#Lenny sounds good

[undergroundsounds]

Can I get a hellll yeah?!

[appalachiancowboy99]

After Dark

Arthur Morgan x CurvyFem!Reader Established relationship, high honor, grumpy Arthur in desperate need of release, 18+, MDNI (Minors DO NOT ENTER)

Arthur comes back to camp later than usual, with nothing but a bad disposition and a desperate need to release his pent-up frustrations.

Warnings: longer read, sexual content (oral, unprotected p in v, rough sex), mentions of violence, mentions of anger, and dabbles in sensual fluff.

Gif by: @sunwingsunset

A/N: Thank you so much to @photo1030 for not only being my sounding board in the never-ending chaos that is my writing process but also for being such a wonderful friend through it all. So grateful for you, don't know what I'd do without ya, C! <3 Thank you so much to @rivetingrosie4 for being an inspiration for my little works and being so supportive of my creative endeavors, not to mention the kind generosity of your friendship! Forever grateful for to have met you! @tortureddpoett I'm so excited to explore this budding friendship with you! Thank you so much for showing so much excitement for my work, IT MAKES ME EXCITED (EEP!). It means an absolute ton to me <3 @mr-inkslinger your friendship has been an absolute delight to explore! Thank you for posting that toe-curling smut that always has me giggling and kicking my feet! So happy to have met ya! And thank each and every single one of you for liking my first drabble and expressing interest in this next one. I'm so sorry it's taken me forever to publish this post, but hopefully, the next ones won't take me as long. I'll forever be grateful for your patience and kindness <3 But now, enough of my babbling, y'all enjoy yourselves with this one- I know I did ;)

Fuck. From the second he opened his eyes, he knew that the day was going to be fucking awful; his neck had a crick in it, his head was pounding from what little sleep he’s received over the last few nights, and now he had to trudge back out into the goddamn muggy heat to work. One disaster after another had piled up; everything that could have gone wrong, went so terribly awry that he wound up farther away from camp than he originally intended and managed to add a solid fifteen-dollar bounty to the mounting collection resting atop his head. Dutch had sent him out on a wild goose chase, following a lead from Micah that, of course, ended up being a complete waste of time. And that meant he was coming back to camp empty-handed, which almost certainly meant he'd be on the receiving end of another one of Dutch's lectures on the endless responsibilities placed upon his shoulders. He dreaded it, wanted to avoid spiraling down another conversation that would end in Dutch questioning his faith in the ever-evolving plan he’s found himself working on these days.

As if he needed any of that horseshit tonight. All he wanted was a moment of peace and quiet, a chance to catch his breath after the disaster of a day he'd just had, but instead, he was headed back to camp with nothing but bruises, a bloody lip, and a bad disposition to show for his efforts. Trees and other bits of scenery whipped by in a blur as Arthur spurred his horse onward, his surroundings melting together into a muddy mess of shapes cast by moonlight. He passed through New Hanover, his furious pace leading him down the familiar roads of Lemoyne, reaching the clearing outside of camp. Lenny and John are the first to spot Arthur approaching the thicket of trees disguising Clemens Point's main entrance. “Hey, who goes there?” Lenny’s voice echoes through the forest, bouncing off the thicket until it reaches Arthur’s ears.

“‘S me.” Arthur grunts out through gritted teeth, clearly not in the mood for any chit-chat. Even underneath the shadow of leaves and limbs, the scowl etched upon his face is easily distinguishable, a clear sign for anyone with any common sense to give him a wide berth for the rest of the night. Lenny and John, both, had a pretty good idea of what might happen when Arthur steps foot into camp and they don't want any part of it. As a result, they give each other a little knowing glance and stay in the treeline, preferring to avoid the impending shitstorm and let Dutch or Hosea deal with it instead. He strides past them in a fit of frustration, dismounting his mare with a jerky movement before she's even come to a complete stop. Kieran spots him and hesitantly approaches. That poor fool. "H-Hey, Mr. Morgan. Would ya like me to unsaddle the 'ol gal here?" Kieran's question was nothing more than an innocent query, but his expression turned the young man into a nervous wreck. If looks could kill, Arthur’s certainly could; his steely eyes are set ablaze with annoyance and irritation as he casts a hateful glance in Kieran's direction. Even Kieran knew better than to talk to Arthur when he was in this state, knowing that it would only lead to suffering at the hands of his unbridled wrath. Kieran’s eyes immediately darted to his feet, desperate to avoid Arthur’s icy gaze as his fingers trembled with the frayed ends of rope in his hands. Quickly as to not start any trouble for himself, Kieran took hold of the mare's reigns and led her away to the field of horses, putting as much distance between himself and Arthur as he could. A slight pang of guilt runs through him when he sees the way that Kieran high-tailed it out of his line of sight. He doesn't want to be harsh to the boy, he's been a useful asset to the gang, but his temper is just too far gone for him to muster up an apology. As fast as the angering thoughts snapping through his mind, Arthur turns on his heels and storms into camp in search of Dutch. His boots furiously hit the grass and reddened Lemoyne dirt as he passes by a few of the wandering eyes from those still awake at this late hour. Charles casts him a wary glance, and so does Sadie, but neither of them cares to look long enough to entertain what's about to happen. He passes by his own wagon and heads straight to Dutch's tent. Dutch is nowhere to be seen, yet the lamp light inside casts its soft golden glow upon the closed canvas flaps of the tent, indicating that he might be inside. Not wasting any more time than he has to, Arthur approaches the tent, not bothering to stop and think until it's too late. His hand raises, readying to peel back the canvas flap, when all of a sudden he hears the sweet amorous sounds of lovemaking echo through the night air.  Molly’s sweet voice gasps out between each movement of their squeaking cot, calling out for Dutch as the unmistakable sound of skin slapping skin penetrates through the thin canvas walls, revealing exactly what’s occupying Dutch’s time tonight.

“Oh, Dutch. Don’t stop,” she encourages through strained, unabashed moans of pleasure. Dutch’s deep, husky voice murmurs back something unintelligible, but the increased squeaking of their bed and the filthy little noises coming from Molly are a clear indicator that Arthur should be stepping away to give them some privacy. Embarrassment washes over him, causing a faint rosy flush to heat his face and bloom across his cheeks. For once, he's grateful for the distraction from his current frustration. On most nights, he'd find comfort in your presence, seeking you out to vent his grievances as a distraction from the ever-present aggravation that seemingly follows him around these days. But tonight, he just wants to retreat to his tent, away from everything and everyone, to try to calm down before he says or does something he regrets.

He strides past the dying campfires and tables that are askew from daily camp activities, and his mind tirelessly races from thought to thought, stealing his attention away from his surroundings. If Arthur had even bothered to look, he would have spotted your sleeping form laid out upon his bed the moment he stepped inside. You had been waiting for him all evening. After working yourself to the bone doing laundry, dinner prep, and other camp chores for Ms. Grimshaw all day long, you wandered your way over to Arthur’s tent in search of a quiet place to sit. Part of you wished to find him seated right there on his cot, wanting to simply have a conversation with the man who has stolen your heart, but to your disappointment, he wasn’t anywhere to be found. So, you waited for him.. And waited until the very idea of waiting became too tiresome and you unknowingly fell asleep.

Sneaking away from the gang for private talks with him has been one of your favorite things to do since you joined the gang so long ago. Y'all have always had a knack for avoiding the company of others. But somehow in the midst of squirreling yourselves away, both of you have come to find that you'd prefer being alone together. Eventually, this led to many nights where Arthur would seek you out just to speak his mind, allowing you to see the world through his eyes for a short while. You have not only embraced Arthur's thoughts, but in doing so, you have captured his heart all the same. If it weren't for you, he's certain he'd have lost his damn sanity long ago.

Arthur takes that dusty old gambler's hat off his head and runs his fingers through his hair, taking a moment to calm himself down. His eyes glance over the things laid out upon his bedside table before catching a glimpse of your figure awash by the pale moonlight in his periphery. Your hair is sprawled out over the small blanket you've rolled up into a makeshift pillow; curls flowing like a roaring waterfall, laying a mess, and finally free from the bun that was atop your head earlier in the day. His eyes rake over your voluptuous figure, noting every dip and curve from your plump waist and hips to the ample swell of your breast hidden by a layer of clothing. The moment his mind registers that your presence isn't a dream, his eyes soften and his mind no longer races with anger. You are his peace, the only thing in this world that he cherishes above all else. 

Sighing softly, he finally discards his hat from his hand and places it onto his nightstand before working off his worn leather jacket and satchel, resting them on the back of the chair nearest his shaving mirror. And while he's on his feet, he takes the time to carefully roll down the canvas walls of his tent, unraveling them with the quiet precision of a mouse, and securing them in a few simple knots to hide you two away from the world.

It's quite dark by the time he wanders over to the cot, dark enough not to notice himself brush against your legs as he takes a seat on the edge of the old creaking bed. The familiar, welcomed-warmth of his body pressing against your shins rouses you from your restful slumber. Your eyes flutter open to find his figure perched next to you, shrouded in a darkness so thick that you are sure you're still dreaming. His head and broad shoulders are slumped over as he begins working off his dusty boots, caked with remnants of mud and manure.

"Hmm... Arthur?" Your voice floats through the quiet darkness, laden with fatigue and clearly carrying the lassitude of someone who could fall back asleep at the drop of a hat.

He quickly glances over his shoulder at the sound of your voice, his eyes already adjusted enough to the shadows to see your tired face staring back at him with confusion. He silently curses himself for waking you. "Shhh, Darlin'. Don't wake up on my account. I'll be done in just a minute," Arthur lightly grunts out the last word as he struggles to remove his right boot.

Even in your own weary state, the exhaustion in his tone isn't lost on you. Thinking it best to rouse yourself as quickly as possible to free up his bed for him, you sit yourself up and will yourself awake with a slight stretch. "'S okay. You need rest more 'n me."

"No. You was restin' 'fore I got here. Go 'head and lay back down." He isn't having any of your courtesy tonight. He's worn out, far too tired to argue with you about whether or not it's appropriate for you to share his bed for the night.

The rest of the gang, aside from John, Abigail, Susan, and Hosea know nothing about the true nature of y'all's relationship. Although, the rest of the girls have picked up on the changes you've brought about in Arthur since your arrival so long ago now. Seeing him get all soft and doey-eyed at you over these last few weeks has most definitely tipped them off about what y'all really get up to when you're out running errands together. But they catch wind of you sleeping in his tent tonight, it will all but confirm their suspicions. And yet, you just can't bring yourself to move from the comfort of Arthur's cot with him sitting so close to you.

"What time is it?" The question falls from your lips, carried on the soft currents of a gentle breeze pushing through the tent flaps. Fine sinewy muscles flex beneath his shirt as he leans over to work off his other boot and you are powerless to admire the shape of his body beneath.

A muffled grunt escapes his mouth the moment he finally frees his aching feet from the confines of his boots, "Late," he simply replies.

You take a deep, cleansing breath, allowing the tranquility of the night to settle around you like a soft, comforting blanket. Outside these walls, no sounds of chatter or lively activity can be heard, aside from the gentle hum of crickets by the riverbank and the faint sounds of a squeaking cot stopping abruptly. The gang is unusually quiet, the air filled with repose now that Arthur's returned safely to you. Only a few stragglers tend to the campfires, their focus solely on themselves, interested in anything beyond the flickering flames; not even the sounds of Dutch and Molly or Arthur's irritation can disrupt the peaceful bubble encompassing Clemen's Point tonight.

The plush heel of your palm rubs over one of your eyes as you flit them toward the tent entrance, watching how the wind slightly ruffles the bottom of the canvas. It's only then that you realize that Arthur has tied down the walls for privacy on your account. Normally, he wouldn't bother setting up the walls before collapsing on the cot for a few restless hours of sleep. But tonight, he's gone out of his way to ensure your comfort. Your heart couldn't feel any more full of love for this man by your side, a man who puts your well-being above all else, even above his own. Never did you think that love would have been like this for you: sitting in the comfortable silence of privacy for lovers when that luxury is rarely afforded for women like you. But despite your gratitude for his thoughtfulness, a pang of guilt gnaws at you knowing he made the extra effort while you took up residence in his bed, a cot that's barely big enough for the two of you given your plump frame.

In an attempt to make up for taking up so much space, you roll yourself forward along the thin mattress and quickly slide past him, crawling toward the foot of his bed where his trunk of clothing is kept. You've decided to give him his space for the night, even though in your heart, you'd prefer to stay. Before your foot even slides off the trunk to touch the soft grass below, you're reminded of John stopping by Arthur's tent earlier in the day.

Through a half yawn, you speak, not giving Arthur the chance to catch-on to where you're headed, "'Fore I forget: John stopped by while you was out."

Arthur slightly leans back as his fingertips mindlessly fumble with the buckle of his gun belt. The slight clicking of the metal rings out as he works to remove the clunky accessory from his body. His strong back brushes against you as he moves with the comfortable ease he's come to enjoy over these last few weeks of secretly being yours.

"What about it?" His concentration is split half between himself and the presence of your body behind him.

Your words don't register in his mind until he's completely removed the belt from his body. He figures it was that stagecoach job he reluctantly handed off to John; it had completely slipped from his mind until this very moment, much like yourself. The cool metal filigree atop his trunk moves under your feet as you rest them just shy of slipping off its edge, causing the hazy memory to play out behind your tired eyes.

-

You were just settling yourself in, resting your weary body on the edge of Arthur's cot, just as you're doing now. Little beads of sweat accumulated on your forehead from working out in the intensity of Lemoyne's miserably humid heat. Grimshaw had you and the rest of the women working on camp chores, which you hadn't complained of, since it usually occupies the time until Arthur's usual return. However, the day was far too hot for you to not complain about the harsh conditions she had y'all in. Eventually, evening came and you were finally finished with the laundry, allowing you a moment's rest to seek out the comfort of Arthur's cot.

In the midst of wiping your brow down with one of his neckerchiefs you'd secretly swiped, the hard thump of boots hitting grass caught your attention. You'd anticipated Arthur's arrival, but something didn't feel quite right. The boots didn't move with Arthur's measured stride; they scuffed the grass and dirt, signaling a different, but familiar presence. The moment you look up, you spot John standing at the entrance of the tent, not at all surprised to see you sitting upon his cot as if it were your own.

For a brief moment, his brow furrowed in a mix of frustration and exhaustion. It was as if he was caught between the two warring emotions, each pulling him equally. Clearly, he expected Arthur to be back already.

"He not back yet?" The gruffness of his voice has you believe the former, rather than the latter.

"Not yet," you say in kind, hoping to ease some of his burden. "Was you needin' him for somethin'?"

John did and the news certainly wasn't going to sit well with Arthur at all.

-

When the thoughts finally coalesce within your fatigued mind, you internally grimace knowing that Arthur isn't going to like the reality of the situation. Gentleness has always been your strong suit, especially when it came to dealing with half of the bull-headed men in camp. So, you lace your words with the softest tone you can manage, "Said it weren't as much as y'all had planned on: about fifty-dollars tied up in what little him 'n Charles found."

And you were right. The news doesn't sit well with him at all. All of the compiled frustration of working a nothing-lead and now knowing that the other job didn't pay well either boils beneath the surface of his skin until he explodes like a whistling kettle. Preventing himself from lashing out at you, Arthur kicks his boot toward the other side of the tent, knocking it into the chair. The loud thunk of its sole hitting wood claps harshly and causes you to flinch, startling you fully awake from the suddenness of noise and his movement.

"Every goddamn day it's some shit," he spits through his teeth.

Although you know he'd never intentionally hurt you, the anger in his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine and your stomach flips and churns in knots. Usually, you'd blame yourself, reprimanding your big mouth for even opening up to mention something that you knew wouldn't bode well for his weary mind. But you're in too much of a shock to even consider self-deprecation as an option. Your wide eyes search through the darkness, watching the shadowed outline of the man you love heave in a deep breath to steal his nerves. His shoulders slump forward and head hangs low as he rests his elbows on his knees, utterly defeated from the compiled anger and exhaustion coursing through him.

It's at this moment that you remember the job Dutch sent him on earlier in the day; Arthur didn't want to go and had very little sleep after working on yet another lead that barely got them anywhere. If it had been left up to you, you would've made Arthur stay right here in this bed to get some rest like he deserves. You would've taken care of him so tenderly, but, as usual, what Dutch wanted would have far outweighed any of your concerns. You've learned to recognize the pattern of these situations by now, and given Arthur's aggression, assuming that today's job didn't go quite as planned would be hitting the nail right on its head. You test the waters with a quiet question, "Lead didn't pan out today, did it?"

The soft shake of Arthur's head, coupled with the shadow of his palm running over his face tells you all that you need to know: no, it hadn't gotten him any farther than where he had started. Another useless effort. Your heart aches watching him struggle with so much weight on his shoulders. No matter how strong Arthur might be, he's just a man struggling to carry his own burdens, let alone everyone else's. Ever since settling down here, Dutch has placed so much responsibility on him that you've wanted to scold the man for even mentioning Arthur's name in passing. He's worked himself thin and thread-bare, barely having any time for himself outside of the time he spends on the road traveling from place to place at Dutch's convenience.

Empathy for the man that you've fallen in love with so long ago breaks your heart, aching in desperation to relieve some of his pain. Instead of walking away, keeping to yourself, and silently shouldering any of the blame for setting him off, you choose to stay the night. Despite knowing full well that the girls will have their gossip circulating by morning, Arthur's needs are far more important than any snickering comment or playful jest that'll inevitably come your way.

You scoot back where you were and lean toward him with less apprehension than what your words had suggested. Resting your delicate palm between the broad expanse of his shoulders, you feel him tense at the soft slip of your tender touch over his shirt. The tips of your fingers glide over his shoulder and silently take purchase on the taut muscle there. With a gentle, yet firm pull, you coax Arthur back toward you.

"C'mere. Lean back 'n talk to me..." Your dulcet tone pierces through his irritation, encouraging him to rest in your awaiting arms.

Arthur slowly reclines back, allowing himself to unwind in your embrace as his much larger body sits snugly against your plump bosom. Relaxing doesn't come easy for him. Hell, you'd be surprised if it had, given the high tensions between him and Micah these days or the tiresome back and forth between the two rival families in Rhodes. He has every right to be terse and tensed up like a snake ready to strike, but you aim to comfort him even if that means you risk getting bit. Silence hangs in the air between you, aside from the gentle breaths and the occasional strained grunt catching in the back of his throat while he struggles to get comfortable against you, due to the remaining stress insisting on clinging to his tired body. Your loving hands splay out over the firm expanse of his chest, feeling the steady and reassuring thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palms as you try your best to soothe your brooding lover. It's as if your mere presence cracks away at the anger lingering in the stiff tendons and taut plains of muscle along his torso until he relents and finally lets go. His body relaxes back into you as if he were sinking into the plush, luxurious drapery and bedding found in the finest hotels of Saint Denis; much like the bedding of the room he'd paid for the very same night he had whisked you away to bed you properly for your very first time.

He's silent for a long while, almost reluctant to burden you with his troubles. So, you take it up on yourself to start the conversation by spilling what had happened to you earlier in the day, thinking it might earn a laugh or two, "Well, I'm sure my day weren't as rough as your'n," you hum. "But I did fall off the dock, landing my hind-end right in that water."

The image would usually cause a humorous snort to escape him, but the irritation still bristling at his nerves prevents him from reacting with anything else other than a huff of annoyance, "I told ya to watch your footin' out there. Ain't no use to nobody if you get yourself drowned."

Fortunately, as he chides you his words begin to lack much of the anger from moments ago. But you sigh softly anyways, relenting to his incessant need to protect you from life's dangers, despite being able to handle your own, "I know, I know..."

With a few buttons of that old blue work shirt popped open by your deft fingers, the smallest opening there is just big enough to slip your hand inside and rest it up on the soft but wiry hairs at the very center of his chest. "You shoulda seen me, though," you murmur as you lean down toward his ear, lowering your tone as you press your cheek to the side of his head. "Was drenched head to toe, clothes clingin' to me like feathers on a wet chicken."

He sulks, trying to stay mad at anything and everything he can to give into the bristling anger at the back of his mind, but he can't. No, not when he can clearly envision you all soaked and surprised from falling into that cold lake. A faint smile curls up the corners of his lips and then, just as he almost chuckles, he clears his throat, holding his laugh back. However, you catch on far too quickly for him to play it off so easily.

You gasp softly in mock surprise as if offended by the idea of him laughing at you, "Arthur Morgan. Are you laughin' at me?"

That's when his temperament breaks, giving way to the huff of laughter rumbling through his chest. "I ain't laughin' atchu, per say..." he counters. "Just maybe at the thought of what ya mighta looked like comin' up outta that water: madder 'n hell, hair clingin' to your head," and as if to illustrate his point, Arthur reaches his hand backward and turns his head to try and catch a glimpse of you in the thick shadows, barely making your face distinguishable to his eyes, as he brushes his fingertips over the bits of hair clinging to your forehead from the muggy heat.

Though you narrow your eyes in mock annoyance, you lean into his calloused fingertips, accepting the gentleness of his touch while a giggle of your own creeps up into your throat, "Oh? Is 'at so? Maybe next time I find you out on that dock, I'll think 'bout pushin' ya in 'n lettin' you see how it feels."

He huffs out a skeptical breath and raises an eyebrow at the very thought of you even trying something like that with him. It'd be a futile effort and one that you truly wouldn't consider without the clear consequence of him pulling you right down with him.

And just as soon as the laughter came, it was gone again, replaced instead with a comfortable silence that settles between you two once more, giving him some space to think about what's happened to himself today. Long before the days of your arrival, Arthur would keep to himself and dwell on the ever-present burdens troubling his mind, brooding for hours. But with you, he feels a safety that men like him are rarely afforded.

"Well, if ya think fallin' in Flat Iron's bad..." he continues, "Try goin' halfway 'cross the state lookin' for a man that don't exist. Then when ya find someplace to get a drink, ya end up catchin' a few stray hits from some drunken bastard."

A soft gasp enters your lungs at the revelation. Another fight? You lean over his shoulder, reaching to take his scarred chin into your hand. It's hard to see through the inky-black darkness of the night, but even in the haziness, your eyes can make out the bruising along his jaw, the harsh scrapes of knuckles cutting over his cheek, and the jagged cut on his upper lip. It isn't a rare sight to have him come back battered and bruised by some job from time to time, but that still doesn't quell the uneasiness in your heart at him going through such pain and aggravation.

Your eyebrows furrow in sympathy for your rugged cowboy, eyes softening to match as you breathe out, "Oh, Arthur."

He's quick to dismiss your concern with a soft sigh, pulling away from you to lean forward and distract himself from your sympathetic gaze, "Ah, don'tchu go 'n worry yourself over me none, Darlin'."

Being fussed over or thought of so tenderly still isn't something he's used to; he's shown you that time and time again. But it never deters you from trying to make things better, to make things easier on him however you can. Whatever turmoil Arthur's got rolling about in his mind is far from the usual and it takes patience to understand; a patience that he finds only you can give.

You reach your hand out toward him. The delicate ends of your fingertips reach up to brush over the nape of his sun-kissed neck, grazing over the ends of his slightly overgrown hair, silently making a note to yourself that you'll trim it for him tomorrow. His body shuffles slightly backward, leaning in to accept your touch while he slips off his suspenders: pulling them down his shoulders heavy with burden, before taking his time to unbutton that tattered old work shirt you're so used to seeing around his muscular frame.

"'Sides..." he starts. "I did have some good that came from today."

"What's 'at?" you hum softly with a lilt of dryness. "Hittin' that feller back?"

He can't help the chuckle rising in his throat at the dry sarcasm touching your words. Arthur shakes his head softly, "Nah, Darlin', " the last word strains from his lips as he rises to his feet with a groan, leaving the safe comfort of your touch as he stands to undo his pants.

He glances over his shoulder, peering down at you through the darkness with a smirk curling up at the right corner of his mouth. Watching as your sweet eyes follow his every movement, Arthur turns to face you, allowing you to gaze at him as he slowly pushes the brass button through the eyelet at the top of his riding pants. The fabric opens effortlessly, revealing the red cloth of his union suit underneath. The sight of him before you, suspenders hanging loosely on either side of his long legs and his pants aching to be peeled from his strong form has your lips parted in awe at the man standing mere inches away from you.

He continues from just seconds before, "Seein' you laid out on my bed, purdy as a dream."

After stepping out of his pants now crumpled around his ankles, Arthur lowers one knee upon the cot nearest your thighs. He leans over you, using his thick fingers to tilt your chin upward, meeting his crystalline eyes. "Was one helluva sight I could get used to seein'."

The low timbre of his voice sends a shockwave of desire straight through your heart and into the aching pit of your stomach. Your lips draw up into a shy smile, and a faint dusting of pink envelops your cheeks just like the moment you'd first professed your feelings for him under that canopy of trees he led you through so blindly. Although it hasn't been long since that fateful night, the closeness of your relationship has escalated so quickly that your head and heart dizzy at the mere mention of his name.

Arthur's calloused thumb brushes over the supple swell of your bottom lip, enticing you to part them just for him. You comply, of course, unable to resist how a ghost of his touch makes you so pliant beneath him. And when he leans down to meet your lips with his own, your heart swells with tender affection. Those warm, slightly chapped, but pleasantly plush lips are heady as they connect with a passion that stokes the burning coals of desire in the very base of your core.

