#AO3 works tagged 'Morgan's Boy'

[ao3feed-morgansboy]

whistle down the wind

by Bunn1cula

family.

Words: 98, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Morgan's Boy

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Morgan Thomas (Morgan's Boy)

Additional Tags: Poetry, Many liberties taken, your parents fuck you up, maybe sometimes they mean to

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[verareids]

feel the same - s.r. x bau!reader

spencer misunderstands a conversation he overhears between reader and derek. tags/cws: misunderstandings, confessions of feelings, use of 'y/n', gn!reader, fluff, mild angst, derek morgan has big brother energy wc: 1708 (much longer than I thought lmao) a/n: I'm truly obsessed with season 1 spencer as of late so I HAD to write a fic with him in mind. <3

also posted on ao3

“You know Pretty Boy likes you, don’t you?”

Spencer had been trying to get some sleep on the flight back after working a case that had drained all his energy when the sound of Morgan’s voice caught his attention. Without opening his eyes, he knew exactly who he was talking to. Spencer had never outright admitted to anyone that he had developed feelings for you but it was getting harder to deny. Once Derek had started pointing out the way he’d look up when you entered a room or the way his eyes lingered as you walked away, he was becoming concerned that this crush was more obvious than he’d like it to be. 

He’s been trying to ignore it, telling himself it’s unprofessional when really it’s because he believes there’s no way you could possibly feel the same. There’s a myriad of reasons why he wished Derek would keep his big mouth shut but honestly – that was probably the biggest.

“Likes me? How old are we?” The smooth sound of your response makes Spencer smile to himself in spite of the current situation. 

“(Y/N), come on…” Derek chuckles and is immediately met with a long stretch of silence. Spencer can picture the death glare he knows he’d see on your face if he were to look at you in this moment. “Look, you know he’s never gonna ask you out himself so maybe you should just–”

“Derek.” You interrupt with an evident sternness in your tone. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’ve told you, it’s not happening.” Ouch. Spencer had never allowed himself to dream that you would reciprocate his feelings but he definitely wishes he had been asleep for that one. With that, he forces his eyes shut tighter than before and takes in one deep, slightly shaky breath and decides to try to go back to sleep, if only so that he doesn’t have to hear you reject him even harder.

~

Spencer wakes up as the jet is landing and he quickly gathers all of his things, walking out and across the strip with much more urgency than usual. This detail doesn’t go unnoticed by you, not much does – especially where Spencer is concerned – and you make a mental note to check in with him later. He had caught your eye the first day you met him which must be, what? Half a year ago now? And he had been on your mind ever since. You had bonded quickly as friends, being the two youngest members on the team. About a month ago you had finally allowed yourself to acknowledge the fact that you had developed feelings for him. You’d sit next to him at any given opportunity, listen to his infamously long rants much longer than anyone else would, spend just a little too long staring at his lips as he talked you through his theories. It didn’t take long for people to notice. Elle had her suspicions, JJ made a comment every now and then, but Derek – he wouldn’t let it go. He teases you about it constantly. You haven’t given him the satisfaction of admitting it, you haven’t been able to deny it either.

When you eventually make your way into the building along with the rest of the team you notice that Spencer had already left. It’s only then you start to be concerned. It’s unlike him to leave in such a hurry, even more so to not even say goodbye. You rack your brain trying to come up for a reason for this strange behavior. Is he sick? Upset about something? Was it you? You begin to go over every interaction you’d had with him recently when you have to stop yourself before you spiral. He’s just tired. If it was serious he’d tell you… right?

~

The next morning you walk in to find Spencer at his desk working on the report he didn’t write last night before he had basically ran away.

“Morning, Spence!” You greet him, making an effort to sound cheerful as you lean on his desk. He doesn’t look up, like he’s trying extra hard to look busy.

“Morning, (Y/L/N).” He replies without looking up. His tone seems normal, his use of your last name is what sounds the alarms in your head.

“Hey… are you feeling alright?” You ask tentatively, not wanting to pry too much in case you really had done something wrong that you clearly weren’t aware of. “I noticed you kind of left in a hurry last night.” He finally looks up and meets your eyes, easing your nerves slightly. His eyes shift away and then back to yours before a soft smile graces his lips, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I’m okay.” He responds after a while in a way that sounds like that’s not all he wants to say. You go to reassure him, make sure he knows he can tell you anything, but stop yourself when you notice the way he tenses when you place a hand on his shoulder. Retracting your hand quickly, you begin to fidget with your fingers before running them through your hair nervously.

“Spencer… I–” You start and stop and Spencer feels a little guilty as you seem to stumble over your words anxiously. “Is it me? Did I do something? Because if I did I–”.

“(Y/N).” Spencer cuts off your panicked rambling. You take a steadying breath as he slowly rises to stand in front of you, your eyes trailing up when he towers over you. He looks around the room and sighs before focusing back on you. “Can we go somewhere to talk?” You nod and begin walking towards a storage room with Spencer following close behind, quickly checking that there's no one in there before stepping inside.

“What’s going on with you?” You break the silence as Spencer closes the door behind him. “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird.” You notice the way he dodges the question. He can’t meet your eyes anymore, his gaze shifts around the room and he smiles awkwardly at you.

“Spence, that’s not–” You interrupt yourself, trying to find a way to put your thoughts to words without overwhelming him. “I only want you to be okay. You’ve been acting differently since last night… If there’s something going on I want to be there for you.” When you say that he smiles sadly. He looks down in thought as if he’s considering something.

“I heard you talking to Morgan…” He mumbles, still staring at his feet – wringing his hands together. You furrow your brows in confusion. Talking to Morgan? “On the jet on the way home…”

“Oh.” This isn’t happening. You figure you should’ve known Derek’s relentless teasing would be your downfall. He must know you like him now. There’s a reason you never wanted him to know how you felt. You couldn’t stand the thought of anything ruining your friendship. Spencer visibly deflates even more in front of you at your lack of response. You begin scrambling to come up with a way to get out of this horrifically embarrassing situation.

“Look, I– I didn’t mean to make this awkward…” Oh god. The way he’s stuttering and tripping over his words. You stare blankly at him, then duck your head, bracing for the impact of his rejection. “It’s not like I thought you would feel the same way I just–” Wait what? Your head snaps back up to see his face, eyes widened, which seems to startle him a little. “I wasn’t going to say anything but I guess I just got really in my head about it.” He begins to look a little panicked. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry if I did.” You just keep staring up at him, mouth agape in disbelief. “(Y/N)?” He says your name with a sad desperation and it reminds you that you should respond.

“Sorry, I–” You say slowly while shaking your head. “Are you saying that – Do you like me?” Now it’s Spencer’s turn to look confused, but it was all starting to make sense to you. You had thought he was acting weird because he had found out about your feelings, when in reality, it was the other way around.

“Yes?” He replies hesitantly.

“I like you too.” You say simply with a shy smile but Spencer looks completely taken aback. 

“You do?” The way his eyes light up with a subtle excitement was adorable. Soon after, that look was replaced with skepticism. “But I thought— you told Morgan you didn’t like me.”

“I told Morgan to stop teasing me about you because I didn’t think this…” You gesture between the two of you. “Was ever going to happen.” Spencer let out a sigh of relief and smiled bashfully.

“You could have just told me.” You feel his eyes scanning your face as if he were still looking for proof that you weren’t messing with him.

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“I thought there was no way…” You make eye contact as he trails off in thought. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.” Spencer takes a tentative step closer to you but doesn’t move to touch you in any way, so you reach out to take his hands in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“Well… maybe if we don’t have to fly out for a case today, we could go to dinner tonight?” You’re staring down at your intertwined hands, squeezing once before looking back up. When you see his face he’s still looking down with a big dopey grin on his face and you can’t help but smile right back.

“Yes— definitely.” You giggle at his obvious enthusiasm. 

You both stay in the storage room for another couple minutes, mostly just staring starry eyed at each other. Eventually you both decide that you should get back to work. You try to hide whatever was now going between you as much as you can but like always, Derek Morgan figures you out within minutes and he, along with the rest of the team, teases you relentlessly. (You wouldn’t have it any other way.)

[venusbyline]

Birthday ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 19, oct.

(late post)

— pairing: Spencer Reid x sex worker!reader x Derek Morgan x Aaron Hotchner

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: foursome FMMM

— summary: Morgan hires a prostitute to her finally take his best friend's virginity.

— word count: 1.2k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 19th day, female!reader, virgin!Reid, shy!Reid, foursome (female/male/male/male), oral (male receiving), loss of virginity, praise kink, cowgirl position, handjob (male giving), Moreid, age gap (older men/older woman/younger man), birthday present, prostitution, drunk sex, rough kissing, orgy, corruption kink, implied/referenced cheating, infidelity, light overstimulation, breast worship, butt worship, nipple play, minor Aaron Hotchner x Haley Hotchner, bisexual(?)!Reid, bisexual!Morgan, married!Hotch, Lila Archer Mentioned, minor Spencer Reid x Lila Archer, ambiguous/open ending, curse words, sub!Reid, dom!Morgan, dom!Hotch, switch!reader, canon divergence, porn with plot. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @purplehaze206 @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a @helo1281917

— crossposting: AO3

"You're gonna love your birthday present, Pretty Boy."

That's what Morgan said to Spencer after his birthday party. He was finally becoming more of an adult, gaining more respect from the team. Everything was going perfectly. Now, Spencer Reid was no longer just a shy and genius little boy, he was also proving to be a man worthy of working in the BAU, not just because of his extremely intelligent brain.

Reid was not as shy as before, he was slowly loosening up. His germophobia was also getting better and better. Everything was going well. He was maturing.

However, he still had his virginity intact.

The entire BAU was surprised when Spencer accidentally confessed about his lack of sexual experience during his birthday party. It was a shock to everyone, even though it was so obvious. The team thought he would have at least one experience or another for the roster, but the fact that he entered college as a teenager had ruined everything. Even though he was handsome as hell now, Spencer was a complex person whose brain worked too fast for anyone to even try to fully understand, no girl never had much patience to flirt with him for more than a few days, and his excessive shyness did not do much for his situation. The few kisses he had already exchanged with some girls had never gone further. The only time he felt tempted to continue had been with Lila Archer, which did not happen.

Spencer did not plan on telling anyone about his virginity. It was a shameful matter that he would rather keep secret forever. If it were not for the alcohol consumed during the night, he might never have confessed. None of his friends would know about this part of his life. If it were not for the whiskey, he would probably remain a virgin forever.

"F-Fuck. I can't..." Reid whimpered like a pathetic little boy as he squirmed in his seat, clenching his hands into fists and arching his head back, eyes closed and lips pink and already swollen from biting them. "Her mouth is so good..."

Morgan laughed at the sight of his best friend becoming a noisy mess every time you on your knees in front of him masterfully sucked on the tip of his cock. The boy's moans echoed in the room and went straight to Morgan's cock.

"How do you feel?" Morgan asked Reid, stroking his friend's brown hair as he finally opened his eyes, biting his lip again and trying to give a concentrated answer, but it went from tearful moans, which caused a chuckle from both Morgan and Hotch, who was just watching the scene. "You should try to have fun with us."

"Men aren't my thing, much less the kid one there." Hotch grumbled and Spencer pouted his lips sadly, giving his boss his puppy eyes.

It was Morgan's turn to roll his eyes, pulling Spencer's hair back a little to lick his neck, his teeth nibbling on the soft, vulnerable skin, causing Spencer to start to lift his hips desperately with his cock inside your mouth, in a desperate attempt to reach orgasm faster. "See, sweetheart? You're doing amazing."

Morgan used his free hand to stroke your hair, your eyes shining at him in confirmation, before you turned to Spencer, letting go of his cock when you noticed he was going to cum any moment ago. The big sad eyes on Reid's face caused laughter between you and the other two agents.

"Relax, kid. If you cum inside her mouth now, you won't be able to fuck her tight pussy anytime soon." It was Hotch who muttered a little grumpily, trying to hide the slightly sadistic smirk when he saw the tears of despair running down the genius' face.

Morgan gestured for you to stand up, your body covered by only a white lace panties that seemed to be tucked into your ass, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. Hotch and Morgan bit their lips, while Spencer whimpered, trying to squirm in the seat so he could touch you. He had never touched a woman's breasts or ass before.

Hotch scoffed when he saw the pleading in Spencer's face. "Looks like someone is very eager."

Morgan followed Hotch's gaze, diverting his attention from your ass for a while so he could watch the younger boy's despair, enjoying it. "I guess you should stop his suffering for a bit. His brain is gonna break if you don't let him fuck you soon."

Morgan's suggestion made you laugh. "Virgins..." You rolled your eyes playfully, but it caused a sad pout from Reid, too confused and desperate to understand that it was nothing more than a teasing. As soon as you took off the lace fabric and threw it to Hotch, you heard him growl. He did not like prostitutes and had been completely against hiring one for Spencer to lose his virginity. But Morgan had convinced him. At first, he had said he would just watch, but the moment you wrapped the condom around Spencer's cock and gently fitted it in, his mind went into a frenzy.

That was one of the hottest scenes Hotch had ever seen. The youngest of the team crying with so much pleasure after having his cock stuck in a wet pussy for the first time. Your ass shaking every time you bounced on him, your own hands cupping your breasts and staring into Spencer's submissive gaze, those beautiful eyes filled with tears. The way Morgan grabbed Spencer by the neck, distracting him from watching your pretty breasts for a while, while now he felt his thin lips being crushed by Morgan's mouth with an aggressive kiss, his hand going down the older agent's pants by instinct.

Hotch had not liked that plan at all. He thought it was absurd. He did not like prostitutes. He did not like it when two BAU members got involved, even casually. This should all be disgusting and repulsive.

However, when Morgan and Spencer were still kissing, Morgan's bit heavy hand crushing your breast while Spencer's slender fingers played with your other nipple, it all became too much. Every moan that left your lips with the overstimulation caused by your breasts being used or by your wet pussy riding non-stop on Spencer's virgin cock. The whimpers that came out of Spencer at the new and incredible sensation, in addition to Morgan's intense kisses. The growls that Morgan let out while Spencer hangjob him with an inexperienced and almost stupid way, which made everything even more perfect.

Hotch should hate this and go away, go back to his wife and pretend he did not see any of it. The problem was, he knew that would be impossible. He wanted to continue, he wanted to feel everything too. Feeling his sex life a little more interesting in all the chaos that was his career and his marriage.

"I'm serious. I really don't like guys." Hotch warned again with an uncomfortable face, almost as uncomfortable as the tightness in his pants. You, Morgan, and even Spencer shared a few soft chuckles when Hotch snorted and took off his tie, unbuttoning his white dress shirt and throwing it to the floor before grabbing you by the neck, kissing your skin while you continued to ride Spencer.

"So that won't be a problem, Sir. I'm not a guy, I'm just a whore. All of you three can use me however you want." You scoffed and Hotch huffed, nodding then and licking your earlobe, his hands moving your hips to encourage you to go faster on top of Reid.

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[springsylph]

WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter | read on ao3 here | masterlist

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light. 

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl. 

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”  

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment. 

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did. 

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper. 

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of. 

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up. 

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!” 

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm. 

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said. 

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous. 

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it. 

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today. 

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you. 

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?” 

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

__

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it. 

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest. 

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it. 

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees. 

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum. 

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better. 

Awful timing, that man. 

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact. 

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look. 

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat. 

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt. 

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.” 

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ” 

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough. 

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.” 

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze. 

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were. 

And yet.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post. 

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?” 

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.  

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else. 

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance. 

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.  

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice. 

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet. 

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—” 

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all. 

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. 

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.” 

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.” 

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—” 

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

next chapter >>

[moeitsu]

♡The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee♡

(Arthur Morgan x OC) Masterlist

Hey cowboys!

Below is where you'll find all the chapters to my Red Dead Redemption fanfic, I will keep it updated as I continue to post more chapters. But in the meantime, I wanted to make things a little more organized and easier for you to navigate.

Whether you just started reading, or if you've been keeping up with the story since the beginning. I want to thank you! This started as a little side project to keep me busy during my down time at work, but it's turned into something I'm really passionate and proud of! So thank you for all the support <3

!!Please be aware this fic is explicit. As it contains blood/violence, as well as other adult themes!!

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->-> Ao3 

->-> Wattpad

Summary: Kate McCanon, a young widow from the north, meets outlaw Arthur Morgan. When the two cross paths she discovers a complex man wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong. As their unlikely bond deepens, Kate becomes determined to guide Arthur towards a brighter path, even as tensions rise within his gang led by the enigmatic Dutch van der Linde. With danger lurking at every turn, Kate must navigate treacherous territory to protect those she holds dear, all while finding love in the most unexpected of places.

Story Tags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

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Ch 1 - The Years Creep Slowly By Kate becomes entangled in a heist with two strangers, Hosea and Arthur, forging an unexpected bond amidst their criminal endeavor. Ch 2 - The Snow Is On The Grass Again A fisher of men and A strange encounter. Ch 3 - The Suns Low Down The Sky Welcome to Horseshoe Overlook Ch 4 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been It's time to collect a debt. Ch 5 - My Heart Beats On As Warmly Now A well deserved hunt with Charles, met with an unexpected surprise back at camp... Ch 6 - As When The Summer Days Were Nigh The battle begins, and the past is revealed. Ch 7 - The Sun Can Never Dip So Low Kate is not immune to the dangers of the land. No matter how much she loved it, the land will never love her back. Ch 8 - Or Down Affections Cloudless Sky A blissful sunny day after a long hard night. Ch 9 - A Hundred Months Have Passed Kate and Arthur share a tender moment in the quiet of the night. Ch 10 - Since Last I Held That Hand In Mine The Course of True Love and other Revelations Ch 11 - And Felt The Pulse Beat Fast Arthur and Hosea share meaningful conversation after a night of advertising some moonshine. Meanwhile Kate finds herself involved in a dubious mission with John and the boys. She patches up Arthur as the day ends with an air of unspoken desire. Ch 12 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 1 Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God in a world that is ugly with violence and hate. Ch 13 - Though Mine Beat Faster Far Than Thine - Part 2 Arthur’s life is ebbing out like the tide. Kate must work quickly and diligently to reverse the cruel hands of fate. She is aided by the help of an unexpected ally. Ch 14 - A Hundred Months ‘Twas Flowery May As Kate navigates Arthur’s recovery, she discovers that true strength lies within her trusted companions, finding relief in their unwavering support during the trials of his healing journey. Ch 15 - When Up The Hilly Slope We Climbed Arthur struggles to adjust to his new disabilities. Meanwhile Kate finds a job outside of camp for them, providing a few days respite and some much needed alone time. Arthur finally reveals his feelings. Ch 16 - The Past Is The Eternal Past Kate and Arthur welcome a new life into the world. The scene brings back tender memories of Arthur's past, he finally finds the courage to open up to her about his family. Ch 17 - To Watch The Dying of The Day Say, isn't it strange? I am still me, and you are still you. In this place. Isn't it strange how people can change? From strangers to friends, friends into lovers. To strangers again. Ch 18 - To Hear the Distant Church Bells Chime The gang finds a new hideout at Shady Belle, just outside the heart of the new modern America. With Jack still missing, Kate and Arthur must work together to find him. Amidst the tension, Arthur confides in Kate about his deepest regrets. Ch 19 - We Loved Each Other Then The Gilded Cage. Kate and Arthur attend an exclusive garden party hosted by the Mayor of Saint Denis. As the night progresses, their mutual desire intensifies. Ch 20 - More Than We Dared To Tell In vulnerability they meet. As the world fades to a gentle hum, their hearts beat as if they're one. In the aftermath, quiet and deep. Love whispers promises they'll keep. Ch 21 - What We Might Have Been As tensions within the camp simmer and new challenges surface, the gang finds themselves slipping further into uncertainty. Amid the chaos, Kate and Arthur navigate the weight of their individual struggles, leaning on their bond to weather the storm and hold onto what matters most.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━ If you're interested in reading about my OC, I linked the Kate McCanon Lore here :) As well as her Face and Voice Claim <3

Spotify Playlist About me!

[jadeandroses]

(Apologies to the marine biology student this actually happened to)

pulse failure

(Ao3 version!)

Contrary to popular belief, Miko was not an idiot. For one thing, she could usually tell what people were feeling at any given moment. This extended even to her Autobot companions, even without being able to sense EM fields, or have a sparkbond with them, or really, any of the other technological mumbo jumbo they used to navigate their day to day lives.

