before letting go, and proceeded back to the food truck.

Chop’s hand slowly came down to his side as he watched her walk away.  He wanted her to come back.  He wanted to kiss her.  Sure, he could do it later when they got home, but he wanted to do it now out in the open while his heart was beating with excitement and adrenaline was pumping through his veins.  He wanted to grab her by the arms and kiss her with a fiery passion.  Alas, she was already far out of sight.

His thoughts were interrupted by the grunts of his brother from the truck.  He leaned his head back in frustration before joining him to hoist the heavy body up into the bed of the truck.  “Bubba what have I always told ya?!?!?  Dont lift by yourself you’re gonna throw out your back!!!”

Back at the truck, Dahlia paused in surprise.  A line of people!  She didn’t see that coming.  She quickened her pace and ran up the steps of the truck.  Drayton didn’t look away from his work at the grill, “THERE YOU ARE!  I think you got enough customers for the night, good job.”  

Dahlia blinked.  “Good job.”  It didn’t seem like much, but from Drayton that was a lot.  She felt a tinge of pride in her chest and a smile crept onto her face that she couldn’t hold back.  

“Well?  What are you standing there for?!?!  GET BACK TO WORK!!!”  

[twilights-800-cats]

yeehaw so a long while ago, before mapleshade’s vengeance came out, we were all terrified of what the novella was going to do to the only (at the time) female villain the series had - lets be real, the erin’s track record is very, very bad.

so i wanted to do my own mapleshade story! and i did - for a while, anyway. i got busy, personal life stuff happened, and i dropped the project. the blog still exists with a portion of the story, though, if anyone is interested. i did my best at the time to piece together a pre-bluestar’s prophecy story before one existed!

now, mapleshade’s vengeance is a decent novella - one of the best, tbh. so i dont really intend to keep going with my imagining (or re-imagining i guess now) of the tale - so i guess ill just dump all the details i remember, because im bored.

the prologue of the story sees redwillow, a new member of the now-defeated dark forest, wandering about in his new home and considering what led him to this point. he runs into mapleshade, they sass, and mapleshade, tired and fading, settles down to tell redwillow her story.

it begins with maplekit and sweetkit as the kits of dapplestar, thunderclan’s current leader. a heavy leaf-bare has struck thunderclan, leaving prey scarce. maplekit is born with a sickness that makes it hard for her to breathe and move - she is confined mostly to the nursery, with sweetkit and the queens.

dapplestar is not the best mother - she focuses her energies on her clan rather than her children, so maplekit and sweetkit are often left by the wayside, much to the dismay of the queens and some of the clan. dapplestar, however, seems very blind to it all.

thunderclan and riverclan are in conflict - riverclan is responsible for the death of dapplestar’s deputy and mate, snowtail, but thunderclan holds sunningrocks because of him.

maplekit’s sickness makes every cat question whether or not she can be a warrior - she’s smaller than sweetkit, having not had as much of a chance to develop her muscles. however, when newleaf comes, maplekit’s illness doesn’t seem to return, and dapplestar makes her kits apprentices.

the story kind of falls off here - maplepaw and sweetpaw meet other apprentices at a gathering, like applepaw of riverclan. maplepaw strives to do her best to get other cats’ attention, because she hates that her sickness made her weaker than others. she is visited by a “starclan” cat who trains her hard to help catch her up.

i wanted an odd alliance between thunderclan and shadowclan, something that the books never really had happen - because riverclan is demanding sunningrocks back and windclan is backing them.

despite their clan’s alliances, maplepaw and sweetpaw meet up with applepaw and other apprentices after a gathering and train together. sweetpaw doesn’t like the thought of sharing battle moves with other clans and refuses to go again, but maplepaw is pleased to show off her strength - especially when it gets applepaw’s attention.