"Been waitin' to use that one for a while, hmm?" You hum contently while blindly guiding your hands toward the flare of muscle encasing his ribs. God, how you could worship this man and never tire of feeling how warm, how strong he is beneath your palms.

"Depends. It workin'?" He murmurs, smirking cockily against your lips.

Your mind begins to spin as the calloused pad of his thumb dips from your chin and swipes over your jawline. His fingers splay out over the side of your neck, fingertips gripping you with tender passion to hold you in place. He could easily break you, bend you with his finger and thumb as if you were nothing more than a twig beneath his rough and weathered hands. Never have you felt so small and fragile, always knowing in your heart that you took up much more room than other women. But, when you're with Arthur, he makes you feel as delicate as the petals on a beautiful flower, something so precious and worth loving; it's so much more than you'd ever experienced in your whole life. He touches you so tenderly as if you were made from nothing more than ash, a veritable pile of matter waiting to slip through his fingers at any moment.

You want to hum your praises to your lover, to let him know exactly how much you've wanted this, how much you've missed him, how well he's kissing you, touching you... But you can't. There are no words. He's stolen them from you, drawing all the air out of your lungs with his lips, leaving you gasping for the air coated in his divine masculine scent: sweet tobacco, wood ash, and mossy earth. He encompasses you, wrapping one arm around your waist as he pulls you close to his body, all the while shuffling himself forward to join you on the small cot. Your back presses against the hard wooden frame of the wagon making up the other half of his tent. He presses against you, holding you close to his strong body as he slides his right hand from your jaw, trailing it down over the soft skin of your neck, and down to your chest, where he heatedly palms your breast hidden just beneath your blouse. To have him touch you like this, like a man frenzied and dying for a taste of intimacy, has your head spinning and your heart on the verge of exploding if it hadn't already; for all you know, you could've died the moment his lips crashed into yours, and all that's left is a heaven you'd only dreamt of.

A low growl of appreciation rumbles through his chest for the plumpness of your body. Most men do not know the fine pleasures that extra curves on a woman can bring. But Arthur sure does. And oh how he worships your full figure, despite your opinions about yourself. His large, calloused palm shifts his attention to your other breast, kneading you tenderly while his lips work from your mouth, and instead, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses over your jawline and supple neck.

His name is a breathless sigh across your trembling lips as you allow your hands to explore his body in return. Touching over the large expanse of his torso and gliding your fingertips over the worn fabric of his union suit, you desperately search for the button that would bare him wholly to you. In the time it takes you to undo one of his buttons, his skilled fingers undo two of yours. Button after button unthreads upon both of your bodies, though his hands are much quicker at ridding you of your layers, leaving them strewn about on the ground until he's stripped you down and laid you beneath him in nothing more than your chemise and bloomers to conceal your decency. Arthur then crawls over you, his movements deliberate and enticingly slow as he cages you in with his hands pressed into the thin mattress on either side of your head. Shadows danced and shifted restlessly, playing tricks on your perception as you try to focus on what little of Arthur you could see through the haziness, making the absence of light feel alive. To feel him above you like this has your stomach in knots, tightening with a firey passion that's ready to snap at any given moment. Hearts are pounding, thrumming wildly against your ribcages like birds desperate to escape the confines of your chests. You hear it, hear how his breath shutters with each wild thump of his heart, and you feel it in his breath as it puffs over your cheek. He's losing himself to you and you him, slipping so quickly that rational thinking is no longer of use. You need him and he needs you.

The flaps of his union suit hang loosely from his body, allowing your hands to reach in and press flat over his heated skin. He shivers slightly at the contact, his muscles tensing and flexing beneath the tender meeting of your palms placed upon his scarred, goose-pimpled flesh. Your fingertips ghost over a scar on the right side of his ribcage, causing your face to crinkle with sorrow for what hardship your lover, this great outlaw, has had to endure in his lifetime. The damaged tissue is the result of a nasty fight he had as a young man: when someone stabbed him with the broken end of a beer bottle; they had aimed to kill him, but he had survived. The spot still aches with the memory of Hosea digging out the shards of broken glass from the angry, bloodied wound. But somehow, the way your delicate touch brushes over that old scar with such love and care causes the outlaw's skin to tingle, and his cock to ache with the pride of knowing that you love him so.

He takes his time with you here, laid out beneath him like a perfect little thing he's captured and kept safe by hiding you away in the privacy of his tent. After the day he's had, he wants to savor every bit of loveliness he's blessed with in your presence, so he can't rush this with you, not now. Arthur takes his time admiring you, letting his eyes rake over what he's able to see, and feeling what he cannot. Leaning down close enough to your face to capture that seductive glint in your glittering, lust-blown eyes, Arthur searches for any change within them as he maneuvers his right hand away from the mattress to trail along your sensitive flesh. The rough pads of his fingers ghost over your thigh, caressing the plump deposit of flesh along your middle, snaking up over your collarbones, and over your neck in search of your delicate face before sealing your mouth with his own in a kiss so tender you whimper from the initial contact.

Shivers of anticipation roll through him as your body responds to his touch: back arching off the bed, hands pulling on the nape of his neck to hold him down and assure that his lips won't leave yours, and the way your bloomer-clad hips roll upward in search of some much-needed friction. God how he could spend hours with you like this, letting his hands roam over your body to make you shiver and plead for any ounce of affection that he can give you. Your needy state is only exacerbated by the slight tremble in your thighs as he snakes his hands down over the pillowy flesh, seeking out the waistband of your bloomers. Ridding you of the cloth separating your pussy from his line of sight is an easy feat: the clad, slightly damp undergarment peels away from your plump hips with ease at the help of his precision; the Lemoyne heat causes the clothing to stick to your slightly dampened skin, but dammit if the temperature pales in comparison to how heated Arthur makes you feel. He tosses them down onto the ground, and places his hands upon your knees, spreading them apart as he sits above you to admire the feeling of your plump body beneath him.

His hand is unhurried and exacting, gently brushing his calloused knuckles down over your inner thigh, then lightly petting them over your soaked need covered by a soft thatch of hair. He can't see you fully, but that does nothing to stop his mind from envisioning how your cunt glistens with slick, all for him. The moment he presses his fingertips to your seam, parting you with the practiced precision of a lover, he lets a low, ragged breath escape his nose in appreciation for how wet you are. You shiver and instinctively try to close your knees from the pleasant surprise of his touch, and fuck does it feel good to have him brush over your folds like that.

"Always so ready, ain'tchya?" He murmurs, a teasing lilt to his voice as he takes his time in savoring the feeling of your slick upon his fingertips.

Your hips involuntarily twitch, bucking upward into his hand, seeking out his fingertips to make him swirl them over your aching little clit. You want him to touch you right where you need him, feel him right on that little spot upon that nub of nerves that makes your mind swirl and your body careen into a blissful orgasm. But he doesn't give that to you, not yet. He wants to work you over slowly, savoring every little sound he can draw out of those pretty lips. You're far too shy to answer him directly, instead favoring to cover your face with your forearms as he takes pleasure in taunting you like this. But the moment his fingertips threaten to part your folds, you let out a delicate little noise, someplace between a whine and a prayer to let him know that you're in no mood to endure his teasing tonight, "Arthur... Please."

Oh, how he loves to hear the sound of you begging; he's already half-hard at the idea of you wanting his touch, let alone hearing how desperate you are for it. He answers your prayer with a long, smooth stroke of his thumb parting your puffy, wet folds. You keen at how just a simple touch causes your stomach to flutter and your slit to clench around nothing at all. Your thighs, thick with strength, covered by a layer of squishy softness, part for him, relaxing lazily as he guides his thumb over each of your labia.

It was nearly impossible to get you to lay like this for him a few weeks ago; you'd been concerned about the unsightly appearance of your inner thighs: scarred over with dimples and imperfections, as well as the slight discoloration of having them rub together after so many years of being a larger woman. Most women that you've seen naked, don't have the same ailments upon their bodies as you have on yours. Just the other day when bathing with some of the girls in the lake, you'd noticed that even on Karen's body, a woman closer to your size, still didn't have the scars or discoloration across her skin in the same way that you have. And that night that Arthur had you laid out for him for the very first time, he'd noticed that apprehension in you, taking it as having second thoughts. But once you had explained how you felt about your own body, he hadn't even given the idea a single thought; his own body is mauled up, covered in old and ugly scars, and carrying more than three colors from all his time spent out in the sun. So, he couldn't have cared less about some scars, a little extra hair, weight, or even the discoloration over your thighs. What he did care about, however, was making sure that you felt loved in spite of it all. And now, it feels no different. To have you spread your legs for him like this, without a single worry holding you back, is a goddamn treat.

Fuck how good it feels to have the soft press of his thumb tease over your cunt, tracing the delicate path between your weeping entrance, to your swelling bud with a pressure so teasing and light that you squirm to feel more. Your plush lips tuck between your teeth to hold back any sounds that give away what you two are doing in here after dark, but it's useless; the lewd sounds of his thumb circling over your clit echo throughout the tent: a dead giveaway to anyone that dare walk by. Holding your breath like this isn't easy, not when the pounding of your heart echoes in your ears and your chest feels as if it's being seared from the inside out. A ragged gasp finally inhales through your nostrils, desperately trying to fulfill your body's need for air when you can no longer restrain your breaths.

He huffs out a low chuckle in amusement at the state he has you in: clearly desperate and in need to have your clit rubbed just the way you like it.

"Hmm.. Hear that?" He rasps out before going silent, letting you hear the sounds of your own slick being spread over your soaked cunt. He only continues when he finally reaches your clit, circling over the throbbing little nerve-ending to make you sigh out in pleasure for him. "So goddamn wet. All for me."

In a blur of movements, Arthur's chapped lips and teeth skim over your knee, slowly working their way down over your inner thighs. He nips at you, earning a few little squeaks and giggles until he kisses over your plump mound. His thumbs take hold of either side of your cunt, spreading you open to let the night air hit your wet skin. It's pleasant like this, to feel yourself spread out beneath him like a meal ready to be devoured and dammit if he ain't starved for a taste. Being eaten out has quickly become one of your favorite acts of intimacy in recent weeks; his tongue is so skilled at finding spots on you, making you come so deliciously, that most days it's all you've been able to think about. Hell, it's all you're thinking about now as his head sinks down to your core and his hot breath fans out over your aching need. His tongue slips out of that perfect mouth and flattens out over your seam, lapping at you once to earn him that little sigh of pleasure escaping your throat.

Your hands immediately seek out his head, combing through his slightly sweat-dampened hair as he swirls the blunt tip of his tongue over your clit.

"A-Agh, Arthur.. N-Not so fast," you whine out in protest, yet your hips bucking up into his mouth says otherwise. But he relents, nonetheless, giving you a moment of reprieve before he delves back in at the same pace.

He's aiming to make you cum quick and hard: slithering his tongue over your clit with the precision of knowing exactly what side and spot makes you writhe beneath him. Just left and then a little upward beneath that little hood of skin and he has you singing for him. Explicitves roll off your tongue one after another in between sweet little sounds that praise him for what effort he's putting in just for you. To hear you, feel you crumble beneath him like this is better than any robbery or score he gets out on the road. But just before he lets you come, he pulls his head back slightly and puffs cool air over your clit, making you whine.

"Shh.. Shh.. 'M gonna let ya cum, Darlin'. Don'tchu worry 'bout that none. 'M gonna take real good care of ya," he hums lowly as his lips and bristly scruff brush over your quivering inner thighs.

His promise isn't far off from fulfillment, not when he sinks his tongue into your heat and presses his opened mouth over the entirety of your cunt. He sucks hard, feeling your walls constrict around the wriggling muscle of his tongue as he laps inside your spongey center. Your thighs tremble with need as he fucks you with his mouth and slurps up your slick, drinking in as much of you as he can and relishing the tangy sweetness of your delectable taste. You throw your head back against the rolled-up blanket you had been using as a pillow earlier in the night, all while he eats you out like a man who's desperate to consume you.

But the aching throb of his cock, constricted by the thin fabric of his union suit, is far too angry for him to ignore. He's got to have you, now.

As he shuffles back up to his knees, leaving your cunt longing to cum on his tongue, you flutter your eyes open and snap your head up to try and catch a glimpse of what he's doing. Clearly, you ain't pleased with him teasing you like this, but when you feel his fervent movements, you realize that he's trying to work off his union suit. He wastes no time it peeling it away from his torso, but the moment he starts to tug it down his thighs, allowing his weeping cock to spring free, he nearly topples over and just about slams head-first into your body. Thankfully, he catches himself in the knick of time, grunting out a few curses as he grows impatient with his incapability to slide that damn fabric off his legs.

Amid his struggle to bare himself, you can't hide the giggle creeping up your throat as he curses under his breath, frustrated with how the fabric insists on clinging to his muscular legs. You help him slide the old red union suit off his body by digging your heels against the back of his thighs and pushing it down the long length of his legs until it reaches his ankles. The undergarment hangs loosely off his feet, causing him to kick it haphazardly off the side of the bed, letting it fall onto his trunk to skirt down on the grass below.

The instant his turgid length brushes over your inner thigh it twitches with the anticipation of feeling your tight, wet walls clamped around him, milking every drop of spend nestled away in his balls; spend that he so desperately wishes he could drain right inside of you. For now, however, just a single brush of your fingertips against him is enough. He has to hold his breath as he guides your delicate palm over his velvety shaft to stroke the needy ache away; if he isn't careful, he'd cum just like this. He hisses, sucking in a sharp breath through his teeth as your fingers wrap around him and your thumb seeks out the weeping slit of his blunt tip. Arthur is, by no means, a small man: his legs are long, torso strong and wide, feet and hands are like bear paws, and his cock.. God, his cock is big. You could use both of your hands to stroke him and still, there'd be enough room for his tip to be entirely untouched. But you make sure as you stroke him with one hand, you pay extra attention to his tip, smearing his drooling precum over as much of him as you can, even down to the dark and wiry curls along his base and balls.

He's trying so hard to hold himself back, but with each tender pass of your thumb over that sweet spot along the underside of his tip, the last remnants of his patience crack away. You feel him crumbling like this, crumbling into a frenzied mess of low-hummed breaths and grunts through gritted teeth, and you fucking love it. Before you can even think about the desire roaring in the cavernous pit of your stomach, aching to be quelled, he smashes his lips into yours so hard that you're sure one of you is bleeding. The pain of his busted lip splitting back open is an angry reminder of the frustration still lingering at the back of his mind; he's as tensed up, pent-up, as a taut rope ready to snap.

With a quick movement, he swats your hand away, preventing you from jacking him into a fast climax. Then, in one swift motion, he grabs hold of your thighs and forcefully yanks you toward him, making the round swell of your plump ass plant firmly against the hard front of his strong body. Your thighs spread out, squishing over and conforming to the contour of his hips, the intimate contact leaving you both ragged and breathless. Your heart drums a frantic rhythm in your ears, drowning out all other thoughts and sensations that belong to you alone. It's as if your mind has descended into a tangled web of strangled noises and glorious sensations that only Arthur seems able to untangle or soothe. The faint outline of his body nestled between your thighs is a constant reminder that nothing beyond this moment, beyond him hidden away with you inside of this tent, matters.

The hard length of his turgid pride parts your folds, gliding over the slick thatch of curls usually concealing your cunt from his eyes, but with his sight hindered, he can explore every single nook, roll, and crevice without you shying away. His weight bares down on you as he holds your legs into the crook of his arms, nearly bending you in half as he drags his cock over your seam. It feels so good like this, even though you can hardly breathe with the thickness of your thighs pressing against your already plump stomach, but when the tip of his cock knocks into your clit, it makes the strained pain well worth it. The back of your hand flies over your mouth as he continues on like this, pleasuring himself and you with each agonizingly slow thrust. Hearing your ragged, strangled half-breaths, he releases your thighs, leaving them to splay out lazily on either side of his hips as he leans down to steal a tender kiss.

Upon breaking his lips away from yours, the low hum of his voice finds its way through the haziness of your lust-broken mind as he murmurs against the shell of your ear, "Gonna take ya just like this..."

Chapped lips skim over your jawline and trail to your lips, where he gives you another tender kiss filled with gentle affection: polar opposite to the rough sex-driven outlaw you've gotten a taste of tonight, but aligning perfectly with the man you fell in love with all those years ago. Scraped knuckles skim against your slick heat as he slips his hand in between you both and presses flat over the thick, dark curls at the base of his throbbing length. His fingers spread wide over his pubic bone, holding his cock between his middle and ring finger, stiffening himself outward to seek out your clenched entrance. With a slight pullback of his hips, he guides himself to your slit, catching right on the taut muscle before pressing forward and splitting you open.

A soft cry hums in the back of your throat and he shushes you so tenderly, sliding his hands over your knees and down your shins to soothe the ache he knows you're feeling. You're so fucking tight, hardly different from the first night he took you and bedded you properly back at the Saint's Hotel. It nearly shatters him when your walls flutter around him, squeezing and pulling him in inch by inch as if you were carved out just for him to sink into. He stills only for a short moment, letting you feel him nestled up against your cervix before he slides himself out and enters you again with a sharp snap of his hips. Lingering anger and frustration from the shit day he's had still pulsates at the back of his mind, desperate to be released as the tension in his body rises.

The tight walls of your cunt clench onto him for dear life as jolts of pleasure and pain rack through your body.

Behind the shield of your palm, you cry out, "A-Agh, Arthur!"

You're trying your best to be quiet, to still your ragged breaths and hide your whimpers, but he's making it incredibly difficult. Each slow drag of his cock coming out of you with a satisfying pop, only to pierce you with a hard roll of his hips, sends you reeling. You're seeing stars, shaking from the pleasurable burn of the passionate fire he's stirring within you. Strong hands grip your hips, keeping you still as his thrusts guide you into a steady rhythm that makes the old wooden frame creak and groan with every subtle and sharp movement that your bodies make. Being discreet has left his mind entirely, no longer concerned with what sounds are coming out of his tent as he fucks you good and proper. No, he couldn't care less when the sounds of your slick pussy squelches as he presses himself flush against you and groans against the pulse point of your neck.

"Don't want ya hidin' them purdy sounds, Darlin'. Let 'em out for me," he grunts out between slow but hard thrusts.

Usually, intimacy like this is savored in the shaking breaths and whispered little sounds only audible to your ears, but tonight... Tonight Arthur is something else entirely. Primal. A damn, dirty outlaw. You love this new view of him, but you can't allow yourself to let the others hear. What if someone were walking by? Or Hosea or Dutch hear you two going at it? You wouldn't be able to look at them for a week! But he doesn't give you much choice in the matter: snaking his hand down between your bodies, his muscular forearm presses against your plush belly while his thumb immediately finds your clit.

"O-Oh, God," you whine as the pad of his thumb circles over you, followed by his name dripping off your tongue like the sweetest honey. "At's it... Such a good girl takin' me so deep. Mmm.. Gonna cum 'round me ain'tchu? Gonna give me a real good one, baby?"

God damn him if his mouth ain't filthy. The way he croons out those little praises and words of encouragement has your climax building faster than you ever could have anticipated. And the swirling of his thumb? It has you shaking, whining, pleading, practically begging for your release as he talks you through it, "C'mon, Darlin'... I feel ya squeezin' me real tight," he praises, "'At's it. Focus on me."

With one more swipe of his thumb over your sensitive clit and his cock hitting that sweet spot right against your cervix, you're tensing, digging your heels into the thin mattress, and cumming around him so hard that you see white. It takes everything in you not to scream, but the strangled sound coming out of you is loud enough to warrant some head-turning if anyone were awake. The moment your walls flutter and start milking him, he falls forward and drops down onto his elbows to cage you in. His thrusts are relentless as he takes his anger out on you in this way, using every movement of his body to release the bristling anger clutching onto his mind like a damn vice grip. No matter how fervent and frenzied, he's still careful not to hurt you, always thinking about how good he's making you feel while chasing his own release.

Arthur isn't a man of many words, but when you're gripped around him like this, clutching him with your arms, legs, and your fluttering pussy, he is downright mouthy. "Oh, such a good girl for listenin' to me. Shh.. Shh. I gotchu, baby. I gotchu."

His mouth hovers over yours, claiming your lips as he kisses you hard and possessively. Moans spill out of you, traveling through the expanse of his throat until it hums within his chest and he echoes one back. To talk like this with him, in a language only two lovers could understand, is far more intimate and pleasurable than anyone could ever know. Arthur is yours and you are his, no ownership or proprietary claim, but just the pleasant knowledge that both of you choose to love each other is enough.

With a few more rolls of his hips, he's nearing his own orgasm: length twitching and engorging as his balls tighten. In desperation, he quickly climbs off of you and pulls his cock out from your core. His right hand tightens into a fist around himself, and although you can't see it, you hear the lewd, effortless slide of his hand vigorously pumping over his tip like his life depends on cumming for you.

Finally, his orgasm hits him, working its way out of his tightened balls and spurting over your plump mound and belly. If he could see his spend on you like this, it'd be enough to make him cum all over again. But both of you are far too exhausted to even consider that so soon. You're still shaking, panting heavily as he lowers himself down onto you, not caring that his sticky spend is now covering the front of his body as well, as your sweaty bodies come down from such an enormous height.

His touch traces a slow, deliberate path down your leg until his fingertips reach the softness of your hip, where he gives your flesh a gentle but firm grasp. Reveling in the smoothness of your skin and the feel of your curvy form beneath his palm, he lets out a slow exhale through his nose. The heat of his breath spills over your neck and shoulder, doubled by the heavy breaths leaving his lips as he lazily peppers your clammy skin with kisses.

After a long stretch of quiet spent nestled into his hair, breathing in the comforting remnants of campfire intermingled with his musky scent, your breathing finally begins to steady. Slowly, your senses return to you one by one, like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place. Shock and disbelief jolt through your entire being as it finally hits you how easily he manipulated your body with his own strength and skill as a lover. You'd heard of men being rough with women, but never did you think it could be this pleasurable.

Your voice finally cuts through the relative silence, carrying a deep sense of satisfaction and astonishment with it, "Wh-here in the hell did that come from?"

An amused chuckle rumbles inside his chest, slightly huffing out of his nose as he slightly pushes himself off of you to gauge your reaction, "Reckon I were a little pent up. Why? You like it?"

To say you liked it was an understatement, but you'd like anything as long as Arthur were right there with you to experience it just the same. While his right hand slides up over the plump contours of your body, appreciatively grabbing at the plushness of your stomach and breasts, he lovingly brushes a few stray strands of hair off your forehead stuck there by the sweat covering your body. You hum softly in agreement to his question, deciding that you did enjoy this different side of him you hadn't expected, despite his rough exterior.

"Mhmm.. 'S always good with you," the loving words you murmur cling to his heart and earn you a pleasant kiss that tastes like the remnants of his busted lip.

As his lips trail back down over your jawline, his beard delightfully scratches over your sensitive skin, causing you to hum in appreciation for him loving you like a man who worships the very ground you walk upon. Your own body follows his lead, fingertips glide down the entire length of his back, tracing the contour of muscle that hint at the immense strength lurking beneath. You can't help but marvel at his shape, this man you love so dearly, and how his body was molded for love and carved from such a hard life. While your fingertips glide across his muscled frame, you can feel the subtle shift of his body as he adjusts himself on top of you, notricebly more relaxed than before: a clear testamanet to the calming eddect your touch has on him.

Curiosity peaked, you murmur, "You relaxed now?" as your fingertips idly trace the two little dimples that grace the base of his spine, just above the firm and muscular curve of his ass.

An amused smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, obviously enjoying the path your fingertips are carving out over his back. He'd never admit it, but he loves it when you grab him unabashedly, palming his ass like he so often does to you. The warmth of his cock brushing over your leg, hardening much faster than he expected for a man his age, tells you all you need to know.

He agrees with you, humming softly against your chest as he inches himself down to where his mouth hovers over the plump swell of your breasts, "Thinkin' that we just might need a little more time for relaxin', don'tchu?"

A/N: Big thanks for the divider from @saradika-graphics and the beautiful gif from @sunwingsunset, please go send them some love for their work! <3

Other creators that expressed interest and drew inspiration from: @subpopizzy , @cassietrn , @coltermorning , @redwritr, @zae-heeyyy, @twola , @amorgansgal

Please do go check all the blogs I tagged! You surely won't be disappointed!