She didn’t even need to understand Bumblebee right now to understand his panic.

At the moment, though, she felt like an idiot—mostly because the blame for their current predicament could be partially rested at her feet. But come on. How was she supposed to know the car wash would stop before Bumblebee’s hood could be covered in soap?

But, okay, after getting covered in dust in his last battle, Bumblebee really needed a wash.

And, okay, neither Raf nor Bumblebee wanted to do it themselves—which Miko needed no explanation for other than the fact that it was literally hotter than hell in the streets of Jasper, Nevada. It was the only reason taking him through this place seemed appealing (and was worth the twenty seven dollar entrance fee).

Except.

Now there were a bunch of tall, lanky boys swarming, not necessarily them, but whatever was causing the issue behind them. Bumblebee was audibly freaking out, Raf was in the passenger seat trying to calm him down, and Miko, oddly, was quiet, studying the whole scene from the rearview mirror.

The one girl in the group of employees broke away, at that point. There was only one car in the whole length of the wash, and the moment Miko put that together, she shushed both Raf and Bumblebee, and rolled down his window.

“I am so sorry,” the girl declared.

“It’s fine!”

“The guys are saying it’ll take about ten to twenty minutes. If you’ve got somewhere to be, I have a powerwasher, so I can hose you down and get you a refund.”

Miko turned to Raf. “The ‘Bots say we need to be anywhere?” she asked quietly.

Raf paled. “No, but-”

“Then we’re good,” she declared firmly, before either of the boys could raise an objection. “We’re just coming from school. Honestly, this feels like a break.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess.” She paused. “Let me know if you change your mind. Can I get you some water, or a popsicle? I know it’s hot around here.”

Raf blinked. “Wait, popsicles? Why?”

“The electrolyte kind. It’s too dang hot to work here without them.”

“Makes sense. I’d like one, if that’s okay.”

“Make it two,” Miko chirped, and the girl tapped two fingers to her visor and scampered off, leaving the two humans and the Autobot alone in the hot car wash.

Fortunately, Bumblebee didn’t say a word until she was gone, and when he did, it was in hushed, subdued chirps.

“‘Bee’s right,” Raf declared, and he sounded worried. “What if the Autobots need us?”

Miko scoffed. “Then we get hosed down and get the heck outta here. I’m sure they’ll understand if we’re a few minutes late.” She tapped Bumblebee’s steering wheel, and added, “You really need this, big guy.”

In response, Bumblebee huffed. Miko didn’t really need a translation for that, but Raf provided one anyway. “He says his paint looks fine.”

“Yeah, all of Team Prime would beg to differ.” She looked up when she noticed movement in the rearview. “Incoming.”

The girl—Morgan, by her name tag—came back with three popsicles; red, blue, and orange. Raf immediately reached for the red, Miko the blue, which left Morgan with the orange, to which she hummed contentedly. Probably because she wasn’t elbow deep in grease, at least.

Miko seized her chance. “What even happened?”

Morgan—who looked about Jack’s age, maybe slightly older—rolled her eyes. “Pulse failure could mean anything, depending on the wash itself, but right now, if I had to guess, I’d say one of the rollers got stuck.”

“Huh.” She paused, and thought about that for a second. “Why?”

She shrugged. “I have no idea, I’ve been here, like, three weeks. Been happening literally every day since I got here, though, and only at this site.”

Miko winced, because she could imagine working retail, and thought that this was probably just as bad. Except worse in some ways, because on top of the angry customers, they had to rely on a non autonomous machine to do their job for them. At least Autobots were largely self reliant.

…but she was curious.

“…can we watch?”

Morgan pursed her lips together. “I mean, I don’t think I can let you out of the car. Safety hazards and what not.”

“Just from here?”

“…sure?”

“Why?” asked Raf, exasperated.

“Because tell me you’ve never been curious about how this works,” Miko shot back, and she leaned her entire body out of the window.

Raf groaned. Miko lost sight of him as she sat down right on Bumblebee’s window, and watched the boys yell at each other about crowbars and come-alongs, and wondered what an air compressor did in this situation. She heard the window roll down, and Raf groan exasperatedly as he also sat down just on Bumblebee’s window, and watch.

“The engineer in ya won out, huh?”

“Shut up,” Raf grumbled, and Miko laughed.

“You’re engineers?” Morgan asked, astounded.

Raf smiled shyly. “I dabble.”

“Shut up, dude, you’re literally a genius. I’m not,” Miko explained. “Just a…general interest in mechanics, I guess.” She cleared her throat. “That’s actually how we got this car.”

“Oh, yeah?”

She waved her hand. “Old dude in a machine shop sold it to us for dirt cheap if we could fix it up. Raf did the plans, I did the heavy lifting, voilà!”

“Good as new,” Morgan praised, even over Bumblebee’s quiet protests. “Ever consider working in a car wash?” She gestured to the boys and the stuck roller, “We could definitely use you when nonsense like this happens.”

“Maybe.” Miko hummed to herself. “Could I bring my friends in here for free?”

Bumblebee stiffened, but Morgan spoke over him with a wild grin, “Officially, no. If you can do it without getting caught, though…”

“Challenge accepted.”

Morgan cackled, and Raf groaned.

It was about that time one of the boys—white shirt now completely stained—stood up from the pit, yelled Morgan’s name, and gave her a thumbs up.

“Well, that didn’t take very long,” she sighed. “Alright. Gotta start the wash now. Still in neutral?”

Bee buzzed in the affirmative, to which Raf gave a thumbs up. Once she was seated with her seatbelt on, Miko yelled, “We’re good!”

“Your windows!” Morgan yelled back.

Fortunately, Bee was already taking care of that, but it wasn’t like they could let her know that.

From then on, the wash went smoothly. The whirring of machinery seemed to soothe Bumblebee’s earlier panic—Miko made a mental note to ask about claustrophobia, but that probably wasn’t it, was it? He was fine after the fact.

The second the wash was over, and the light at the end flashed green, Bumblebee took off. There were vacuums, but they weren’t worth it since it was still the temperature of Unicron’s armpit. They could deal with that later.

Bumblebee’s buzzing snapped Miko out of her thoughts. She cocked her head, and then looked at Raf to translate.

“‘Bee wants to know if you’d seriously get a job here just to help them out.”

Miko shrugged. “Yeah? Nothing stopping me. Besides, I’d be making money.”

Bumblebee buzzed further inquiry, which Raf translated as, “But you’d be stuck in the heat. All day.”

“Worth it.”

What that actually meant was “it would be worth it to help my friends, any way I can”, but she couldn’t be caught dead saying that.

Bumblebee trilled lowly, and Raf giggled—which Miko took as proof that they were probably having a laugh at her expense. It was a good plan, though! It required cunning and good communication, all things she was good at! It wasn’t stupid!

So if she dragged Raf into her arms for it and immediately began to noogie him, it was because he had done it to himself.

[lacrymatoryao3]

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 12: February, 1900

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

2,468 Words (AO3 Link)

The weekend that Ana’s birthday fell on was ironically the coldest days of the winter. She made it clear, more than once, she didn’t want anything special. It didn’t matter to her. It was just the day she became another year older. Arthur could relate. He hadn’t paid much attention to his own in many years, He didn’t even really know the day any longer. Sometime in July, from what Ana had told him. He supposed the trip up to the mountains for Arthur Francisco to get his moose, though he was willing to settle for an elk if they couldn’t track the former, was special enough for her.

Every breath Arthur took while outside burned, as if the air was turning his lungs into ice. He trudged to the shelter attached to the stables where the wagon was stored, missing the West more and more with every step. The deserts there were just as unforgiving, sometimes with the dust storms that were as terrible as the blizzards, but there he wouldn’t be freezing his balls off. Worse, it was going to be several more hours dealing with the weather once they were on the trails.

The radiant heat from the stable stoves made his work bearable. The wagon needed its cover put back on before he loaded it so their cargo wouldn’t freeze quite as fast or be blanketed by snow kicked up from the wheels. He started by taking the hoops off the wall, five strong but thin wood arches bent into a U shape. He inserted them deeply into the slots along the edges of the wagon’s walls on both sides. He then drug a large and heavy canvas into the wagon, draping it over each hoop until the wagon bed was completely enclosed. He jumped out and tied the canvas in place on nails pounded into the outside walls until it was tight and unmoving.

He went into the stable and brought out two strong Dark Bay Shires. He put on their collars and myriad of straps before finally attaching them by the neck to the wagon’s yoke. Then, he went back in to tack Josefina, Delfina, and a Bay Frame Overo Criollo yearling that was Ana’s substitute for Enrique – he was too old to handle the long and arduous journey. He hitched them to rings on the sides of the wagon, climbing into the seat and slowly maneuvering to the front of the house.

Arthur Francisco had carried the crates of provisions they needed to survive only a few days in a remote hunting cabin. The boy seemed immune to the cold, just sitting there making sure his gun was ready. Arthur envied him as he shivered taking the crates one after another and shoving them into the back. There was enough food to last longer than they intended to be there, and utensils for cooking and eating. There was good, thick bedrolls and pillows and blankets. There was also various tools the cabin didn’t provide. It made him question how they were even going to fit a large animal with them, but he tried to arrange them in a way so there was enough room.

“Has your mama come back yet?” Arthur asked the boy. He hadn’t seen Ana all morning after breakfast. She had to speak with Mr. Liang to make sure everything was perfectly arranged for him to take over while they were gone.

“She’s in the kitchen.” Arthur Francisco replied.

Arthur sighed with relief going into the house. He took a moment to warm himself up by the fire, then going to the kitchen and get another hot cup of coffee.

Ana had her back turned at the counter of the Hoosier cabinet counter, making sandwiches for the ride. Arthur stopped dead in his tracks in the entryway. He blinked hard. The way she was dressed was something he had never witnessed her in before. Wrapped around her head and shoulders partially covering a dark green, cable knit Donegal sweater was one of her colorful shawls. That wasn’t what stunned him. Instead of a skirt she wearing a pair of pants, decorated on the outward sides of the legs with silver, bow shaped conchos. It wasn’t the fact she was wearing them. He had seen plenty of women in various styles of them before. What changed his demeanor was how tight they were. They hugged her form, accentuating her thighs and backside that had become wider and larger than what they used to be. His eyes traced every curve up and down. It triggered a spark in his brain, rekindling a long dormant flame that burned through him and settled in his lower abdomen.

It took all he had to restrain himself, to control his more primal impulses. His instinct was to walk up to her and grab her, knead her fabric covered flesh. He imagined how soft she felt. It made the heat travel a little lower than he was comfortable with. He shut his eyes for a moment, shaking his head rapidly to knock the thought of molesting her out of his brain. It was wrong to be looking at her the way he was, like a piece of meat and he was a starved dog. He averted his gaze the best he could, going to the kettle and getting the coffee he wanted. Holding the cup, he found he was trembling slightly. He didn’t like that either, the smallest thing working him up.

“I… Don’t think I’ve ever seen you like that.” Arthur managed to mumble.

Ana turned and held their lunches bundled in warmed cloths, “Oh! You’re right! I learned the hard way trudging through snow in a skirt is a terrible idea.”

Arthur swallowed to keep his voice steady, “Think you’ll be warm enough?”

“They’re fur lined.” Ana said, “So I should be fine. Is everything ready?”

“Yes, ma’am. Waitin’ on you.”

Ana gave him the bundles, “I just need to get my coat and hat on. I won’t be long.”

Arthur went back outside to wait for her. Being re-shocked by the cold helped him calm down some. He shoved the bundles through the small hole in the canvas at the back, which Arthur Francisco had closed up when he climbed in. Arthur got into the driver’s seat when Ana joined, climbing up beside him with a quilt that covered both of their legs.

The wheels started to go deeper into the snow as they started to descend upwards into the mountain. Arthur allowed himself to go deeper into distracting thoughts, but they weren’t pleasant ones. He kept being reminded of the mad dash after the disaster at Blackwater. They had taken a long and confusing route. It was an attempt to throw lawmen, bounty hunter, and the Pinkertons off their trail. It succeeded until the spring blizzard hit them, slowing them down. Arthur had barely slept when that happened, being constantly on guard until it was too much for his injured Boadicea. He had to leave the poor, beloved horse’s body somewhere around Tempest Rim.

Then they suffered when young Jenny Kirk died and they had to stop to give her a proper burial near where Spider Gorge flowed from the glacier. All the while Davey Callander was fading faster and faster. At first it appeared he would possibly live when Dutch sent him ahead to find somewhere to rest for a while, and maybe find John and Micah along the way who went some time before him, with Charles’s horse Taima he let Arthur borrow.

If he had been a religious man he’d have said the discovery of the abandoned mining town of Colter was a Godsend. Being in those slowly rotting, drafty, and creaking structures was much better than being battered out in the open. Arthur didn’t expect where they were going to was going to be like that, but he still felt a twinge of those ghosts coming to meet him.

Halfway up the mountain there was a large board nailed to a tree with a message painted by hand in black. It was so weather beaten Arthur had to stop and get down to read it. The sign was just a large slab of untreated plywood. What it once said was something along the lines of: ‘TOWN – ABOUT 8 MILES BEHIND. CABIN – ABOUT 8 MILES AHEAD. APPROVED GUESTS ONLY! OWNER LIVES 3 MILES NORTHWEST OF CABIN’.

It was a good place to rest anyway. From there on the path was only getting steeper upwards for another 2 hours. There everyone answered the calls of nature. When they finished and washed their hands with the snow they gathered back into the wagon and ate their sandwiches. Despite the hours in the chill they were still semi-warm, just two thin slices of bread filled with a thick mixture of shredded chicken and hard boiled egg seasoned with curry powder and a paste made of spiced stewed tomatoes.

It was enough to keep them going the rest of the way, which became considerably slower as the snow piled up higher and higher. The wheels creaked threateningly and the horses – even the ones that weren’t hauling the wagon – complained loudly every few minutes. Arthur looked around, hoping he was going the right direction. In the forest be found a billow of smoke rising above the trees. As he drove closer, the trail led them into a clearing next to a mostly frozen river. Sitting on a high stone foundation to avoid snow piling up against it was the cabin. It was small and primitive, but looked sufficient for a weary traveler. It had the outhouse not too far, connected by a covered walkway, and a stable to shelter the horses and wagon from the harsh elements.

Arthur got as close to the recently cleared stairs as he could. They could finally stretch their legs more while carrying everything inside. It was a small space. There was only enough room for a dining table, a dry sink, a table counter and a single cabinet above it on the wall. To cook Ana would need to use the fireplace. The only place to sleep was a loft, only accessible by a narrow ladder. Everything was for necessity, not for comfort.

Ana started adding more logs to the fire. She pulled out some cans from one of the crates and picking out what type of pot to cook with. Arthur Francisco was tasked with putting their bedrolls into the loft, giving Ana and Arthur a moment alone, which was to be a rare occasion with the trip.

She motioned to him to come closer to her, “Do you feel up to taking Arthur Francisco fishing in the river? There’s good salmon in there.”

“I suppose.” Arthur replied.

Ana reached into a hidden pocket in her coat. He didn’t realize she had brought the two photos from her desk with her. When she gave them to him, he knew what she wanted him to do.

“I think it’s time.” She said, “However you feel like doing it.”

Arthur took a deep breath. He climbed halfway up the ladder to call for Arthur Francisco, who came down and eagerly grabbed the fishing equipment. He went out ahead to look for a good spot along the river that had visible flowing water. When Arthur joined him, he made a fire to keep at least some of the cold away.

Arthur Francisco baited both rods. He crouched in the snow, casting his. In the ice he could see fish swimming around. He set his sights on the large salmon. There were other species who also became interested in the bait, and interesting thing Arthur Francisco did was flick the line a few times to scare them away.

Arthur didn’t have a system like the boy did. He didn’t see himself as a good fisherman, but he also wasn’t terrible at it. He managed to be more successful with it the year before. He managed to start teaching Isaac many years ago. He taught Jack Marston, though the little boy wasn’t old enough to have the attention span for very long. Arthur simply cast the line as far as it would go, making a quick jolt of the line and waited.

Either way, it took a little while until one of them got a bite. Arthur Francisco’s method was more successful, or he had more patience than Arthur. From the clear icy water they watched a Sockeye nibble at his line, before taking a bite that hooked him. Arthur Francisco stood, pulling the rod upward and pulling it in the opposite direction of the struggling fish. When it became exhausted, he reeled it in. Inspecting it the salmon was a good weight and maturity, at least 5 pounds. The head was a green and gray with orange eyes, and the rest of its body a bright red.

Arthur patted the boy on the back, “Good job! Your mama will be very happy with that!”

Arthur Francisco laid the fish in the snow and went over to warm himself by the fire. Putting his rod away, Arthur decided it was now or never to talk to him. He sat down on a tree stump and took out the photos from Ana.

“Hey, Arthur…” He said gently, “Come here for a minute. I need to tell you somethin’.”

He waited until Arthur Francisco sat next to him and continued, “Now, I ain’t good with all this, but your mother and I were talkin’ about it for a while. We decided it was time for you to know about your father.”

He showed Arthur Francisco the pictures and explained them the best he could.

“You mother and I lost our parents when we were pretty young. So, to get by we ended up doin’ some pretty bad things. It took me longer to get out of them than her. Durin’ the time these were taken we had been in a relationship of sorts. A couple of years later she got pregnant with you and decided to leave to give you a better life than we had. She did a damn fine job of it too.”

He braced himself for whatever reaction the boy could have. He could see the gears turning in Arthur Francisco’s mind through his eyes as he gazed at the photos, piecing together that the man in them with Ana and the man sitting with him was indeed his father.

Arthur Francisco looked at him, “Really?”

Arthur nodded, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you growin’ up. I want to make up for it… Do better… If you want that.”

Arthur Francisco jumped up and threw his arms around Arthur. He took it as an acceptance from the boy.

[ao3feed-irondadspiderson]

Apple Juice

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58986442 by Ediyo There was a boy in Tony’s kitchen. He rounded the corner and there was a boy. A boy in his kitchen, shoved up against the cabinets, a handful of two day old muffins being squished beyond repair in his hands, the soft bread oozing out from between his fingers. A tiny, frail thing of a boy, somewhere in between eight and double digits, who took one look at Tony and leapt across the counters, towards the back door. Words: 2414, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: Gen Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Natasha Romanov (Marvel) Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Pepper Potts, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe) Additional Tags: Kid Peter Parker, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kidnapping, Human Experimentation, implied - Freeform, Hydra Peter Parker, In a way, i play with the timeline a bit, Hurt/Comfort, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Pepper Potts Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, she’s better at it currently, Malnutrition, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse read it on AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/58986442

[08melancholie]

Honeysuckle and Whiskey. — Micah Bell/OC

CHAPTER 7 — Fancy Outing.

words: 4,854 | AO3 LINK — MASTERLIST

(Chapter 1 "Colter and Gang Rivalry" or Masterlist for tags and summary.)

Melody avoided Micah like the plague; on jobs, they never spoke. They'd nod along to Dutch's plan and if they had to communicate, it was mostly physical—pointing and waving or nodding to each other. In camp, they barely even looked one-another's way.

Micah was known for his distaste in anyone who wasn't a pure American, that lived there. Everyone knew it, and so did Melody. It was one of many reasons she took no interest in him; he obviously despised her presence, knowing she's half-German.

Now, she stayed in her tent, slumped over her cot and sitting on it with her forearms on her knees, groaning. She was usually one of the first people up, getting her morning coffee and smoke before starting her chores early. It was unusual, and a lot of the member's eyes were fixated on her closed tent flaps.

She knew slumping and moping in her tent all morning wouldn't fix anything, so she tapped her own thighs and stood up, buttoning up her checkered red flannel and opening the flaps of her tent. Her eyes fell on Arthur's, and she gave him a knowing glare. Melody walked over to him immediately, leaning across the table he sat on while eating Pearson's stew.

"You've doomed me, cowboy." She hissed, hands on her hips as she scolded him.

"You said you'd accept anyone." He teased.

"I'll skin you and use you for Pearson's stew, boy. I can't believe you told Dutch to bring.. Micah.. with me, of all people!" She said, lowering her voice as she said his name, unaware of where he could be around camp.

He waved his hand slightly at her. "Calm down. I'm sure you'll both do just fine." He continued his antagonising, making Melody groan nervously.

She put her head down on her forearms, leaning down on the table with a sigh. "I will actually murder you, Morgan."

