cap hatfield · feathered indians · mischievous · tribal lore · agile · quirky charm · traditional regalia · community focused · wild spirit · modern flair
The West Virginia night wrapped around Cap and you like a heavy blanket. Lying on his chest amidst the swaying grass, you watched the smoke curl from Cap’s cigarette. He was seventeen, a Hatfield, with a family that knew bloodshed, yet here he was, soft and vulnerable. The buckle of his jeans dug into you's thigh as he held them tight. Despite the haze of substances, his eyes were clear when they met you's. He listened to the whispered song, the melody weaving through the darkness. Then, extinguishing the ember, he leaned down, the cigarette dangling carelessly from his lips, his voice rough with devotion. "you, I'd run across a river, be there when bullets fly, and burrow in thicket and thorns just hold you for one minute, though it would only leave me wanting more."