As always, sending my love - M. <3

[blvdheart]

one of his many journal entries about you

arthur morgan x fem!reader and male!reader <33

i won’t lie…i have 45 hours on the game and i’m not even past chapter 2 (っ- ‸ – ς) why progress when i can save myself the pending heartbreak and instead admire this pretty man and his journal sketches?

anyways…love all you arthur morgan kissers ♡

“my body doesn’t feel right as of late. my hands are too rough, my face is all wrinkled up, and my voice isn’t all that pleasant. if only i could sound as smooth as i write.

never been the most confident of men, but well, this body’s what i’m stuck with. used to go months on end without shaving until i realized my beard looked like bills. how embarrassing. miss grimshaw, the strong-headed woman she is, knocked some sense into me too. well…more like slapped me.

shaving makes me look more approachable, and that’s not really a good thing with my reputation. but, i did it anyway and spent a pretty penny on the barber up in valentine’s…had to pay a bit extra because of the drunken ruckus lenny and i caused there last time.

if my heart hadn’t been captured, maybe these worries of mine wouldn’t even exist.

oh, the ridiculous things love does to a man…”

꒰ fem!reader ꒱

“about as beautiful as the stars above; a woman so otherworldly that sometimes I have to look away. she shines too brightly for these tired eyes of mine. i suppose that’s for the best, ain’t it? a man like me, the walking embodiment of sin, isn’t worthy of such a loving lady.

but that doesn’t keep her away. she often asks me to recount some of my adventures, and i hesitantly do so, fearful she’ll think me a bad man. craziest thing is, she looks more worried than anything else whenever i do as told. telling me to be more careful with that honey-like voice of hers. could listen to it all day. it’s like a balm to the soul.

can’t keep myself away from her either. doesn’t matter what she’s doing, i always find myself wandering over to her. i don’t usually have trouble sleeping, i’m like some rock when it comes to it. but she’s occupied my mind too much lately, falling asleep is difficult. like right now. should be sleeping, but i’m not. just up wondering about the ifs and hows.

i’ve been saving up some money so i can go get her something real nice, maybe a pretty dangly necklace. could just steal one, but i want to prove myself to her. she deserves the best, not something that belonged to some other stranger.

god knows i’d do whatever i can to keep her safe and sound. i’d die for her. funny thing is, i considered myself to be a selfish man before breathing the same air as her.

i can say with absolute certainty that i would give up everything for a future with her.

if she’d have me.

…

now, this fool’s about to try and sketch her.

not sure if i can encapsulate her beauty onto a page, though.”

꒰ male!reader ꒱

“i fear I’m going mad. i never thought i’d feel this way about a man before. then again, pursuit of romance has never been a priority in my life. he’s one of a kind, something about him makes my palms feel all clammy.

he never leaves my head, every inch of this brain of mine is consumed with thoughts of him. his grin, the way his hat perches on his head, the stories he shares ‘round the campfire.

i’ve come across many men on all my journeys, but his handsomeness is unmatched. and he’s different. doesn’t nag me like dutch or get on my nerves like micah, but he isn’t just a brother like some of the other folks here.

i’ve been a bit too scared to drink these days. you know me, i spill my guts out and say stupid things like a damn fool when i get like that. wouldn’t know what to do if i were to sputter out how fine of a fella i think he is, or how grateful i am for him. is this only a special friendship? no, i don’t know how to describe this.

well, yes i do, actually.

love.

my fingers trembled while writing that.

some may call this spark a sin, but going down an altar with him would be a taste of heaven itself. that wish is too far-fetched though.

all i ask for is a sign. just one. maybe i’m misreading the glimmer in his eye, or the way the bastard slings his arm over my shoulder and sings after he downs some moonshine.

weird how life works, isn’t it?”

[imfinereallyy]

“Dad is going to be very angry,” El says with wide eyes taking in the scene before them.

“You think Hop will kill him?” Steve says as he leans against the doorway, eating a Twizzler.

El looks at Steve momentarily, sticking her hand out for some candy. Steve hands her one without hesitation. El rips a piece off before speaking. “Oh yes. He might ask you to help hide the body.”

Steve nods solemnly, “I’ll do what needs to be done. Mikes’s my least favorite child anyway.”

“Hey!” Mike yells, gaining the duo's attention. It brings them back to the scene they walked in on. Mike and Will, with the door closed (no three inches in sight) on top of each other, making out.

Steve doesn't think he’ll ever get that image out of his brain.

“Chill, Wheeler, I'm joking,” Steve says pointedly before turning to El and mouthing no, I'm not.

El giggles, and Steve can't help but feel like he won a prize at the sound.

“I'm sorry, El.” Will blushes with shame, like he is betraying his sister somehow.

El just shrugs, “I do not care. But Dad might. He hates Mike.”

Steve snorts, “That's the understatement of the century. I don't think Hop has ever hated someone’s partner like he has Mike. Honestly, I was surprised he liked Eddie. I mean like is a strong word. But he tolerates him.”

Will pipes up, “I think he does mostly because he knows you'll move out, and he only just got you to agree to stay here.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ll take what I can get. At least he doesn't walk on me having sex.”

“We weren't having sex!” Mike practically screams. Hands up exasperated. “And don't talk about you and Eddie; it's gross.”

Will blushes deeply with head in his hands, “Oh, God.” El pats him on the shoulder in sympathy.

“Also, this wouldn't have happened if you weren't an idiot and just knocked!” Mike stomps. Jesus, this kid is 15 acting 6.

“I was the one who walked in, Mike. I wanted to know if Will wanted to watch a movie.” El says coldly, getting defensive of her brother.

Mike clams up, Steve can't help but feel smug.

“Who’s having sex?!?” A distinct Hopper-like voice echoes through the house.

Will and Mike share a panicked look while Steve and El take more Twizzlers from the bag.

“Oh no. Mike! What are we going to do?”

Mike sputters, “He doesn't have to know it was us! And we weren't having sex!”

Will looks at him like Mike is the biggest moron he's ever met. Steve loves the kid (despite early protest) but has to agree. “Oh gee Mike, I wonder who he will think it was about. Steve? Who is dating a man who isn't here and keep in mind, it's Steve. Who is our brother, and five years older than us? And in a relationship? And let's not forget..is Steve?!”

“This is fair.” Steve agrees. If anyone but Baby Byers had attempted to say that, Steve would have been pissed. But it's Will, so it's coming from a good place.

“Also! Also! The other person here is El! Who is my sister! Not to mention your ex—”

“—well it could have been—”

“Micheal Steven Wheeler, if the next words out of your mouth are it could have been you and El, I will never be kissing you again.” Will uses a deathly tone. Steve isn't convinced he didn't get from El.

“Your middle name is Steven?” Steve fills giddy.

“Shut up Steve!”

Will pinches his brows, “And you idiot, if it were you and El, you would still he toast.”

Steve whistles, “Shit, Will. Next time I need to win an argument against Eddie. I'm coming to you.”

“How long does it take for dad to get upstairs?” El interrupts.

All of them look down the hall. “Huh, maybe we are in the clear,” Mike whispers.

“I said who is having sex?!?” Hopper comes thundering up the stairs.

“I think this is what Max calls a jinx.” El looks at Mike unphased.

Steve can't help but feel a little bad for Will. He looks panicked around the room, probably looking for a hiding place. Steve knows that it isn't that same fear Will once had of Lenny, Hop wouldn't hurt them ever, but he can't help but feel a little protective of him. Steve knows all too well how the fears of biological fathers can sneak up on you, even if you know you're safe. “Don’t worry, Will. I'll make sure Hop takes it easy.”

Will relaxes, “Thanks Steve.”

“What about me?” Mike asks, eyes wide.

El shares a look with Steve. Spending as much time as they have lately has allowed them to talk without speaking most of the time. It freaks everyone but Robin out (she gets it). Seconds go by before they both nod in agreement.

Steve and El both wip their heads towards Mike, and Steve says, “You were grossed out by my relationship and called me stupid. Suffer.”

Mike's outcry is in synch with Hop breaking through screaming, “There better be three inches!”

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

Rye Whiskey

♢ Summary: Celebrating Sean's return to camp includes a drunk Arthur, which allows you to discover this whole new side of him. ♢Words: 2057 ♢Warnings: None except for the whole alcohol/drinking theme, basically it's just a one-shot of a fluff idea I had watching the video of drunk Arthur saying nonsense to Saddie. ♢a/n: I recommend reading it with the mindset that Arthur is in the same state as in "A Quiet Time" and listening to Rye Whiskey to put you in the mood! Wrote a little sequel for this! Read it here. ♢Credits: These gorgeous dividers are from @cafekitsune!

♪ "O Mollie O Mollie, it's for your sake alone,

That I leave my old parents, my house and my home!" ♪

Even if one didn't know Sean had returned to the gang, they could have noticed it right away hearing his cheerful singing, his thick Irish accent rolling the words even more musically. As the main entertainer of the gang, he was absolutely delighted to have a party thrown for him, and honestly, his big toothless smile made your heart feel warmer. Tonight, in the fresh air of New Hanover, it was only laughter, guitar notes, and drunken sounds that were echoing through the camp, everyone finally having a real good time since they had settled at Horseshoe Overlook after such a long period hidden in the ruthless cold of the Grizzlies.

You were sitting around one of the campfires, with Javier, Sean, Uncle, and John. Karen had also joined, gladly sitting on Sean's lap with a bottle in her hand; you were sure there was something between them, and the poor man probably deserved some sweet time after what he had been through. Talking about bottles, the floor was flooded with a large amount of them around your little singing group, almost like a big pond of green shining glass you all fed every few minutes when someone would empty one.

You had your fair share of drinks already, a slight blush burning your cheeks, the alcohol keeping you warm under the night's cold breeze and happy despite the gang's precarious situation. Funny, how whiskey would make everything easier and more entertaining, no matter who or where you were looking at.

Alright, you had to admit it, maybe you were a bit tipsy, but so were John, Javier, Sean, and Karen, their happy faces softly lit by the golden flames. But Arthur, -Oh Lord, Arthur was far beyond drunk, he was wrecked. Looking at him from where you were sitting and singing along, you could see just how much of a mess he was; at least three of his shirt's buttons were undone, said shirt opened messily; his hair scattered under his hat and looking a bit sticky, almost as if he had put his whole head into a barrel of beer; he had a constant smile on his face, and his body was swaying slightly as if he was an unstable bottle being tossed around by the waves of a tormented sea. You chuckled to yourself; he was quite a sight to see, and you wondered if you actually had ever seen him that drunk. A few weeks back, Lenny had told you about the wild night he and Arthur had at Valentine's saloon, but the man in question had slept in jail and came back to camp completely sober, which made you unable to see his incredibly drunken state and made you wonder what the hell he must have done to end up in said jail.

♪ "If the Oceans were whiskey, and I were a duck, -Quack quack !-

I'd dive to the bottom, and get one sweet sup !" ♫

You chuckled at how Arthur had added the quacking part, finding it quite endearing. It was almost as if it was a whole new side of him, and you couldn't stop watching. His deep voice sounded surprisingly good as he was singing with the others, and you caught yourself liking hearing it. After all, you always had a sweet spot for him, so you wouldn't complain about having the opportunity to look at him as much as you wanted without him noticing it (or at least, being too drunk to understand what exactly was happening). His bright blue eyes, sparkling with the orange ashes of the fire, along with his light brown hair and stubble, his black opened shirt, his thin lips curled into this big stupid smile... It was all making your heart melt more and more. You almost lost it when he started drinking again, roughly grabbing a nearby bottle, probably without even knowing what it was containing, and bringing it to his mouth, the golden liquid sliding in his throat, making his Adam's apple bob, some glistening drops of it flowing from the bottle all the way down his scarred chin, then his throat, ending up lost in the dark hairs of his chest.

You're suddenly pulled out of your starring trance by his loud voice cutting through the song's lyrics: "Lenny, mah boy! Come and sing with us."

"Arthur... You had too many drinks again..." Lenny answered with an amused giggle as he was passing behind him, catching his inebriated eldest as he had got up to greet him, but ended up stumbling on the way and almost tripped on him, it only made Arthur laugh at himself.

There was no need to specify that Lenny had trouble holding him upright, Arthur being under normal circumstances quite a weight to carry, and even more so when he was in such a state not making any effort to prevent his face from kissing the ground. Quickly, you got up yourself, and took a few steps towards the men, helping Lenny on his difficult task.

"Look who it is... Miss Y/L/N !" Arthur greeted you with foggy eyes and a wide grin as if you two hadn't seen each other for years when you had talked only a few hours ago. He instantly put one of his arms above your shoulders and the other around Lenny's. "C-come ooon, let's dance !"

Lenny sighed before laughing a bit, letting Arthur bring him into his drunken enthusiasm; you chuckled along with him, not complaining about being so close to the handsome cowboy you had your heart and eye on for a while, even if he was barely able to register what he was actually doing and with whom. As Javier started playing a lively song, Arthur, Lenny and you were throwing your legs up in the air; you laughed some more noticing how your favorite cowboy had a hard time actually following the rhythm. You couldn't believe just how euphoric he was tonight, almost as if the bottles had turned on a switch in his mind, making him go completely wild without any of his usual gruff restraints. Maybe that was what the alcohol did to everyone. Maybe that was what it was doing to you right now but you couldn't be sure if it was, precisely because you were happily drunk and carefree.

The night continued and you blushed realizing Arthur hadn't let you go, his arms always ended up around your shoulders or on it as he was sometimes leaning against you. His manly scent, a sweet mix of smoky tones brought by tobacco and gunpowder, and woody ones, supported by pine and leather traces. Your head was starting to feel dizzy just by smelling it, your mind even more intoxicated by it than the alcohol you had been drinking all night.

"Maybe..."

You brush away your thoughts, he was really drunk, and he could have been like that with anyone. You spent the rest of the night having fun, drinking some more, laughing, singing, the whole gang having more and more fun as everyone had loosened up thanks to the booze. However at some point, the main man of the party, Sean, disappeared with Karen, and people started going to bed. After all, it was almost morning already, the stars of the night not as bright anymore as they were around the middle of the night, subtle sun rays making their presence known behind the outlines of the mountains, but not appearing just yet.

It was now only you, John, and Arthur left around the campfire, the dark-haired man looking down at his brother at heart, an amused grin on his face. Arthur was half asleep at you and John's feet, bottle in one hand, his other arm curled up around your leg. With all the proximity and physical contact he had given you through the whole night, your heart and body had gotten warmer, and you had to make enormous efforts to keep your thoughts in line, not wanting to have any false hope about him and his behavior.

"He's so goddamn drunk... " John sighed.

"Clearly."

"Come on, let's carry him to bed." John said to you, getting up with difficulty from the log you both were sitting on.

"Aah, you guys are no f-fun!" Arthur protested, his voice even hoarser than usual due to his intoxicated self. "Come on, one more drink!"

"Nope, you're going to bed." John's own croaky tone answered his partner. He then looked at you while bending down, expecting you to help him lift Arthur's poor body.

You leaned over, helping John. Arthur was barely able to walk, leaning heavily on you and John, one of his arms above John's shoulder just as earlier with Lenny, but his other one around your waist. Your cheeks burned. Even if it was just drunken attention... You liked it.

The three of you started to walk to Arthur's tent, as fast as you could considering his feet were more brushing the ground than actually stepping on it. You just weren't capable of having any coherent thoughts at this point, your whole being living for the warm sensation of his big palm on your waist, feeling how his fingers were gently rubbing against your clothes.

"You two... Are the b-best..." Arthur slurred out in a rough voice when you had reached his tent. As gently as you both could, John and you were trying to lay him in his cot.

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Arthur." John answered with an amused chuckle, placing one of his legs in its rightful place on his bed.

"Y/N, you're beautiful..." Arthur added in an almost unintelligible rumble, as you were pulling back from him. "I l-love you."

Your jaw dropped. What did he say? Did you hear that right? You froze, eyes glued to the outlaw, who was already turning around to sleep on his stomach, lips parted, a light snore emerging from his noose; he had instantly fallen asleep as if he had permission to now that he was in his cot.

John looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't take it seriously, Y/N." He advised you. "He already told that to Abigail and Karen before, even Saddie if I reckon right."

"Oh, erm... Alright, I won't." You answered your friend. Honestly, you probably would have slept better not knowing that; a sharp little sliver of disappointment subtly piercing through your heart. "Goodnight then, John."

"Goodnight, Y/N, thanks for the help." The scarred man greeted you before heading to his own tent. It was so late, you were sure Abigail would reprimand him for that tomorrow morning.

But that was John's problem, and you already had one yourself.

You took a last look at your sleepy cowboy before walking off to your own tent. He looked cute like this, hair messy, clothes completely disheveled; even his snoring was pretty endearing to you. You reluctantly turned your back to him, resisting the urge to actually lay with him in his cot. After all, he wouldn't have complained, wouldn't he? He probably wouldn't even have noticed... These thoughts got stuck in your brain as you lay in your own cot, pretty tired yourself after partying all night, your spirit slowly drifting away in the realm of dreams, sleep troubled by blurry visions of what had happened during the night, a beautiful, charming, stupid smile keeping on reappearing from time to time in your slumber.

Arthur opened his eyes. "It hurts"; were the first words that came to his mind. His back, his neck, his goddamn head, everything was hurting him. Getting old was definitely not a piece of cake. He rubbed his eyes, which felt dry and burnt, just like his thorny throat, even if a slight string of saliva had slid from his mouth. Getting that drunk was definitely too frequent for him lately, the other night with Lenny still engraved in his memory and his tired body, fed up with his poor drinking decisions. He slowly got up, rubbing his face, carefully avoiding his gaze from looking at the sun, its light way too powerful for him in this hungover state.

Looking around the camp, he smiled internally seeing Karen emerging from Sean's tent. Little bastard had gotten himself a good time last night. While thinking back about what happened, he had a hard time remembering all of it, as often when he was that drunk. Maybe it was better that way, considering his impressive capacity to get in trouble and make a fool of himself in those kinds of situations. However this time, something was lingering in the back of his mind.

You.

Your delicate smell, how the soft fabric of your clothes felt under his fingers, how your voice sounded into his ears, how smooth and mellow your leg was. How the hell did he knew about all that? He focused, frowning, trying so hard to remember what had happened, but all he had was these sensations, those pleasant, haunting sensations. He couldn't help but feel flustered all by himself, sat on his bed, cheeks getting slightly flushed, just imagining the reasons why he suddenly knew so much about the grain of your skin and the warmth of your body against his;

He prayed deeply he didn't do anything stupid with you; Lord knows how important you were to him. Hell, he had thought about you a lot already, thought about offering you flowers or maybe a nice jewel, something that would be as pretty as you even if to him, no physical object could ever compete with your astonishing beauty and your adorable, sweet, sunny personality.

But before all that, he needed to have a few words about last night with you. Probably would stumble on his words, look like an idiot again, but at least he would be able to be close to you, just like in those sweet lingering memories in his head.

Sequel here.

a/n : Alright so... Here it is! My first one-shot ever. Please, if you notice anything, any mistakes, or a weird-sounding sentence: let me know! English isn't my first language and I'm actually anxious as hell to publish this! Anyway, thanks for reading this until the end and take care <3

[slut4thebroken]

Dad/stepdad finding your vibrator hcs

Tommy Shelby, Cillian Murphy, Raymond Leon, Jackson Rippner, Lenny Miller

(All accurate to the universe’s time period)

Tommy Shelby - To say he was shocked would be an understatement. At first he was concerned— were you suffering from hysteria and he didn’t even know? But then he remembered that vibrators have very recently started being used for more… personal activities. He confronted you about it anyway though. You blushed and stuttered out “I- I can explain..” and he found it amusing at first, but he kept his expression stern. It was when you broke down crying that he suddenly softened. “I’m sorry, daddy. Please don’t be mad..” You cried out, making him pull you into a hug and shush you, trying to calm you down. “I’m not mad, love.” He said gently. “Just… tell me what it’s for.. I promise I won’t be mad.” You looked up at him with wide, teary eyes to see if he was being truthful. When you found no sign of a lie, you whispered that you use it for self pleasure, which he already knew. He just wanted to hear you say it. He sighed and shook his head. “You think you’re old enough to be playing with adult toys like this?” He asked, and you muttered out an excuse of how you just turned 18. “Maybe so, but I still don’t think it’s appropriate at your age.” That triggered something inside of you and you whined about how you’re an adult and you can do what you want, acting far too bratty for his liking. “Is that so? An adult, are you?” He had a condescending smirk on his lips and he pretended to think it over, then scoffed a laugh. “Fine then. If you’re an adult I guess I should start punishing you like one.” His tone was noticeably darker now. “Get on the fucking bed.”

Cillian Murphy - He knew he should’ve ignored it, respected your privacy… But he just kept thinking about you using it. The pretty sounds you probably made, the way your cheeks probably became flushed… But then he started thinking about you using it with someone.. Did you have a secret boyfriend? Or were you exploring your sexuality all on your own… Deciding to do the responsible thing, he started planning out when and how to talk to you about all of these new things you may be feeling as a developing young woman. One day he sat down with you, gently told you what he knew and reassured you when you immediately became embarrassed. He told you that it was natural and nothing to be ashamed of… “A young girl like yourself needs someone to guide her, teach her what’s right and how to be safe.” He said softly, brushing your hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear. “As your father, I’m afraid that role falls on me.” He tried not to seem too excited by the idea. Standing up, he walked over to where the toy was hidden and brought it back over to the bed, handing it to you. “I need to make sure you’re using it the right way. I’d hate for my little girl to get hurt.” He frowned, watching as your eyes widened. He didn’t let you protest as he helped removed your clothes and laid you down on the bed. “Now show me exactly how you’re using it, sweetheart.”

Raymond Leon - At first, he almost mistook it for something else, but when he did a double take, he realized what it actually was. A rush of emotions hit him, the main ones being anger, disappointment, and arousal. Were you turning into a whore? Did he do something wrong when raising you? When you came home one day, he was waiting on your bed, the vibrator next to him. You were immediately hit with a wave of embarrassment and humiliation- good. You started trying to defend yourself, saying it’s not what it looks like. “Don’t try to play innocent.” He scoffed. “Get over my fucking lap.” His voice was so harsh, it made you tear up as you begged him not to. So he roughly grabbed you and pulled you over his thighs, then flipped your skirt up. He spanked you until his hand was burning and there were little welts on your ass. You were sobbing loudly, the pain becoming too much, and with the way you kept squirming and rubbing against his cock, he eventually got hard. He forced the vibrator between your legs, making you apologize for your whorish behavior as you came over and over again until he was satisfied. “Get on your knees.” He demanded and you slid off his lap to the floor, still sobbing and almost hyperventilating from the overwhelming pleasure. “There are consequences for acting like a whore.” He spat, quickly opening his pants to free his cock, making your breath catch in your throat. “So, be a good girl for once and finish what you started.”

Jackson Rippner - He had been trying so hard to be a good father figure- god knows you desperately needed it. But as soon as he found a vibrator hidden away (very poorly) in one of your drawers, he just lost all control. He managed to wait a few days until it was only the two of you in the house, then confronted you. This wasn’t his proudest moment… but he didn’t regret it. “What would your mom think, huh?” He asked, subtly threatening you. “I would hate to have to tell her… but maybe we can work something out.” He said coyly, enjoying the way you blushed and squirmed and pouted. He made you beg for it, for his cock and for him to not tell your mom. Once he had you underneath him with his cock fully sheathed in your little cunt, he practically plowed into you until you cried. “This is your own fault.” He hissed. “The only reason this is happening is because you teased me by leaving it somewhere for me to find.” You sobbed harder and shook your head, unable to do anything else to protest. “You’ve been a fucking tease since day one with those tiny little shirts and the skirts that barely cover your ass… I’m fucking sick of it.” He growled, getting more worked up. “From now on, you’re gonna let me use this cunt whenever I want, or I’ll tell your mom about your little secret, and how you seduced me and begged me to fuck you.”

Lenny Miller - You should’ve known better than to think you could hide things from him. Just like you should’ve known better than to think you could lie to him. But when he confronted you, you denied it. Which he figured you might do… That’s why he set up a camera in your room, hidden in a vent but angled perfectly at your bed. The quality was not the best, but it was good enough to still obviously show what you were doing. He can’t even count the amount of times he came to that footage of you. When you tried lying, he sighed and reached for the remote, already having the tape ready in the tv. The second it turned on, you lips parted in shock and your face paled, then a very dark blush took over your cheeks. “There are a few different ways this can go. Option one: the camera stays up and you can keep the vibrator. Option two: I punish you, then confiscate it, but I’ll take down the camera.” He paused, lowering his voice into something darker and thick with arousal. “Or option three: you show me just how sorry you are for owning something like this. I’m still going to punish you, but if you do a good enough job begging, I might just let you keep it.” He said coyly. He waited impatiently for you to choose and when you couldn’t get any words out, still glancing at the tv, he chose for you. He spanked you until you cried and made you suck his cock to prove you were sorry, then forced you to ride him while you begged for his forgiveness.

[nthspecialll]

Bill Williamson's racism

(If I have worded anything in a wrong way, if I have accidently said something wrong, you disagree or anything similar, please do let me know and educate me, but I ask that you don't do it in a condecending tone and that you refrain from calling me a fool or similar. I do nothing will ill intent and I want to learn but I cannot if you merely insult me.)

I do want to start of by saying that Bill's racism is not excusable, and that he is not doing it for attention or similarly, that he does in fact have racist tendencies, however what I wish to talk about in this post is the differences between his racism and Micah's which shows more neuance and has peaked some, including my own, interest.

The most obvious difference to me between Micah and Bill's racism is how they act around the people of color. Bill praises both of Lenny and Javier. Bill calls Lenny "son" and yells to everyone about how amazing he is and the proud almost fatherly instrict is oozing. With Javier there is a similar interaction where he is drunk and he is yapping Sean's ear off about how amazing Javier is.