"Okay! I'll stop. Think of it as.." He stopped to think, unable to find anything positive to add to his stupid decision. "Well, damn." He shrugged, taking another spoonful of stew into his mouth.

She leaned back up, un-arching her back and fixing her hat slightly. "Does he know?" She asks, to which Arthur just shrugs. "Just dandy. I'm.. gonna get myself distracted with chores." She says, dipping her head to Arthur and walking to Pearson's station to wash any remaining dishes from this morning.

Busying herself with chores was definitely the way to go, she worked around camp quietly and nobody seemed to disturb her, either. It would be a losing battle to try and convince Dutch to bring anyone else with her—his word was final.

She did practically everything that day; from washing dishes, helping the women sew the bullet holes in some shirts to even helping Sean make a few molotovs with the leftover alcohol around camp.

"I heard 'ya goin' on a job with Micah Bell, eh?" He spoke, stuffing and dampening a rag into one of the bottles.

She groaned at the simple mention of that cowboys' name. "Don't even mention it. I want to simply back out of the job as a whole." She gave him the next bottle, running her fingers through her brown locks and pushing it away from her face.

Sean laughed, getting the next rag out. "He ain't all that bad, girl. I'm sure yous will do good." He smirked slightly, setting the last bottle down. "You could always take me as 'ya plus one, lass." He grabbed a hold on her hand, bringing the knuckles to his face with a kiss. Of course.

She couldn't help but laugh at his absurd suggestion. "We need someone who'll fit in with high-society fellers, Sean." She teased, letting her hand fall to her side. "Which is why I don't understand the choice of Micah!" She complained, leaning her hip on the table.

"I wouldn'ta know. But I think you'll do just fine, girl." He reassured her, taking the freshly made molotovs away. She waved him off with a thankful smile, looking at the horses as she neared the final chore she could busy herself with.

Obviously, started with her horse. "Hey.. how are you?" She asked, brushing it's nose gently. She reached into her satchel for a small peppermint, starting to brush it's mane with her other hand as the horse took the treat happily.

All the horses done but one; per usual, Baylock was last. She started at him for a moment, biting the inside of her cheeks as her hands rested on her hips. She was mighty hesitant today, especially with the thought of Micah in her head all day. She reluctantly brushed its nose gently, expecting another attempt to bite her fingers but raising an eyebrow in surprise as the horse nuzzled into it.

She felt herself smile a little, using her other hand to pet his neck as he whinnied happily at her. "Look at that... You're in a good mood, boy." She commented, looking at it's face in awe at his good behaviour.

"He usually tries biting people for that."

The voice rung in her ears nervously for a moment before she turned to be met with his figure leaned on a nearby tree, a white hat covering most of his face up past the nose as he played with the revolver in his hand, spinning it around over his finger in the trigger hole.

She exhaled slowly, turning her whole body to slightly face him. "I know, he's tried biting me every other time I'd done it." She said, continuing to pamper the horse with gentle pats and nuzzles.

He holstered the gun, still making no effort to look up at Melody which made her overly nervous, turning back and starting to brush out Baylock's mane.

They stood in a tense but oddly comfortable silence for a few minutes; Micah leaned on the tree with his knife and a piece of wood, carving it—Melody tending to his horse, much more careful under his watch.

She soon finished, putting the brush back and taking a few peppermints out for Baylock. He took them nicely at first, making a final attempt to bite her finger at the end. "Hey! Back to your old self, eh boy?" She took her hand away, chuckling slightly which got Micah's attention.

"He tried to bite you?" He asked lowly, finally tipping his hat up to look at her. God, why was this so horribly awkward?

She nodded, taking a few steps away from the horse, standing a few feet next to Micah as they spoke for a moment. "I'm.. I mean, there's no reason to avoid it;" She started, hands behind her back as she turned to fully face him, Micah looking at her from the side. "you do know about.. the job, tomorrow?" She asked.

He just nodded silently, tilting his head down to cover his face and carving his knife into the wooden stake.

"Mhm.. okay, and you do know.. your role, and mine?" She guessed so, earning another silent nod which made her exhale sharply. "Good. It's only two hours, I'm.. well aware we both aren't too fond of this." She said firmly.

He stopped the carving for a moment, giving her a side glance and nodding without a word again, holstering his knife and putting his wood stake away. He leaned his body on the tree to fully face her, staring at her through half-lidded eyes.

She bit the inside of her cheek, watching his own piercing gaze intently. "Yeah. Okay.. goodnight, then.. I guess." She dipped her head down at him, walking off without looking back once. His obviously judging gaze pissed her well off, making her storm off as nonchalantly as possible.

He watched her walk away, spitting on the ground before doing the same, hands on his gun belt as he walked down to his tent on the other side of camp.

She dreaded going to bed that night, staring down the dress she had to wear tomorrow, which sat neatly on the table opposite the entrance of her tent, as if trying to simply burn it with her gaze to prevent herself having to go. She groaned quietly into her hand, undoing the buttons of her shirt whilst slipping her feet out of her boots, kneeling before her clothing chest to find her usual nightwear; a longer white blouse which reached just over her backside, covering what was needed. She didn't have anything comfortable enough underneath, so she'd settled with just sleeping pant-less.

She slipped the blouse on, buttoning it just enough to cover her bare chest and unzipping her trousers, slipping out of them and tossing them aside as she sat on the cot, taking one last dreadful look at the dress before blowing the lantern behind her head out and laying flat on her back.

The morning she was met with was awfully discouraging; in a few hours, she'd be attending a very fancy outing with the company of Micah Bell. She dreaded the morning sun as her eyes closed last night, and could barely get herself up and out of the damn tent.

Nonetheless, she forced herself up and changed into something comfortable for the time being; simple blue trousers and a breezy, light yellow blouse accompanied by a matching creamy-orange neckerchief. She did her hair into a loose braid, letting it hang over her shoulder as she put on brown boots this morning, walking out with her satchel on her shoulder, over her torso and resting neatly on her hip.

She walked to the campfire, greeted by two giddy outlaws like two days prior. "I don't even want to hear it." She immediately protested as John barely opened his mouth.

The man chuckled, watching her smugly as she sat down on the log next to him with a sharp exhale. She poured herself some coffee—first things first. "I just wanted to say it's nice to see you adding some color into your life." He looked at the—much more colourful than usual—tone of attire she'd picked, and Arthur nodded along in agreement.

"First things I saw, I really couldn't care as I'll be changing again in a few hours." She shrugged, taking a sip of the coffee in her mug slowly.

"You two even talked 'bout it yet? I know I ain't seen you talk once since it was announced." Arthur asked, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned in slightly.

Melody pursed her lips for a moment. "Last night. Or well, evening." She said meekly, bringing her mug to her lips. "Which.. it was barely a conversation." This intrigued the two cowboys, and they both leaned in for more.

"Well? What'd he say to 'ya?"

She chuckled and smirked slightly, deciding to get some payback—even if nothing could make up having to work with Micah. "None of your business." She stuck her tongue out at them playfully, standing up with her coffee mug to walk off wherever. "I'm free from chores today, think I'll go see the girls."

The men groaned at her in disappointment, obviously intrigued as she walked away smugly. That's for conspiring against her.

Soon, after she'd spent most of the day helping the girls wherever she possibly could, the evening sun started setting, and so did her situation.

"So, who's the plus-one?" Karen spoke up, talking to Melody as the few of the girls were sewing some of the clothes.

All eyes befell the woman, and she couldn't help but look down which intrigued every single one of them even more. "God, you wouldn't believe it." She said, sighing into her lap.

"You have to tell us now! Javier? Arthur? Charles?" Tilly started listing down practically every man in camp, exceptions being Micah and Kieran. Melody just shook her head to every single name.

Mary-Beth and she shared a glance, which made the girl burst out laughing. "No way! Did Dutch actually pick him?" She asked between gasps for air.

"It's not that funny! Imagine being in my shoes!" Melody ducked her head down, hiding the embarrassed flush of her face as the girl laughed at her situation.

"Who is it?"

"You don't even want to know." Melody responded to Sadie's question.

"It's Micah Bell." Mary-Beth revealed, which sent the entire group laughing.

Melody glared at Mary-Beth for revealing the information for a moment. "It ain't that funny!" She lowered her head as much as she could, embarrassed and red as a beet.

"Christ, Melody. Are you sure you want to go?" Karen teased, all of the women setting their sewing equipment down to tease and talk to the cowgirl.

"'Course I don't!" She replied, lifting her head up to meet their eyes and teasing glances. "But Dutch won't let me back down or switch Micah out." She complained, looking around a bit before saying his name—as if their yelling wouldn't be enough for him to hear if he was around.

The women joked with her whilst also reassuring her that it'll be just fine; which she barely believed.

"I'll have to go get ready, if you'll excuse me." She stood up and set her own sewing needle down, dipping her head at the circle of women before walking off, hearing their little snickers behind her.

She stood in her tent for a moment, contemplating burning the dress as a whole right now.

"Just.. two hours." She reassured herself, unbuttoning her blouse.

The dress slipped on as easily as in the store, the corset being the only problem as she tried to get it perfectly tight to bring out her features—usually hidden by more loose shirts—while also managing to breathe like normal. She got it down after a few minutes, working with her hair next. She decided to go for a half up braid, letting a few loose strands stand out. She looked in the mirror one last time nervously before walking out.

To say she got quite a few glances would be an understatement; it was abnormal, yes, but surely it didn't make her stand out that much?

"My, my." The familiar voice of a man greeted her with his arm extended for her. "You look dashing, my dear." Josiah Trelawny exclaimed, bringing her gloved hand to his mouth and kissing the clothed knuckles gently. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd be wearing a dress." He added, walking her to the rest of the men.

"Didn't know you were also coming!" She said excitedly, having not seen the man in quite a while, maybe two months. He shot her a smile as they got to where the others were, leaned against a wagon and smoking.

Everyone had dressed quite nicely, and she had to admit; she definitely eyed both Javier and John for a moment too long.

Javier was the first to comment on her attire. "Looking very good, mi Linda." He said with a nod of his head, and she responded with one of her own. "Same for you two! We really do look the part." She mused, taking a moment to scan around for her alleged plus-one. She silently prayed he backed down after she couldn't catch a glimpse of him anywhere.

Dutch showed up soon, Micah trailing behind him; which absolutely ruined the chances of Melody ever praying to a God for something again. Dutch looked like he fit in with the group—as he usually dressed slightly fancier than he needed to as an outlaw. "My, you'd have me fooled for Saint Denis gentlemen any day." He commented, turning his gaze to Melody and eyeing her attire for a moment. "And gentlewomen." He added quickly, making her smirk slightly.

Her eyed landed on Micah as Dutch moved out of the way, dragging Trelawny away a moment to speak to him. He wore a creamy-white suit, matching pants and shirt with a gold trail down the collar. It definitely looked weird; seeing Micah all dressed up, but she couldn't exactly say he looked bad. His eyes did a swift scan of her, stuck between uninterested and slightly taken aback.

"I think it'll go pretty good." She said confidently, squeezing herself between Javier and John to avoid having to stand next to Micah more than she'll already be forced to.

"Confident, eh?" Javier responded, handing her his half-used cigarette which she gladly takes, inhaling the smoke into her lungs before it exits through her nose.

She shrugs slightly, with a smug smirk. "I guess so. I trust this was a good choice." She pointed between the three of them, not paying much attention to Micah's scoff which didn't go unnoticed by the two men either.

John was quite amused and giddy all day, excited to watch this all play out before his eyes. "I think Micah's a good choice, too."

Melody nudged him, not caring about Micah's glare between the two. "Don't start." She whispered, eyeing Micah's annoyed expression.

John shrugged and let it go, not wanting to rile the two up more as he still wanted the job to go smooth. Javier watched the banter in silence, but he definitely found it a good show.

Dutch returned with Trelawny, and urged everyone into the wagon. Melody—again—made sure she didn't have to sit next to Micah; or close at all. She sat herself between Javier and John in the back, Micah and Trelawny at the front. She conversed with the two men for a while, the ride being pretty long as they lived two towns over Saint Denis. It took a few hellish hours, but they arrived on time nonetheless.

John exited first, helping Melody out and chuckling as Javier also took his helping hand, the three laughing amongst each other when John acts out the motion of kissing Javier's hand. The jokes and banter ended as soon as her eyes landed on Micah, rolling her eyes and saying bye to the two outlaws as they mouthed 'good luck' to her.

The silence between them was tense and uncomfortable this time. "Okay.. C'mon." She waited for him to do anything; extend his hand for her, hold her by the waist or anything else a couple would do. He looked at her a little dumbfounded, which made her scoff in annoyance. "Goddamn, give me your hand or something." She said.

He gritted his teeth at her attitude, silently putting his hand up to her to hold onto as they began walking to the boat entrance together.

They approached the entrance from the dock and onto the boat. "Bell and.. Mühl." Micah said to a guard with a list—his pronunciation of her last name horrid—a stoic expression on his face which annoyed Melody further. She squeezed his arm a bit, looking at him with a smile and implying for him to do the same. He forced it onto his face, and they got checked in.

"All weapons in here." The guard ordered, Micah pulling his hand back to throw his revolvers into it. The guard eyed Melody as she didn't put anything in.

"What? You expect a woman to be carrying? That's silly." She laughed, expecting him to do the same but he just repeated himself. She groaned, parting the slit going up her thigh slightly and slipping the small dagger she hid in her garter out, tossing it with a sour smile. Micah's lips tugged into a slight smirk, enjoying the small moment a little too much.

She took his hand again, walking with him to the inside of the boat. "Christ, they're strict." She muttered, walking upstairs and through a door to where the party really was.

Micah nodded silently, walking her into the huge room with about four poker and two pool tables. She eyed the lavish decorations for a moment before Benjamin caught her gaze, his unique smile easily recognizable for her. She nudged Micah forward to him. "Don't mess it up." She whispered, which made him scoff discreetly. She really loved testing him.

"Benjamin! Hello, friend." She said, her voice a bit more high-pitched as she walked, holding her hand out to the man. He took it gladly, kissing her gloved knuckles quickly. "This is.. Mr. Bell, the man I spoke of. My man." She immediately thought of washing her mouth out with soap as the words left her mouth.

Benjamin sat her down, flicking his gaze over to the bartender and calling him over. "My, how good it is to see you again, Melody. I've quite missed you." He pampered her with his words, signaling for both of them to take a seat, which they did. Melody put her hands on the bar, followed by Micah who slid one over her hand, making her breath hitch in her throat for a moment. He's really playing the part now.

"What'll it be?" The bartender approached the three.

"A Scotch for me." Melody spoke, Micah nodding in agreement to the choice.

"Just a refill." Benjamin said, sliding his glass to the man.

Melody eyed Micah's hand for a moment before turning her gaze to Benjamin. "Thank you very much for the opportunity tonight, friend." She mused, acting subtly flirtatious, giggling into her free hand as she stared up at him through her lashes with her head angled down slightly.

Benjamin waved it off, the tips of his ears reddening. "It is quite alright, dear." He flicked his gaze to the bartender who slid everyone their drinks, and the three raised their glasses before drinking.

It took a bit of small talk for Benjamin to finally let them start playing, Melody and Micah standing up with their third round of drinks as they walked to one of the poker tables Benjamin instructed them to. "Lose the first, win roughly the rest. You remember what he said, I hope." Melody spoke against his ear. He grunted lowly, sitting down in the last available chair. Seeing as she had to observe and keep close, Melody stood behind Micah with her hands on his shoulders, gently digging her fingertips into the smooth, expensive fabric.

As said, Micah lost the first one. It was a simple win for the other man at the table, a few chips to start. Then, Micah started winning on the higher of biddings, ending up with a hefty amount just from about ten rounds. He managed to stay in and bankrupt most of the players, only two leaving with the little bit of money they had.

The true fun for the both of them was scamming and pickpocketing the bastards; Micah would take their belongings while Melody distracted the men with a hand on the shoulder, a slip-up of her dress's slit, showing off her thighs slightly or straight-up obnoxious flirting. They stuffed everything into Micah's pockets, sharing a few giggles and chuckles with each person they conned.

After about an hour and a half, the four people met up outside for a smoke and to talk. John and Javier were already there and smoking, leaning over the railing with a cigarette each. Micah and Melody walked out soon after they did—right on time, as planned—with Melody still automatically holding onto his arm, and Micah not making an attempt at moving it either.

"Take is looking good." She commented, making the two men turn and lean on the railing behind them, immediately eyeing their arms interwind with one another. Melody noticed and quickly let go, coughing and leaning next to John. "Give me one, I have no pockets." She murmured to John, eyeing his cigarette.

"Mm.. no. You never let me borrow." He teased, putting the cigarette to his lips and blowing the smoke into her face to mock her further. "Should have stuffed it in your garter."

"Boo, you're a horrible friend. Javi?" She stuck her tongue out at John and leaned over, Javier handing her one of his last ones from the box in his pocket. "See how nice he is to me?" She mused, letting Javier light her cigarette.

John scoffed, chuckling lowly. "You said take is looking good?" He repeated her words when they first arrived, watching her take a long drag of the cigarette.

She hummed in agreement, blowing the smoke away from them. "Yes. Micah played a while and Benjamin gave us quite the win." She nodded her head to Micah. "How much?"

Micah recounted the number in his head. "'Round three thousand, bit more."

"Oh, you were not joking! That's damn good, Dutch'll be proud." John replied, inhaling the smoke from his cigarette.

Melody exhaled a cloud of smoke through her nose. "You guys got anything yourselves?" She asks, flicking excess ash off her cigarette.

"We might." Javier butts in into the conversation. "We were eavesdropping a bit, and we might have a good score on a coach near Rhodes. They kept boasting about it, we'll definitely go back to check it out." Javier nods to John who flicks his cigarette off the boat and into the water, and they start walking off. Melody sucks in her left cheek, biting it; she's alone with Micah.

She looks over at him, hands in his pockets and staring at the ground. "Finish the rest." She walks over, handing him the cigarette which he gladly takes—having forgotten some himself. They stand around next to each other—with a hefty amount of space and in silence as Micah finishes the rest of their cigarette. The silences between them seem to get more and more normal as they happen now, because she was quite enjoying it.

"I'm done." He tosses the used cigarette butt into the water.

She looked over at him. "I'm not sure what now. We do have around twenty minutes left and we have to wait on John and Javier." She pursed her lips slightly at the ground.

He gave her that same stare through his usual, half-lidded eyes. "Another drink?" He coughed slightly aside, extending his arm for her. She takes it slowly, both of them still slightly awkward around one another, but it seems to be getting better, somehow.

"I guess three aren't enough for us?" She chuckled faintly, earning another low laugh out of him. Maybe she's wrong; three seems to be doing his personality wonders.

He walked her to the bar, holding his hand out with the other in his pocket. Melody sat down, angling her body to him this time. The bartender shot them a look, and Melody nodded, implying they want a refill of what they've been having.

She fidgeted with her gloved hand, pulling on the space in the glove on her index finger. She didn't know what to say to him; they seemed to hate each other, and the fact that it managed to actually falter during this outing was.. odd. Still—this doesn't mean anything.

"You.. had fun?" He asked suddenly, avoiding her gaze by looking out for the bartender.

She bit the inside of her cheek again before speaking. "Was alright." She responded simply. She wasn't a fan of small talk in general, and it felt even more tense and forced with him. She did enjoy robbing folk with him, but she wasn't ready to admit it to herself, let alone him; they didn't like each other, and a little conning wouldn't fix that.

He hummed lowly, taking his glass which the bartender slid over, along with Melody's. They drank silently for the rest of the time spent at the bar.

Melody traced the rim of the glass with her finger, watching the liquor sway in the glass slowly, mixing with the melting water from the ice cubes inside. A few silent minutes more, John and Javier spotted them and walked over.

"We were right." John said, standing next to Melody with his hand on the bar, hand behind her back.

"Is it any good? Worth it, guarded?" Melody asked, downing her drink and being so ready to finally leave.

Micah follows with his as well, sliding the empty glasses to the bartender with a few coins. He got up, walking next to Melody without her holding on anymore.

They shared another smoke out on the dock, waiting for Trelawny's arrival with the coach, talking about John and Javier's score with the coach. It took him a bit, but it ended up arriving just as they were finishing up, and they sat in the same arrangement as before.

The ride back was just as excruciatingly long and painful as the first time, albeit there were things to talk about since Trelawny seemed quite invested in what it was like.