maplepaw’s desire for attention and strength drives a wedge between her and sweetpaw very quickly - but maplepaw is bolstered but her progress and her mysterious mentor and quickly becomes a rising star in thunderclan. sweetpaw feels like she hardly knows her sister anymore, but doesn’t tell her clan that maplepaw meets with applepaw and the others.

eventually the fighting between thunderclan and riverclan comes to a head. maplepaw and sweetpaw earn their warrior names - mapleshade and sweetbriar. its the last thing the two sisters truly do together.

mapleshade continues to meet with applepaw, now appledusk, and their relationship turns romantic. sweetbriar takes a mate and moves into the nursery. mapleshade thinks her sister is weak for wanting to have kits so soon, and mapleshade’s mind quickly turns to ambition and power, wanting to take her mother’s place as leader one day and knowing she can, because she is considered thunderclan’s strongest warrior.

sweetbriar catches appledusk close with another riverclan she-cat at a gathering and tries to tell mapleshade, but mapleshade refuses to listen. sweetbriar calls her a hypocritical fool and the two properly cut ties, though sweetbriar wishes things were different. sweetbriar has her kits - pinekit and other kits that don’t make it through leaf-bare.

dapplestar sees the death of her grandkits and declares all out war on riverclan again, driving thunderclan warriors to their deaths and losing several lives herself trying to keep sunningrocks on thunderclan’s side. the clan is not happy with this, but mapleshade is - more of a chance to prove herself as thunderclan’s best.

mapleshade, however, is taken out of the fighting when she realizes she’s having kits. she meets with appledusk, who seems excited - mapleshade, for once, thinks of the kits’ lives and wonders if they could go away and start a clan of their own. appledusk refuses, and mapleshade wonders back to sweetbriar’s warning that appledusk might be cheating on her.

it is confirmed at a gathering when riverclan’s leader announces appledusk’s kits

mapleshade, furious, attacks and kills appledusk on riverclan territory. no riverclan cat knows who did it, but they know a thunderclan cat to be responsible. thunderclan is confused at the accusations. mapleshade does not care for the lives of her kits but she is forced to stay in the nursery, where she gives birth to her three kittens.

sweetbriar one more time tries to mend their sisterhood, and only gets out of mapleshade that she wishes she’d listened to sweetbriar moons ago, looking down at her kits with sorrow and scorn. sweetbriar puts the pieces together and realizes that mapleshade killed appledusk, and tells her that such a secret could not be kept for long. mapleshade insists shell silence any cat who threatens her, even sweetbriar.

the kits grow, and eventually their parentage is revealed. mapleshade is reviled for her treason, and when riverclan’s medicine cat is told he realizes that mapleshade killed appledusk. by riverclan’s decree, thunderclan trades mapleshade and her kits for sunningrocks.

mapleshade is exiled from riverclan immediately, chased from the territory by cats who threaten to kill her. her kits are kept in riverclan, lost without their mother and hated. mapleshade, despite her prior feelings, had grown to love her children. they were all she had, even if she wished they didn’t look like appledusk. spurred on by her dark forest mentor, mapleshade seeks out members of riverclan and thunderclan and begins to murder them - she kills riverclan’s deputy and appledusk’s riverclan mate, and eventually makes her way to murdering dapplestar, who exiled her from thunderclan.

she tries to reach her kits but they fear her - and mapleshade is cast away, dying from horrible wounds. she dies alone, swearing vengeance on both thunderclan and riverclan, but sweetbriar finds her sister’s body and buries her beside their favorite training log, wishing her sister had been different but still loving her all the same - which leads mapleshade to seek out sweetbriar’s grandson, tigerkit, for training.

...

obviously this is rough, messy, and way, way longer than a novella would be. there were just elements i hadn’t yet figured out and mapleshade’s vengeance did a pretty good job with her story that for once i didn’t feel the need to try and revive this concept.

i dont even know if this is better than what mapleshade’s vengeance brought us, but there it is! if you made it this far, thanks for looking over this garbled plot dump!