We do not see that with Micah (That I can find), the only possitive thing Micah says to either of them is "you aren't so bad, for a (slur)". Another thing to point out is that Micah is constantly belittling both Lenny and Javier, saying things like "you can write and everything, unusual for one of you. Oh you know, hoodlums," Bill does not belittle them, he calls them names but he doesn't belittle them. Is that okay? No, of course not and it is very serious, but it is just something I noticed.

Now when it comes to their actual racist acts, even there we see a difference. When Bill literally throws Lenny, Lenny just chuckles and says "get lost Bill," meanwhile when Micah just talks to Lenny, Lenny is on alert, he is cautious, watchful. He takes Micah seriously, while he does not take Bill seriously.

A native American I talked to about Bill (mentioning their heritage here because Bill often talks down to native Americans), mentioned that they felt Bill was repeating words like a parrot rather than actually understanding and believing them, which I can see.

Bill fought in the army, very specifically against Native Americans. he has a camp interaction where he is talking about the war and he is fucking terrified, he jumps at the sound of a horse neighing after explaining how he saw people die.

He saw people get murdered, he saw his friends get slaughtered and he was told by the army to turn that anger towards the natives. The army implimented racist ideologies to excuse the genocide they were making and to rile their armies. This also correlates to the scene between Bill and Dutch where Bill says "I saw things!" and Dutch replies "I am sure you do! But I don't think you could understand it" and I think that is spot on. Bill saw his friends dying, he saw his comrades dying, people he was likely as close to dying.

All he saw were these people murdering his friends, not that those people were fighting for their right to exist, and for every body hitting the ground the army framed it all on the natives, that it was all their fault, without mentioning anything that the army was doing to the natives.

Does any of this excuse Bill? No, but while I believe that Bill is racist, I think he is racist because he was told to be rather than because he truely believes it like Micah does. Micah seems to fully believe these ideas, that white people are better and that they will never be on the same level as him, none of the POC characters in camp were his friends, meanwhile Bill saw those POC characters as his comerades, as his friends and he kept in touch with Javier for a good while after he lost all the others.

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 25: As The Wicked Snow Begins to Thaw

Summary:  The drama continues up in Colter, pushing Arthur to his breaking point. 

*Some of the dialogue in this chapter is not mine but from the game. I’ve also added elements to the original storyline to meld with my own. This is the longest chapter I've written yet at 19K+! It's long but alot of good stuff goin' on!

Warnings: 18+ please. Minors - DNI; NSFW

*This fantastic image comes from @sixgunluvr

Special thank you, as always, to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my cheerleader and beta-reader.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - still in progress but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

Arthur ambles over to Buck, tucking his scarred chin into the fur lining of his heavy blue coat as he walks alongside Dutch out into the blistering cold wind of the Grizzlies. The outlaw flexes his stiff fingers as he listens to Dutch drone on and on about his plan and what they need to do. And the first thing on the gang leader's list is to go looking for Colm O’Driscoll.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” huffs Arthur, his breath frosting in the air in front of his red nose as they stand by the horses, waiting for the others to join them. “Folks here been through enough lately. I know you hate him, Dutch.”

Dutch slices his hand emphatically through the air. “He’s here for us,” he avows resolutely with a nod.

A quiet snort of derision quips out of Arthur’s throat. “I doubt that,” he murmurs, cupping his gloved hands to his lips to blow warm air into them.

Dutch’s eyebrows turn down in irritation as he casts his equally chilly gaze onto Arthur. “No, you just doubt me.” His tone is calm enough, but the challenge is right there, clear as day as he passive-aggressively adjusts his horse’s saddle.

Arthur’s lips pull inward as he mulls over his answer, painfully aware of the line Dutch believes he has crossed. “I would never doubt you, just that you always say revenge is a luxury we can’t afford, Dutch.”

“This ain’t revenge, Arthur. This is the right call. This is about more than revenge and business of long ago. They were talking about trains and detonators in that cabin.” Of course, Dutch is referring to the O’Driscoll’s that had attacked Mrs. Adler and her husband. “Colm always had good information.”

“And you think now is the right time to hit a train?” Arthur rubs Buck’s neck briefly before he pulls himself up into his saddle as the others have made their way over to the hitching post. 

“Now, you might fancy living on deer piss and rabbit shit,” chuckles Dutch,  “but I’m getting too old for that life.” And Dutch nudges his horse out of camp, with Arthur, Bill, Micah, Lenny, and Javier in tow. 

They proceed to push their way southwest, heading towards the frozen lake that sits at the base of these Siberian-like mountains. The horses' hooves plunge deeper into the powdery snow, causing them to stumble here and there as they move along. But these animals are used to the hardship of their masters. Despite extreme heat and polar cold, the jarring sound of bullets raining down and the lightning speed of the getaway, the gang’s horses are an extension of the gang itself, another collection of members, if you will. They are sure of foot and each man would trust their horse with his life.  

Scanning the thick blanket of white as they travel, the gang eventually comes upon horse tracks in the snow and they begin to track them along the river. 

“I know you don’t think much of my ideas recently, but this is the right move,” Dutch preaches to Arthur as he reaches down to run his fingers over the Count’s neck in reassurance to urge the horse on through the heavy, wet snow.

“Alright,” Arthur agrees tiredly. “You know I always got your back, Dutch.” And he desperately tries to resist a pouty groan from escaping his lips. 

“I learned a long time ago, you hit Colm O'Driscoll, you wait for him, and people you love will die.” Dutch’s voice carries that hint of seething fury that most people cringe from when they hear it, lest they draw his ire. 

“This feud between you two needs to be put to an end,” insists Arthur. 

“It will be,” assures Dutch, waving his hand decisively. “Some things I can forgive, some things I can forget. What he did to Annabelle…” His speech halts for a moment as a painful lump catches in his throat for a moment at the thought of his beloved. “I can’t do neither.” Dutch’s dark eyes burn like coals as his gaze turns forward into the white expanse ahead of them.  

“You killed his brother, Dutch,” Arthur reminds him.

“Yes, I did. And I hope the bastards will be reunited soon enough. And that is how this’ll end.”

But suddenly, Dutch’s keen eyes pick up a smoke trail in the distance. Making the educated guess that this is the elusive O’Driscoll camp, they carefully make their way in that direction. And sure enough, they have found what they were looking for. 

The rivalry gang has made its nest in what appears to be another mining town that neighbors their own. And although it sits along the river’s edge, it is situated at the bottom of a ridge line. Idiots. It makes them sitting ducks for anyone to find them. 

The Van Der Linde men assess the makeshift camp, determining targets and escape routes before splitting up to encircle the O’Driscoll camp. Dutch and Arthur scan the raggedy group of men at the bottom of the hill through binoculars, the cold metal biting into their faces as they watch with interest. And suddenly, Colm himself comes into view. After observing them for a bit, Arthur and Dutch watch Colm ride off in an obvious disgruntled huff. 

“He don’t look too happy. Should we go after him?” suggests Arthur, looking over his shoulder to Dutch, knowing full well how much his friend is itching to get his hands on this wretched bastard.

“No, Colm can wait. Best to get some of them outta there.” He lifts his chin towards the broken-down village. “Our needs right now are supplies and equipment. A way outta here,” says Dutch in a moment of clarity. “Everything else can wait, including Colm.”

The group of men proceed to carefully make their way down towards the O’Driscoll camp. The whole exercise is done and over within twenty minutes. Colm may have the numbers in his gang, but Dutch’s boys can shoot with lethal speed and accuracy, which has earned them the deadly reputation that they have. The Van der Linde gang shoots up the little camp with little effort despite being outnumbered, bodies dropping into the snow in bloody heaps. 

Once the echo of gunfire ceases to ricochet off the landscape, the boys scavenge the bodies for what they can find, taking pocket watches and other useful trinkets to sell once they leave this area. They begin to tear the run-down place apart trying to find anything about this train that’s coming. And Arthur finds a large amount of dynamite and detonators collected inside one of the buildings. 

Bill comes in behind Arthur to inspect the crates that have caught the outlaw’s attention. His bear-paw reaches past Arthur and into the box to pick up a bundle of the deadly material, flipping it over to examine it. 

“What do ya think, Bill? Looks good?” Arthur watches as Bill assesses the material, his brows furrowed as if in deep thought.

“Yeah, looks fine,” the burly man finally confirms as he scans the rest of the box. “Smells good. I think we got ourselves a nice little score here.” A prideful smirk breaks across Bill’s face as he carefully sets the lid back upon the crate. 

“Let’s keep looking around,” insists Dutch, shifting his weight in the cold as he stands outside watching his men drift from building to building. “If the dynamite is here, they probably have more around that could be useful.”

And oh how right Dutch is. As they continue their search of the small buildings, Micah makes his way over to Dutch, offering up a rolled up scroll.

“Found this on one of “em, Boss.” Micah hands the paperwork to Dutch, watching expectantly as his leader unrolls it to examine the contents.

A spark of gratification flickers within Dutch’s piercing eyes. “Interesting. This is something about the train they was gonna rob.” 

As it turns out, these are the plans for a train belonging to Mr. Leviticus Cornwall, one of the largest business magnates in the country. He is a prominent and very rich man, rivaling the likes of Cornelius Vanderbilt and Andrew Carnegie. Dutch lets out a triumphant laugh as he carefully rolls the paper into his hands. It is like a perfectly laid out gift for the Van Der Linde gang: the plans, the dynamite, the ammo. Everything they need to rob this coming train.  

“Let’s mount up and head back to camp,” announces Dutch, a smug smile plastered on his face from ear to ear. “I’m proud of you boys! Not a man down!”

“Not bad for some starvin’ down and outs,” Arthur mutters, pleased to finally be heading back to camp and essentially back to you. The last few weeks have been so hard, a constant strain on your relationship. And despite the bickering between you two lately, there is still no place he’d rather be than out of this god forsaken cold and wrapped up in your arms.

“They can pummel us all they like,” declares Dutch. “But we always get back up. That’s who we are. Outlaws for life, fellers.” The words of encouragement elicit hoots and hollers from the other men, excited to see something finally going their way for once. 

But despite the prospect of a large score, something sits uneasily in Arthur’s gut as he leads Buck back towards your camp. Arthur’s mind immediately flashes to you and your safety as the gravity of the situation becomes all too clear to him now. It's one thing to live an outlaw life, but another to deliberately put you in danger because of it. 

Arthur hadn’t thought of Annabelle in quite some time, the subject being too sore a subject. But having Dutch bring her name up again jolts Arthur’s memory back to life. The vivid and gruesome images of her death still sit in the farthest reaches of Arthur’s mind, images of Colm’s cruelty flashing clear as day. And after what the O’Driscoll’s did to Annabelle, it makes Arthur’s stomach turn sour that it could very well happen to you, as well. And heaven help the entire world if such a thing were to ever happen to you. 

“Colm ain’t gonna like this,” he warns Dutch, as they head back up the pass to head home.  “Especially if we rob this train, too. He’ll come after us.” 

“Of course he will, just like all the rest,” smirks Dutch. “But we’ll just always stay one step ahead, always know where they are before they know where we are.” 

Dutch’s arrogance is always nothing short of astounding. But then again, it is that arrogance, that confidence that he carries, that has kept the notorious outlaw’s neck out of the lawman’s noose all these years.

The boys head back, digging in to make haste to get out of the cold when they see someone running off through the trees up ahead. 

“Wasn’t that guy at the camp?” Dutch shouts over the howling wind to Arthur.

“Yeah, I think so,” sighs Arthur as he turns Buck off to the right. “Leave him to me.”

“Ok, make your way back to camp,” directs Dutch. “And bring him alive. He could be useful.”

Arthur takes off like a bat out of hell through the snow. The sunlight is quickly fading and casts him and Buck in an ominous red and orange backlight, Buck’s breath heaving out of his nostrils in clouds, making them look like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as Arthur chases down the lone rider who begins to dart back and forth in a sad attempt to lose his stalker. 

“Leave me alone!” hollers the man, his voice cracking in terror of the large rider mercilessly barreling down on him. 

As soon as he is close enough, Arthur’s arm shoots out from his body with a rope, dropping a lasso around the fleeing man and abruptly yanking him from the skittish horse to drop him face first in the snow with an ungraceful thud. 

“You don’t need to do this!” he wails, spitting out clumps of snow from his freezing lips as he turns to see Arthur looming over him. 

“You’re coming with me,” says Arthur coldly. And he proceeds to hogtie the O’Driscoll and toss him onto Buck’s rump like a deer carcass.

Arthur climbs back into the saddle, giving a quick glance over his shoulder at the sad sight  behind him. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Kieran Duffy.”

“Well, Kieran Duffy, I ain’t gonna lie, this is a real bad day for you.” He nudges his spurs into Buck’s side and the two head out back to camp.

Mr. Duffy tries to turn his head to see the fearsome rider, panic settling deeper and deeper with each step the large horse takes. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere you ain’t gonna like.”

“Why? What are you gonna do?”

“Something you ain’t gonna like. So I suggest you save your breath for screaming.” And Mr. Duffy is not sure what is worse, what the rider is saying to him or how he is saying it, as Arthur’s voice is cold and unfeeling as if this were nothing more than a Sunday chore. 

“No, please! They didn’t tell me nothing!” The poor man sputters his pleas to Arthur with eyes wide and full of fear, but all they do is irritate his captor even more. 

Arthur pitches a hard glare over his shoulder again. “You better shut your mouth, you little shit, or I will shut it for you.”

“I don’t know nothin’! Honest! I don’t want to die!”

“Are you testing me? What did I just say? Because I will break every bone in your body.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Not one more goddamn word. Am I clear?”

“Okay, okay!”

“That’s two bones right there.”

Luckily, this Kieran Duffy is smart enough to close his mouth for the rest of the ride and the banter ceases, as Arthur’s patience is just about to its end. And they eventually make it to camp by nightfall, the lanterns illuminating their refuge in the distance. 

“Alight, here we are. Let’s introduce you to the boys,” announces Arthur as he pulls Buck to a halt at the hitching post. 

“Don’t hurt me, please!” sobs Kieran, as his trembling body is hauled over Arthur’s broad shoulder like a sack of flour. 

“Oh, don’t worry. They’re real nice,” snarks Arthur, tossing the man down in the snow at Dutch’s feet. 

“Uncle, Mr. Williamson, tie this maggot up somewhere,” hollers Dutch. The two men quickly grab Mr. Duffy, hauling him to his feet to stand face to face before the gang leader. 

“I got a saying, my friend.” Dutch’s voice is as smooth as the finest Tennessee whiskey. “We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed ‘em as need feedin’. We’re gonna find out what you need.”

“I ain’t no O'Driscoll!,” screams Kieran in a panic, his feet spasmodically kicking out from under him as he is whisked away by Uncle and Bill, each with a painful grip on his thin arms. “I hate that feller!”

With today’s adventure now coming to an end, Dutch turns to his second in command. “Well done, Arthur.”

Arthur gives a short appreciative nod. “Sorry we didn’t get Colm.”

“It’s alright. Time enough for that. We gotta see about hitting this train.” The devil’s grin dances along Dutch’s dark features before he disappears into the main building in search of a warm fire and Hosea to begin the next phase of his plan. 

Finally finding himself alone in the quiet, Arthur moves to one of the benches to sit a spell to rest his sore and exhausted body. 

Upon hearing the commotion of the men returning to camp, you come to stand in the doorway of the main cabin and watch Arthur from across the yard, his broad frame looking even more hulking bundled up in his blue winter coat as he gets this hostage that they brought back situated. The wet snow clings to him, just like everyone and everything else in this world. And yet, he shrugs it off as if it were nothing. Because he doesn’t have time for misgivings. People are counting on him.

Everything about Arthur Morgan is bigger than the world. His stature stands out against the white expanse that engulfs him. The way he carries himself with such knowing and capability compared to the others, it’s so natural as if he doesn’t know how else to be. Everything about him is greater to you: his strength, his loyalty, his heart. But with that comes the flip to the same coin. The fists land harder, the bullets ring more often, and the bounties on his head keep stacking up. The pressure, the responsibility, they also are greater for him than for anyone else. It’s a good thing his back is broad and shoulders strong, for the weight of the world sits upon him. 

Since you’ve arrived here in this decrepit mining town, you have been working with Mr. Pearson to try to create meals to sustain everyone. But supplies are low due to your hastened departure from Blackwater and what you do have available is not the best quality, either. Rations are becoming more meager as the larder continues to deplete. 

You are quick to note how tired Arthur looks, even from across the yard. He’s been out there too long, doing too much, in your opinion. You currently have two bowls of watery soup in your hands and looking down at them, you discreetly pour one bowl into the other, doubling its paltry contents and set the empty bowl aside. 

When Arthur finally sits still long enough, you make your way over to him, treading lightly as you can see he’s still carrying his foul mood. 

“Hey you,” you call softly. 

His tired eyes lift at the sound of your voice and the tension instantly drains away from his face as he floats you an exhausted grin as he leans back into the rough wooden siding of the building. “Hey, there’s my girl. How you doin’, Sweetheart?”

“I’m alright. Especially now that you’re back. Here, I brought you something to eat.” You hand him the soup bowl as you sit down next to him. “It’s not much, but it’ll put something in your belly.” 

He gives you a grateful nod as he carefully takes the bowl with his cold fingers. He brings it up to his face for a quick sniff, before taking the spoon and laddeling some of the soup into his mouth. A small smile of relief dusts your features as you watch him eat, a few droplets of broth catching on his frosted beard. 

But Arthur’s brow knits when he notices that you do not have a bowl of your own. “Aren’t you eating anything?”

“I already had a bit when I was cooking.” You try to assure him, but he knows you too well and can see right through you.

An exasperated sigh pushes through his cold nose as he tries to shove the bowl back into your hands. “I ain’t doin’ this.”

You shoot straight up as if a string is pulling your spine. “Arthur-”

“I ain’t takin’ food out of your mouth for myself, Y/N,” he argues. “Ain’t happenin’.” 

“You need it, Arthur.” You push the bowl back into his chest in annoyance. 

“Y/N-”

“Arthur, I swear to god, I’ll dump this in the snow! Now just stop your foolishness and eat the damn soup.”

He doesn’t argue back when your eyes flash at him. He just hangs his head, his lips pulled inward as he wrestles with his internal demons. 

“If we are going to survive this mess, Arthur, we need you strong and with your wits about you.” Your hand lands on his forearm as your tone softens now, exposing your concern. “Because I don’t know if anyone else can do it. So, please. Just eat.” 

He lifts his guilt-ridden eyes to meet yours as he looks into your beautiful face. “I can’t be saving everyone else if I’m worried about you, though,” he pouts. “We need you too, you know.” 

“I’m alright, I promise. Does it look like I’m starving?” you jest sarcastically as you motion to yourself with a mocking chuckle. But all it does is set him off again. 

“Don’t do that. I hate when you do that,” he gripes bitterly.

“Do what?”

“Tear yourself down like that. You’re worth the whole lot of us and then some. Don’t you ever forget that.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up as a deep sigh escapes you. “I wish you would stop putting me on a damn pedestal all the time,” you mutter as you avoid his stare. 

Arthur drops the spoon into the bowl with a loud exasperated huff as the last of his patience has finally been expended. “Listen, don’t give me shit for tryin’ to treat you right. If I had any damn sense at all, I’d get you outta here now, tonight. You’re the only damn good thing I got right now, so will you just let me have this? Please?” 

His sapphire eyes burn bright and intense. He is ever intolerant of bullshit. Never has the time for it. 

You avert your eyes to your boots, noting how the seams are starting to split, your hands fidgeting and roll over each other.

“I’m hungry but I’m not starving,” you admit quietly, sheepishly looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“I need you to be honest with me, Y/N.” Arthur takes your chin with his thumb and forefinger, making you look him in the eye. He is starting to speak louder and faster now, as he quickly shifts from exhaustion to agitation. “No hiding shit. If you’re in a bad way, you better tell me. Because if anything ever happens to you-”

“I will, Arthur. I promise.” You swiftly place your hands along his chest to quiet him lest he gets worked up yet again. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know.” 

And with silent acceptance, Arthur finishes his soup as you lean into his side, your head gently laying against his shoulder as he eats. 

You stare out into the purple sky as the last shadows of the sun expire for the day, pulling the moon and the stars in their wake behind them. The temperature continues to dip, causing a shiver to run the length of your body as you snuggle in closer to Arthur. And yet, neither of you dare to move and break the spell of contentment that you have found for this fleeting moment. The two of you may be disconnected, but you’re not alone. Not yet, anyway. 

____________________________________

“It's been a bad few weeks. And Dutch being Dutch, he’s busy making plans and Dutch being Dutch, those plans involve robberies and dreams.”

The cabin where John is resting is cold and dark. You’ve kept the moth-eaten curtains drawn over the filthy windows to ward off the drafts as well as keep the sunlight to a minimum. Because of the damage to John's eye from the wolf attack, you are trying to avoid any strain to the good socket as much as possible. 

The days here in Colter keep dragging on, and while John was in bad shape when Arthur and Javier found him, he has managed to recover quite well, considering the pitiful circumstances. But of course, Arthur attributes that to you, muttering how John is “damn lucky you’re here”. But you are not 100% sure you agree. You’ve already lost Davey and Jenny, a fact that still eats at your gut more than the hunger. Which is why you are almost obsessively watching over John, making sure his many wounds are clean and stitched, his bandages dry, and is clear of fever. You try to keep him warm and rested with someone always sitting vigil in case he should take a turn for the worse. 

Rev. Swanson leans back from John’s pale and trembling body, tucking the syringe back into its case as you stand over them, carefully observing the administration. You are not happy with giving John morphine, the horrible substance being too unpredictable. But given his condition, it will help to alleviate John’s jittery nerves as well as ease his pain. John softly whimpers as the elixir pushes through his veins, rolling his bandaged head to the side, careful to avoid pushing on his damaged eye. 

“Thought you were reading him his last rites.” Arthur’s voice resonates into the room as he saunters in to check on everyone. You glance over your shoulder at the sound of his presence, filling you with both a mixture of relief to see his face, yet apprehension at the growing tension between him and John. “Now I see you’re introducing him to your other passion.” He points at the small black case clutched in Swanson’s hand.

“I’ll mind you to show me some respect, Mr. Morgan,” snaps the Reverend, his eyes narrowing at the hulking man as he stands up and adjusts his coat to keep warm.

“Mind away, Reverend,” Arthur smirks dismissively, waving him off as the man exits the room in a mild distemper. Arthur catches your eye and gives you a nod as he casually walks over to the bed where John lays sprawled out under threadbare blankets. “You’re still here, then?” he snarks, tilting his head with a condescending scowl. “Maybe I should scratch myself and feign a limp?”

Mary-Beth stops wrapping up the last of the bandages she used to help you redress John’s wounds and shoves her hands into her lap in frustration, snapping her head towards Arthur.  “Ain’t you got nothing better to do, Arthur? Whatever the beef is between you two, now ain’t the time.” 

But John seems to pay no mind to Arthur’s jeering. He’s used to it by now after all these years. “I owe you,” sighs John as he peers up at Arthur with his good eye. 

“And you’ll pay me. But, for now, just rest.” Arthur taps your elbow and nods over his shoulder, indicating a private conversation is requested. You turn to follow him and take a few steps back from the bed, leaving Mary-Beth to finish cleaning up.

“How is he?” Arthur asks, his voice low as he leans in close to you, a fleck of genuine concern skipping over his face. 

“I think he’ll survive unless he throws a fever or something like that,” you confirm, reassuring yourself as well as Arthur as you rub your arm in an attempt at self-soothing. “He’ll probably lose some of his sight in that eye, though.”

A whimsical half grin cracks Arthur’s bearded face. “You only need one eye to shoot with.” His response results in your humorless laugh in return.

But the conversation is interrupted when Dutch abruptly pushes his way into the cabin. “Ah, Arthur, there you are! I’ve been looking for you! I think it’s time for the train.”

The talk of another job sparks John’s interest, flooding his weak body with an energy he hasn’t had in a few days. He manages to roll himself up on his elbow, eager to join the conversation. “Want me to come, Dutch?” 

A look of surprise graces Dutch’s dark features for a moment. “Of course I do, John, but look at you.” 

“I was always ugly, Dutch. It’s just a scratch.” John shakes his head as he tries to will his broken body to sit up. 

“Lie still, son”. Dutch sits down next to the bed and gently pushes John’s shoulder to ease him back down onto the thin mattress.

Before you can even interject with your own opinion about John even thinking of leaving that bed let alone robbing a train, the cabin door opens yet again as Abigail and Jack walk through. The woman walks with an agitation in her step, her expression closed-up and hard to read as she wrestles with her constant worry for John versus her anger at his behavior. 

“The boy wanted to see you, John.” Abigail stands with her chin lifted in annoyance as Jack shifts warily behind his mother, peering his little face around her hip to see his father on the bed. The shock of John’s bloodied face resonates into Jack’s view and he quickly casts his eyes away. 

“Well, he’s seen me now. Or what’s left of me,” sighs John. “How ‘bout you?”

“Guess I was hoping to see a corpse,” she bites back harshly.

“Bide your time, you’ll see plenty of ‘em.”