It was nearing 2 AM when they arrived back into camp, bidding Trelawny farewell and all scattering to their tents for the night. Melody followed as well, finding herself loosening the corset's stings as soon as the flaps of her tent closed, finally exhaling. She was sure her organs turned to mush, but it was worth it. She changed as quick as possible and dropped to her cot, immediately letting her exhaustion overtake her body.

Kudos on AO3 appreciated!! im so sorry about not posting for a while, November is all about exams in Germany and they've been more important to me </3 I'll start posting more of this fic soon, no worries🤍

[leadandblood]

Hi~ Here's some useful info for this blog:

This blog is solely dedicated to The Terror/occasionally the actors.

I'm sorry in advance for talking about incest so much.

Main: @morgan-the-lonely-brick (i follow from there)

AO3: Morgan_the_Lonely_Brick

For my horny Crozier posts, visit @severeomf

Talk shit about Tuunbaq and I will bite you.

My humble archive of production stills, BTS and cast photos: #tom's terror compilation. That, or go to this link to a Google Drive.

I'm basically always taking art and fic suggestions but there's no guarantee when I will get to yours.

Some tags I use:

#mine - things i have made (art/writing/edits)

#fanfic ---- #art ---- #anon ask---- #ask - self explanatory

#bts - behind the scenes photos! I very often forget to tag this... same with:

#stills - production stills! They're mostly from Aidan Monaghan, an on-set photographer.

#fingers in neds mouth day - self explanatory. Writing, fanart as well as just Thoughts.

#jopzier posting - my posts about Jopzier, usually just yelling about screencaps. They tend to come in waves of like 10 posts, so here's a tag to block if you don't want to see all that. I don't put these in the main terror tag.

#coldboytober - a new and developing tag for my October Terror sketches. I take free requests, but check the tag for details

Each character has their own name tag #thomas jopson, etc. And each ship, too. (#jopzier, #joplittle, #fitzier, etc.)

My Terror AUs:

#Feral Jopson - in which Jopson bites. Literally and figuratively.

#insect AU - half insects. The definition of "insect" is very loose, though

#catboy AU - half the men aboard inexplicably wake up as cat boys one day

#Crozcest - An AU in which Jopson, Little and Crozier are related. 95% smut, the rest is unresolved trauma. Enter at your own risk. The fics are on the bottom of this post. #Thinking abt them... 🚬 As a tag for other people's posts that remind me of them.

My fanfics:

Mostly Crozier/Jopson. Be aware they get increasingly unhinged as the list goes on. Clicking the title will take you to the fic on AO3. READ THE TAGS. This is DEAD DOVE territory. There's innocent fluff, too, though.

From oldest to newest:

To be loved...

Rescue AU. Crozier/Jopson/Fitzjames, fluff, 1,458 w.

Summary: Post rescue, James is recovering from scurvy and the other two help him relax and fall asleep.

Flutter

Insect AU. Crozier/Fitzjames, fluff, 2,393 w.

Summary: Post walk-out. Crozier can't sleep, but neither can Fitzjames. They fix it by cuddling.

A Rabid Dog

Feral Jopson AU. Crozier/Jopson, violent, 894 w.

Summary: Jopson tears Hickey to death with his teeth. Crozier seems to like it. Praise and cannibalism kink??

Jopson is a good boy (who bites)

Feral Jopson AU. Crozier/Jopson, threats of violence, 645 w.

Summary: Jopson is posessive over Crozier and wants to ensure people don't even think of messing with his captain.

The Beast is Tamed (For Now)

Feral Jopson AU. Crozier/Jopson, 822 w.

Summary: Jopson gets some praise and a chocolate, then licks Crozier's hand clean. Bonus background Fitzier.

Eternity

Jopson lives. Crozier/Jopson (?), near death, 748 w.

Summary: Jopson is dying, but right before it happens, Crozier comes to rescue him. Mostly Jopson's thoughts.

Broken, Beaten and Built Up Again

Near canon, Crozier/Jopson, during ep 6, 23,401 w, WIP.

Summary: Crozier goes through withdrawal, but at least Jopson is there to make it better. They both also have things to unpack.

Mandatory Nap-Time

Crozier/Little, fluff, 1,522 w.

Summary: Perscribed cuddles to boost morale. Little comes to Crozier with a cuddle request and he accepts.

Bring him back, whatever it takes

Crozier/Jopson, DEAD DOVE do not eat! 2,250 w.

Summary: Crozier dies during withdrawal and Jopson does the unimaginable just to bring him back (It works. Sex necromancy, yes)

Smells Like Honey, Feels Like Home

Insect AU. Collins/Goodsir/Little/Jopson, fluff, 5,736 w.

Summary: The bee cuddle pile (Collins, Goodsir, Little) might just be able to fit a wasp in too (Jopson)

A Fun Fact About Apples

Crozcest AU. Jopson/Little, incest, DEAD DOVE do not eat, 1,002 w.

Summary: Tom and Ned's feelings for eachother are complicated, but at least they can still frott while talking about Francis... They're rough and mean to one another

... They Don't Fall Far From the Tree

Crozcest AU. Jopson/Little/Crozier, incest, DEAD DOVE do not eat, 17,334 w. WIP.

Summary: Crozier joins his sons to have some fun, but he mostly watches. Please just read the tags, there's too many layers of messed up to this...

[kalevalakryze]

Scary Whatnow?

Fandom: Star Wars - All Media Types  Pairings: Shin Hati/ Sabine Wren, Ahsoka Tano/Hera Syndulla, Baylan Skoll/Morgan Elsbeth, Admiral Holdo/Leia Organa Characters: Shin Hati, Sabine Wren, Hera Syndulla, Ahsoka Tano, Baylan Skoll, Morgan Elsbeth, Garazeb Orrelios, Professor Huyang, Marrok, Admiral Holdo, Hamato Xiono, Grand Admiral Thrawn, Leia Organa  Tags: Spooks and Frights and Gaslights! Bullying, Babysitter Chopper, Jacen Syndulla is Tuckered out behind the scenes, Scary Godmother 2003, Vampires, Werewolves, Monsters, Skeletons, (Is That A Fucking Twink?), Feral Shin Hati, Sabine Wren Needs a Hug, Protective Ahsoka Tano, Protective Hera Syndulla, Alternate Universe - I Don’t Know What To Call This One, No Powers, Marrok Redemption Story, My Little He/Him Lesbian Fart Boy, Vape God Marrok , Graphic Description of a Reanimated Corpse, Violence Notes: For Ahsoka Events; Halloween Party! Based on the 2003 film “Scary Godmother”  Word Count: 5,764 AO3 Link: Here!

Sabine’s boot scuffed against the dirt and leaves piled against the crickety wood to the porch of the old mansion, the rumors around the building were numerous and varying, all the Mandalorian had been able to gather had been some old war General snapping and killing his wife, Skywalker something or another. It was before Sabine’s time, leaving the local kids to fill the gaps in the police reports with all kinds of stories of aliens, ghosts, and small green goblins of all kinds. 

Apparently, it was some kind of tradition to make the new kid on the block offer candy to the spirits that still roamed the halls of the old family home, and Sabine was unfortunate enough to be the newest addition to the small Coruscanti cul-de-sac when Thrawn found out she didn’t have any plans (or friends) that Halloween, he was quick to sink his talons into her calendar. 

Golden eyes flickered back to the group of teenagers by the rusted gate, huffing at the mirth in red eyes Thrawn watched on. “You’re not… scared, are you?” Xiono called, the cardboard of his starship costume creaking as he waved his arms.

“Di’kute…” The young woman grumbled, pointedly ignoring the way Leia and Holdo ganged up on the pilot and the devil to quiet their taunts. Several pairs of feet soon shuffled to join her on the porch, under Leia’s scrutinizing gaze. 

“All together, if you’re going to be a Moof Milker about it, Thrawn,” She scolded as they stomped up the stairs together. 

“Can we get this over with already?” Amilyn called from the back of the group as she worked her way to Leia’s side, purple-painted lips drawn into a pout as she moved to Leia’s side, fingers brushing the cheap felt of the cat tail pinned to black pants. “Some of us have plans tonight,”

“E chu ta,” Sabine huffed, not bothering with the older woman’s reaction to her language as she turned the knob and shouldered the front door open. 

Dust was disturbed from the wooden door creaking against moldy carpet; Sabine had the foresight to tuck her mouth and nose into the dark orange bandana around her neck, smiling to herself at the round of hacking and wheezing coughs from the older kids behind her. 

The floorboards groaned and complained under her feet as she stepped into the entryway, leaving imprints in the shaggy maroon carpet as the gaggle of teenagers pushed onwards. “They say the senator’s spirit still lives in the basement,” Thrawn called in a low whisper as they moved through dilapidated halls, veering out of the way of sagging wallpaper and broken beams the whole way, occasionally reaching with her plastic Nerf revolver to swat away at various webs. 

The basement door sat off the kitchen, bubbling tile warping the floors, where termites ate away at the wooden doorframe, the metal of the dozen padlock brackets just barely holding on to the feeble supports. When Thrawn spoke next, it was from further away, Sabine didn’t have the foresight to notice that the others hadn’t followed them this deep inside, didn’t notice that the moment her hand wrapped around the dirty bronze knob to pull the door open, she was alone. 

The festering lamination of the tiles made it hard to wrench the door open, and there was a gross squish as she finally got it to swing forward on corroded hinges. The smell that floated up to meet her was vile, making her wish she’d followed her gut and snagged her respirator from the garage before she’d left, even if it didn’t go with the costume. 

Something slammed near the front of the house, shaking the whole building; She couldn’t hear anything but the groans of the old house, no shuffling of feet or smacking of lips from Holdo and Organa, not even snickering laughter from Xiono. Fear sparked into her veins in silence. She was no stranger to being alone, or even the prospect of death that hung in the air with the tragedy of the old family legacy. 

Rifling through the cheap leather pouches on her bandolier, Sabine pulled the inexpensive treat from the melty confines of her belt, chucking it down into the abyss with a sigh. 

She wasn’t expecting any kind of spiritual response, the dollar candy bar wouldn’t rewrite the wrongs committed to these people, wouldn’t somehow prevent tragedy worldwide; she was just appeasing some jackass kids so she wouldn’t have to be entirely alone this year, with Tristain going off to some fancy Saxon academy, and her father away for the year for his art. 

Of course, nothing ever seemed to work out the way Sabine thought it would when the foundation of the house rumbled with the predatory sound of a growl rumbling through someone’s chest.

Sabine turned tail immediately, not waiting to stick around when she caught sight of glowing blue illuminated in the basement stairwell, or the quickening thuds of two pairs (?) of feet rushing up the steps. The entire gang was gone, as Sabine made a mad dash for the front door, heartbeat thudding so loud in her ears that she couldn’t make out the exasperation of someone’s voice calling out.

“Ahsoka! Stop! You’re scaring her!” 

Sabine’s hands fumbled with the knob to the front door, twisting and pulling to no avail, she could make out the faint snickering of Thrawn and Xiono on the other side of the wood, and knew they were holding the heavy door shut for whatever prank they were playing; That’s all this was-

Sabine turned to reprimand the older teenagers that decided to play tricks, to kick their asses and show them why you didn’t mess with a Mandalorian; and was stopped dead in her tracks.

Her oppressors, a Twi’lek and a Togruta, were stopped just six feet away. 

From the decaying, rotting, green skin that clung to the remains of a skeleton on the Twi’lek, Sabine was forced to face the fact that maybe these weren’t some special effects majors playing into Thrawn’s games. 

“What the kriff is going on,” She gasped, out of breath and exasperated, unable to get the door open and escape the slow advance of the reanimated corpse and the samurai-coded beast beside her. “Don’t move,” She ordered with a snap, back pressing into the frigid coolness of the door, hands curling into fists as she raised them to defend herself. 

“Hey, hey! It’s okay, we aren’t going to hurt you,” The zombified woman started, holding her hands out in a soothing manner, which may have been the case if it weren’t for the missing and splintered pieces of bone all across her dead hands. 

“I’m,” A mottled elbow into the thin space between rusty armor plates. “We’re your scary godparents,” The Togruta’s growl had finally ceased; her voice was raspy from the continued sound, eyes dulling as they reacquainted with the moonlight pouring in through the dusty paned glass. 

“My fucking what?”

“Told you she wasn’t going to believe you,” The zombie cackled, earning a roll of predatory eyes. 

The Togruta took another step forward; Heart beating faster than her brain, the Mandalorian moved, one foot planting firmly in the squishy carpet as she wound up, sending her fist flying towards the orange woman.

“Mandalorians,” The zombie groaned with a sigh, stepping back just in time for golden eyes to catch the quirk of full lips around bloody fangs, just before the world went black. Her body dropped like a sack of bricks under the Samurai wanna-be’s hand, slotted up under the leather of her vest to press into her pulse points. 

Something wet was sniffing at her arm, fast inhales around flaring nostrils as they moved up her body, too close to her ear.

“Zeb, cut it out, I’m not going to stop her from kicking your ass if she wakes up to you being weird,” 

“What? I’m starving, and you know how good they make food in the West.” A gruff voice whined too close to her ear. 

“She’s Mandalorian, not your weird Wild West barbeque.” The Togruta from earlier chimed in. The sound of a scuffle roused Sabine further from the thick haze of sleep, eyes cracking open to the sight of a hairy, dirty… something being dragged away from her. 

“Aww, come on!” He complained loudly as he was pulled away from his meal, large arms crossing over his chest in a grotesque version of a pout as the orange woman easily manhandled him into another cobweb-ridden couch.

“What the kriff is going on?” Her voice was painfully thick in her mouth, pain spreading noticeably from her jaw. The small gaggle of noise around her came to an immediate halt.

“Lady Tano, I thought you said she would not be awake any time soon,” Someone from behind her chimed in. 

“I also said your read on her was wrong, Huyang,”

Sabine was forcing herself to sit up, blinking away the dizziness that came with the pounding in her head. She’d been knocked out more than enough times to understand by now that she’d been pretty effectively put down. “If someone doesn’t start talking-”

A cold, dead hand settled on her shoulder, freezing her words in her throat as her head turned, reminded instantly of the corpse that had been in her weird, fucked up, apparently not-a-dream memories. “I wouldn’t try that again, kid. Really,”

“Hera, you’re givin’ the kid a heart attack- er… humans still have hearts, right?” The purple…. Thing called from the other couch, rubbing at the thick hair on the back of his neck as he sat up, unsettling orange-green eyes peering almost through Sabine. “You good, kid? Or am I getting dinner tonight?”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck… yeah, and… what the fuck?” Sabine whispered under the attention of three sets of eyes. 

“Hey, that’s no language someone your age should be using!” The zombified Twi’lek reprimanded, though her hand did finally raise from her shoulder to rest back in her lap, the remains of bony fingers picking at what was left of the skin on her hands. “I know this is a lot, and we definitely did not go about this the right way-”

The Togruta was too close, now, though she chose to crowd the corpse instead, large, lively, warm hands encasing pale green comfortingly, almost breathing life back into a long-dead body, Sabine had to tear her eyes away, finding the rooting wood leg of the coffee table to press the scuffed up toe of her boot into, watching the give of the dampened material to avoid the intruding feeling of the mushiness beside her.

“What Hera’s trying to do is apologize on my behalf. How’s your face?” Her fingers linked through green, preventing the Twi’lek from picking at her skin further. “I didn’t expect to lay you out like a baby getting drop-kicked by a gundark.”

“ ‘m fine, but some answers would be nice,” Her fingers raised to prod at what was probably already an ugly bruise, skin twinging under the press against abused flesh. Her elbows planted firmly into her knees, her body doubled over as she studied her still swaying surroundings. “What the kriff is that?”

“Oh, that’s just Huyang,” The zombie, Hera, corrected with a dismissive shrug. The… Huyang must have been a droid, at some point in its existence, though now, it resembled a human skeleton in all the worst ways, with its not-so-internal hardware dangling in the design of organs, caged in by durasteel bones that seemed to barely want to stay attached. Glowing yellow eyes watched her with something like disdain.

“Lady Wren,” The droid creaked out in an echoing voice that grated at her eardrums. 

Sabine’s weight shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hands laying flat against her thighs, wiping sweat from her palms as she tried to subtly inch her hand towards the bowie knife her Buir had given her before he’d left for his tour. 

“Sabine,” The Togruta called, the next thing the teenager knew, a large hand was laying on her hand, halting her slow ascent for her weapon.”If you’d like, I can take you back; I know we didn’t handle this one great;”

“An understatement,” Hera grumbled under her breath.

“Every now and then, a child will be picked, and assigned to somebody on the fright side,” Finally, some answers. Sabine allowed her attention to focus entirely on the almost ethereal woman before her, sinking back into the cushions under the warm press of a large hand against her own; Maybe the woman really was breathing life back into people. “We got you a little late, most of the time, they give us kids that believe in monsters-”

“Like that Ezra kid on Lothal,” Zeb grumbled with a throaty chuckle. “Five years later, still screams like it’s day one,”

“You know Ezra?” Sabine butted it, brows knotting as she glanced between them. 

“He was one of our first contracts; We get sent to kids when they need us most.”

Sabine scoffed, pulling her hand from Ahsoka’s to cross over her chest. “Not all the time,”

“You were very difficult to get a track on, on the other side. Mandalore-” Sabine flinched visibly. “Was never the easiest place to connect to.”

“So what, you’re like a fairy godmother or some Bantha shit?”

A smile cracked the woman’s lips. “Scary godmother, yes. I suppose you may have gotten hit a little too hard to remember...”

A ringing yell startled the Mandalorian as it echoed through the building, “Oh! Royalty’s here!” Huyang called, allowing Sabine a reprieve from the overwhelming presence as she turned to shoulder past him for the front door. “Excuse you, I’ve known Lord Baylan longer,” The droid protested as he was bumped with a hip out of the way.

“Yeah, that probably explains a lot,” Ahsoka remarked teasingly as she pulled several locks from the door.

Leaning towards Hera, Sabine watched the droid and Togruta bickering. “Who is she again?”

“Ahsoka Tano, but your world might know her more as Fulcrum,” The woman replied warmly as her hands twisted together in her lap once more, yellowed nails skirting harmlessly off her skin to both ease the desire to pick at her hands, and to avoid pulling away more skin, for Ahsoka’s sake. 

“Yeah, she eats kids, ya’know,” Zeb husked with a twitch of purple lips, sharp canines peeking past his lips. 

“Garazeb Orrelios, you know that isn’t true.”

The Lasat waved his hand dismissively, pushing himself off the couch with a groan. “Is there any food?” He grumbled, rubbing his stomach as it growled. “I’m starving.”

Sabine met his gaze with daggers of her own as he looked at her, her own lips twitching into a victorious smile as he grumpily looked away under the burning gaze of the woman beside her. “Last year, you annihilated the buffet before half of our guests even arrived!” The droid called, glowing yellow eyes narrowing as he rolled up a paper plate to smack the Lasat on the arm.

“Kids,” Ahsoka chided as she stepped through the open archway that divided the living room from the main house. “Best behavior,”  

Behind her stood a towering figure that demanded more attention than any of the variety of beings in the home. White hair with equally pale skin, eyes redder than sin itself, and a jawline that could cut ancestral beskar.

Next to the strange man, a much shorter woman stood, poised in a similar way that demanded her attention. Her hair, brown and blonde and peppered with grey, was pulled into tight, intricate braids across the top of her head. Black ink wove together to create half-moons in her skin, namely, at the base of her head, though Sabine could see the tip of more ink breaching out across her chest, under the blood-red silk wrapped around her frame.

Tucked behind them both stood a blonde teenager, lanky and brooding, hands shoved into the dark leather wrapped around their waist, style taking on a minimal earth tone compared to the two adults closing them in. Choppy blonde hair was adorned with a braid and a green gem woven into the strands where it fell past her collarbone. 

Really, the group looked almost like the most normal ones there, besides the lone human brought into the fold. When the man smiled to the room, Sabine felt unease stir, warm lights reflecting off the tip of sharp, white fangs. 

Her ears rang, too loud to hear the shorter woman as she greeted the others, but again, golden eyes didn’t miss the similar set of fangs in her mouth. “ ‘think I need to go,” She half grumbled to Hera as she shot to her feet, feeling eyes settling on her that made her queasy. “Bathroom?”