But his response sets her off yet again. She was hoping that in his time of weakness, John would show a little compassion and comfort towards his son, to let him know that he appreciates the boy’s concern. But once again, John’s dismissal of little Jack is like a red-hot poker in Abigail's heart.  “You’re a rotten man, John Marston,” she hisses as she wraps her arm around Jack to usher him away.

“He’s an idiot, Abigail, we all know it,” Dutch calls after her as she marches out of the cold cabin.

The sight of disappointment on Jack’s red cheeks is finally your breaking point. “You know, John Marston, I really wish you’d put a little more effort into your relationship with them.” You could stab a deer with the look of daggers you are shooting him right now. 

But the young outlaw only huffs angrily at you. “And I really wish people would mind their own goddamn business.”

“Is that so?” Your hands plant firmly onto your hips as you stride over to the bed, bending over him with a cold and bitter glower. “Well, if people were minding their own business, you’d still be out there on that damn ledge, a frozen carcass for the scavengers to pick at. Abigail is the one who insisted they go out to find you, you know. Maybe keep that in mind.” You point your finger inches from his face.

When John gives you nothing but a scowl in reply, you roll your eyes and turn on your heel to go after Abigail, slamming the door behind you. 

“You really are a stubborn ass, you know that, Marston?” Arthur drags his hand over his tired face. 

“Fuck you, Morgan. Don’t you start. You’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the challenge. 

But John locks his good eye with Arthur’s, not afraid to back down. Say what you will about John, but he’s been holding his own with Arthur since he was a kid. “You ain’t got no right to lecture me on being stubborn. I’ve seen how you’ve been pickin’ at Y/N since we left Blackwater. You ain’t no model citizen. Get off your damn high horse.”

The accusation brings Arthur’s shoulders back, squaring up and ready for a fight. “Now, you look here-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” barks Dutch, cutting this off before it escalates out of hand. “Arthur, can’t you see the man is down? Leave him be, for Christ’s sake.” 

Outside the dingy cabin, you rush to catch up to Abigail. “Abigail, wait!” Your hand lands on her trembling shoulder, her eyes welling with tears of frustration and concern as you look into her face. “John will be okay, try not to worry.”

“Oh, I am not concerning myself with that fool right now!” Her eyes flash as her body sways back and forth with nervous energy. “It’s Jack I’m worried about.”

“Jack?”

“Yes, Y/N.” Her gaze darts over to land on the little boy who has now wandered aimlessly over towards Mr. Pearson to see what he is cooking for the day.  “What if…what if this is all too much for him? What if this running and starving and seeing his daddy ripped to pieces messes him up?” Abigail shakes her head as the tears start to break free from her lashes and slowly streak her cold face. 

“He’ll be okay, Abigail.” You rub your hand along her arm and give her a warm smile. “Jack’s a strong boy. He’s got his momma’s smarts and his daddy’s resilience.”

“You think so?” she sniffles.

“Listen, stars shine their brightest when surrounded by the darkness, Abigail. And Jack is the brightest of us, yet. He’ll be okay.” 

Abigail takes a long, shuddered breath as she collects herself. “I’m sorry, YN. It’s just…John makes me crazy! What do I do? How can I get him to treat us better?”

Her question breaks your heart. Despite the ever-present resentment she may show John, it is clear she is still deeply in love with the man, whether he accepts that love or not. “You can’t make a man treat you right. But you can sure as hell make him wish he did.” 

“How the hell did I ever give my heart to him?” she moans with a watery eye-roll, her lips quivering slightly.  

“The heart wants what it wants, Abigail. Can't do nothing about it,” you chuckle softly. “And besides, he’s awfully cute when he’s not being a total jack-ass.” 

“Yeah, but Arthur’s not like that.” 

“Oh, Arthur can be a total jack-ass, trust me,” you nod. “But I think John acts this way because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. So he figures by not doing anything, he won’t screw it up. And then the shit is on you if it goes wrong, not him. He didn’t have good parents to teach him properly.”

“But Dutch and Hosea raised him, same as Arthur.” 

“True,” you admit, “But, Arthur had his momma for a bit. John did not. And I think that made a big difference. Unfortunately, you had men raising men. So don’t be surprised when you get an idiot as the outcome.”

A quick cackle bursts from Abigail at your comment before she covers her mouth, looking at you with playful disbelief. 

“Come on, let’s go inside and see if Ms. Grimshaw has any of that horribly bitter coffee left on the stove.” You loop your arm through Abigail’s to head off to the main cabin together. But when you see Dutch and Arthur pushing out of the small cabin again, you pause to see what’s happening now. “Go on ahead, Abigail. I’ll be right behind you.” You smile as you usher her towards the door. 

“Gentleman! Now is the time!” Dutch declares to everyone within earshot with his arms spread wide to his sides like the messiah. “Bill! Ride ahead and set the charge at the water tower, just before the tunnel.”

“Ain’t a problem!” agrees Bill as he sprints to the barn to collect the dynamite and detonators that he and Arthur found at the O’Driscoll camp. 

“Why are we doing this?” asks Hosea in exasperation as he approaches Dutch, his labored breath whirling in the cold air. “Weather is breaking, we should leave. I thought we was lying low?”

A measured puff of air pushes out of Dutch’s nose. “What do you want from me, Hosea? We’re lying low but not living. We need money and all of ours is in Blackwater. You fancy you want to head back there?”

“No.” Hosea pauses for a moment, his gaze falling to the snow before skipping back up to Dutch. “I ain’t trying to undermine you, Dutch. I just don’t want anymore people dying, is all. Just want to stick to the plan. Lie low and head back west.” This is a comment that grabs your attention as you stand off to the side witnessing this whole discussion. 

“What choice have we got?” Dutch says simply, his hands laid out in expectation.

“Leviticus Cornwall is no joke, Dutch.” Hosea’s tone turns serious and dark, carrying the concern well-earned of a man of his years.

“Well, sounds to me like he’s got more than enough.” Dutch gives his old friend that mischievous look that Hosea knows all too well before turning to address the gang once more. “Gentleman! Let’s all go and make something of ourselves! Get your horses ready, we have a train to rob!” And the men scatter to their respective tasks, an air of excitement amongst them as they move. But Hosea and Arthur share a quick look of doubt between them before Arthur heads over to his horse. 

Shock and dismay rocks you to your core as you stand in the snow listening to the three of them. Your stomach turns at the thought of this plan. You came from a railroad town when you met Arthur and you are also well aware of who Leviticus Cornwall is. So you have a pretty good idea how this whole thing could go down. 

The moment Dutch walks away, you dart towards the horses. Your hand shoots out to Arthur’s arm, pulling him aside. He gives you a look of confusion at your sudden appearance and your face instantly up in his. “Have you all lost your damn minds?!” Your eyes blaze intensely at him. “We’re up here freezing and barely hanging on because of one over-reaching plan and now you’re fixing to do another?!”

Arthur takes a quick glance around to see if anyone else has seen your little tantrum before he addresses it himself. “That’s how it goes,” he shrugs as if it were nothing more than heading to town for supplies. 

“How it goes?!” Your hand flies to your forehead as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Arthur’s eyes turn icy despite his face flushing red with irritation as his fists flex slightly. “Let me worry about that,” he warns. “You just mind the people here.”

“I’m worried for you, Arthur.” You step up even closer to him, cupping his cold cheeks in your hands. “Who do you think Dutch is going to march up there, front and center? Surely not his ass!”

Arthur collects your hands into his own, giving them a slight squeeze as he pulls them from his face. Guilt floods his chest as he registers the fear in your eyes. But what can he do? Dutch calls and it is his obligation to obey. “I ain’t got time for this now, Y/N.” His gravelly voice is low and soft for you. “Just stay put and out of the way.” You can see in his eyes the unspoken ask for forgiveness, the idea of keeping you protected paramount in his mind. 

Your shoulders slump in defeat, knowing there is nothing you can say or do to prevent this from happening. When he sees you’ve quieted down, Arthur pulls you in to him to place a brief kiss to your temple before slinging himself up into Buck’s awaiting saddle. He gives you a quick nod before leading Buck off to follow the others who have already started to head out of the camp. 

You stand alone in the snow as you watch them all head out, the wind picking up to lift the few strands of hair from your face. That all-too familiar feeling of dread swirls in your chest like a maelstrom. And all you can do is pray that Dutch has a solid enough plan and everyone else does their part so that Arthur doesn’t have to take the brunt of it all. 

___________________________________

*This is another fantastic image by @sixgunluvr

You have never been this far north before, never been in such a desolate landscape. Growing up back east outside of Boston, there was always somewhere to go, always shelter, food or help if needed. But here, in the Western Grizzlies, there is no one and nothing. It is both freeing, and terrifying. Everyone else in the gang  is on edge, for sure, but their countenance is separate from yours. Most of them have lived this way for a good part of their lives. You, on the other hand, are almost paralyzed like a deer, afraid to move in either direction and you’re trying not to bolt in a million different directions out of panic. You would die within days here if it weren't for Arthur.

The landscape is cold and frigid, yet beautifully peaceful. Enticingly quiet yet deceptively deadly. You wonder to yourself if this will be where you meet your end. Looking about, will this be the final thing you see when your eyes close for the last time? At this very moment, you want nothing more than to lay down on the soft, pillowy snow and just let go and let it all be over. No more strain, no more hunger. No more cold and freezing temperatures. No more looking over your shoulders. No more running. What if you just set yourself down and gave in?

It would be easy enough to do, considering how fast you’d freeze to death. Beautiful and deadly diamonds that glitter are everywhere you look, an endless sea of white, calling like the deadly sirens of Greek mythology. It is so desolate and silent here. No sounds to be heard, rarely even a bird. Just the whistling winds that swoop down from the mountaintop. The silence is a relief from the chaos, giving one time to settle their thoughts. But it is also terrifyingly lonesome. The mountains offer you protection, but they also keep you isolated. 

The dark and foreboding mountains are like the teeth of the earth, jagged and dangerous, and as you sit in the middle of them, they swallow you as if you were nothing. The earth is a beautiful creature, elegant by design. But like any other creature in nature, she can be alluring and graceful one moment, and then turn on you in defense of herself in deadly fashion, evidence being how the mountains begin to swallow the sun, like a serpent devouring a bright yellow egg. The shadows of the mountain begin to stretch across the snow, like a bobcat’s claws. 

Despite being a collective group, you are all isolated from the world here, left only to rely on each other. And you can only hope that each other will be enough. 

Thankfully, the robbery of the Cornwall train managed to go off with minimal error. The gang didn’t lose anyone and no one came back with more holes in their body than what they left camp with. While it was not overwhelmingly lucrative, Arthur did manage to find a large stash of bonds that Dutch found valuable. So with a little more in the camp’s funds, you are hoping that will keep Dutch off Arthur’s back for a bit.

You wander to the edge of the small lake on the edge of the camp, nudging the slushy mess with the toe of your boot before lifting your eyes up to the expansive vista once more. These thoughts of yours are dangerous. You question the gang and your purpose within it. You question yourself and your worth. You begin to question Arthur.

And the thoughts terrify you. You feel as if it is an act of betrayal, whether vocalized or not. Your love for Arthur is larger than the endless sky and deeper than the bluest ocean. But what if this is all for nothing? After these last few weeks of tension, what if his love for you is cooling down like the arctic winds that are currently lifting the wisps of hair from your chapped cheeks? He wouldn’t do that, would he?

But you shake your head at such dangerous nonsense. Arthur loves you. You know it. You feel it. Just because you cannot wrap yourselves up together like love-drunk teenagers in a summer meadow doesn’t mean everything that has led to this point has stopped. You have to trust in him. You have to open your heart and trust that he will always be there with open arms to welcome you. 

With a cleansing sigh, you begin to hum to yourself. It’s a silly little thing that you do when preoccupied. The melodies always touch Arthur’s heart when he catches you doing it. They calm him like a snake-charmer. You always murmur soft words and hum gentle music to yourself, not even aware that you are doing it.

Your thoughts are disrupted when you catch Lenny out of the corner of your eye heading to the water’s edge with a fishing pole in his gloved hand and an axe swung up upon his shoulder. 

“What in the hell are you up to, Mr. Summers?” you inquire with curiosity.

He flashes you a toothy smile. “Gonna try my hand at ice fishing.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion, not sure you heard him correctly. “Ice fishing?”

“Yeah. Can’t be that hard, right? Hardest part is cutting the hole, I reckon,” he shrugs.

When you don’t answer him with anything but a scowl of skepticism, Lenny sighs. 

“Look, I know it’s not a great idea, but we need to eat. That deer that Arthur and Charles brought back won’t last much longer and who knows how long we’ll be up here.” 

“Just be careful,” you concede, not entirely convinced this is even a good idea let alone a great one.

You watch the young man adjust the axe over his shoulder and tentatively head out onto the icy lake. He tests the frosted surface with calculated steps, slow and steady, until he gets far enough out to cut through. He begins to make several hacks into the ice, chips flying in the air with each cut. When Lenny gets a hole that he’s happy with, he sets the blade down next to him and grabs the fishing pole to set the bait onto the hook. And within a few minutes, he carefully plunks the end of the line into the icy depths of the water, shaking the pole a bit to entice whatever fish may be lurking below. 

But an odd sound begins to permeate the otherwise quiet, cold air. You know what that sound is, but can’t quite place it. It quickly turns into a groaning noise that begins to travel across the ice. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, trying to determine where exactly it’s coming from, as it seems to be coming from all around, when a loud crack snaps your attention. Things thrust into motion in a fraction of a second when one moment Lenny is standing in front of you, and the next he disappears through the ice, plunging into the frigid waters. 

“Lenny!!!” 

Your scream echoes off of the snow and buildings, alerting everyone in camp. But your body explodes into motion before your mind can even comprehend what you’re doing and you dart off towards him. 

“Y/N, get back here!” Arthur shouts from the shore as his whole body goes rigid at the sight of you running out onto the ice, but your eyesight is locked on Lenny. “Damn it!” he shouts again when it’s abundantly clear that you will not be stopping, despite his command.

You only make it a few yards out onto the ice when you hear the arctic groaning beneath your feet. You stop dead in your tracks, arms waving in the air to keep yourself from falling flat on your face, and scan the icy floor to try to determine if it will give way under you as well. But Lenny’s panicked yelling snaps your attention forwards again and you immediately drop to your stomach to begin crawling across the cracking ice. 

Panicked and frustrated beyond human comprehension, Arthur is about to run out after you. But Dutch is quick to grab his shoulder pulling him to a dead stop. “Arthur, wait!” 

Arthur reflexively shoves Dutch’s arm off him, trying to wrench himself free of the older man’s iron grasp. “Damn it, Arthur, stop!” hollers Dutch, trying to drill some common sense into him as he grabs a fistful of his jacket in an attempt to halt the man once more. “You run out there, you’ll fall in too, and drown the whole lot of you!” 

The very idea of it halts Arthur in place as he blinks rapidly into Dutch’s face. But he knows his mentor is right. And all Arthur can do is stand there helplessly as he turns his face back to the lake to watch you inching across the ice. 

“Son of a -” curses Arthur, trying to think what, if anything, he can do to help you. Adrenaline shoots painfully throughout his system as he just simply cannot sit idly by and do nothing while you creep along death’s door. Suddenly, Arthur gets an idea and he races over to the nearest shed to grab a bundle of rope. 

“Y/N! Help me, please!” Lenny screams, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his head above the frigid mountain water. 

“Hold on, Lenny! Hold on, I’m coming to get you!” you holler over the sound of the sloshing water. You can see the panic setting in on the young man’s face, the whites of his eyes rolling back against his dark skin.

“Y/N!” Arthur calls out, desperate to get your attention. Finally, you acknowledge him and turn over your shoulder just in time to see Arthur toss a rope out to you. Amazingly, Arthur is able to place the rope within a foot of your grasp.  Your hand quickly shoots out to grab ahold of the bundle. You look up to gauge Lenny’s situation, realizing that you need to act quickly, so you tie the rope around your ankle so that you don't risk dropping it and freeing your already freezing  hands. 

You gingerly crawl across the ice as it creaks and cracks under you as you move and the closer you get to Lenny, the more anxious he becomes, desperate to be out of the water.

“Y/N!” Lenny reaches an arm out, his long fingers trying to reach for you. 

“You need to stay calm, Lenny! Come on, stay with me now!” After what feels like hours, but only mere minutes, you finally reach the young man. He grapples at you, trying to use you to pull himself up. “Careful!” you screech. “You’re gonna pull me in with you!” You try to control his flailing arms, and gingerly wrap your arms under his and clamp them together behind his back. But he is desperately grabbing at you, terrified of falling deeper into the dark, icy water. 

“I got him! Pull us out!” you holler back over your shoulder to Arthur. 

“Bill! Get over here and grab this rope and help me pull ‘em in!” Arthur yells over to said man. 

“I got ya!” Bill rushes over as his giant hands take up the tails of the rope when he stands next to Arthur. 

The sun is crawling behind the horizon line and darkness has started to encroach on the mountainside. Arthur is beginning to have a hard time seeing you clearly, barely able to see your water-soaked forms struggling in the water, but the sound of your combined panicked shouts and the thrashing of the water cuts deep into Arthur’s brain, causing a sickening boulder to lodge in his stomach.

They begin to pull the rope, heaving it back towards the shore. The strength of the two burly men is enough to drag Lenny out of the water and the two of you along the surface of the ice. The cold of the ice beneath you creeps into your bones, causing your whole body to shiver as you are drug slowly across its plane. You can hear Lenny whimpering in your ear as you hold him close to you, your arms cramping from the vice grip you have around him. 

The frigid lake water seeps into the snow under you, sponging its way into the ice as you slide along the surface. Fine threads begin to crack and embed themselves into the cold surface. As you are being pulled along at an agonizingly slow rate, you hear the ice begin to groan and creak loudly underneath you. The cold fissures begin to snap and pop loudly all around you once more, the familiar sound alerting you to what is about to happen, giving you no time to prepare. And your chest fills with immediate dread at what you are certain is about to come. You have but a mere moment to toss a terrified look over your shoulder to Arthur on the shore, your eyes briefly meeting the fear in his, before it happens. 

Time stops and the world along with it the moment the ice gives way again and Lenny plunges into the freezing water once more, dragging you in along with him. 

It’s like someone has punched a hole into his chest and grabs his heart with a crippling grip when Arthur sees you disappear from his view beneath the dark watery surface. 

“Y/N!!” His voice echoes off snow in a cacophony of sound. He is a man incensed as once again Arthur tries to run out onto the lake as fear of losing you consumes him. And once again he is wrestled back, only this time it takes both Dutch and Bill to contain him. 

The ice water is like a thousand knives stabbing your entire body all at once. You immediately gasp at the shock of the dramatic temperature change that assaults your senses. You try to keep yourself afloat while also trying to grab Lenny, who is simply beyond distraught at this point. In sheer panic, Lenny tries to use you to keep himself above the water but Lenny’s dead weight almost drowns you as his heavy limbs push you down underneath him into the water. You flail your arms wildly trying to find something to latch your frozen fingers to, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen to the tender organs. Panic begins to seep in as the water is so dark that you cannot see to tell which end is up. From some far off distance, you hear your name hollered into the air, the sound of Arthur’s terrified voice muffled by the murky water filling your ears.

It isn't until your hand smacks into the sheet of ice above your head that you can get your bearings. Your fingers break through the icy water surface to grab onto the ice. The sharp edge of the sheet of ice cuts into your hand as you clamp onto it for dear life. Feeling the air once more, you haul yourself upwards, gasping for breath once your face clears the surface. 

Arthur exhales sharply when he sees your head above the surface once again, his eyes darting back and forth as he watches you try to breach the watery surface to breathe in the air. Relief descends upon him with incredible force, but it is short-lived, as you still have to make it back to dry soil yet and back to him. 

You cough violently as you try to replace the frigid, filthy lakewater in your burning lungs with the equally cold air, vomiting up what feels like a waterfall before the stars in your vision clear and you can see again. 

Lenny! 

Your mind immediately goes to your friend once again once your wits are about you. By the grace of God, he is still next to you, but his face is just barely breaching the water surface. You frantically grab the collar of his shirt, clutching him to you once more. 

With stiff fingers, you manage the presence of mind to slip the rope off your ankle and tie it around Lenny’ chest. The young man can hardly move now, his extremities frozen as hypothermia begins to set in. 

He turns his frosted cheeks to look in your eyes. “I…can’t…can’t feel my legs, Y/N” he chatters. His voice carries the fading signs of hope that he will survive this mess, and it breaks your heart. 

“Hold on, Lenny. I got you. We’ll do this”, you encourage him, trying to nod with certainty. Your gaze holds his with a commanding presence, fully refusing to give up. 

You swim to maneuver yourself behind him, wrapping your body around Lenny’s and draping yourself over his back. “Pull!” you scream to the shore again. “For god’s sake, Arthur, pull the damn rope!” Your voice is a hoarse, desperate cry that unsettles Arthur’s very core.

The two men haul on the rope to drag you and Lenny out of the water once again, your faces scraping across the numbingly-cold surface when you are no longer able to hold your heads up and the snow builds up under your chests like a wedge. It makes you even colder than you thought possible. You whimper as ice shards painfully slice into your face, biting into your flesh like fleas. When they get you close enough to the water’s edge, Bill and Arthur run out onto the ice to grab you both. 

Bill, Javier and Rev. Swanson scramble to get Lenny to the cabin house to the fire, while Arthur is quick to scoop you up, holding you tightly to his chest as he carries you in behind them. Dutch marches to the front of the group, leading the way with a lantern and opens the door for everyone.

Once inside, the rest of the group moves like a flock of birds suddenly startled and set to flight. People scatter to find blankets and coats, dry clothing and hot food and beverages. They take Lenny straight to the fire in the great hearth, the flames stoked high to generate as much heat as possible. Arthur, on the other hand, pulls you aside, away from the chaos, and carefully sets you down in front of the pot-belly stove in the middle of the room. He reaches into the coal bucket that sits next to the cast-iron beast and tosses another chunk of the black rock into its belly before turning his full attention back to you. 

With everyone in a flurry over Lenny, Tilly notices the two of you and is quick to rush over, eager to assist Arthur, but he shrugs her off.

“Nevermind, I got this,” he grumbles over his shoulder to his adopted sister as he yanks the blanket out of her hands. “Go on, go help with Lenny.” He waves dismissively to her, trying to avoid the look of shock on her cherub face. Tilly simply stands there, not sure what to do. She wants to help you, to be useful and to do something for you, but she is very aware of Arthur’s foul temperament and knows better than to push back against him. Her eyes flick up to yours with a silent apology before she turns away to make her way over to help Ms Grimshaw. 

But Arthur doesn’t mean to be so abrupt with the poor girl. She only wants to help and he knows that. But Arthur is just so protective of you right now. His whole body is heated with a churning vortex of emotions that he cannot even begin to name. He doesn’t want anyone or anything coming between you two as you sit helplessly before him, a shivering, water-logged mess. 

Arthur immediately begins to yank your layers of clothing off, pulling harshly at the cold and soggy fabric before hypothermia sets in. His fingers work at a frenzied pace, desperate to get you warm before you fall ill. He is indifferent if anyone around you should see your skin, couldn't care any less for “propriety”. Let anyone dare to make a comment about your state of undress and it will be the very last words that person will utter. 

Once the clammy, frigid fabric is removed from your poor body, Arthur shucks off his blue coat and bundles you up in it, the fur collar swallowing your red frozen cheeks. Once he has your torso wrapped up for warmth, he pulls his gloves off and tosses them down next to him in a rage to free his fingers so he can start pulling at your boots. A person’s extremities are the first to go in cold weather like this, so he’s worried about the condition of your feet. 

You study your beloved’s face carefully as he avoids eye contact, an angry scowl etched into his face as he moves about, his movements stark and jostling. You notice the lines of tension around his eyes, his lips drawn into a thin line. His whole body trembles with something on the verge of being volcanic. Your eyelashes flutter as you try to keep yourself from crying over the guilt you have for putting him through this. 

“H…Ho…How’s L…Lenny?” you croak, your voice sounding brittle and broken.

Arthur’s keen eyes briefly dart to yours, barely able to understand you over the loud chatter of your teeth. “He’ll be fine, thanks to you,” he barks, leaning forward as the outlaw’s large hands rub along your arms to entice the blood circulation again, praying it will be enough to heat you up quickly. “But nevermind about that now. Worry about your own damn self.”

You instinctively recoil, pitching him a speechless, incredulous look. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Y/N,” Arthur snaps, his jaw clenching tightly as he works. “Now, I mean it. Let’s get you taken care of before you start fussing over Lenny.”

“Arthur-“

“Y/N, don’t fight me on this!” he barks at you again, his eyes burning intensely with unbridled anger as he shakes his head. “Don’t you ever, ever do anything like that again. Hear me? Don’t you ever go charging out onto ice like that.” His emotions, his fear, have a tight grip on him and have finally come to spill over, unable to be contained within his burly frame. 

Hearing Arthur’s voice raised above the swirling chaos of voices and activity catches Ms. Grimshaw’s shrewd attention. Her shoulders tense as she takes in a sharp breath when she notices him looming over you in your fragile state. The matron quickly crosses the room to come to your defense, her face drawn into a sharp, disapproving frown. 

“Mr. Morgan, I would strongly advise-” Her tone is threatening but Arthur is in no mood for one of her lectures right now. 

“Stay outta this!” he hollers back at her, causing the older woman to freeze in her tracks, eyes wide and mouth gaped. But he couldn’t care any less about offending the old crone before returning his attention back to you. 

“I don’t know where your damn head was at. Not even thinking, just running,” he fumes as he takes your red, chapped hands into his own. Like a school child, your eyes quickly blink back the shameful tears that threaten to break free from your lashes. You risk another glance at Arthur’s face, fearful of the disapproval in his eyes. 

But taking a step back from the situation, you notice not so much the anger in Arthur, but the fear. His fear that you were hurt, his fear that you could be gone forever. You are well acquainted with that fear because you feel it yourself every single damn time he leaves you for another job or mission. But the difference is, you have never had to witness that danger with your own eyes. You have never had to look Death in the face and watch the specter’s hands grapple for your love right in front of you. 

Arthur continues to chaotically fuss over you, snatching up his gloves and roughly shoves them onto your hands in scared, panicked frustration. The force with which he shoves them onto your hands causes you to cry out with a sad little whimper, and he stops dead in his tracks, finally stopping for one damn second to really take you in. His eyes bolt to your face, terrified that he’s hurt you more than you are. He watches a hot tear slowly run down your cheek, the only thing of heat in your body right now. 

Arthur takes a deep, steadying breath for a moment. Softening only slightly, he collects your face with both of his large hands so that you have to look at him, his thumb wiping away the salty tear. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be…I just…” His mind scrambles trying to find the words to tell you what aches in his rapidly-beating heart. “Jesus, I almost lost you, sweetheart. Do you know that?”

“You almost lost both of us,” you correct with a sniffle. You turn your head just enough to catch sight of Lenny. He is shivering violently, with blankets being piled on him. Javier is helping him into dry clothing. Susan is buzzing about, making hot beverages, either coffee or tea and shoving it into his frozen hands. The whole sight is a sad state of affairs. 

You turn back to look at Arthur, sharing a silent conversation of dread between you. He pulls your head into his chest to cradle you, both to keep you warm and to hold on tight, lest he risk losing you again. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he mumbles to your unspoken statement.

That night, wrapped up in a blanket like a newborn babe, Arthur carries you to your room in the other cabin that you share with Dutch, Molly, and Hosea. Your feet and legs burn from possible frostbite and Arthur won’t let you walk until you have more stability to you. 

Once inside, he carefully sets you upon the bed before moving about to close the doors and securing the building against the night air. Another two logs are delicately laid in the hearth of the fireplace, stoked to keep the ruby coal glowing for another few hours. 

Arthur keeps a watchful eye on you, though, those crystalline blue eyes of his ever so vigilant. Your eyes grow increasingly heavier as you watch Arthur peel away his coat and toe-off his snowy boots before crawling into the bed with you. A sign of relief escapes your chest when the bed sags from his weight as he settles in along your side. For the last few days, you have been like passing ships in the night. But tonight, Arthur isn’t taking anything for granted. 

Arthur straightens the threadbare blankets, shuffling himself in to lay next to you. His arm securely tucks you against him to sleep, your body cradled to him as he offers you his body heat. He needs to feel you against him, to know you are safe. The safest place for his woman to be is wrapped up into his burly arms, guarding you against the cruel world outside your shabby little room. For him, your relationship is not complicated:  you look after him, he looks after you. That has always been your deal. And he will uphold that promise, tooth and nail, until he draws his last breath on this earth. 

Exhaustion finally wins the battle over your senses and you tightly curl up against Arthur, still shivering slightly from the icebath. Your cheek lays over his heart, its hypnotic beating lulling you into a comforted state to allow your body to relax. His face twists up slightly with a stuttered exhale escaping his cold nose as he squeezes you to him, holding you against him as if someone would come and take you away. The quiet darkness of the evening wraps around the two of you as the melody of the crackling woodfire sings you its lullaby. Arthur offers you a peace like none other and it is here that you find your bliss, despite the ugliness that tries to tear your mind apart. 

The constant shivering has left your body aching and drained. And while the color has returned to your skin, Arthur is still worried over you. He is desperate for that feeling of fire that burns within you, that spark that made him absolutely crazy for you; to feel the heat of you when he wraps himself up into your very soul. 

Your group has always lived with the fear that every day could be your last day on this Earth. But the reality that he almost lost you today is too much for Arthur to bear. His broken mind just cannot wrap around that very concept. And now that the Pinkertons are hot on your tails hunting the gang, the harsh reality of life’s fragility is all too real and, unfortunately, the odds are ever increasing against the entire gang. 

Your fingertips absentmindedly twist the worn fabric of the collar of his shirt as you lay against him. The only sound in the tiny room is the popping of the fire, Arthur’s heartbeat in your ear and your deep, labored breathing. 

“What are we going to do, Arthur?” Your frail voice slices the calm air and drifts up to his ears, barely an angel’s whisper. It pains him to hear you so defeated, so worried, a fraction of the vivacious spirit that you usually carry.

“I don’t know, Sweetheart,’ he sighs. And for the first time ever, you can hear the doubt and vulnerability in Arthur’s tone. “But we can’t fix our problems using the same thinking that created ‘em.” 

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*This images comes from @rita-the-outlaw

The next day is filled with new energy. Dutch has decided it’s time to start thinking of moving out of Colter. The gang has lingered long enough to shake the law, but has now caught the attention of the O’Driscoll gang. And with a viper like Colm O’Driscoll lurking nearby, you don’t want to be caught unprepared. You personally haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with Mr. O’Driscoll, but from what you’ve heard, he is not someone that you want to make an enemy of. 

Your body is still recovering from your fall into the ice water, so Arthur is insistent that you stay inside and bundled up for the day. And while you feel a bit of guilt for not carrying your fair share of the weight of chores, you agree to stay put. The girls have been sweet to come and check on you and bring you food and drink. Mary-Beth brought you one of her books to keep you occupied and Tilly sat for a few games of dominoes. Even Jack came to sit with you. It warmed your very soul when he curled up in bed with you, resting his little head against your chest while you read a few short stories to him.

And despite being pulled in a million directions, Arthur made it a point to check on you every spare second that he could. It may have been cumbersome, but it did settle his nerves to lay his eyes on you to confirm that you are still alive and breathing and getting better with each visit.

When evening falls once again, you need a change of scenery and find the energy to bring yourself out of your room to sit in the common area of the cabin to wait for Arthur’s return. At the rattling of the rickety door-knob of your room, Hosea looks up from where he’s huddled over by the fireplace. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s getting too old for harsh weather like this. His coughing and chest pain have been kicking up lately, the dry, frigid air wrenching havoc on his lungs. But Hosea’s mind is still ever-so sharp, making him a key player to this gang. So he will offer his counsel, do what he can, but often needs to retire to the safety of the fires. 

Hosea’s kind and tired eyes twinkle a bit at the sight of you up and about, a bit of fatherly relief settled over his old heart to see you. He leans over to stoke the fire a bit, tossing on another few logs, and makes room for you to settle yourself down in front of the fireplace next to him with a blanket tucked around your shoulders. 

You drop down to the chair with a slight groan and let out a comfortable sigh as your muscles relax into their new-found position. You and Hosea sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, both staring into the hypnotic flames of the fireplace. The smell of the fire and its radiating warmth washes over you as you give in to it. 

“How you doin’, girl?” Hosea asks softly, bringing his cigarette up to his lips. 

“Alight, I suppose,” you hum. “Better than some.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he nods. “Arthur giving you trouble?” He raises an eyebrow at you, his fatherly tone poised as if he’s about to scold someone. 

“No,” you smile back at him. “He’s just…’Arthur’. You know?”

A soft chuckle crosses his weathered lips. “Yeah,” he sighs. ”I know.”

A darkness suddenly settles over your brow. With Hosea, you feel comforted and free to confess your troubled thoughts. For who better to understand Arthur, than Hosea?

“I worry about him so much, Hosea,” you breathe out, the pain and worry wrapped around each syllable you utter. 

“Don’t fret over him,” Hosea replies simply with a slight, dismissive wave of his hand. “He’ll be fine. He always is.”

But although he is trying to put your mind at ease, his answer just perplexes you even more. “People keep telling me that,” you shake your head. “But what if he isn’t, Hosea?” You turn your watery eyes from the fire to meet his watchful gray ones. “What then? A man can only do so much. I mean, what do we do if Arthur isn’t alright?”

Your statement stuns Hosea as he simply looks at you with no answer to offer you. For you have just brought to light the very concern that is harbored deep within all of you.

But as soon as the words cross your lips, you immediately feel a pang of regret as you see the concern and worry wash over Hosea as well. Hosea Matthews may be a long-harden outlaw, but he is still an aging man, one with ailments and health conditions that no one in the gang wants to directly address. When you lost your own father before joining the gang, you filled that hole in your heart with the man sitting next to you. And you will protect him as much as possible, just as he would do for you. 

“Don’t mind me, Hosea”, you offer softly. “I’m just a silly woman. Caught up in the turmoil, I suppose.” You try to chuckle and shrug off the ominous cloud that hangs over the room. You look down at your hands folded haplessly in your lap.

But Hosea doesn’t scold you. If anything, he appreciates your warmth and compassion for everyone in the gang, especially for his son who probably needs it the most. 

“Arthur’s a lucky man to have such a woman fuss over him. When he forgets to love himself, I think you love him twice as much to make up for it. I look at you and it makes me miss my Bessie.” 

Your bottom lip quivers as you try your damnedest not to cry. That is the greatest compliment Hosea could have given you, knowing how beloved the woman was to everyone who knew her. You reach over and wrap your fingers around his wrinkled hand, squeezing it slightly, and then you both return to your shared, comforted silence in front of the fire. 

When the night sky has gone black as ink and Arthur still hasn’t come in, your eyelids begin to droop so you politely say good night to Hosea and head back to your little ramshackle room to turn in for the night.

Moving at a languid pace, you heat up some snow for some warm water to wash up with before bed. Between the cold mountain temperatures and not being near a town with a bath house, cleansing has been hard to come by since your stay here in Colter, but you try to make sure you are clean. The modest fire dances in the fireplace and takes the chill out of the room just enough to disrobe in sections as you wipe your body down with the damp cloth. 

Arthur eventually comes into the cabin with a hardened look and a grumble under his breath. He kicks the snow off his boots and ambles over to sit next to Hosea, plopping himself down to warm himself a bit. 

Hosea says nothing, simply watching the younger man maneuvering about, giving him a few moments before he starts in on him. 

“You need to take better care of your girl,” scolds Hosea, the frown lines on his already wrinkled face cutting deep and menacingly. 

Arthur’s eyebrows arch in surprise before releasing a dismissive snort. 

“I take care of her just fine. She’s alright”, he grumbles.

Hosea pitches him a disappointed and quiet look. “Jesus, you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, you’re old”, scoffs Arthur with a lofty eye roll. 

The comfortable banter gives Hosea a chuckle. Arthur is a grown man, well into his 30’s, even considered ‘old’ himself by some standards. And yet, the look of disappointment from his ”father” never does sit well with him. And Hosea’s right too. He’s been a right miserable bastard these last few weeks and especially to you, his treasure, his love. 

Arthur sits quietly in contemplation, his fingers absentmindedly rolling a cigarette between his fingers as he stares into the fire, his thoughts swirling like the flames in front of him.

Arthur lets out a long tired sigh and slowly drags himself up, grabbing a few more pieces of fresh-cut wood, and heads to your bedroom door. 

“Hey,” Arthur pauses and calls over to Hosea, who looks up from the fireplace. “Thanks, ‘sea”

The old man waves him off with a smile and goes back to his peace and quiet. 

With an arm full of wood for the little fireplace, Arthur nudges his shoulder into the door to enter your room. He grumbled when he found out you took the smaller room in the cabin upon arrival in this shriveled little mining town. But you had done so knowing it would be the easiest to heat. And your gamble proved to be right. The room has a soft, gold glow about it and the heat from the small fireplace takes the chill out of the frigid Colter air nicely. 

He pauses to take a look around and notices you’ve been fixing up the place while he’s been otherwise occupied. The floor has been swept of dirt, and the strings of cobwebs that tethered to the ceiling have been brushed away. Your personal things are neatly stacked in the corners, your coats and scarves and such line the one wall to keep dry. The rickety-old bed has been made up with your blankets, the edges turned down like a hotel. You have made this little shack cozy. You even managed to scavenge some curtains from other buildings and made a makeshift privacy curtain behind which you are currently bathing yourself. 

“Arthur? Is that you?” Your honey-sweet voice carries softly, mingled with the crackling of the fire, when you hear the door close, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Yeah, it’s me. You doin’ alright in here?”

“Sure. Just cleaning up a bit.”

Making his way across the room, Arthur sets the wood down and stokes the fire, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants before heading over to you. He can hear you humming a delicate tune as he approaches, a melody swirling to meet his ears. With a cigarette dangling expertly from his lips, Arthur pulls back the fabric with two fingers and peeps around the curtain. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of your delicate skin being exposed

A soft smile tugs at his pillowy lips at the serene sight. “Hey, you.” 

When you turn your cheek to meet his gaze, your smile in return is like the morning sun. “Hey, you,” you purr back to him. The shining light in your eyes and adoring smile on your face captivates his souls like nothing else in this world. 

“Need a hand with that?” He playfully raised an eyebrow at you.

You give him a soft giggle. “Sure. Mind getting my back for me?”

“Can’t think of anything I want to do more right now.”

He flicks his cigarette to the floor, smothering it with his boots as he walks up behind you, clearing his throat as he takes the wash cloth from your hand. Your smile grows even more and your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth in anticipation as you turn back around to grant him full access to your backside. 

Arthur slowly drags the cloth over your back and shoulder blades, observing how the skin pulls against the muscle.  His ocean-blue eyes rake over your body, refreshing his mind with the map of your features that are forever etched into his brain. 

His gaze skips from the curve of your neck, to the elegant swoop of your shoulder, down between the protruding shoulder blades and further on down the valley of your spine until he settles on the sudden swell of your rear, currently draped in your bloomers, the ruffles of the fabric all hanging limply along the sides. He wishes he could cover you in the finest of clothing, as you so deserve it. Arthur adores your simplicity, but then again, you are absolutely breath-taking in refinement. You have never even asked for, let alone demanded, such extravagance from him. But that makes Arthur want to provide for you all the more. 

“How’s your feet? Gonna lose any toes?” he muses, trying to forget the images of you almost drowning that still flash before his eyes.

“No,” you smirk. “I think I’ll be keeping all my toes and extremities.”

A chuckle rumbles from his broad chest. “Good. ‘Cause I kinda like your toes,” he whispers in your ear, his voice dropping to a playful, sultry tone that makes you giggle again with an accompanying blush as you feel his fingertips dancing along your hip.

Arthur continues to wash your back for you when he notices a bruise along your side, his head tilting to the side in confusion. The sight of any bruise on you, no matter how it got there, never sits well with him. “What happened here?” His thick finger gently ghosts over the purple and yellow bruise that blossomed across your skin. 

“Huh?” Your chin turns over your shoulder to follow his sightline. “Oh, Susan wanted a chest moved so she and I hauled it around. I backed into the hanging cupboard.”

“Why didn’t you get one of the men to do it?” he frowns.

“Because I couldn’t find one,” you chuckle in return. “And you know me, I wanted it done right now.”

Arthur scowls at that a bit, realizing how much he’s put you through. He carefully drags the wet cloth over the bruise as if to wash its existence away completely.

When he’s done, Arthur wrings the cloth out and lays it across the hook on the wall to dry before coming back to you, placing his hand onto its rightful place on your hip. He leans over and peppers delicate kisses to the top of your shoulder, his beard ticking just so slightly. 

“There, now. All clean, pretty as a picture.” 

“Thank you, Love” you whisper, turning your face to him so he can place another kiss to your forehead. He gives you privacy as he wanders over to the bed to relax, giving you time to dress yourself in your sleep gown. When you come around from behind the privacy curtain, hands twinning in your hair to braid it, your eyes settle on your outlaw who is sitting quietly, leaning onto his knees with his forearms, staring blankly into the flames of the calming fire. His shoulders hunch up to his ears, his eyes carrying a vacant, depleted look.

Without a word, your feet pad across the floor to carry you to the bed. You stand in front of him with a soft, empathetic smile on your rose-petal lips. Arthur tilts his chin upward to catch your gaze and wordlessly pulls you closer, resting his forehead onto your abdomen, arms encircling your waist. Your hands float up to gently card you fingers through his hair, eliciting a deep sigh from him as your fingertips dance along his scalp. You lean over him slightly, cradling him to you as you savor the delicate moment, placing a delicate kiss to his crown. 

After a few moments of his steady breathing you crawl in behind Arthur with the hem of your gown balled up into your soft hands, his head twisting slightly as his eyes follow you, captivated by every move that your muscles make. You sit up on your knees behind him and begin to massage his shoulders to release the tension. You frown when you feel how hard and tight his shoulders are. A deep and appreciative groan emanates from Arthur’s chest as your strong, yet soft hands dig into his muscles a bit harder to break up the tissue there, his head dipping down between his shoulders to give you better access.

When you’re done, your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, fingers curling back and forth across his collarbone and you bury your face into his neck, placing soft, tender kisses there. He catches your hand and brings the back of your knuckles to his lips before tightly engulfing it with his own. 

“I’m sorry you have to carry this burden, Arthur.” Your forehead affectionately touches the side of his.

“Don’t be. It's a job I signed up for long ago.”

“I know,” you whisper with a tinge of sadness to your voice. “But still, there’s only so much a man can take.”

“Oh, I can take a lot, sweetheart,” he chuckles half-heartedly. “Don’t concern yourself.” Although he has to admit, it does feel good to have someone worry about him, to take the time to even notice him at all. 

“I forgot, you can handle anything because you’ve already handled everything,” you sigh. “But of course I’m concerned about you, Arthur. Seems like I’m one of the only people who are these days.” The fingers of your other hand begin the play with the collar of his union suit. 

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” he smiles. He gently tugs on your arm to pull you around and into his lap. Once he has you settled there, Arthur stares up into your face, a look of absolute serenity gracing his rugged features. His hand lifts up to cup your face, his long fingers sliding under your hair as his thumb gently swipes across your cheekbone. He marvels at how he now understands that it is not about who hurt you or broke you down in this life. It is about who is always there to take care of you and make your heart smile once again. 

You and Arthur share a connection that neither of you could ever deny, nor would you ever want to. You accepted each other into your hearts, and that has become your home, your center. 

“I could stare at you all day, you know that?” Arthur’s blue eyes twinkle happily with his simple declaration. 

With a loving hum, you lean forward to slowly kiss him, your lips brushing against each other like wildflowers on the wind. Your lips gently work against each other’s, working into each other like a puzzle piece. Your body begins to curl itself up into him to bask in his warmth, desperate to be as close as possible to him.

“You’re like a cat,” he smiles into your mouth, “Trying to curl up into my pocket.” After a few more moments of delicious kisses, he reluctantly pulls away as you chase his lips in response.

“I thought you were pulling away from me,” he whispers with a glimmer of pain in his voice, clutching you tighter as his face twists slightly in concern.

“Maybe I was,” you sigh, your finger lifting his overgrown hair out of his beautiful, soulful eyes. “But you’ve been so angry since we left Blackwater. I wanted to give you time to work through what’s happened.”

Arthur casts his eyes down in shame. “Yeah, well…I shouldn’t’ve been like that with you. I was never angry with you.” 

“Oh, I think you were. Just a little”, you chuckle. You let out a contented sigh as you wrap your cold fingers around his face.

“I’m sorry I got you into this, Y/N, but I sure am glad I have you here with me. I think I would lose what little wits I got left without you.” His face suddenly scrunches up a bit. “Damn, your hands are freezing.”

You smile sheepishly. “Sorry. But trust me, they are certainly warmer than they were earlier.”

“Maybe we need to find a way to warm you up, then?” That smirk, that devilish smirk that you love so much has returned to his handsome, tired face, lighting that spark in your belly that has been absent for what seems like an eternity.

“What if Hosea hears us?” you giggle as your nose nudges against his. 

Arthur just shakes his eyebrows at you in response. “Don’t care. Besides, he ain’t no prude and certainly no saint.”

You shiver as Arthur pulls back from you a bit, his body heat immediately missed. He reaches over for his discarded coat and lays it down on the bed underneath you for added warmth before gently pushing your body to lay back, covering you with his own. You curl up into his chest to try to keep warm and to keep him close to you. 

This isn’t just a carnal, lustful need that has to be filled. You need to feel close to him again. To feel that bond, that connection that you so covet. Because without it, you feel as lost as a shriveled leaf blowing in the wind. And he suddenly has the need to feel you completely, to be all at once on you, in you, and wrapped tightly around you until he is utterly consumed by you. 

Things start out tonight more mechanical than anything. You both fidget awkwardly to get situated on the bed, clumsy kisses and uncoordinated hands initiate the intimacy. Both your and Arthur’s fingers playfully fight each other to unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders, leaving him down to his union suit and trousers.

It's been awhile, for your standards anyway, and the tension of days past between you two certainly isn’t helping the mood. Because of the cold, you are not able to completely bare yourselves to each other, either, which is another factor. Normally, you prefer to be bare-skinned against each other, desperate to feel every inch of the other. 

But eventually, the awkwardness subsides. The hesitation fades away to allow old habits and familiar patterns to return. Your fingers trail over his muscled back, feeling the way his strong, powerful muscles move beneath the fabric of his union suit as he settles himself over you. Arthur quickly touches you as if he owns you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You need him and he needs you. You need his body pressed against yours. He needs to feel your warmth and inhale your scent. He needs the taste of your kisses as much as you crave his hands wrapped around your curves. You are the unrelenting ache, an endless craving, for it is his unsettled soul that carries the chaos that only you can calm. 

The dance of passion quickly begins and Arthur loses himself in you, even if for only for a few moments, but that’s all he needs. Your lips chase him with a whine when Arthur pulls away from your face just so slightly to give himself room to pull at your nightgown. Like the way the sun energizes a flower, you bring his tired, restless soul back to life each time you are together and like the precious sun, you are like nothing else on this earth to him. Arthur has no words to describe what you do for him, but in his kiss, his lips carry a million words of love for you. And he can only hope you will taste each one of them, one by one. 

His hands are so warm that they almost burn your frigid skin as they travel everywhere on your body and yet, they are dry and rough from the latest ordeal. How Arthur is able to stay so warm in this arctic weather of Colter is beyond you, but you are so thankful for it. He is like sleeping with a bear and part of you whimpers in disappointment at not being able to run your fingers through his soft body hair as you grasp at him, having to settle instead with sliding your hand under the fabric of his union suit to feel his bare skin. 

His lips are dry and chapped from the weather, where you are used to the soft, plump skin, but they nestle perfectly as he attacks the curve of your collarbone, placing fevered and rushed kisses there. Arthur buries his face into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you to cradle you up into him, holding you tightly with almost cruising force. All 6 feet-plus of his barrel-chested frame lays atop of you, caging you into his warm body as he gently rubs himself against you. 

You cringe a bit when Arthur’s mammoth hand reaches to your plump middle, squeezing your too pliable stomach in his strong grasp. But Arthur doesn’t care about the extra weight you carry, never has. And he still can’t get over how you have chosen him, of all people, to allow to lay with you so intimately. His fingers handle you roughly, almost painfully, in his haste to touch every part of you. It is not unusual for slight blossoms of purple and blue to be left on your skin after being with Arthur. He is certainly not abusive, in fact far from it. It's just that he needs you so desperately that he forgets himself sometimes and forgets how rough he is. 

You have always loved the build up to the intimacy between the two of you, when gentle touching becomes impatient grabbing and soft lips give way to passionate tongues. And your heartbeat escalates until you feel like it will burst from your ribcage, only to be caught by his. 

It’s easy enough to take your clothes off and have sex, people do it all the time. But opening up your soul to someone, letting them see your hopes and fears, your thoughts and dreams, that is being truly naked to someone.

Arthur’s mouth trails along your jaw to continue its lover’s journey along your neck, following the curve of your body. He has always loved the way the bend of your neck fits the shape of his mouth so perfectly and how your glittering eyes always flutter and roll back when his lips find their way there. The pads of his weathered fingers skip down over the velvety skin of your lower abdomen, causing delicate goosebumps and the downy body hairs to rise in their wake. The tips of his fingers draw circles and rake across your belly before he reaches between your thighs to the apex of your heat. The moment he graces your tender folds, a passionate hiss escapes from your mouth, which he is quick to lift his head to greedily swallow. You angle your hips into his hand, desperate for the expert touch that only Arthur can provide you. 

“My beautiful girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My beautiful girl, all mine.”

“All yours,” you breathe out. “Arthur…I need you. I can’t wait much longer,” your whisper desperately with your forehead digging against his, your fingers curling against the skin of his neck. And his chest almost explodes with the love he has for you when he realizes that you have just as deep a need for him as he has for you. 