“Down the hall, here,” Hera tried to point her in the right direction, though Sabine was only half paying attention as she stumbled across the expanse of the living room and to the hall.

“Going somewhere?” The voice was light, haunted with hunger, hidden in the false intentions of genuine interaction. 

Golden eyes raised to meet sanguine, bristling under the memory of a man draped in black, a man who’d chased her people from their homes and left drained corpses in his wake. “Far away from you,” Sabine hissed, trying to shoulder past the blonde. She could hear the grumble of the adults in the room at the end of the hall, and knew that even their proximity could not save her if this vampire desired; she’d seen the stories, knew what had happened to her uncle Paz, right in front of Mandalore’s ruler. 

“Shin,” A strong voice called from the end of the hall. It was the man from earlier, another bloodsucker. His frame took up the entire hall, yet, he did not seem over-imposing, even offering Sabine a look of almost sympathy. “She is not from this world, you must remember to play nice.” 

Red eyes looked her up and down once, twice, and once again before realization dawned on the teenager’s face. “You’re a human?” They questioned in morbid curiosity, brows pinching together as she stepped back.  They looked to Baylan with uncertainty, though the slow dip of his head seemed to convey his silent confirmation. 

“What the fuck else would I be?” Sabine shot back, heckles still raised even as the vampire regarded her with a morbid curiosity

“A pain in the ass, apparently,” They grumbled, lips twisting sourly at the sharp red gaze of who, Sabine could only assume, was their father, sent her way. 

“Shin, come. Leave Sabine Wren to her devices, Marrok is due to arrive shortly,” His hand extended to the young vampire, who bowed her head in turn and stepped readily to his side. 

Sabine released a slow breath as her path was reopened, only nodding her mild appreciation to the Vampire Lord for the save, before pushing bodily into the creaky door of the bathroom. 

The mirror was dirty and streaky, with green and brown lines seemingly permanent across the glass, distorting the woman in the mirror as she stepped into it. 

Ahsoka really did deal a number on her, the olive skin around her jaw was mottled with purple, blue, and green blossoming across her jaw in a morbid canvas. “Karabast,” She groaned, turning her head this way and that with a frown. That was going to be a hard one to explain… or not, since Thrawn and Xiono practically trapped her in the Skywalker’s home; Hell, maybe she was even going to wake up and find out she just fell down the stairs.

When Sabine swung the door open, she jumped at the sight that met her. A man, towering over her like the Vampire had, with a murky aurora and a helmet covering his entire face from view. Wisps of green smoke filtered from the mask as he seemingly stared listlessly at her. 

“Fuck!” She jumped, shoulder smacking painfully into the doorframe as she smacked into it to get around him. “E Chu Ta!” She spouted as adrenaline filled her veins, urging her hurried steps down the hall, contrasting the slow, purposeful steps he took to follow her. 

Back in the living room, Sabine made quick work of getting Ahsoka between the daunting figure and herself, even reaching to fist her fingers in the fabric of the cloak that sat around her shoulders. “Marrok, down boy,” She teased with a soft laugh as his steps slowed to a halt. “You’re scaring her this time,”

“I am not scared,” The Mandalorian disagreed vehemently, brows pinching in annoyance as she peered around the predatory warrior’s shoulder, allowing the Togruta to shield her from the ghastly figure’s gaze. 

Marrok shifted to meet her eyes again, The Mandalorian bared her teeth, shoving her hand into her pocket and whipped out the pocket flashlight that her mother had made her grab before leaving. The light shined into his face, yellow-white peering into a mask… except, there was no face, or eyes, or anything solid to be seen through the small slit. 

“What the fuck?” It was quickly becoming her favorite phrase, at least, in this weird… Monster House. 

“Eh, that’s just Marrok,” The Lasat called as he stuffed a handful of candied meiloorun into his mouth, chewing loudly as he lounged next to Baylan, seemingly undisturbed by the vampire Lord’s disturbed gaze. “He’s a fart,” 

“Why hasn’t she come out yet?” Leia called, worrying at the skin of her lip as she peered towards the door. They’d heard Sabine pounding on it almost an hour ago, when Thrawn was insistent on holding it closed despite the Mandalorian’s best efforts. 

“You don’t think something might have actually been in there…” Holdo started, brows furrowing up at the gloomy porch, kicking the toe of her shoe into the overgrown grass. 

“Trick or treating is almost done, Thrawn, can’t we just leave her here?” Xiono complained, hooking his thumb under the nylon strap keeping his costume up, shifting the weight where it pressed against his shoulders. 

“No,” Thrawn hissed, resting his chin against his knuckles as red eyes flickered across the building. 

“This isn’t funny anymore,” Xiono shook his head, arms crossing over his chest and crinkling the cardboard tubes of one of his turrets in his pout. 

“We’ll go in and get Wren, then.” He decided ultimately, brushing fuzz from the cheap blue horns on his head. “Organa, you lead,” The young Alderaanian glared at him, but still bravely forged on to the front door.

It took time for Sabine to calm down and get into the vibe of the party, but between the different monsters, she found that they were genuinely more fun to hang out with than any of the friends she’d made in the city so far, except for maybe Ketsu, but she moved. 

Shin sidled up to her with a minor look of disgust pulling at her normally impassive features. “My parents are necking again,” She explained, red eyes casting towards the corner; the sight of the towering man practically folded over his wife was almost comical, though Sabine cringed sympathetically.

“Gross,” 

“So what is a human doing at the fright night party this year?” They were turned towards her fully, arms crossed over the grey angular tunic across her chest.

“Really? I have no clue. Went into an abandoned house, got decked in the face,” Sabine nodded her head towards Ahsoka with a sheepish smile, though her demeanor faltered when gloved hands rose to her face. “What are you..?”

Shin stilled, seemingly surprised by the way they were reaching out for Sabine with two fingers. Brows pinching, they forged forward, until the cool leather of her gloves brushed across the bruised skin of her jaw, skin covering the blossom of blood beneath the surface. Sabine watched with bated breath, weight shifting between her feet as the blonde finished her inspection in silence. “Why would you go into an abandoned building?” They questioned, breath just above a whisper, head cocking cutely to the side in a way that didn’t make butterflies flutter in the Mandalorian’s stomach. 

“Just a stupid kriffing dare,” Sabine grumbled, stepping away from the wall she’d made herself at home against to drop down into one of the open couches, tucking her feet up under her as her lips twisted into a scowl. The young vampire perched on the cushion on the opposite end, fingers twisting up the woolen fabric of her kama where it came to rest at their knees. “They wanted to ‘trap’ me in the house to see how scared I’d get,” Her eyes rolled as she sunk back into the couch, arms crossed moodily over chest. 

“Have you considered revenge?” Shin questioned, eyes narrowed dangerously as the tight-knit group of party-goers not so subtly listened into their conversation.

The Mandalorian scoffed pathetically. “Try going against Thrawn? Alone? Might as well move into massacre mansion alone,” 

“There is…. Another way,” Huyang perked up, looking between his companions with something as close to devilish mirth as a neutral droid face could muster.

“Revenge is groovy,” Baylan remarked, thumbs awkwardly extended as he glanced at the younger compatriots to their grand scheme. 

“This is so embarrassing, I could just live.”  Shin’s face dropped into her hands, groaning at the laugh that bubbled past Sabine's lips, freely into the night as everyone began brainstorming the best revenge. 

“Alright, Thrawn, stop playing around, where is she?” Leia demanded as her flashlight cast shadows across the walls, eyes narrowed in growing frustration as she followed the imprinted footsteps across old carpet. 

“How am I supposed to know?” He hissed back, following the tracks with a contemplative look. “Sabine was not the only one in here,” He declared, following the dirt tracks into the old kitchen, where the basement door was wedged open. 

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Sabine whispered, staring up at Shin as the vampire’s fang pressed into their pale wrist, painting dark blood across the shorter woman’s forehead and chin as she went.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” They grumbled lowly, tongue poking past their lips as she worked in the dark, making Sabine out to look as roughed up as possible. “Though it would be easier if you let me take a bite,” incarnadine eyes followed the path of her jugular, hidden beneath layers of skin that made her teeth itch to think about. 

Before Sabine could reply, Shin’s hand was pressing into her mouth, body covering Sabine’s as she was shoved back up against the wall. “Game time,” They husked into her ear, eyes flickering back to signal the advancement of her peers. 

Their hand carded through her hair harshly, though the restraint was tangible as they ‘forced’ Sabine’s head back. “Hey!” She shouted as the gaggle of teens passed, shoving harshly against Shin as she reached for her belt, where her flashlight was tucked into easy reach.

Noticing the struggle, Holdo and Leia were the first to rush to her aid. “Get off of her!” Leia shouted, yanking on the vampire's shoulder to break them apart. Even knowing the plan, the hunger that took over Shin’s face scared even Sabine, frozen for a millisecond as the blonde turned to advance on her four ‘saviors.’

Slipping the flashlight from her belt, Sabine flashed it at the side of Shin’s head, fighting off the smile on her lips from the overdramatic way the other teenager flung themselves back, trying to avoid the light as her arm raised to shield sensitive eyes from overbearing light. 

Their back hit the wall next, shrinking into the cape around their shoulders with fangs bared, their own blood still smeared against their lips to create a horrifying visage. “What are you waiting for?! Run!” She shouted to the group, forcing her own feet to move, shoving into Thrawn and Xiono to kickstart the process. 

Bursting from another hall came the towering figure of Baylan, fury in his eyes as he looked between his crumpled daughter and the frantic teens. Morgan moved swiftly between him and the doorframe to step in their path, the pair all but closing them in as more activity started in the house. 

With lightning speed, Sabine flashed the light to shine against the predatory creatures of the night. Like mother-like daughter, Morgan dramatically fell back into Baylan, knocking him off balance and sending both vampires careening to the floor with a loud thud. “Don’t stop!” She shouted again, thighs burning as they scrambled through the winding halls of a half-deconstructed building, fighting to find the exit. 

Again, a predatory growl seemed to permeate the structure of the home, the rumble from the Togruta’s chest casting across the halls, overpowering the sound of the group's feet as they raced down the back stairwell. Thrawn stopped, eyes searching in a way that was almost frantic as Ahsoka prowled closer. 

Before he knew it, a hand shot through the drywall, green and decaying, bones scraping against the rough material of his jacket, blue-hued blood staining the fabric in a way Sabine knew would eventually blend into the blue devil costume he’d donned that day. 

Sabine threw herself into the green forearm, wincing internally at the crack; Apparently, the zombified Twi’lek wouldn’t be hurt, and reattaching the limb was an easy process, Sabine just had to trust that her impact wouldn’t ruin the recovery, as the woman’s arm gave way under her body weight, snapping with a sickly wet sound before going limp again the door. “You need to keep moving,” She hissed darkly in Thrawn’s ear, shoving him through his paralysis as the growling grew nearer. 

The next stop on their haunted escape room tour was be the dining hall; Sabine wound up running into Leia’s back and stumbling, hand shooting out to catch herself on the table. In front of the only entrance, the ghastly form of Marrok stood to greet them. He was silent, now, but green smoke poured from his mask like a machine at a cheap Imperial Academy dance. 

If he’d scared her before, seeing him in his prime was enough to put genuine fear in her bones. His fingers flexed around nothing as the empty helmet gaped at them, though when he took his first step forward, Sabine shoved between Organa and Holdo, once again shining the flashlight into his face.

This time, instead of finding amusement in her actions, Marrok froze, the leather of his suit bubbling grossly, like the flooring in the kitchen, before he popped like a swollen balloon, green mist escaping into the air, just to be swept back into the dark, leaving only his helmet behind. “Is he dead?” Xiono questioned, weight shifting awkwardly as he tried to hide himself behind Thrawn.

“How about we don’t stick around to find out,” Sabine hissed as the growling grew closer. “There’s the door,” Once again shoving harshly at their backs, Sabine herded the group back into the entryway. If the portrait of the old Senator moved to watch Leia pass by it, the Mandalorian heeded it no mind, heralding everyone to the door. 

“It won’t budge!” Thrawn called, his brows furrowing as he pulled on it. Through the darkness of the glass window, Sabine saw an outline of a skeletal droid, and knew Huyang was offering revenge in the simplest form his morality would allow. 

“Gotal’ad, you’re a dink!” She hissed, shoving past him to tug on the knob. Brass gave easily under her hand, though she swung the door inwards slow enough to give the droid on the other side a chance. 

“Sabine!” Leia called, turning with eyes widened in fear; Ahsoka stood at the end of the entryway, eyes narrowed and fangs bared, muscles taut like a predatory ready to jump on its prey.

“Get out of here!” She shoved the others behind her, stepping forward to meet Ahsoka halfway. 

Before her first connected, she saw a sparkle of mirth in the Togruta’s eyes; It wasn’t a hard hit by any means, but the woman played it off perfectly, crumpling to the ground the moment the Mandalorian’s fist hit her face. 

Sabine turned, kicking out the toe of her boot to swing the door closed one last time. “Are you okay?” She whisper yelled, crouching down beside the woman.

“Hey, you heard Lord Baylan, revenge is groovy,” A toothy smile crossed her face as she forced herself to sit up, the other monsters started slowly making their way into the entry way. 

“Well. That was… Wizard.” Morgan commented as she brushed off her robes, pointedly ignoring the look of utter disgust and horror that crossed the blonde’s face. 

“You better get out there, Lady Wren,” Huyang spoke up, lifting Marrok’s helm from the floor and holding it out until the green mist shot back into the room and swirled inside it, returning the monster to his corporeal form. 

“Will I…” Golden eyes flickered around the room; To Hera, who was straightening her broken arm and flexing her fingers to be sure she was working again, Baylan, who was fussing over the incision Shin had bitten into their arm for the blood, Morgan, still laughing at her joke, Huyang and Marrok, being general terrifying, and Ahsoka, still sat on the floor, rubbing at the blossoming bruise on her cheek.

“Will I ever see you guys again?” She asked finally, scuffing her boot into the carpet and averting her eyes. 

“Of course!” Hera stepped forward, cold hand resting on Sabine’s shoulder. “Ahsoka, do you have the key?”

“I thought you had it?” She teased, reaching into a pouch on her belt to produce a small key. “Fit this into *any* door, and you’ll be home.” Ahsoka handed it up to Sabine, letting the purple-haired woman turn it around in her hands for a moment. “We’ll always be here when you need us, but right now, I believe they need you.” 

Through the door, Sabine could hear Xiono shouting. “Nuh-uh! I am not going home without the Mandalorian,” 

When the door forced open again, Thrawn was met with the sight of Sabine standing over the ‘corpse’ of the venomous Togruta, and nothing more. “Lady Wren, would you do us all a favor and see us back to our dwellings?”

Staring down at Ahsoka, she caught the twitch of the woman’s lips. “Yeah, let’s go,” She turned, folding the key into her pocket as she pulled her flashlight back out. “I’ll keep you safe, Thrawn.”

Translations: Di'kute - Idiots (Mando'a) E Chu Ta - along the lines of 'fuck you' (Huttese)

[bastardbystander]

stepping back from my usual ASOIAF posts, I re-posted my Criminal Minds fic for the people !! Snippet below & more tags on ao3 !!

Snippet:

“Are you hard, Love?” he asked, reaching out to trace his finger up Spencer’s thigh.

“N-No,” Spencer said, biting his lip and watching as Derek’s finger traveled higher.

“Don’t lie, Baby,” Derek scolded, moving the book onto the duvet for a better look at the bulge between his legs. “Good boys tell the truth.”

Spencer’s breath hitched as Derek climbed up to straddle his lap, smirking down at him with an evil glint in his eyes.

“You gonna be a good boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” Spencer breathed.

OR Spencer Reid reads Cheesy Romance Novels and wants to try one out with his wonderful boyfriend Derek Morgan

[officialgleamstar]

2023 Writing Round-Up

Rules: Share what you wrote this year! It can be works you posted to Ao3, Wattpad, Tumblr, or anywhere else! You can share everything you wrote or just the ones you’re most excited about.

thank you @bidoofenergy for the tag :D it is, like. a little embarrassing to realize how obvious it is when the dndads hyperfixation started XD i opted for sharing everything, but i highlighted the best stuff (in my opinion) 👍 italics for stuff i love, bold and italics for my favorites. also a warning for a rare time that i link my nsfw fics from this account, mind the ratings

tagging: open tag!! do this if it seems fun. and @ me in it so i can see. pspspspspspsps

january

with words i thought i'd never speak | aftg, andrew/kevin (background kandreil) | <1k words, rated G

swamp talks | naddpod, hardwon & moonshine | 1k words, rated G

feburary

a sweet revelation | naddpod, beverly/erlin | 1.1k words, rated G

and still i will live here | drawtectives, grendan/york (background polytectives) | <1k words, rated G

march

this is your brand new brother | naddpod, jens & nyack | 2.8k words, rated T

(can you kiss me more?) | crossover (drawtectives & naddpod), grendan/hardwon (background polytectives) | 7.2k words, 3/3 chapters, rated T

i lie awake and dream about you | dndads, darryl/henry (one-sided) | 1.3k words, rated T

april

quiet morning | dndads, darryl/glenn/henry | <1k words, rated T

infinitesimal | dndads, nicky & taylor | 2.2k words, rated T

underneath this flickering light | dndads, henry & lark, lark/nicky | 2.1k, rated T

(beautiful beautiful beautiful) beautiful boy | dndads, nicky & taylor | 1.2k words, rated G

'cause now we don't sing so loud | dndads, grant & sparrow | 2.2k words, rated T

wolf time | dndads, henry & sparrow, lark & sparrow | 1.4k words, rated G

cotton candy | dndads, erica/scary | 1.2k words, rated T

give me a try | dndads, cassandra/nicky | 1.7k words, rated T

cracked lips and hands, calloused hands | dndads, lark/nicky | 5.5k words, rated E

a kiss good night | dndads, lark & normal, hero & lark | 2.2k words, rated G

so where do we begin? | dndads, glenn/henry | 6.3k words, rated T

may

there must be more than blood | dndads, lark & nick & sparrow | 2.2k words, rated T

handsome | dndads, henry & sparrow, lark & sparrow | 2.5k words, rated G

here (in your arms) | drawtectives, grendan/rosé/york | <1k words, rated T

the full moon. | dndads, lark & sparrow | 3k words, rated T

Divorced Dad Rock Mix | dndads, darryl/glenn | 5.4k words, 2/6 chapters, rated E

hard-boiled | dndads, nicky & sparrow | <1k words, rated T

june

later | dndads, carol & darryl | 1k words, rated T

your love is tried and true-blue | dndads, normal/scary | 4.7k words, rated T

smitten | dndads, jodie/ron | <1k words, rated T

july

existing filled with love and grace | dndads, autumn/ron's mom | 1.4k words, rated G

vanilla ice cream | dndads, lincoln/taylor | <1k words, rated T

familiar routines | dndads, jodie/morgan | <1k words, rated T

domestic bliss | dndads, nicky/terry | <1k words, rated G

never go to bed mad | dndads, nicky/sparrow | <1k words, rated G

you know i love you, right? | dndads, lark & normal | 3.2k words, rated T

august

skip to the good part | dndads, normal/scary | 1.9k words, rated G

soccer practice | dndads, lincoln/scary | <1k words, rated G

unconditional affection | dndads, autumn/ron's mom | <1k words, rated G

stick something in it | dndads, bill/willy | 2.9k words, rated E

dog show | dndads, jodie/ron | <1k words, rated G

these feelings, they're not gone | amphibia, anne/sasha | 2.9k words, rated G

rational and level-headed | dimension 20, cody/pete, maddie/pete | 2.9k words, 1/? chapters, rated T | collaboration with @poluche334 for podtogether :D

september

tying you to me | dndads, lincoln/normal | 1.1k words, rated G

i got a love that keeps me waiting | dndads, lark/nicky | 2.4k words, rated G

i guess it's half timing and the other half's luck | dndads, jodie/ron | 2.1k words, rated T

you've gotta join me on my page (at least take a look) | dndads, lincoln/taylor | 2.1k words, rated T

teenage dream | dndads, glenn/henry | 1.9k words, rated T

always | dndads, lark/rebecca (one-sided, background rebecca/sparrow) | 1.2k words, rated T

bright | dndads, erica/scary | 1.7k words, rated G

a crumpled dandelion | dndads, scary/taylor | 1.5k words, rated T

the first time that you called me 'baby' | dndads, jodie/ron | 2.4k words, rated T

a kindling, of sorts | dndads, hermie/normal | 1k words, rated G

some kind of miraculous bind | dndads, lincoln/normal/scary/taylor | 1.2k words, rated T

the raging sea | dndads, glenn/ron | 1.3k words, rated T

something about the stars | dndads, darryl/henry | 2.1k words, rated G

how can i help it if i think you're funny when you're mad? | dndads, darryl/glenn/henry | <1k words, rated T

in a crowded room, a true love displaced | dndads, normal/scary | 2.8k words, rated T

wanna be | dndads, lark/terry jr. | 1.2k words, rated M

october

i despise my jealous eyes (and how hard they fell for you) | dndads, normal/taylor | 5k words, rated T

and it's life or death to be my girl | dndads, jodie/morgan | 2.5k words, rated T

the red means i love you | dndads, normal/scary | 2.1k words, rated T

oh, darlin', don't you ever grow up | dndads, jodie & nicky | 1.4k words, rated T

november

and on our dates, it's never daytime | life series, gem/pearl | 3.8k words, rated G

ecstasy, tragedy, doom | dndads, lark/terry jr. | <1k words, rated G

i will take good care of you | dndads, lincoln/normal | 2.1k words, rated T

woke up young in lovers love | dndads, hermie/normal/scary | <1k words, rated T

hand in hand | dndads, jodie/ron | <1k words, rated G

[Podfic] Our Friends Do Not Look Fine | undertale | my friend @thefluxqueen invited me and arctic (not @.ing them because i dont talk to them a lot and i get embarrassed LOL) to collaborate on this podfic with them :D

december

nothing yet but um. hopefully i post something!! i have many WIPs XD

[venusbyline]

Taste ࿐ྂ Kinktober. 03, oct.

— pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fiancée!reader

— type: smut, Kinktober (Criminal Minds Edition)

— kink: lactation

— summary: Hotch never felt horny seeing a woman breastfeeding. Until he watched his fiancée doing it.

— word count: 2.9k

— tags/warnings: kinktober 3rd day, female!reader, fiance!Hotch, lactation kink, breastfeeding, breast worship, fingering, light overstimulation, mention of Haley's death, Jack has a little sister, canon divergence. no use of y/n. english is not my first language.

— tagging list: @thatredlipped-classic @magnoliatrees-world @ehedrick012110 @hotchsmutrecs @slutcakes00 @emma-e-a

— crossposting: AO3

Hotch swore to himself that he wouldn't get involved with anyone else after Haley's death. He promised for Jack's sake and his ex-wife's memory, he would try his best to stay away from any woman who could mean more to him than just a few nights of sex or random drinks at a bar. He swore he wouldn't love anyone again, much less allow himself to remarry.

That's until you came into his life.

The damn day he saw you at the hospital after one of his teammates was grazed by a bullet. You were working your shift as a nurse and seemed almost shocked by the number of BAU agents in just one room. But your eyes didn't take long to focus on him. Eye contact only lasted a few seconds until Reid interrupted the magical moment by asking you about the coffee machine not working properly.

Hotch looked straight into your eyes long enough to realize he was fucked up and all his promises were going to go down the drain.

It didn't take long until the simple memory to invade Hotch's mind frequently and he was convinced to find out more about you, profiling you. Prentiss and Reid said he was starting to obsess, JJ thought it was cute, and Garcia and Morgan made fun of him like he was womanizer. Deep down, everyone was also excited but wary by the idea of Hotch being interested in another woman after Haley's murder. This could be good for him and also traumatize him even more.

When Hotch started visiting a pub that you and your co-workers went to often after work, he tried to maintain an indifferent attitude every time he saw you, trying to convince himself that you two would just flirt and maybe fuck. Nothing more than that, something random and insignificant.

However, during a day when he was reflecting on his life, sitting at one of the empty tables and drinking whiskey, Hotch was surprised to see you sit down with him, without even being invited. A sweet smile on your face as you began to strike up a conversation, even though he was clearly perplexed by the fact that you had already noticed his interest in you — no matter how obvious it was to anyone who saw him always watching you.

Two years later, Hotch still had difficulty admitting how much he loved you, feeling like it could be a weakness to him and a danger to Jack, you and his new child. The baby named after the protagonist of The Silence of the Lambs.

"Jack told me that Clarice was crying a lot today..." He said as soon as he came your room after putting Jack to bed, admiring you sitting on the double bed with some pillows behind your back, cradling the little thing in your hands while you breastfed her at the same time.

"Oh, it was just colic." You gave him a soft smile. "But she's better for now. Jack's such a good big brother to Clarice, he helps me a lot to take care of her."

Hotch smiled slightly, knowing how much his oldest son was enjoying having a little sister. Jack was such a sweet boy that sometimes he found himself wondering if he really deserved to be his father.

Jack was an incredible son with an incredible mother. And now Hotch also had an amazing little daughter and an amazing fiancée. With each passing day, insecurities and fears hit his mind hard to the point that he even became lost in thoughts during his own work at the BAU. "What's wrong, Hotch?"

Your question caught him off guard and he clenched his jaw. You could still read him as well as the first time you spoke to him in the pub. "Nothing's wrong."

You rolled your eyes, cradling Clarice a little more slowly now that she seemed to be starting to sleep. "Oh, please. I know you very well at that. It's pretty clear from your frown that you're worried about something." You teased him and it was his turn to roll his eyes. "Just tell me. Keeping everything to yourself will make you explode someday."

Hotch huffed, always hating the idea of opening himself up to anyone, even if you were his fiancée. On the one hand, he wanted to keep you in the dark about the vulnerability he was trying to hide, protecting himself from any judgment or see a look of pity on your face. But on the other hand, he just wanted to not pretend to be strong and invincible for at least a few minutes.

"I'm just thinking about some things, that's all..." He swallowed, the trembling voice exposing him more than his words.

You frowned, caressing Clarice's thinning hair before looking at Hotch. "Well... I'd like you to tell me at least one of them."

Hotch snorted again, but the attempt at indifference failed miserably when he looked at Clarice, still feeding on your breast. "She's looking more like you every day." He smiled, articulating his right index finger so he could caress her chubby cheek with his middle knuckles.

You smiled at Hotch, before raising an eyebrow when you noticed his gaze straying to your breast for a considerably long time. "That's very disrespectful, you know? I can't even breastfeed my own baby without you being a pervert?"

His eyes widened, immediately stopping and looking at you embarrassed to explain, sighing with a little frustration when he noticed that you were just playing with him. "Damn, angel..." He rubbed his face to hide his frightened expression, but also to distract himself from that unusual thoughts. "For a second I thought you were angry."

You laughed softly, shaking your head. "Why would I be angry seeing my fiance horny?"

Your teasing made his face turn red and his cock started to feel tight in his work pants. "I'm not...I'm not horny. This is ridiculous. You're just breastfeeding."

His effort to look uninterested by the sight made you laugh again, as you looked at him with your eyebrow still raised. After a few seconds, you checked if the baby was already sleeping enough so you could burp her and go put her in the crib. Then you fixed your nursing bra and turned to Hotch with a playful smirk. "I'll be back in ten minutes."

Your words weren't a random joke, much less a common warning. You were flirting with him, teasing him, warning him that the matter wasn't over and you would come back to learn more about that curiosity that was burning his brain. He watched you leave with Clarice in your arms and go to her room.

Hotch sat down on the bed, the tie starting to tighten around his neck just as his cock was already hurting from being trapped in those damn underwear. He untied the bow with a little more agony than usual, taking a deep breath as he threw the fabric anywhere on the floor. He wasn't worried about organization for now, focused on trying to understand why he was suddenly so turned on.

Okay... He had seen your breast, something he clearly loved to admire at any time possible. But he never got horny seeing you breastfeeding his daughter. Just as he never got horny when Haley was breastfeeding Jack too. In truth, Hotch had never thought of breastfeeding as something rousing and erotic to watch.

Until those few minutes before.

"There... She's sleeping like a little angel." Hotch almost jumped at the sound of your sweet voice returning to the room, locking the door behind you.

Hotch cleared his throat, pretending not to know exactly why you locked the door. It was a rule not to lock the door at night for the children's safety in case something horrible happened. You only did this when both of you wanted a moment alone. "Well, it took you less than ten minutes."

You shrugged nonchalantly. "She went back to sleep quickly."

He nodded silently, placing his hand in his own lap so you wouldn't see his boner growing more and more, even though he knew you had already noticed it since you returned to the room.

"Lactation kink is more common than it seems." You said and Hotch almost choked due your blunt way.

"What? Where did you get that from? I don't... I don't have a lactation kink. That doesn't even make sense." He exclaimed, his frowning face turning red for a second time as he tried to press down on his boner to hide yet another twinge he felt.

You held back your chuckle, but not for long. The moment you sat on the bed next to him and watched how the grumpy man was struggling to hide his desire, you let out a brief giggle, but it was enough to hurt his ego. "That's not funny."

Despite everything, you nodded, not wanting to upset him further. The realization that perhaps this was the first time he could be feeling that specific kind of desire hit you hard, and you felt a mixture of pride with yourself, but also a huge excitement that you hadn't felt since the pregnancy.

"I know, baby..." You reassured him, smiling slightly at him now. "But you don't need to hide from me either. We agree not to keep secrets from each other."

Your sentence had more than one meaning and Hotch knew it. He shouldn't lie to you, either about his own fears or about what he was wanting at that moment.

Hotch took a deep breath, deciding to start slowly. "Maybe... Maybe I'm horny."

"Seeing me breastfeeding?" You asked to be sure, but without any hint of judgment.

He nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away, before holding his breath when he felt your hand caressing his thigh through his dress pants. "Hey... Look at me, Aaron."

Almost a minute passed before he worked up enough courage to look into your eyes. He felt pathetic inside. How could he deal with criminals every day, but not be able to receive a touch on his thigh from you without feeling like a stupid teenage virgin?

"Do you wanna... Taste it?" Your suggestion made his dark eyes widen as if you were saying the most unexpected thing he'd ever heard. "I'm serious, Aaron."

"Taste your milk?" He frowned. However, you knew he wasn't offended, but rather embarrassed with himself for even considering that. Everything was driving him crazy... the memory of you breastfeeding, his vivid imagination, your hand remaining caressing his thigh. Aaron felt like he was going to explode. "Hmm... Maybe."

You smiled when he gave in a little, knowing that his lust was speaking louder than any self-loathing he was feeling. Without waiting for him to think better and maybe change his mind, you adjusted your body on the bed, leaning your back against the headboard, while your legs were stretched out and comfortable. You smirked, pointing to the other pillow, indicating to him to get comfortable too.

Your command made his cock throb. As he obeyed, lying down in place, he felt a sigh of pleasure escape when he realized how much closer your bust was to his face in that position.

"It's a good view..." He muttered, fighting his pride.

You bit your bottom lip. "Oh, really?" You took your hands to your bra, removing it completely and watching Hotch's breathing hitch. "And now?"

"Angel... You're such a tease." He watched your breast for a few minutes, feeling his mouth water with the uncontrollable need to taste you like that. He moved his large hand to one of your mounds, biting his lip as he gently squeezed the soft flesh, barely holding back the groan that escaped by a strangled way when some milk splashed on his shirt "Fuck..."

You couldn't help but whine too. The feeling of his slender fingers groping your breast had been great, but it was the hunger in his eyes when your breast milk splashed out that made you start to feel desperate. "A-Aaron... I want you. I want your mouth."

"Oh, do you want my mouth, angel?" He scoffed, going back to caressing your breast, but now with one hand on each one. "And where do you want my mouth? Here?" Hotch questioned teasingly and leaned in, brushing his lips against the skin of your neck, feeling you shudder when he licked it and grazed his teeth afterwards.

He waited for your answer, but you just shook your head. It was good, of course. However, it was far from what you really wanted.

"Oh, no?" He feigned surprise, looking into your eyes now desperate for more. Hotch then smirked and stood up enough for you to be face to face. He moistened his lips, noticing the way your gaze fell there immediately. "Here, maybe?" Hotch teased, capturing your mouth in a slow but intense kiss. He tasted your lips as if they were heaven, delighting with the pleasure of dipping his tongue into your mouth and feeling your tongue too.

Then you moved your face away, panting for air. "No. More..." You whispered, lips red and swollen from the kiss.

He laughed lightly. "More? You're so greedy, baby..." Hotch scoffed, thinking about stopping the teasing, but an idea popped into his head, lowering his face until he was close to your breasts again. One of his hands kept caressing one of them, his long fingers playing with your nipple wet with milk.

However, his right hand let go of your left breast, making you whimper with confusion. "Why did you stop? You're so fucking... Oh!" You moaned, your eyes widening when his fingers got into your panties. "H-Hotch..."

Your moans made Hotch smirked, as he rubbed your clit slowly, enjoying how wet your pussy already was. "Is this where you want my mouth, baby?" He said, rubbing a little slower to get some verbal reaction from you.

"Not yet... Not yet." You managed to whisper as he slowed down, afraid he would completely stop rubbing your needy bud.

Hotch scoffed. "Wow, my future wife's a spoiled and needy little whore...." He went back to interspersing the movements of the hand that pleasured your pussy with the hand that caressed your heavy breast. "How about here then?" He blew lightly on your left nipple that was without his attention. "What do you think, angel?"

You almost whimpered at that teasing. It was obvious what you wanted and it was obvious Hotch was desperate for it too. Meanwhile, Hotch liked to hear you ask him. Beg him.

"Y-yes, please..." You pouted sadly as he chuckle, finally bringing his mouth, licking the sensitive nipple and making you moan his name, his soft tongue tasting the light drops of milk that flowed through contact. "S-suck... Please, Aaron, I need you to suck my milk."

Hotch lifted his face to look at you, doing as you asked. His mouth closed carefully around your nipple, making a gentle sucking motion, his eyes widening as much as you did when a favorable amount of milk came on his tongue, making him swallow with surprise before keeping sucking.

You felt the movements of his hands faltering, his mind going into a frenzy as he heard you moaning desperately each time he sucked you like a hungry baby. Your entire body had been needy since giving birth, but your breasts... They had become a powerful and fragile little thing at the same time. They were always sensitive due to continuous breastfeeding. Hotch had never given you pleasure there since Clarice was born, too busy taking care of you two and Jack, in addition to always having his mind stuck on work. Besides, neither of you have had much time since then.

However, you knew it wasn't just because your breasts were sensitive or the fact that both of you had been deprived of sex for a while. It was the incredible feeling of having Hotch suckle on your milk, seeing him desperate for every drop.

When he closed his eyes to focus on sucking and enjoy the slightly sweet taste of breast milk even more, you began to tremble your orgasm getting closer. His fingers kept rubbing your clit while the other fingers played with your free nipple, but it was the sight of him with his eyes closed and sucking your milk that made you cum, moaning his name breathlessly and wetting his fingers with your release.

Hotch smirked as he noticed the real reason for your orgasm. He opened his eyes, nibbling on the tip of your breast and stopping fingering you so as not to prolong your overstimulation too much after you whimpered in slight discomfort when it all started to get too much. "That was more amazing than I imagined it would be." He murmured, tongue still busy licking you.

“Too amazing, actually…” You teased, moving his lips away from your nipple. "You better save some drops for Clarice."

He chuckled at your joke, feeling you run your hand over his chin, wiping away the drops of milk that had run down, gently licking your own fingers.

"Thanks for not judging me, angel."

The sweet words made you smile, and you stroked his hair tenderly. "I would never do that." Your gaze dropped to his boner, even bigger than before. "And I'll help you with that if you promise to tell me about what was plaguing your mind earlier."

Hotch rolled his eyes sarcastically, looking at you with a frown and a small smile on his face. "Okay... That's a sacrifice I'm willing to make then. But just this once."

Criminal Minds Edition - Masterlist

HOTD Edition - Masterlist

Venusbyline's Kinktober 2024 - Masterlist

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 17 - To Watch The Dying of the Day

Summary: Say, isn't it strange? I am still me, and you are still you. In this place. Isn't it strange how people can change? From strangers to friends, friends into lovers. To strangers again.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters  Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

A/N: Oh gosh, it's been so long! A mixture of burnout and chaos will do that to a girl. But it's here, coming in at a strong 7k words. It's on the shorter side, especially since my previous chapters have been anywhere between 10-13k words. But this chapter is transitioning us back into the main story. So do with that information as you will, its going to be a bumpy ride....

TW: None really, just hella angst.

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw 

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

StoryTags: Widowed, Original Character(s), High-Honor!Arthur Morgan, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby!Arthur Morgan, Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort,Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Infant Death, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Torture, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Aftermath of Torture, Caretaking, Injury Recovery, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Self-Hatred, Night Terrors, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Bathing/Washing, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

“Are you out of your goddamn mind, John?” Abigail’s voice echoed through the camp as the tent flaps were shoved open harshly by the young man, who only ignored her comment. He was making a beeline for the one person he needed to complete his team—the one person he knew would stand by his side to enact revenge on the men who nearly took his brother's life.

Kate was chopping celery and carrots for an afternoon stew when she heard the heavy footsteps of John approaching. His gaze was determined, each step fueled with a fiery purpose. She glanced up to see Abigail standing not far behind him, arms crossed in frustration, throwing her hands in the air as John continued to ignore her protests. Kate already knew what he was going to ask of her.

John had found Colm O’Driscoll’s hideout, and he was ready to take action.

Kate placed the knife down with a sigh. Since their return from Emerald Ranch, things had been relatively calm. At least as calm as life could get when you were running with a bunch of outlaws, hanging onto the threads of some "plan" by a man she barely trusted. When they arrived back from their trip, Sean and the boys had planned a small party for Arthur—a ‘Celebration of Life,’ the ambitious Irishman had called it. Though it was more likely just another excuse to drink beer, dance, and be rowdy.

They used the get-together as an opportunity to tell the others about their relationship. Kate drank and sang with the girls, talking with them into the late hours of the night about her time with Arthur. Their small circle was filled with ‘aww’s’ and teasing glances. Kate felt a weight lifted off her shoulders after telling them, like somehow their relationship was finally real now that the rest of the gang knew—at least the ones most important to her.

Arthur was gradually reintegrated into jobs and missions, starting with small fishing trips and eventually moving on to more lucrative endeavors like robbing stagecoaches. Kate protested at first, trying to convince him there were safer ways to make money, but she knew she couldn't take the thrill of the heist out of the outlaw so easily. Arthur found work where he could, especially when Dutch wasn’t ordering him around. All of Arthur’s worries about being replaced seemed to dissipate in the days after his return. Dutch, ever the charmer, appeared overjoyed that Arthur was making a steady recovery and happy that his son found some happiness in a woman. He couldn't resist leaving Arthur with a gentle reminder that their priority was, and still is, to make enough money to escape. Arthur assured him with a promise: he would see it done.

This morning, Dutch sent Arthur, Sean, and Micah into Rhodes to meet up with Bill. Sheriff Gray wanted to speak with them about some work, and Arthur felt mighty proud to be involved, given his month-long absence. After breakfast, Kate pulled him aside for a few quick good-luck and be-safe kisses. It had become a new habit of theirs, since alone-time was rarely granted. They always made sure to say goodbye when one was leaving for a job, sealed with a kiss and a hug.

Kate looked up at John from under the brim of her hat, wishing in that moment Arthur was there to set him straight. But she knew nothing was going to change the young outlaw’s mind.

“Kate,” John greeted with a nod, his tone indicating he was ready to say more.

Wiping her hands on her raggedy apron, she leaned against the cutting table. “Fine afternoon, ain’t it, John?” she said with a smile, squinting up at the sun.

John wasted no time. “We’re ridin’ out today, to Hanging Dog Ranch. You coming?”

“Is that so?” She sighed. “What for?” Kate’s voice carried a hint of feigned ignorance. She knew why, but she was still trying to find it in herself to say no.

Since their ride back from Emerald Ranch, Kate had wrestled with Arthur’s words. She knew revenge was foolish, but seeing the way it had changed him cut her so deep she feared she would carry that rage with her for a long time. It was the same rage she felt years ago when she lost everything. Back then, her anger often consumed her, but over time she learned how to control it, to use it to protect herself and others. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to keep her word to Arthur, but also to protect him.

“You know why, Kate,” John’s voice grew stern, pulling her from her thoughts. “Colm’s men are up there. This is our chance.”