His hand descends between your writhing bodies to pull at the remaining obstacle of buttons of his union suit to pull out his fully-erect cock. His hand trembles slightly from the anticipation as he pumps himself a few times before teasing your heat with it. Arthur rolls up onto his knees for better leverage and begins to slowly push himself into the warm cradle of your cunt. Your hands knead the hard muscle of his shoulders as you brace yourself for his thick and long size, always filling you completely. He watches you, enraptured, as your head tilts back and your eyes roll into your skull as the heavenly over-stimulation engulfs all of your senses and a satisfied moan escapes your kiss-swollen lips as he bottoms-out, pushing his pelvis to meet with yours.

He holds himself still, completely buried there for a blissful moment before he begins to move oh-so slowly, not wanting to get too excited or too loud. Arthur's hips curl sharply, rutting into you at the perfect angle to hit that certain spot. You are not in a position to be wild and passionate, but still, each thrust of his hips sends you to the moon and stars. Your conjoined breathing quickly escalates and becomes staggered and short as you forget the rest of the world even exists beyond your broken little bed. 

“It’s been way too long, way too long,” he groans as his tongue darts in and out of his mouth to taste the delicate skin of your shoulder as he pulls at your nightgown.

And you cannot even form words to answer him, but only nod in agreement with a wanton little whimper as your eyelids flutter and lips tremble while he fills you so completely. You have to crush your mouth into his thick shoulder in an effort to muffle yourself.

Suddenly desperate for more, you cage him in tightly with your hips and legs as he rocks his body atop of you, your muscles wrapping around him as much as humanly possible. Your arms fold around his massive shoulders, holding onto him as if for dear life.

“I love you, Arthur,” you whisper breathlessly into his temple, your lips catching on the tender skin there. The tremble of your voice is the whisper of an angel bringing him to heaven. 

“I love you, too, Y/N.”

Arthur’s head swims as he takes your hand that cradles his face, bringing it to his lips before he threads his fingers through yours and pins your hand next to your cheek as his other arm snakes around your head, holding you against his face while he continues to thrust into you.

“Look at me,” you plead into his ear as your teeth nibble delicately at his earlobe.

He lifts himself up onto his forearms again to look into your loving eyes, the palm of his hand brushing back the hair that has fallen into your serene face. You stare into Arthur’s eyes as he moves. You want to see his face as he makes love to you, desperate to find and rekindle that connection that you so covet. You want to hold onto this sublime moment, as you know you won’t have it for too long. You are like a pouty, spoiled child, not wanting to share your most precious possession with anyone else.

Arthur studies you as your eyelids quiver and skin shutters with each pulse of his strong hips, your mouth gaped open in soundless words, yet you still remain focused on him without faltering. You’ll be sore between your legs when this is done, for sure. You feel every thick, hard inch of him inside you as the weight of his body presses you deeper into the thin mattress with each stroke. Your legs fall open even more, your muscles unable to hold them up as your entire body goes limp like jelly in his presence. 

Rough hands continue to pinch and knead your ever-warming flesh. Your hand lifts up to run through his hair, curling through his unwashed locks that are long overdue for cutting before fisting and pulling gently. The feeling of your fingertips dancing across his skin before digging into the muscle grounds him as a reminder that this thing between you is real and he can forgo the trappings of the miserable situation that the gang currently finds itself in. He needs the taste of you on his lips. He needs the scent of you on his skin and your breath in his lungs. He simply needs you to survive. 

And as your bodies continue to move in perfect harmony, your eyes suddenly begin to blur with unshed tears. It isn’t until he hears a faint sniffle from you that Arthur registers that something may be wrong. 

“Why you cryin’, baby?” Arthur whispers in earnest, afraid something will cause your precious little world to crumble right here and now.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You try to give him your best sad little smile, shaking your head as if to dismiss your concerns. 

“For what?” He places a kiss to your nose, still buried deep within you and maintaining that hypnotic rocking motion overtop of you.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want to be yet another thing you have to take care of. I’m sure you wanted nothing more than to come in here and fall asleep for more than an hour, yet you have to take care of me. One more thing you have to do.”

He stops his gentle thrusts for a moment, his face turning to one of pain and disappointment and he finally has to dip his head and break eye contact with you, unable to look you in the face with his shame. It makes your heart ache. But what you do not realize is that those feelings are not towards you but to himself for making you feel that way. He wants to be both needed by, and wanted by, you. He needs to feel like he’s worth something to you, of all people. You are the constant in his life, the beacon of goodness that he can keep his eye on as he navigates the treacherous waters of this dangerous life. Arthur still feels like he’s a worthless, ugly, mean old man, but somehow you still find it in your beautiful heart to love him. So he will do whatever it takes to be worthy of that love. 

When he doesn’t say anything, but only responds with a slow, aggravated exhale, you panic, trying to quickly repair the damage. Arthur’s face goes dark and you can almost see the storm of hurtful thoughts swirling about in his mind.

“No, don’t you do that,” you whisper in desperate hushed tones as you collect his face into your hands. “Don’t you dare beat yourself up. As much as I want you all to myself, Arthur, I’m the one trying not to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” His eyebrows knit with confusion. “You’re the least selfish person I know. And besides, I can think of far worse things than being wanted by a woman such as yourself.” His hand caresses your face, his thumb sweeping across your rose petal lips. As he graces you with a feather-like touch, your own hands grab at his back even tighter with a need to pull him to you and hold him even closer. 

“You ain’t my burden, Y/N. You’re my refuge,” he continues. “It’s you, and it’s always gonna be.” He touches his forehead to yours, before rolling his lips to pepper the corner of your eyelids and temple. “What I have with you, I don’t want with no one else. Hear me?” A little demure smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.  “Shit, you’re all my heart ever talks about.” He gives you a little wink with a chuckle. 

A sob chokes in your throat as your heart soars to know that your connection is now restored. You were so afraid of losing him, that the life and love that you have fostered like a fragile candle flame was going to be extinguished. That he was going to wake up one day after all of this mess with Blackwater, the Pinketons and the swirling chaos of Colter and decide that this relationship was just too much for him to navigate. Arthur is a simple man with a lot of responsibilities. It would be easy to understand that he wouldn't want any distractions or additional demands laid upon him. 

You were afraid that you, yourself, were not enough for him. For Arthur is not the only one riddled with insecurities and doubt. He is not the only one who has been broken. 

When you close your eyes, it’s like you are at the center of the sun, protected from all the wickedness of the world, wrapped in your lover’s arms. You giggle and return to meet his lips again with a heated passionate kiss before touching your forehead back to his. 

“You’re killin’ me, Arthur.” Your resplendent smile sparkles back at him.

“That’s the fun of it, isn’t it?” he snickers as he suddenly resumes the snapping of his hips into your pelvis, picking up speed to rekindle the lustful exhilaration. His hips push heavily against yours, all the way down until the wiry hair of his groin entangles with your own, causing you to gasp, his name falling wantonly from your lips as you angle your hips again to meet his as his cock continues to ram into the bundle of nerves hidden within your core. At this point, you are sure that Hosea can hear you two out in the other room. But like Arthur, you really don’t care. And you're pretty sure that after your talk earlier, neither does Hosea. 

The way Arthur holds you is a promise, a confirmation, that for just one moment at least, the two of you don’t have to face the world alone. 

Your climax is quick to come after that, as you give in to all your temptation and desire. You fall heart-first into his soul, where he is eagerly awaiting you. You clamp your body around him as the euphoric wave hits you, and as he rides you through yours, his own orgasm hits him like a lightning bolt as he withdraws his swollen cock to rub against your abdomen, his great arms encircling your head like a serpent. 

The air in the little cabin room is now hot and sticky with your combined sweat and you take a moment to catch your heaving breaths. Arthur is always sure to take care of you, to take hold of the moment, but once he’s spent, it is you who manages the aftercare. You hold him to you as his body shudders from exertion, his chest heaving as his face seeks refuge once more tucked within the soft skin where your neck and shoulder meet. And this is the symbiotic relationship that elevates the two of you to another place. 

Once your conjoined hearts have settled, you bask in your after-glow, snuggled up to each other, afraid to let go. Arthur pulls you to lay upon his great chest, your ear right over his strong heart so that he can weave his fingers into your disheveled hair, a sense of pride knowing he’s the one responsible for the rumpled appearance. You toss your plump leg over his, entwining like a cocoon around him. You wince slightly when your hips pops back into its socket from being spread open so widely.  

After a few tenderly quiet moments, you draw yourself up, propping your head into your hand as your elbow bends next to his head so that you can gaze down into Arthur’s face and he meets your loving expression. 

“I still remember how I felt the first time I saw you.” Your head tilts as the memory of that fateful afternoon cascades back into your mind. His body shudders slightly as your fingertips absentmindedly ghost over his chest, slowly dancing along below his collarbone and swirling the chestnut colored hair that decorates his skin as you fall deep in thought. “Thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest, broken as it was. You were so magnificent. Took my very breath away to look at you.” Your words are whispered like the ether, acutely holding his attention as you speak. You smile as you watch a blush dust his face up to his ears and he squirms as he nervously tucks his hand behind his head like a pillow.

But a darkness hovers over your glistening eyes as the worry and concern for him floods your mind. “But someone needs to take care of you, too, Arthur.” 

“You take care of me just fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about that. More than any man like myself deserves.” 

“Nuh-uh, don’t forget our deal, Morgan:  you look after me, and I’ll look after you.”

“Right.” His hand draws along your delicate spine, tracing your form, as he reaches for yours that rests on his chest, bringing it to his lips. 

“I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you, Arthur. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happens to you-“

“Shhhh.” The back of his thick finger grazes your cheekbone ever-so softly. “Ain’t nuthin’ gonna happen to me, Y/N.”

He stares into your eyes, both of you knowing this is a promise that is impossible for him to keep. But still, you play his game and give into the heavenly little dream. You sniffle back the lump in your throat and give him a shaky little smile. 

But your private bubble is broken all too soon when you suddenly hear Hosea softly knocking on the door.

“Arthur? I hate to break up your fun in there, but your presence is needed elsewhere. Dutch would like a word.” 

A pained expression takes ahold of Arthur’s bearded face. “Can’t it wait?” he calls out towards the door. 

“‘Fraid not, son.” The regret in Hosea’s voice is palpable. It’s hard to be angry with the old man when you can tell by the tone and volume with which he speaks that the last thing he wanted to do was to rap his arthritic knuckles on that door.

“Damn it,” Arthur growls under his breath. “Alright, hang on,” he calls out to his old friend. 

He pauses but for just a moment before he rolls himself up to a sitting position next to you. But panic runs through your veins like fire in your blood. Your hands suddenly shoot out to hold his face protectively to yours, his cheek squishing slightly in your palms. 

“Please, Arthur. Please don’t go right now.” You don’t know why, but you are suddenly filled with a deep sense of dread, like something will happen to him if he leaves your sight. You want to feel safe, but you feel anything but that in this place. The only place you ever feel safe is with Arthur, and to have him pull away from you right now, after you’ve just touched each other’s souls, is like ripping a piece of your heart right out of your chest. Like a moth to a flame, you gravitate to Arthur, always desperate to be in his presence. 

The look on your face almost breaks Arthur’s heart. “I’m sorry, but I gotta go.” He pulls your hands from his face, but kisses the inside of your palm as he does as a heartfelt apology. 

You watch him with sad eyes as stands and he dresses once again, making himself presentable. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen here,” he says uneasily as he threads his arms back through his shirt and begins buttoning it up again. “Something’s different, something’s…off. I don’t know.” His eyes begin to dart around the room as he tries to find the words rattling around in his now-scattered brain. “But whatever it is, things are about to get rough around here.”

You just nod silently in understanding, knowing full-well what that means for your beloved outlaw and his ever-dwindling safety. 

“I need to get ahead of this now, before it gets outta hand, Y/N. Understand?” His pleading eyes land on you, practically begging for your approval right now. 

“Yes. I understand, Arthur.“ You give him a weak, but loving smile. “Please, be careful.”

“I will.” He gives you a grateful nod and turns to head towards the door. But before his hand can even land on the doorknob, your voice calls to him again.

“Arthur?”

He turns back to meet your longing gaze from where you still sit on the bed, wrapped in the blankets that you just made love in. Your eyelids flutter, overwhelmed with emotions. 

“You’re mine,” you state so matter-of-factly. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do. You’re mine. Never forget that.” You are no longer shy to say it nor afraid to admit it. Your deep-rooted need to love him and be loved by him has taken such a tight hold of you that it makes your chest tight and desperate to never let him go. You have no need for romantic fantasies anymore and you are done with the nightmares of failed relationships.

Arthur pauses for only a moment upon hearing your proclamation and quickly strides back across the room to you. He places his large hand on the back of your head and he pulls your forehead to his lips. 

“I love you,Y/N,” he says again, his voice serious, making sure that you understand him.

“I love you, too, Arthur” you repeat back, holding his face once again, your thumb rubbing along his cheek as if committing this moment to memory. And with a sigh, you reluctantly concede to let him leave. “Now, go. Before they come in here looking for you.” 

You hold onto Arthur’s hand until he is out of your reach, your fingers extended before your arms fall dejectedly into your lap with disappointment as he pushes himself out the door. Your eyes linger on the wooden panel, now sitting still and quiet in its rusty hinges and splintered wooden frame. Your chest still tingles from where he lay atop of you, his heart beating in unison to your own, your breath mingled together. 

Normally you are left happy and content, reveling in your blissful and lustful stupor. And yet, a sense of darkness settles over you that you cannot shake. Arthur has always been pulled in a million directions at once, but that is the nature of his role with the gang and his importance to Dutch. But now, a whole new level of concern washes over you and you fear that the notorious outlaw may be getting in too deep. 

With a deep sigh, you look to where Arthur’s journal sits carefully nestled in his worn leather satchel. You smile softly, despite yourself. It is a symbol of his mind and his heart nestled in its fragile paper and tattered leather binding. 

Your future is uncertain and the road ahead will be laid with hardship. But you will wait for Arthur for as long as it takes. You will keep your shared bed warm for him and always have a hot cup of coffee waiting. For Arthur is worth the wait. He is where you will always find comfort and a sense of belonging. You no longer have a heart of your own for he is your heart. He is your life.You have finally met the person who has made you forget about yesterday and begin to dream of tomorrow. Arthur has the weight of the world on his shoulders right now and you will do whatever you have to in order to ease that burden for him, no matter if the gesture is great or small.

Your eyes drift their way to that same grimy window again, the one that you always seem drawn to. The moon sets high at its zenith like a giant eye to the heavens. The cold-hearted orb gleams against the black canvas of night, bobbing in and out of the clouds that try to grip it with an ethereal fist, and gifts its silvery shadows across the snow below. The banshee wind howls outside, the fingers of the tree outside scraping along the panes of glass.

Where others may see the fear in the darkness of the night, you strangely take comfort in it. With the night, the moon brings calm and tranquility, whereas the sun ushers in activity and chaos during the waking hours of daylight. Things are not always as they seem, often having double meanings and duality to their existence. ‘Good and evil, you cannot have one without the other’ you had told Arthur the day you met. And you firmly believe that. Where you have knowledge, you will also find oblivion. Where you see power, you can also find regret. And love, love takes on so many forms, both in darkness and in the light.

And the moon has taught you that there is still beauty to be found in the darkness.

—-------------------------------------

The next morning, you all pack up, piling into the wagons, to leave the bitter cold and head back down the mountain to meet whatever may come for the Van der Linde gang.

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhiss @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4rx @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck @julialoopeezz @a-court-of-valkyries @oziozzioslo @stargazer-88 @lunawolfclaw @rita-the-outlaw @sixgunluvr

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

[spoonsand]

RIP RED DEAD CHARACTERS YOU WOULD HAVE LOVED

Dutch- disposable fruity flavoured (mango) vapes, Duolingo

Hosea- rollerblading, old VHS movies, The Sound of Music, ear studs, small hoops, and ear cuffs

Arthur- LED strip lights, therapy, The Joy of Painting

John- Ax body spray, deodorant, those little arm floaties little kids wear in the pool

Mary-Beth- Lego flowers, The Notebook, Pinterest

Tilly- Easter egg hunts, making slime, slumber parties

Karen- Tube/crop tops, jean shorts, weightlifting

Sean- make your own mead kits, TikTok, “kiss me in Irish”, SUNSCREEN

Abigail- AirTags (she would put one on little Jack), Roasting marshmallows, Crime shows/courtroom dramas, Man! I Feel like a woman! By Shania Twain

Uncle- recliner chairs, dog sledding, Wheel of Fortune, Crosswords

Susan- Dark nail polish, cats(I’m 100% sure she’d own either a black cat or a tortishell that would sit on her lap/shoulder), dishwashers

Kieran- Creep by Radiohead, Tv shows about veterinarians, friendship bracelets (with Arthur)

Reverend Swanson- Support groups, The Robert Langdon series (especially Inferno, Angels & Demons), communion wine

Javier- Cards Against Humanity, online sheet music, ear gauges

Molly- Champaign toast anything from bath and bodywork’s, naval AND lip piercing, SUNSCREEN

Bill-sexy firefighter calendars, Grindr, Bumbl, all the dating apps, apples dipped in caramel, jolly ranchers

Charles- IMessage games (mini golf and battleship in particular), those long distance ‘thinking of you bracelets’, 90’s sitcoms

Lenny- The Carpenters, cologne to make him seem grown up, head pats

Trelawney- Harry Houdini, 50-60s movies, smoke bombs, dramatic flares

Strauss- a soul, Nigerian Prince scams, telemarketing

Sadie- gyms, self defence classes, the free Britany movement

Micah- staying in the strawberry jail, toothbrush + paste, good posture

Pearson- small businesses, handmade gifts, trying TikTok recipes

EXTRA

Annabelle- Gwen Stefani, sequins, Fast and the Furious

Jack (young)- The Backyardagains, cocomelon, a little toy train

Jack (epilogue)- Monty Python, skateboarding, swimming

Bessie- Bette Midler look a like contests, growing old, brown eyeliner, SUNSCREEN

[blackseafoam]

Marked Part III

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations)

PART 1 - PART 2

Word count: 2002

CW: Stuff you'd normally find in a western story. Swearing, smoking, gun touting, bullet wounds, horse jokes.

“Why do you keep looking over there? The job is as good as done, Arthur.” Javier gestured with his whiskey glass, elbows planted on the bar top.

“Yeah, have a drink. We earned it.” Lenny nodded with his beer.

“Slow down, Summers, remember the last time you came here to ‘wind down’” Javier jabbed, snickering.

“Shut up, Esquella.” Lenny muttered into his glass as he raised it.

Arthur barely noticed the two bickering. His mind elsewhere. There was a nagging feeling those three soldiers weren’t done fighting yet. The energy between those men was almost as if they could talk without speaking. Their expressions clearly showed they were not ready to give up yet. Like an animal in a snare, biting and scratching to its last breath, chewing off its leg to get away if it has to.

He sipped his whiskey but kept one eye dutifully on the front of the Sheriff's office, just in case, even as the sun went down and the warm light of lanterns and candles became the only way to see.

BOOM. Every glass on every table shuddered at once. Lenny choked on his drink.

Dutch’s boys knew the sound of dynamite all too well. Arthur got to his feet and ran outside, closely followed by his inebriated posse.

The side of the sheriff's station was blown wide open, a gaping hole in the wall revealed the inside of the holding cell, and prisoners nowhere to be seen. Arthur cursed, making eye contact with the deputy inside, on the other side of the bars, standing frozen in shock.

“Damn, these guys might be even crazier than us.” Lenny huffed. Javier sighed with frusdration.

“Goddamn. I can’t believe it.” Arthur couldn’t help but sound a little impressed.

Arthur’s attention went to the muddy ground, to the scrambling footprints, four, no, five sets of boots led toward the main road, then disappeared.

“They got on a wagon, come on.” Arthur growled, then turned to get his horse. This bounty was now officially giving them a run for their money.

“Do you think they heard that?” Wrecker laughed as soon as his brothers climbed aboard the wagon. With a flick of the reins they were off as quickly as Murray could pull the full load. Tech, being the designated driver, climbed to the front and took the reins. They headed south out of the town,the opposite direction of their old camp. It almost felt good to get into some action again, almost.

“Where’s Meggy?” Hunter huffed as he took a seat.

“In here!” His seat spoke. Echo huffed a laugh as Hunter stood in shock and opened the crate. The three siblings in the cargo area shared a reunion hug.

“How touching.” Crosshair caught up to the wagon on Havoc, rifle trained to the sky in one hand, reins in the other. The jet black steed’s nostrils flaring with excitement. “Celebrate later, we’re being followed.” He cast a glance over his shoulder.

Three horsemen coming up from behind caught the light of the train station on the edge of town. Barely visible at this distance, but closing fast.

“Did you bring our guns?” Echo began moving the supply crates to barricade the rear of the open wagon.

“In here!” Meggy handed him a saddlebag from the floor.

Echo moved one crate toward the front of the wagon. Hunter motioned Meggy to take cover behind it. “Do not move from this spot until we say so.” He said sternly. Meggy looked at him with eyes wide open, nodding and sitting frozen still. The intensity in his expression taking her aback.

Wrecker loaded his sawn-off shotgun, Echo spun his pistol, and Hunter turned the safety off of his revolver. Tech urged the horse to continue as fast as he dared into the night. He wasn’t familiar with this road but from his vague recollection of maps it was relatively straight.

The first shot rang out, splintering through the back of the driver’s seat. Missing Tech’s hip by inches. Being on the wagon meant their aim would be marginally better than their pursuers at full gallop. Hopefully.

Sure enough, it was their three escorts from earlier that came into view in the moonlight. One of them took another shot, but it went wide. Hunter and Echo returned fire, forcing the bounty hunters to spread out evasively. Meggy watched in horror over the crate, covering her ears and not daring to move a muscle as she crouched in the corner. Her limbs shook with adrenaline.

“We are not going to outrun them, we need a plan!” Tech called over his shoulder.

“No way we’re surrendering!” Wrecker bit out as he rolled into the back to take cover.

“I have an idea.” Tech gritted his teeth and veered the wagon onto the train tracks.

“TE-ECH, what are you do-oing!?” Echo yelled, the seriousness in his tone cut by his jostling voice. The wagon wheels bumped violently as they rolled over the railroad ties.

“Blackwater!” Is all he said in response.

Echo didn’t have time to ask more questions, as more shots rang out. A shot went straight through Hunter’s side, and into the crate protecting Meggy.

Hunter staggered, Echo noticed. “Hunter’s hit!” He announced. Hunter was still firing after he stumbled to his knees, Wrecker stowed his shotgun went to his brother’s aid. His close-range weapon wasn’t much help in the firefight anyway.

“We still need more distance!” Crosshair spat, his expression steeling as he thought. He knew that as soon as their enemies caught up with the wagon, it was all over. And they were getting uncomfortably close by the second.

The massive railroad bridge that was Bard’s Crossing stretched high over the yawning mouth of the Dakota River before it spanned out into Flat Iron Lake. Tech was leading them straight for it, an absolute madman, but probably one of the only people who could pull it off. Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk at his brother, the lunacy of the situation.

In that moment, Crosshair realized what he needed to do. He slowed Havoc to a canter. The stallion grunted, wanting to stay with his herd.

“Crosshair, what are you doing?!” Wrecker called out, crouched over Hunter, trying to staunch the hole in his side.

“Buying time.” Crosshair said, releasing the reins to cock his rifle. Using his seat to further slow his horse.

“This isn’t part of the plan!” Tech started to slow Murray.

“Too bad, it is now. GO! I’ll meet you in Blackwater.”

Tech nodded reluctantly, and urged Marauder back up to speed.

“This is not good, we shouldn’t split up!” Echo lowered his pistol, watching Crosshair and Havoc disappear into the darkness. “Running off to be the hero never works Crosshair!” He futilely called after his brother.

After the bridge, Tech steered the wagon back onto the road uncomfortably close to an oncoming train, thankfully still going slow as it left the nearby station. He cast an apologetic wave at the conductor who was visibly angry. They pulled the wagon over as soon as possible, Tech held up the driver’s lantern to check on Hunter. “How bad?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“A little worse than a graze, but I don’t think it hit anything important.” Wrecker reported.

“I’d… beg to differ, Wrecker. Feels pretty important.” Hunter huffed a small laugh which became a groan.

Echo rummaged through the kitchen crate for a whiskey bottle. Handing it to Hunter, who took a long swig before returning it. His face scrunching in anticipation before Echo splashed the stinging liquid onto the wound.

Tech finished by cleaning and staunching the wound with fabric from their triage kit, leftover from the war. They hadn’t had much use of it since then. After the train went by they were left in hanging silence. The tension began to abate, though worry about Crosshair still hung in the air. Wrecker looked out toward the bridge as if he could see his brother through the darkness if he tried hard enough.

Echo turned toward Meggy, still cowering in the corner of the wagon. Still doing exactly as Hunter instructed, staying put. Her face was lined with horror and her eyes were wet, as she hugged her still shaking legs.

“Hey, hey Meggy. We’re okay.” Echo went to her side. She glanced at him, then looked back toward Hunter and Tech. “Here, uh, come sit up here.” He took her elbow. The poor girl looked shell-shocked as if she were the one who’d been through a war. She took his offer to get up off the floor and sit on a crate with him, still shivering.