Kate’s heart clenched. She wanted to protect Arthur, to ensure that what happened to him never happened to anyone again. But she also knew that succumbing to vengeance could destroy her just as easily as it could destroy their enemies.

“John,” she began, her voice wavering slightly, “I promised Arthur I wouldn’t get swept up in this mess.”

John’s expression softened a moment, but his resolve remained firm. “I get it, Kate. But we need you. If we don’t take this chance, we might not get another.”

Kate huffed and lowered her voice so only he could hear, “Does Dutch know about this? Doesn’t he have a plan to get back at Colm?” She tried to make him see reason in her questions.

John only shook his head. “To hell with his plans. The way I see it, Colm doesn’t see us as a threat anymore. He tried to lay a trap and set the law on us. Well, he fucked around and it's about time he found out.”

Kate rolled her eyes at John’s ambitious statement. “John, no. I can’t go through with this and you shouldn't either.” She planned to leave him with that, pulling the apron over her head and starting to walk away.

John grunted and followed behind her, his frustration growing more evident. “C’mon, Kate, quit pussyfootin’ around. We need you, and we’re losing daylight.”

Kate turned and saw behind him as the others began saddling their horses and loading their weapons. Her eyes widened slightly when she saw Sadie packing her saddlebags, and her heart began to race as Lenny waited proudly on the back of his stallion, ready to take off at a moment's notice. Charles was there too, making his way over to see what the hold-up was. She was surprised to see this was the group that would be leading the charge. But, after all, these were Arthur’s closest and most trusted comrades.

Consequently, they were also the people Kate cared for deeply and saw as her own family. They were all putting themselves in harm's way for the sake of revenge.

“What would Arthur say about this?” Kate said finally.

Charles had finally caught up to them and heard the last bit of the conversation. “Arthur would say revenge is a fool’s game,” he stated.

“Exactly, thank you Char-”

“But those are his words, not mine,” Charles interrupted.

Kate pinched the bridge of her nose as John continued his persuasion. “Arthur’s the goddamn fool. We need to strike back, now. What if they come after us again? What if this time Colm takes one of the girls, or you?”

Kate felt the weight of John’s words settling heavily on her shoulders. The thought of Colm’s men taking her or any of the other women gnawed at her heart. She couldn’t deny the logic in John’s argument, even if it went against Arthur’s wishes.

Looking past the two men, she saw Lenny waving to her as if simply asking, "What are you waiting for?" John must have told them she would be joining, as Sadie looked over in anticipation, already holding Lorena’s reins, ready to leave as soon as Kate gave the word.

“Charles,” she began, her voice deep with conviction, “you’ve got a level head. This is a bad idea. How could you go through with this?”

Her words came out with a bite, unintended, but they stung nonetheless. Charles had always been a beacon of reason, often the one she or Arthur leaned on in times of need.

Charles' response betrayed no hurt, only his own sense of determination. “These bastards deserve it. Arthur suffered enough.” 

Kate found herself seething at his words, anger bubbling up like black coffee neglected over a fire for too long. The gang knew Arthur better than she did, Kate understood that much. But nobody had watched him suffer like she had. Night after endless night, holding his broken body and cradling him as she willed with all her strength that the pain and tortuous nightmares would cease. Her thoughts drifted to the night of their shared intimacy, seeing how Colm had broken him in unimaginable ways.

Nobody understood the extent of his suffering, except for Kate.

“Sadie suffered by them too,” Charles added after a moment. 

“We’ve all suffered from the O’Driscolls!” John exclaimed with a defeated sigh. “Choose your battles, Kate. But we’re going to send a message to Colm, whether you come or not.”

The two men turned to walk away, their boots kicking up dust as they marched back to their horses, saddled and ready for battle. Moments later, a third pair of footsteps fell in time behind them.

Kate had made her choice.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The dry spell had lingered for well over a month, and the oppressive heat of Lemoyne had turned the air into a stifling, dusty haze. The town of Rhodes lay beneath a thick, barren cloud of yellow dust, each gust of wind sending particles stinging into Arthur’s throat and eyes, making them water. The winds whipped past him as he spurred Belle forward, urging her faster and faster. His grip on the reins was white-knuckled, his breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps as he tried to steady his racing heart.

The Sheriff had caught on to their schemes, and set them up in Rhodes. Sean had paid the ultimate price with a bullet between the eyes. The image of Sean’s lifeless body was seared into Arthur’s mind, a haunting image he knew would never leave him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the relentless memory that played over and over like a broken motion picture. Sean had been on the cusp of becoming a man, his 24th birthday just a few months away. Though Arthur gave him grief since the day he joined their gang, deep inside he saw the ambitious Irishman as his younger brother. 

The irony of the situation gnawed at Arthur’s consciousness. Sean had warned them it was a setup. He had sensed something was off from the moment they entered the sleepy town, but both Arthur and Micah had dismissed his concerns as mere paranoia. Now, anger swelled in Arthur's belly, especially toward Micah. As much as he despised the shady outlaw, Arthur couldn’t deny that he wouldn’t have made it out alive without his help. Micah recognized that Arthur’s injuries had hindered his abilities, though his accuracy remained as deadly as ever. Together, they had picked off nearly every lawman and trigger-happy drunk who stood in their way, barely escaping with Bill in tow. Arthur knew his disability had slowed him down, and he blamed himself for Sean’s loss. 

The escape was a blur of gunfire and chaos. Arthur's mind raced with the events of the ambush, replaying each moment as a jarring blend of fear and fury. Belle's hooves thundered against the ground, each stride a desperate attempt to outrun the mix of anger, guilt and shame that threatened to overwhelm him. The acrid taste of dust and blood lingered in his mouth, a reminder of the violence they had scarcely escaped.

As they galloped through the barren landscape, Arthur's thoughts turned to Kate. He knew she would be waiting for him back at camp, a small comfort amidst the chaos. But the moment of peace would be short lived, they would have to leave again, and soon. The law would catch up to them in a matter of days. 

The thought of facing Dutch made Arthur cringe inwardly. Dutch would undoubtedly demand a report of what happened, and Arthur knew it could go one of two ways: Dutch might dismiss the incident, as he had when Arthur previously warned about their increasing sloppiness and the Pinkertons closing in. Or he might tuck-tail and opt for retreat to a new hideout, favoring the path with the fewest casualties. Either way, Arthur was in for an earful back at camp. He silently hoped that someone would go back for Sean, praying he wouldn't be discarded in a mass grave. Every man deserved a proper burial, but for people like him and his gang, it was a luxury rarely granted. 

As Clemens Point came into view, a deep sense of unease settled over Arthur. The camp seemed unusually quiet, devoid of the usual bustle and chatter. An eerie silence had taken its place. He panicked for a moment, what if the law had found them while he was away?

Arthur barely had time to dismount before Abigail came running towards him, tears streaming down her face. Dutch was close behind her, his expression grim. A chill ran down Arthur's spine.

Abigail grabbed Arthur's arm, her voice trembling with panic. “Arthur, they took Jack! Someone took Jack!” she cried, her eyes wild with fear.

Dutch placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, though his eyes were hard with determination. “We’ll get him back, Abigail. I promise you that,” he said firmly.

Arthur opened his mouth to explain what had happened in Rhodes, but the urgency of the situation left no room for words. His mind was whirling with this new information, trying to piece together what happened while he was away. There was a moment of silence, and Arthur’s heart skipped a beat as he realized Kate was also nowhere to be seen.

“Who took him?” Arthur said finally, his voice betrayed no hint of the unease he was feeling.

Hosea stepped forward, his expression was dire. “We believe the Braithwaites have taken Jack. They’ve been gunning for us ever since we crossed them,” he explained.

“Where is my son?” Abigail shouted. “If anything–oh God,” she choked on the words. “Where is my son Dutch!” 

“We will find him,” Dutch affirmed, clenching his jaw, eyes blazing with resolve. “We’ll make that Braithwaite bitch pay for this.” He surveyed the three men as Bill and Micah stood awkwardly nearby, unsure what to say. “What the hell happened to you three? Where’s Sean?”

Arthur took in Hosea’s words and then let out a breath as he shook his head. “They set us up, Dutch. Sheriff Gray killed Sean, nearly got Bill too. We shot up half the town trying to escape. If we’re not careful about this, we’ll surely be caught by the law.” They were in deep shit now, both families were gunning for them. They couldn't afford another casualty, let alone young Jack. The situation tore at his heart. 

Dutch’s eyes darkened, his mouth set in a tight line. Arthur recognized that look—it was the look of a man out of options. “We’re getting that boy back, Arthur, or so help me God—”

At that moment, the thunderous sound of hooves echoed down the path to their hideout. Arthur's hand hovered over his revolver, his mind still in fight-or-flight mode. As the riders emerged from the trees, he saw John leading the group, with Kate at the rear. A wave of relief washed over him; at least the law hadn't caught up to them yet. But as they drew closer, Arthur noticed Kate's clothing was stained with blood. His relief quickly turned to a mix of worry and dread.

As John dismounted, Abigail flung herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “They took him, John! They took our boy!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation. John shot a confused look at Arthur, his own emotions swirling with shock and concern. He held onto Abigail, trying to process the chaos around him.

Dutch's voice cut through the commotion like a knife, demanding answers. “How nice of you to finally show up. Where have you lot been?”

“Taking care of business,” John replied dryly, his grip on Abigail tightening as he tried to make sense of the unfolding crisis. The air was thick with urgency and panic, even the winds seemed to hold their breath, anticipating the next move.

“What business?” Dutch spat, his agitation palpable as he glared at his returning crew members. The tension crackled like electricity in the air, setting everyone on edge.

Arthur's heart pounded in his chest, the rapid beat echoing the chaos of his thoughts. Sean's death, the ambush, Jack's disappearance, and the blood on Kate’s clothes all swirled in his mind. He moved with heavy, purposeful steps toward Kate, his focus narrowing to her alone. He tuned out the escalating argument between Dutch and John, his attention solely on the woman he loved.

“Kate,” he called, his voice rough from the dry air and his mounting anxiety.

She turned at the sound of her name, immediately reading the worry etched into Arthur’s face. Noticing her bloodied clothing, she quickly reassured him, “It’s not my blood.”

Relief flooded Arthur, and he pulled her into a tight hug, inhaling her familiar scent. The rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest provided a momentary solace amidst the turmoil.

“What’s going on?” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear as she pulled away slightly.

“Rhodes was a trap. They set the law on us, Sean’s dead,” Arthur briefly explained, his voice heavy with grief. Kate gasped softly, her eyes widening. “We just got back, and Jack’s missing. Hosea thinks it was the Braithwaites.”

Kate stood speechless, feeling the weight of the world crashing down around her. "Oh, Arthur, we have to—"

Arthur gripped her arms fiercely, his eyes burning with a mix of confusion and betrayal. Desperation etched into every line of his face. “Where were you, Kate?” he demanded, his voice laced with hurt and anger.

He hadn’t meant for the words to come out with such force, but his mind was a whirlwind of doubts and anxiety. Jack could be dead for all he knew. The thought of an innocent child being involved in this nightmare gnawed at his soul. Despite everything, Arthur blamed himself for Jack's disappearance. He cursed himself for not ensuring someone was watching over the boy when he left. Normally, there were plenty of people he and Abigail trusted with Jack, but those people had been gone nearly as long as he had. He desperately needed an explanation for her absence.

Kate pulled away from his grip but held his hands tightly, her gaze filled with guilt. Arthur’s heart began to sink, a cold dread settling in his stomach. “We were up at Hanging Dog Ranch,” she breathed. “Where Colm’s men were hiding.”

Arthur’s gaze hardened, a cold look crossing over his features. “I don’t s’ppose you were there to play hooky?” he spat, sarcasm dripping from his words. He felt the world spinning around him, losing Sean, losing Jack, and now, feeling a profound sense of betrayal from the woman he loved.

Kate shook her head quietly, her cheeks flushing pink with shame. “Arthur, I—”

Arthur’s grip on her hands tightened momentarily before he let go. “You promised me, Kate,” he said, his voice breaking. “You promised you wouldn’t get involved with Colm.”

Kate’s heart shattered at the pain in his eyes. “I know, and I am so sorry. But I thought—”

“You thought what?” Arthur interrupted, his voice rising with a mix of anger and fear. “You thought this would help? That getting yourself killed would make things better?”

Kate’s eyes filled with tears, her voice trembling slightly. “I just wanted to protect you and the others from those terrible people.”

“That is not your job, Kate!” Arthur shouted, and Kate flinched, taking a step back from him.

Arthur let out a breath, shaking his head, the betrayal cutting deep. “You just don’t get it, do you? You don’t understand what it does to me, seeing you put yourself in danger like that.”

“I see you put yourself in danger every day,” she answered meekly, her voice wavering with a mix of fear and frustration.

“Don’t make this about me,” he said sharply. “I trusted you to keep that promise.” The life he lived, the life she had joined, was a dangerous one. And Kate wouldn’t be the first woman he lost to such violence. Born from a promise that he broke, costing the life of his family. If he had lost her and Jack in the same night, he feared what he would unleash upon himself.

“I’m sorry Arthur,” Kate breathed deeply, tears finally spilling over and streaming down her cheeks. There was an old selfish ache deep in her soul, a desperate need to make them suffer for taking someone from her. Her fear of loss drove her every thought, every action, every breath. It had consumed her, nearly losing herself during Arthur’s recovery. Kate had never known anything but grief and loss. Holding on so tightly to her sliver of happiness that she was smothering it. Her selfish need cost her Arthur’s trust. 

“Kate,” his voice was softer now, laced with deep sorrow. Arthur shook his head, “I can’t go through this again.” His eyes softened, though the hurt remained. 

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. She felt a dark sense of dread, knowing that despite her intentions she had broken his trust and his heart. 

The weight of the moment pressed heavily upon them, a suffocating silence settling in. Arthur’s eyes, filled with a mix of anger and hurt, searched hers. The pain of his words, the pain of her actions, it all mingled together in a storm of emotions that neither of them could escape. A deeper love that remained unspoken.

Before she could find the words to make things right, Dutch’s voice boomed across the camp. “We’re not waiting another damn minute! Mount up, we’re riding out to get Jack back now!”

Arthur turned away, his expression unreadable. “I’m glad that you’re home safe. I wish I could say the same for Jack,” he said, walking over to mount his mare once more. The other boys were saddling up, the tension in the air thick with anticipation.

Kate stood in stunned silence, tears streaming down her face. The fear of losing Arthur, the guilt of breaking her promise, and the terror of what lay ahead gnawed at her. She felt an overwhelming sense of helplessness as she watched Arthur ride off into the night, leaving her standing there with her heart in pieces.

As she watched the men race down the winding path out of Clemens Point, she noticed Abigail's trembling form. Abigail was using her apron to wipe the tears that stained her cheeks. Kate swallowed her sorrow, pushing down her own broken heart. This was about Jack and Abigail.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

“I bet this has something to do with why you got shot to hell in town.” John’s voice broke Arthur from his clouding thoughts. The trees raced past them in a blur, and Arthur hadn’t even realized his brother was riding right beside him.

Arthur’s mind was a whirlwind of anxiety and turmoil. The events of the day had left him feeling raw and exposed. The setup in Rhodes, Kate’s actions, and now Jack’s abduction—all of it weighed heavily on him. The feeling gnawing at his insides.

“I don’t want to think about that right now, John,” he answered, trying to push the memory of Sean's lifeless body out of his mind. “We have to focus on Jack.”

John’s voice rose with anger, a mirror of Arthur's own inner turmoil. “I swear, I’ll kill every single one of them.” The desperation in his voice was palpable, and Arthur could sense the fear behind his brother's bravado.

Dutch’s voice called from the front of the line, a forced calmness trying to steady the group. “Easy, John. Try to stay calm. We’ll make them pay for this.”

“What about the plan, Dutch? Isn’t this family sitting on gold?” Bill’s voice cut through the night, his ulterior concerns evident.

Hosea answered, his tone grim and weary. “I hate to break it to you, but there is no gold. I’ve turned every stone. If they ever had any, it's gone.”

“For Christ’s sake, Hosea, after everything? Another perfect plan fed to the dogs,” John retorted, his voice laced with bitter frustration. Arthur felt the same anger bubbling up inside him—another one of Dutch’s schemes that had led them into danger and kept them on the run from the law.

“We underestimated them,” said Hosea, his voice heavy with regret and concern.

“No, they underestimated us!” Dutch roared, his voice echoing through the trees. “Enough talk. There’s no point arguing how we got here. This is where we are. And we are going to kill every one of those inbred trash.”

Arthur’s grip tightened on the reins, his knuckles white with tension. The thought of what lay ahead mixed with a fierce determination to bring Jack back safely. His heart pounded in his chest, a relentless drumbeat of anxiety and resolve. As they rode on, the night closed in around them, a shroud of darkness and danger. The only sounds were the thunder of hooves and the heavy breathing of their mounts. Arthur’s mind was a storm of emotions, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him.

The ride to Braithwaite Manor was filled with a tense silence, each man lost in his own thoughts. Arthur’s mind kept drifting back to Kate. They were close now, and there was no turning back. Jack’s life was at risk. The stakes were higher than ever, and the weight of their mission rested heavily on his heart. There was no room for distraction or hesitation.

Dutch’s voice broke through the silence, a final order before the storm. “Nobody makes a move until I say so. Follow my lead.”

The tension in the air was electric as they approached the manor, each man ready for the fight of their lives. As they dismounted, Arthur’s thoughts turned briefly to Kate once more. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate couldn’t sleep. The lamp was down to the midnight oil in the small green canvas tent that the Marstons called home. She had stayed with Abigail while the men were out in search of Jack. She couldn’t tell how long they had been gone; her weary mind drifted in and out of consciousness. She tried to stay alert for their arrival, or for anyone else who might try to abduct another member of their gang.

Abigail slept beside her, her cheeks tinted pink from tears. She clutched Jack's nightgown tightly to her chest, inhaling the scent of her child, her whole world. Kate understood that feeling. She looked down at her hands, the dim light flickering across her fingers. Old blood was dried into the cracks of her nails. Images flashed before her eyes of the violence that had defined her day. She had unleashed herself on Colm’s men, disregarding her promise. And consequently, she had neglected the safety of those left behind at camp.

An acidic queasiness settled in her belly. It had felt good to kill those men. By some miracle, or perhaps coincidence, she had found Arthur’s captors amongst the men hiding at the ranch. The two men had recognized her, though she had no idea how. They had never met before. But like most cocky men, they boasted about Arthur’s torture and the pain they would inflict upon her. Little did they know who she was.

Keeping them alive as the last two men standing, Kate gave them the same courtesy they had given Arthur. She made sure they would never use their arms again, and strung them up by their ankles. Finally, she sliced open their bellies, their blood draining like pigs for the slaughter. Her friends watched in cautious silence. And when she was done, she mounted Lorena, and together they left the ranch without so much as another word.

It was justice, Kate tried to convince herself. But no, it was a deep selfishness. One that an old friend had stoked like flames to a fire. Perhaps it was in her nature, to lose lives and take them. All of the people Kate was, and tried to be, were always a part of her. The mother, the nurturer, the defender, and the killer.

She regretted her actions, but selfishly, she would do it all again. The thrill of revenge had brought her a temporary sense of control, a fleeting moment where she felt powerful in a world that constantly threatened to strip her of everything she held dear. But as she sat in the tent, the reality of her choices weighed heavily on her. She wasn’t sure if she could ever reconcile the different parts of herself—the woman who longed for peace and the one who couldn’t escape the violence that had shaped her life.

Exhaustion finally overcame her. The flickering light of the lamp faded as she drifted into a restless sleep, haunted by the faces of the men she had killed and the fear of what might come next.

When Kate awoke the next morning, the first light of dawn seeped through the tent’s seams. She reached out instinctively, but the space beside her was empty. Abigail was gone. Panic gripped her heart as she sat up quickly, straining to hear the muffled voices outside the tent.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur stood at the back of the crowd, his eyes scanning the faces around the small wooden table where Dutch sat, the tension palpable in the air. Dutch was deep in thought, the weight of leadership pressing heavily on his shoulders as the gang awaited his orders. Abigail stood silently next to John, her face a mask of fury and desperation. Her tears had dried, replaced by a seething anger at the men she had trusted to protect her family, now arguing over their next move.

The Braithwaites didn’t have Jack. They had passed him off to a man named Angelo Bronte. Arthur’s mind raced with strategies for their next step. Bronte was supposedly in Saint Denis, the heart of the new modern America, where law was heavily enforced, and policemen patrolled every corner. They needed to be cautious. Any misstep could end with them at the end of a rope, and that wouldn’t help Jack at all.

As Arthur idly rubbed his wounded arm, the pain a constant reminder of his recent ordeal, he replayed the events of the night over and over in his mind. They had stormed the Braithwaite manor, killing everyone who stood in their way. But they had been too late. Dutch had shot Catherine Braithwaite without hesitation and ordered the house to be burned to the ground. An entire empire, a long-standing family, wiped out in an instant. 

He was lost in his thoughts when a gentle touch on his arm brought him back to the present. Turning around, he found himself face to face with Kate. The memory of her actions, the betrayal he felt, and the look in her eyes were too much to bear. He quickly averted his gaze.

“Arthur,” she began quietly, her voice trembling with worry. “Where is Jack? Is he—”

Arthur shook his head, cutting her off. “They didn’t have him,” he said curtly.

“W-what did you find?” she stuttered, her voice edged with panic.

He knew he was being cruel by withholding details, but the turmoil inside him made it difficult to be gentle. With a sigh, he turned to face her again. “They handed him off to some Bronte fellow. Jack is somewhere in Saint Denis.”

“I don’t understand, why would they do this? What do we do now?” she asked, her voice rising in desperation.

Arthur gestured towards the group of men who were still arguing heatedly. “They’re working on it,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Feeling incredibly defeated, Arthur’s thoughts were a blend of frustration and sorrow. He had thought things were getting better. After nearly dying from sepsis, he had started to find comfort and joy in Kate’s presence. But now, everything seemed to be falling apart. Sean’s death had barely been processed, overshadowed by Jack’s disappearance. His recent fight with Kate had left a gaping hole in his heart, the urge to mend things with her gnawing at him. But there was no time for feelings right now.

The gang was on the brink of a precipice, and Arthur knew they needed to act quickly and decisively. As much as he wanted to fix things with Kate, Jack’s safety had to come first. Pushing down his own emotions, he focused on the task at hand, knowing that every moment they delayed could bring them closer to disaster.

“It’s gonna work out, John,” Hosea’s voice joined the commotion, his tone reassuring. “Jack will be fine. Just listen to Dutch.”

Dutch’s voice cut through the din, authoritative and calm. “I don’t expect you to understand this, but I need your trust. Your word, now more than ever. No more running off behind my back. I know you were trying to do the right thing—”

“If I don’t get that boy back safe, I’m—” John shot a glance at Abigail, who stood trembling with a mix of anger and fear. “She’ll kill us all.”

“Looking at this logically, that boy is fine. They only took him to scare us. Nobody takes a child to harm him,” Dutch continued, his words meant to be comforting but failing to ease the tension.

“It’s true, John,” Hosea chimed in, placing a reaffirming hand on his shoulder. “Arthur, what do you think?”

Arthur sighed, shaking his head slightly. They were all trying to be strong for John, but deep down, they were just as scared. They’d seen what this world could do to children. The cruelties of their life were too real, too close. There was no guarantee Jack was safe.

“The boy will be fine,” Arthur lied, trying to steady his voice. “But of course, Marston’s scared rotten. We killed all those people, stirred up all that trouble…for nothing.”

Dutch scoffed from his seat. “No. No, not for nothing. For living. We get that boy back, and we go. It’s about time we leave this place. Trust me.”

Suddenly, Lenny’s voice boomed from the camp entrance. “Dutch! We’ve got a problem!” He shouted, rifles raised and pointing at two strangers who walked into camp with their hands held high.

Arthur’s mouth went dry. It was the Pinkertons. Agent Ross and Agent Milton.

“Not a problem, visitors. We come with a solution,” Milton said coldly, his demeanor relaxed and confident. His gaze found Arthur’s. “Ah, Mr. Morgan. Nice to see you again.”

Instinctively, Arthur stepped in front of Kate, shielding her from whatever was about to unfold. The other gang members began to surround the two agents, their suspicion evident. Dutch betrayed no hint of surprise, remaining seated comfortably.

“To what do we owe the pleasure, Agent Moron?” Dutch said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“I don’t know if you’re aware, but this is a civilized land now. We didn’t kill all them savages only to allow the likes of you to act like human dignity was not yet invented,” Milton explained, his disdain palpable. “This thing? It’s done,” he spat.

Dutch finally rose from his seat, confronting the agent. “This land was never civilized. It’s consumed with man’s love for greed.”

“And that lets you take what you please? Kill whom you please and hang the rest of us? Who made you the messiah to these lost souls you’ve led astray?” Milton retorted coldly.

“I’m nothing but a seeker, Mr. Milton,” Dutch replied.

“You’re nothing but a bunch of killers. But I came here to make a deal; you come with me and I’ll give the rest of you three days to run off and disappear. I’m giving you one last chance to live like decent human beings.” Milton’s voice rose, addressing everyone in the gang.

A bitter chuckle rose from Dutch’s throat. “Ain’t that a fine thing? You risked death by coming into a den of murderers and thieves to have me. And to give them the chance to live and love?”

Kate remained quiet behind Arthur, her hand ready to draw her pistol at a moment's notice. But she sensed that this man, this detective, was telling the truth. Why would he risk so much for one man unless he was out of options?

“I don’t want to kill all these people, Dutch. Just you,” Milton answered, his resolve unwavering.

Dutch raised his hands, a hint of mockery in his voice. “In that case, I’d be happy to join you, Agent Milton.” As he stepped closer to the detective, everyone simultaneously began to draw their pistols.

Kate watched the moment unfold with genuine concern and admiration. These people, Arthur’s gang, were willing to risk everything for one man. Their loyalty and dedication ran deeper than she could ever imagine.

It was Ms. Grimshaw who leveled her shotgun and gave the final orders. “I think it’s time our new friends leave.”

Agent Milton raised his hands once more as Lenny and Javier began to escort them out of camp. “You’re making a big mistake, all of you!”

“The only mistake is how you keep following us. Good day, sir,” Dutch said, turning away, suddenly unbothered.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. And when I return, all of you will die. Run away from this place, you fools!” Milton’s tone carried a desperate warning. As he turned to leave, his gaze locked with Kate’s for a moment. He narrowed his eyes, trying to piece together her familiar face, but Javier’s gun pushed him along.

“How dreadful,” Dutch chuckled as he returned to his seat.

Arthur approached Dutch quickly, his steps heavy with the weight of the situation. “What now?”

“We get out of here. Have the women start packing. I’m sending you and the others to look for a new hideout. We’re running out of time,” Dutch said quietly, his urgency clear.

As Arthur turned to carry out Dutch’s orders, his eyes met Kate’s once more. The pain and fear were mirrored in their gazes. There was no time for reconciliation now. They had a mission to complete, and the stakes had never been higher.

“Arthur, maybe we should consider—” Kate began her voice quiet, searching for the right words to address their precarious situation.

Arthur spun on his heel so fast it made her dizzy. “Don’t. Don’t you even suggest it. You don’t have a say in this anymore, Kate.” His rage towards the Pinkertons and his anxiety about the lives at stake spilled out in hot bursts towards the woman he loved, and he couldn't stop the fire from spreading.

“Excuse me?” she responded, her voice a mix of offense and hurt. “I only want what's best for the gang.”

“The best thing to do now is leave. Go help the women pack,” he ordered, turning away from her.

“When does it end, Arthur? This cat-and-mouse game you have with seemingly every lawman in this country. How many more people have to be killed for it to stop?” Kate’s voice wavered with her fading strength. It was all too much to handle; everything was changing so fast. And now an innocent child was involved. She didn’t know what to do.

Arthur’s voice roared back, “I don’t know! Make up your goddamn mind, Kate. You go back on your word and put a target on your back. And now you want to lecture me on my poor choices? If you’re tired of running, you can leave. I won’t stop you.”

He left her with those words, his steps heavy and final. The men took off without a moment's hesitation, Ms. Grimshaw dishing out orders to begin loading the wagons. Kate felt a bitter moment of déjà vu, back to the day at the Downes ranch. She had scolded him for his actions, as if she were one to reprimand him. Kate had glimpsed the kind of man he truly was that day—the hardened outlaw, the merciless killer. She knew there was a kind heart inside him, and she had fallen in love with that part of him. Convinced herself that she could persuade him to leave it all behind, to give up that title for something softer. Arthur wanted it too, but only now was she beginning to understand the giant inside him. The man who had never known peace, who spent every moment fighting for his life and the lives of his family.

Arthur was consumed by his loyalty, as Kate was consumed by her grief. The realization hit her hard, and she felt a deep, gnawing sorrow. She watched him mount his horse, his back tense with determination and anger. The bitter truth settled over her like a shroud—no matter how much they loved each other, the world they lived in was tearing them apart.

A/N: I hope this chapter was alright! To be honest I went back and forth over this conflict for a while, and I think that’s where the birth of my writers block began. I wasn’t intending for their fight to become so heated, but then i was like “you know what? Their situation is a crock of shit, it can’t all be sunshine and rainbows.”

(Also trying to squeeze this in while simultaneously returning to a major plot point of the game was really hard haha)

So yeah, i may have gotten a bit carried away. But fear not, my summary for this chapter was incredibly dramatic. They’re not breaking up! They just got to figure themselves out, and come to understand one another. I want to make it clear that Kate has just as many flaws as Arthur, and that she suffers in silence too. God these two really need each other 😭

I think this was my first time writing some serious angst that didn’t involve one of them nearly dying (lol). So let me know how I did! It’s been awhile since I updated this story, and sometimes things can get lost to the tricks of time. If you notice any inconsistencies or plot holes please don’t be shy to point them out to me! 🙏❤️

[lacrymatoryao3]

Redemption Was Just The Beginning

Chapter 10: January, 1900 (Continued)

[1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9]

To the world, Arthur Morgan is dead. As he tries to face the idea, in a lush valley in Ambarino he comes face to face with a woman from his past, and they must reckon with an era long gone. Especially when she has secrets of her own.

(Rated explicit simply because eventually there’s smut in this.)

Tag: @photo1030

2,304 Words (AO3 Link)

Arthur was left stewing in it, his conflicting feelings. Tidying up the house, working in the stables, even taking a damn nap. He couldn’t get it out of his head, the way the Sheriff spoke about Ana, and how it reared a possessiveness of her he wasn’t proud of. All because she told him she still loved him. In hindsight he saw it in the things she did for him in the past. She had patched up his wounds, worried about his safety and if he would even come back from his dangerous adventures. She had been the one who washed and mended his clothes, who kept him company at night. He was just blind and too much of a coward to let himself keep it in the moment.

Mary was the one Arthur had intended to marry, but Ana was the closest thing he had came to a wife. It felt odd to realize, but it was completely true. That led Arthur to wonder something. How much did he mix Mary and Ana Maria in his memories? Who did he really miss the most? He still did love Mary as well, but it started to seem different than it used to. He did fail her, like every time before, and she was right to want to move on from him. He said a silent prayer, a very rare action, that wherever Mary went after the last letter she sent to him that she was happy. He hoped she would find someone who is honest and good to her as she deserved. It didn’t hurt anymore that it wasn’t going to be him who provided it. A lot of weight of was lifted off his shoulders.

And then there was still Ana. Arthur wanted to love, to be loved, but part of himself wanted to convince her he wasn’t worth it no matter how badly he needed or desired it. He was incapable of seeing what she saw in him. He wished so desperately he could see the good in himself everyone else seemed to think was there. He couldn’t get over the thought he was never worthy of it. After everything he’d done, surely there had to be some punishment. That all went away when he looked at her, when he thought about her. He couldn’t bring himself to break her heart again. That was an even worse sin to him than every murder and robbery he ever committed.

Self doubt and hatred aside, Arthur got what he wanted. He was a father, bumbling and lost about it like every man probably was. He had a woman who loved him. The question was how to hold onto it instead of running away.

“For now I am a prisoner… in Still-water Jail I lie…” Arthur sang quietly to himself riding on Delfina, humming the parts he had forgotten, “For which I will be sorry… Til my dyin’ day…”

By the time he got to the school the children had already been let out. He knew something was wrong when the sounds of the children weren’t the usual ones they tended to have as he he drew nearer. Some were scared, some excited, but all crowded around the commotion in the front yard. Surrounded by their peers was Arthur Francisco and an older boy circling each other before taking swings like they were grown men. The older boy was taller and looked like he did a lot of farm work. Arthur Francisco, impressively, was able to hold his own against him.

Perhaps he should have let them fight it out, but he couldn’t stand the sight of poor Miss Svensson doing everything she could to separate them. She had taken hard tumble when the older boy got Arthur Francisco on the ground, striking him in the stomach. He didn’t get very many in, Arthur Francisco got the upper hand and grabbed him tightly around the neck and using his knees to roll on top of him. He kept one hand there, pummeling the boy with his other fist. He just kept punching him in the face over and over.

Everything happened so fast Arthur hadn’t fully registered what was happening when he jumped off Delfina and ran to them. He snatched Arthur Francisco from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and yanking him away as the child flailed against him.

“DON’T YOU EVER TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT AGAIN, MILLER!” Arthur Francisco hissed at his enemy, “IF YOU DO I SWEAR I’LL KILL YOU!”

He could feel the rage emanating from him, his blue eyes burned like hellfire glaring at the older boy lying before him. Arthur finally and fully saw what Ana had repeatedly told him about their boy: himself. It was in that unmerciful and righteous anger.

“Like hell you will boy!” Arthur objected, putting Arthur Francisco firmly on his feet and grasping him hard on the shoulders, “You don’t talk to no one like that! You hear me?!”

The emotion hearing Arthur Francisco utter those words matched the boy’s own. The audience grew quiet and quickly dispersed, leaving only them, Miss Svensson who was standing and dusting herself off, and the Miller boy sitting defeated on bloody snow.

Arthur spun around, focusing some of his ire to him, “And you, what’s your excuse?! Ain’t you a little too old for this bullshit?!”

Miss Svensson shook her head and helped the Miller boy to his feet, “This happens frequently with Zachariah, I am afraid. Another letter for me to write now.”

“Well, don’t worry about this one.” Arthur huffed, gesturing to Arthur Francisco, “I’ll tell his mama and deal with what I can in the meantime.”

Miss Svensson took the Miller boy inside the school to tend to just injuries.

“What the hell happened anyway?” Arthur asked Arthur Francisco. It had to happen on his watch. As if the day hadn’t dragged on enough. He took a bandana out of his pocket, softly wiping Arthur Francisco’s face to see the damage. His lip was split and bleeding, bruises were already appearing around his left eye and jaw. Arthur had him open his mouth. No teeth where chipped, broken, or missing. He carefully prodded his stomach, checking for any signs of internal injury. The boy only told him it was sore and not painful. That too would be bruised for a while.

Arthur Francisco sighed, “Well… Jane was talking to some of the girls about the new baby. He went up to her and started asking her… not very nice things.”

Arthur nodded, “I can understand wantin’ to defend a girl, but don’t go around threatenin’. Because there comes a time where somebody takes you up on it, and you either become a coward or a killer. Or… you’re the one that gets killed. Me and your mama seen too many men go to an early grave for it. We want better for you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I just… Don’t understand why people are so hateful just because someone exists.”

Arthur put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “There’s a lot of them out there, I fear. You just got to be better than they are.”

Arthur gathered their horses. He put Arthur Francisco onto Josefina and tied her reins to the horn of Delfina’s saddle. He led them through town, stopping at the butcher’s to buy some steaks for dinner before setting off home. He kept a close eye on the boy, but besides the darkening contusions on his face he didn’t show any signs of anything else.

“This isn’t the first time this has happened to me…” Arthur Francisco calmly protested, holding the steaks while Arthur put the horses in the stable by himself.

“Yeah, I know, but I want to make sure.” Arthur replied, “If something happened, your mama wouldn’t be afraid to beat me senseless. Now, go inside and put those in the ice box. I’m going to go beck of Mrs. O’Hogan.”

Approaching it, on the outside the O’Hogan’s gingerbread styled home was silent. Once he was at the front door, Arthur could hear the chaos that 5 children in one place could bring. He took off one of his gloves and knocked loudly so it could be heard over the commotion. Mr. O’Hogan stepped out, disheveled and with a big smile on his face.

“I hope we got some good news there!” Arthur greeted.

Mr. O’Hogan clasped him tightly on the shoulder, “We sure fuckin’ do! Little girl, 6 pounds! Both o’ ‘em as healthy as can be! Sent a cable ta the archdiocese in Saint Denis, see if we can get a priest ta come up an’ baptize her.”

O’Hogan let Arthur go, pulling a cigarette out of his shirt pocket and lighting it with a match, “So, how about that row Little Arthur had? Heard he put a hell o’ a hurt on that Miller boy.”

“He’s pretty banged up his damn self. I have no idea how I’m going to tell Anie.” Arthur replied, “I just wanted to make sure everything went well with your wife and check how your daughter is doin’. That boy said some nasty things to her I was told.”

“Nothin’ about them Millers ain’t nasty!” O’Hogan replied, “Getting’ tired o’ it. I’m gonna start goin’ with ‘em ta school an’ back.”

“As long as you let our ladies come back.” Arthur said with a hint of humor, “Anyway, you have a good night, Owen. Glad you finally got your third girl! Let our ladies come home soon!”

Making dinner was a lot easier. Arthur knew how to cook a slab of meat, not in a pan but all it did was take slightly longer than holding it over a fire. The boy had enough experience in the kitchen to heat up a can of carrots. They kept a plate in the warming box for Ana. After cleaning up they spent time on the living room floor, drawing animals with the watercolors Arthur Francisco was given for Christmas. Arthur would sketch them out with a pencil, and the boy would paint them. Arthur shared the least traumatic stories about the things he saw over the years. They spent a lot of time talking.

Arthur got him ready for bed on time. He patted the boy lightly on the head, “Your mama should be home soon. She’ll probably check up on you because… Well, you know.”

“Yeah, she usually does.” Arthur Francisco said, “Good night, Arthur.”

Arthur got up and went to the door, “Good night, son.”

[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]-----[*]

Ana closed the door quietly. She took off her jacket and shoes. Her hands went to her head as she tip toed into the kitchen, pulling out every pin until her hair was free. She was glad everything went well, and that it was over for another two or three years. The O’Hogans made it seem like this would be their last. With a couple like that, she wasn’t sure how long that vow would last.

Maybe if she had something like that, Ana might feel the same about it.

The counter was a note on a piece of torn paper. In Arthur’s fine handwriting was a line about leaving a plate from dinner for her. She hovered her hand over the stove. It was still quite hot. She opened the warming box to find it nearly as fresh as it was from the evening. He was always good when cooking a piece of meat.

She put it on the table, poured a glass of gin, and sat down to enjoy it. Arthur’s door creaked open. He stepped out and sat next to her.

“I hope I didn’t wake you.” Ana said.

Arthur shook his head, “No. I was actually up waitin’ for you. How’d everythin’ go?”

“Good! Of course, there’s always that time when things can be a little risky, but I think Rosaline and the baby will be just fine. How did it go with you and Arthur Francisco?”

“It went well… For the most part…” Arthur went quiet for a moment, “The boy got into a fight when school let out.”

Ana rolled her eyes, “I heard Stephen and Jane tell their father about it. How bad are his wounds this time?”

“He’s pretty banged up. He did worse to that Miller boy.”

“I’m not surprised.” Ana sighed, “Something has to be done about them, before things get worse. I have an idea. Maybe the father will consider it, if you’ll accompany me tomorrow.”

“I sure will. I’d like to see this hated man.”

After Ana ate she went up the stairs with Arthur following behind. She entered Arthur Francisco’s bedroom. The boy was sleeping soundly when she sat down at the edge of his bed, stroking his hair and scanning the bruises on his face. She sighed again and tucked his covers around him, kissing him on the temple before leaving.

Arthur waited for her in the hall. She patted him on the back, “Thank you for everything you did today. I imagine it wasn’t easy for you.”

He saw his chance. Before he his doubts got the better of him, he wrapped his arm around Ana’s waist and drew her to him. She let out a quiet yelp in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. He held her close to his body, her head coming to rest on his chest. He forgot how small she was compared to him, how wonderful it felt to have her pressed against him protectively in his arms. Her warmth filled a hole deep within his heart, one that had grown so accustomed to pain it almost burned. He never thought he’d feel like that again, where his heart raced, his face burned, his hands shook.