Crosshair halted Havoc, still on the bridge. He could already hear the hoofbeats of his pursuers pounding on the wooden struts. He deftly uncaulked his rifle and stowed it in the saddle as he slid off. Walking several paces toward the enemy, he raised his hands toward the stars above.

The gang got on their way again. “The closer we are to Blackwater, the safer we’ll be.” Tech assured, steering Murray to ford a shallow creek, letting the loyal beast take a long drink of water before continuing on.

“Why’s that?” Hunter croaked, taking another swig of whisky while trying to get comfortable against a sideways barrel close to Meggy’s seat.

“A few weeks ago the Van der Linde gang were here, and… left quite the mess.” Tech snapped the reins and Murray continued at a walk. “The gang robbed the Blackwater ferry. $150,000, according to the paper.” He added.

Wrecker whistled in amazement. “That’s a lot of cash…”

“It was a bloody affair, the Pinkertons got involved.”

“We should probably stay far enough away from the town if there are feds about, not to mention in case Meg–, I mean our wanted posters have made it out here.” Echo pointed out, casting a glance at Meggy beside him, still as a statue with Echo’s jacket draped over her shoulders. Hunter looking at her with concern, despite being the only one bleeding.

“Meggy, are you okay?” Hunter put the bottle to the side and reached out to her, wincing as the motion tugged painfully.

“She’s not hurt...” Echo pondered. “I think she’s scared, but she hasn’t said anything.”

“I’m okay.” Meggy nodded, and a tear ran down her face. She wiped it quickly, hoping no one saw.

Her brothers continued to console her as the wagon continued into the dark.

Arthur, Javier and Lenny rode up on the lone dark-clad outlaw with guns drawn.

“You’re coming with us.” Lenny spat, leveling his pistol.

“I would like to come to an arrangement.” Crosshair called out. “I have… a proposition.”

Lenny and Javier looked at Arthur, who raised his chin in interest. “Let’s talk somewhere we aren’t about to get crushed by a train.” He responded after a beat of consideration. Crosshair spun around and saw the light of an engine appearing on the other end of the bridge, when he turned back around Dutch’s boys were trotting back to solid ground. Crosshair mounted up and followed.

“You sure this is a good idea, Morgan?” Javier chided.

“Let’s hear him out. It’s our only option now.” Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Blackwater.

Between two prairie hills just outside Blackwater, the Bad Batch gang had settled in for the night, huddled against the wagon with a small campfire. Coyotes yapped nearby, and the crickets added to the chorus with their own nighttime song. Meggy laid on her bedroll between Hunter and Wrecker. Tech took the first watch after he untacked Marauder and brushed him. All five of them were silent with worry since the wagon wheels stopped. Every little sound had Tech looking up from what he was doing, hoping it was Crosshair catching up with them. Wrecker took the next watch, then Echo. Meggy and Hunter were allowed to sleep off the ordeal. The night slid by with no sign of their absent brother.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup @happydragon @fionas-frenzy @dizzy-9906 @coruscanti-travelguide

Author's note:

"It didn't hit nothin' important!!" That scene from the Ballad of Buster Scruggs kept playing in my head while I wrote this. I might add some more illustrations to this later, cuz I still have some ideas, but for now I just wanted to get this OUT THERE. I've completed a rough outline of the whole story at this point, and I'm so excited for the stuff at the climax. I have no idea how many chapters this will be but I'm trying to keep each one around 1.5 - 3k words.

I am so grateful for the positive feedback on the first two chapters thank y’all so much! I am certainly not the most experienced writer, and have been kind of hard on myself with this chapter, but had to keep remembering that this is all just for fun and doesn’t have to be perfect.

[theres-a-body-here]

Scumtober - Day 13 (Touch Starved)

Bill Williamson x Male!reader

"Get… off…me you… sonuvabitch…" Bill wheezed, writhing beneath the man choking him. Clawing at the strong arms cutting off his windpipe, he tried to gain some leverage to throw off the stranger.

The man on top of him snarled, eyes blazing with anger. Spit flew from his lips as he tightened his grip on Bill's neck.

The score was meant to be simple: clean out the old cabin Sean had scopped out a day before, grab whatever supplies they could find, and leave. The last thing Bill expected to encounter was an O'Driscoll thug waiting to get the jump on him.

Struggling against the thick hands squeezing his throat, Bill kicked wildly beneath the man pinning him down, desperate to shake free and get enough air back into his lungs.

A sudden gunshot rang through the cabin, stopping the struggle as quickly as it started.

Bill gasped for air, coughing as the weight of the dead man collapsed onto him. As soon as his airway opened up again, he shoved the corpse away forcefully, crawling backwards until he hit the far wall.

Glaring at the body lying in front of him, Bill rubbed at his bruised neck, wincing slightly at the pain caused by the throttling. He swallowed hard, still catching his breath, eyes bloodshot as adrenaline surged through him.

"Bill?" a voice called out in a hushed shout.

As Bill turned to look towards the source of the voice, his vision swaming, the room spinning slightly. It took a moment for his gaze to land on you crouching near the door, scanning the room with your revolver raised.

The relief washing over him upon seeing your familiar form sent his shoulders sagging, dropping the tension inside him just a fraction.

"He was…the only one here," Bill managed to croak out, massaging his tender throat.

"You took too long exploring the cabin so I came. Thank God I did," you say, standing to approach Bill while holstering your weapon. Offering a steadying hand, you helped him rise up from the floor onto a nearby chair with care.

Taking a deep breath, Bill let himself relax further as the blood flowed freely to his head, the dizziness beginning to dissipate.

Before Bill could say thanks, he suddenly felt your hand gently cradle his chin. He stiffened instinctively, eyes widening a touch as you guided his head upward with gentle pressure from your thumb.

The warmth of your skin pressed against his jaw sent a strange sensation coursing through him.

Eyes lowered bashfully, Bill couldn't help but feel his own cheeks growing warm under your gaze; unable to bring himself to meet your intense stare directly, opting instead to fixate on a spot somewhere along your shoulder.

"He really got you good," you muttered as you examined his raw skin.

"Uh…" he began nervously, clearing his throat quietly as he shifted his posture slightly, closing then unclosing his legs unconsciously, fingers tapping anxiously against his leg.

"I should've known something was off sooner," you whisper, your hand now cupping his cheek. "I'm sorry."

"It isn't…It isn't your fault," Bill stammered softly, shaking his head slightly in protest. 

You retracted your hand slowly, leaving behind a lingering warmth where your palm had been resting. "We should get going. Dutch'll probably have a fit if we come back empty handed and late," you sigh.

Forcing back a whimper, Bill did his best to keep his disappointment hidden. "Yeah…yeah, you're right," he agreed, swallowing hard as he pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. "Let's go." He added firmly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his chest.

The ride back to camp passed in silence, only the sound of clomping hooves against the dirt road and the distant birdsong echoing through the trees.

You wave to Lenny as you enter camp, guiding your horse to the makeshift posts with Bill following behind. Bill opens his mouth to say something...anything, but his mouth dries up. He watches as you hop off your horse and tie it securely. With his head slightly down, he does the same. Before he could head off and drink himself to death, your hand grabs his arm to stop him.

"You need to rest," you said softly, pulling him gently by the arm towards his bedroll setup.

"Nah, I'm fine," he protested weakly, "Just wanna…get a drink…"

Despite his words, Bill makes no effort to pull his arm away from you.

"Please…" you insisted, tugging him along. "At least let me put some ointment on those bruises."

At the mention of your hands on him again, Bill felt a phantom hand pressing against his face, engulfing his head in warmth. He wanted to feel the way he did at the cabin again. He wanted to be touched...by you.

"Alright, alright. Fine."

Scumtober 2024 Masterlist

[mediocrecowboyhat]

Set in sand - Chapter 8

We mark the year 1934 and a peculiar journal falls into your hands. It's telling the tale of an outlaw and the downfall of a gang. Some pages are torn and others are downright unreadable, but nevertheless, you are still able to make out some parts of the tragic story.

With the help of a certain time traveler friend of yours, will you be able to safe the author of the journal or will you be the cause for his demise?

Previous chapter

Next chapter

Word count: 3316

TW: end-game spoilers will be mentioned very early on in the story, 18+ MDNI, sexual themes, violence, gore, death, misogynistic themes (anything that happens in the game as well)

Everyone in camp is on high alert and doing their best to pack up everything as fast as possible. No matter how much you keep yourself busy by putting as much on your plate as you can, you're still unable to shake off the concern you feel for Arthur.

It's nibbling at you, feeding on your anxiety and you catch yourself listening for the familiar sound of hooves approach or looking out for a flash of black from his hat between the trees. Something dawns on you then.

I could leave during this commotion.

Not a single person would notice and you'd even bet money on that. A strange mix of guilt and betrayal spreads in your chest for just considering that option though and you shake your head. This is bad. Really bad.

-

"I'm just worried that it might get to you.", Francis comments and you wave it off.

"What? Are you worried that I might find out how amazing of an outlaw I am?", you tease with your lips curled up into a smirk.

The red head shakes his head in both amused disbelief and frustration. "No, but think about it. You will live with these people, possibly even befriend them. Leaving them behind could proof to be difficult."

His words make sense, but you're not too concerned about it. Arthur Morgan is the only person you have to build up an at least decent relationship with and besides, you highly doubt that you'll manage to properly befriend anyone there.

They're all criminals and you're not. These are two different worlds.

-

I'm a criminal like them now.

It doesn't happen everytime, but every now and then when you close your eyes you see the faces of the two men you killed. One a contorted mask in terror and shock from above and the other a cruel, bloody pool from below.

It's haunting to say the least.

"Arthur! Have you been followed?", you hear Dutch call out and you quickly turn on your heels to get a better look at the man who you've been so worried about this entire time.

His clothes are dirty and he's panting heavily, but you can't see any injuries on him. Not even a speck of blood on his shirt or pants. That's a good sign.

Unfortunately he's not staying for long, because Dutch almost immediately sends him away with Charles to check out a potential spot to set up a new camp. Someone pushes you harshly from behind and you let out a startled yelp.

"Move it! We ain't got time!" Miss Grimshaw's scolding puts you right back to work and you completely forget about the fact that your departure is long overdue.

---

The spot Arthur and Charles have found for the gang is directly by a river and close to a town called Rhodes. You remember reading the name in the journal and recall two families living nearby.

If your memory can be trusted then they're supposed to have some serious feud or so. It would be smart not to get too involved, but you never know with Dutch.

Together with Sean, Karen and Lenny you sit at a table and listen to the Irishman boast about that one trainjob back in New Hanover, the one where you helped steal the oil wagon. How many times has he talked about that now?

"And then that gobshite hit me on the head, but that didn't faze me at all!", he proudly exclaims while puffing out his chest a bit and you fight back an eye roll.

Even Karen who is usually glued to his lips seems a bit indifferent towards the tale. Lenny on the other hand looks quite troubled as if something is weighing heavily on his mind.

"Sean! How about you stop fucking around and instead lend me a hand!", Bill yells over the entire camp and earns himself an annoyed grunt from the red head.

"If you'll excuse me. I have important business to attend to." With these words Sean leaves the table and you shake your head once he turns away.

"I wonder how often he will talk about that.", you comment and get a rather hasty nod from Karen.

Shortly after she gets up from her seat as well. It's her turn to stand guard at the edge of camp. So now it's just you and Lenny and you decide to investigate what's been bothering him so much.

"You okay?", you ask and furrow your eyebrows in concern. The young man let's out an aggravated sigh and scratches the back of his neck.

"I don't know. Sean keeps bragging about all the money he brings in and I guess I feel like I'm not contributing enough.", he hesitantly admits and you place your hand on his shoulder.

As you two lock eyes, you give him a soft squeeze. "Don't take everything he says so seriously. You've heard what Arthur said about the train job."

The outlaw wouldn't shut up about how much Sean was overwhelmed with the task of checking the baggage wagon. He still mentions it regularly, because it gets such a rise out of the Irishman.

"You're right, but I still feel so...I don't know."

You pull your hand away and give him a reassuring smile. "Don't see this as a competition. Everyone knows how much you're doing for the gang."

"Maybe, but it would still be nice to have something to show to the others, you know?", he says and you nod.

Of course you know. That's the whole reason why you decided to learn how to steal from people. Now that you think of it you should maybe also focus on bringing some money in again.

The few dollar bills from that one guy from Valentine definitely aren't enough. Sure, you helped with the oil wagon, but got yourself kidnapped right afterwards and you feel like that overshadowed your accomplishment with how much effort they had to put into your rescue.

"How about we head into Rhodes and talk to the people? To look for a lead, I mean.", you suggest and Lenny's lips curl up into a wide grin.

"Sounds good!"

Together you ride on his horse towards the nearby town and he hitches it outside the post office. There you split up and he heads deeper into Rhodes while you decide to pay the saloon a visit.

With your newly acquired experience in scamming people, you slip into your charm and head straight to the bar to order a drink. As you still try to decide which role to play as and the bartender pours you a whisky, you overhear a conversation at the table next to you.

"They're gonna send me out to Saint Denis to drive this bank coach.", a man says in an almost hushed voice and you throw a quick look in his direction. Two men are sitting across from each other and slightly bend over the table.

How very secretive.

Casually you sip at your drink and pretend to admire the many different bottles behind the bar counter while you focus all your attention to the conversation. If there's anything you've learned so far then it's that bank coaches are a promising steal.

"But you won't drive alone right?", the other man asks.

"Of course not, you moron. Yes, this shithole is a backwater place, but that thing will be loaded with money. Only a fool would make this a one-man job."

You linger a bit longer at the bar with the hope of finding out the exact number of guards that will be assigned to this coach. They might even spill when and where the coach will pass.

Perhaps you should stroll over and make yourself acquainted with them? There is a chance that the guy will even tell you all that himself if you get him drunk enough.

In one go, you finish the glass infront of you and brush your fingers over the right pocket of your coat. The light bulge of the Schofield inside gives you a sense of comfort, especially now that you've gotten so much better at shooting.

And especially now that you're a bit less scared of using it against a person as well. Quickly you fix up your appearance a little and confidently saunter over to the table.

"Hey, boys.", you say in a sultry voice and curl up your lips into the sweetest smile you can muster up.

Both of them give you their attention pretty much immediately and you tilt your head in innocent curiosity. "Do you mind if I join you for a drink or two?"

"No, ma'am! N-not at all!", the coach driver says and hastily pulls out a chair for you.

Now let's get to work.

---

By the time you're done faking your interested, getting both men absolutely hammered and squeezing them of every last drop of information, the sun is beginning to set. These guys would probably sell out their own mother over a few drinks and attention from a pretty lady.

The sunlight from outside is drowning the interior of the saloon in a warm, orange hue and you feel your eyelids growing heavy from both providing entertainment and drinking.

Much to your relief you see, in the corner of your eye, Lenny push open the front door and you wave at him. His face lights up the moment his eyes fall on you which is a vast contrast to the two men you're still sitting with.

As they notice you lock eyes with the young man, their features darken as if they've just received bad news.

"Who is this boy?", one of them mumbles irritated and you stand up from your chair.

Even though you have made sure not to drink too much to keep a clear mind, the alcohol still gets to you. You should have definitely eaten something before heading into town, but alas.

"He is my ride home. Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me."

Just as you're about to walk away, one of the men grabs you by the wrist and gives you a sickening grin, one you've seen before not too long ago. Mental images of the O'Driscoll boys who have abducted you flash before your inner eye and you feel something strange boil up inside your chest.

"Aw you can't just leave like that, miss.", he says in a feigned nice tone and his eyes roam over your figure.

The wide grin on his face reveals a set of yellow, crooked teeth and the stench of alcohol hits you in the face like a freight train. You give your hand a light tug, but his grip on you is tight. He isn't intending to let you go so easily.

He says something else, but you're unable to hear what it is. The blood rushing through your ears drowns it out completely and it's as if someone has put a veil over your head.

Your body is on autopilot and with your free hand you fish out the Schofield from your pocket and point the other end of the barrel right at his forehead. His eyes go wide in shock and he quickly lifts his hands up, letting you go in the process.

"I was just jokin', miss.", you hear him say, but it sounds like he's talking to you from another room. His voice is so far away.

That's also when you feel Lenny's hand gently tugging at your arm and you blink a couple times after you snap out of the weird trance. Everyone in the saloon has their head turned in your direction and they're all staring you down.

Some of the faces reveal fear and others carry an unspoken warning with them. Without saying another word you lower the revolver and let Lenny drag you out of the building in the direction of his horse.

"It's a bit early to make enemies, wouldn't you agree?", he says and you brush your hair out of your face.

"I'm sorry.", you mumble and he give you a quick look which you can't quite decipher.

"What was that just now?", he asks and you shake your head.

Indeed, what was that? You're not sure if you can quite explain it yourself. "No idea."

Thankfully he doesn't question you any further and you ride back to camp in awkward silence. After a while you clear your throat.

"So got any interesting leads?" Your attempt to lighten up the mood is pathetic, but he doesn't comment on it.

"Some feller told me about this place, Shady Belle. Apparently there are some good weapons and money."

You nod. "Worth stealing."

"My thoughts exactly.", he answers as you two reach the camp. "I just need to figure out who I could bring with me. I was thinkin' about Arthur maybe."

That's a good choice and the two of them get along so well with each other. When you found out about the bank coach you were also playing with the thought of bringing Arthur on board as well, but you're not sure if he'd want you there.

It still seems like he doesn't quite trust you with big jobs just yet. Especially not after the whole ordeal with the O'Driscolls. While Lenny hitches the horse you tell him about your own findings and he gives you an impressed look.

"That's a good lead, actually.", he admits and you throw your hands in the air.

"Thank you! I just have to figure out what to do next." It's no secret and no surprise to anyone that you lack the knowledge or experience regarding robberies like this.

Or well, robberies in general and you desperately want to change that.

Why? I will be leaving soon anyways. I should have left already.

But it doesn't hurt to extend the stay a bit. Right?

I might have saved Arthur from tuberculosis, but that could have changed the timeline and now something else could kill him.

Exactly. You're only staying here for now to make sure that nothing else happens to him. That's a good reason and you're doing a good thing.

Lenny rips you out of your inner monolog. "If you need help you can always come to me. I might not have been long in this business, but I know a thing or two."

His joke earns him a laugh from you and you give his shoulder a friendly pat. "Thank you. I'll remember that."

With that you part your ways and you make your way closer to the river. There's a log you can sit down on and you sweep the sand off it before you take the seat. You replay the events from the saloon in your mind as you stare out towards the almost still water.

You still can't explained what might have happened there. Perhaps it was your survival instinct that kicked in? Possibly.

A sigh escapes your throat and you feel someone rest down right next to you. Arthur holds out a cup of coffee and you murmur a quick 'thank you' before taking it.

Not everyone in 1899 seems to know of hygiene and you obviously didn't expect for people to smell like roses when you traveled back here, but there's something about Arthur's scent that you really like.

It's not like he takes a bath everyday, but he doesn't smell bad at all. Whenever he's near you, an aroma that reminds you of the forest after heavy rain fills your nose with an undertone of cigarette smoke.

Is it weird that you know exactly how to describe his scent like that? No, you're just a very perceptive person. That's all.

"I like this place. If I ever decide to look for land to own myself I should send you and Charles to search for it. The sight of you two could even give me a nice discount.", you break the silence and he let's out a cackle.

"Will we get compensation for our hard work?", he asks with an eyebrow raised in amusement and you pretend to think.

You tap your finger against your chin in a thoughtful manner. "I'll let you live in the barn. If the land comes with a barn, that is."

"How mighty kind of you."

Your lips curls up into a sly smirk. "I'm nothing, but kind, Mr. Morgan."

He throws his head back and let's out a hearty laugh. "I believe that you're spending too much time with Mrs. Adler to be saying that. I fear the woman might be rubbing off on you."

The conversation goes on with him telling you about his shopping trip with Sadie and you regret not joining them. Sure, you had fun with Lenny too and you love spending time with the boy, but you would have preferred pretty much anything else over the company of the two drunken morons from the saloon.

"It sounds like you did good with defendin' yourself.", the outlaw says and you simply shrug.

"I don't know. I feel bad, considering Dutch told us not to cause any trouble here.", you answer which he waves off in a matter of fact way.

"I'd rather you go threaten folk than gettin' snatched away again. Besides, how much worse can it get than a shoppin' trip with Sadie?"

That's true. You might have held a man at gunpoint today, but Sadie was still the one who fired. The thought gives you some comfort and you nudge Arthur's shoulder playfully with yours. "Thanks. I feel much better now."

"Always a pleasure."

You sit there in silence for a while and finish the coffee. "Got any plans for tomorrow?", you ask and try to mask the anticipation in your voice.

All that is on your agenda tomorrow is doing chores around the camp and you don't particularly feel excited about it. Not after having such a fun day out in the field with Lenny.

"Dutch wants me to find out more about this Gray family so looks like I'll pay 'em a visit.", he answers and your eyes fall on the empty cup you're holding.

You swirl around the little bit of leftover coffee. "Can I come with you?"

Arthur seems to think for a moment before nodding. "Sure, why not?"

His response makes your eyes go slightly wide in surprise and he give you a puzzled look for that. "What?"

"It's uh nothing. I just didn't expect for you to say yes so easily.", you answer. It's true. Last time with the oil wagon you had to come up with a step by step plan to convince him.

"I'll just do some talkin'. Nothin' dangerous and I guess it would look a whole less suspicious if I got a lady with me."

That makes sense. The outlaw has something rather threatening about him with his broad shoulders and the constant frown that seems to be glued onto his face. A smile begins to form on your lips.

"Perfect then! Will we dress up? Pretend to be someone else? Oh, do you want me to work on background stories for us?"

The more questions leave you the less excited he looks and he raises both hands to stop you from continuing.

"None of that please. I'll come up with a plan tomorrow mornin' and you just...try to keep ya head. Don't want another woman shootin' up the place again."

Yes, that sounds good. The last thing you want to do is make him believe that he can't let you join during his jobs ever again. You want to proof that you can handle yourself just fine and then hopefully Dutch will start sending you out too.

That bank coach might just be the prime opportunity to show that. Only thing missing is a helping hand and you got just the right person in mind.

Taglist: @shackspossum

[toasttt11]

brownies

December 2, 2019

Hayden walked up to Connor and Leon’s house with Archie, she knocked on the door and heard Lenny bark once and the door opened revealing a smiling Lauren, “Hayden!” Lauren was beaming as she saw Hayden and pulled her into a quick hug, “I’m so glad you could come!”

“Thank you for having me.” Hayden politely said back and held up a dish, “I brought healthy brownies.” Hayden felt odd not brining anything and she has made a recipe for brownies that are diet friendly.

“Oh Connor is gonna love them.” Lauren smiled taking the dish knowing how much Connor loves chocolate.

Hayden un clicked Archie’s leash letting him into the house and start sniffing Lenny.

Another smaller dog came over to Archie and Lenny and started rubbing on Archie.

“That’s Bowie.” Lauren told Hayden as she led Hayden through her house and towards the living room where Connor, Leon and Celeste were sitting as the boys were watching a game.

Celeste had just gotten back in Edmonton the day before and she was excited to be able to meet Hayden.

Celeste looked up and beamed seeing Hayden she got up and walked over, “I’m Celeste! It’s so nice to finally meet you, Leon has told me so much about you.” Celeste kindly told the younger girl and held out her hand for a handshake.

“Hi i’m Hayden.” Hayden shook her hand, “Hopefully all good things?” Hayden asked teasingly with a small smirk.

“Oh definitely.” Celeste agreed laughing.

Hayden sat between Lauren and Celeste on the couch as Connor’s chef finished making dinner.

The dogs came trotting over and they all went right to Hayden, Hayden petted her dog first before petting the other two, “Hi Lenny and Bowie.” Hayden softly spoke to the two dogs and laughed slightly as Bowie jumped onto her lap and licked her cheek. Archie laid down on Hayden’s feet and Lenny rested his head on Hayden’s knees.

Lauren awed watching the dogs with Hayden and took a discrete photo of them and shared a soft smile with Celeste.

“Do you have plans for the holidays?” Celeste asked curiously wanting to know more about Hayden.

Hayden nodded, “Yeah my family is coming up here as i’m kinda in the middle of everyone.” Hayden told Celeste and Lauren who was apart of the conversation.

“Oh where do they all live?” Celeste titled her head curiously.

“Jack lives in Jersey playing for the Devils, Quinn lives in Vancouver playing for the Canucks and Ellen, Jim and Luke are in Michigan.” Hayden explained with a softer expression as she talked about the remaining of her family.

“How long have you know all of them?” Lauren asked knowing that the Hughes are family to Hayden.

“Since i was four and they moved in next store to me.” Hayden told the girls making them nod.

The chef finished dinner and they all got up heading to the dining table, Hayden sat at the end of the table with Lauren and Celeste on her other sides and the boys next to their own girlfriend.

Hayden made a humming sound as she took a bite of the pasta, it was an incredible, “Connor you’re not allowed to get rid of Sheridan.” Hayden sternly told Connor as she absolutely loved the food from the Chef.

Connor laughed, “Don’t worry i won’t.”

“He would never.” Lauren smirked teasingly at her boyfriend, she loves having a chef and loves how amazing the food is.

Hayden actually spoke up in some of the conversations as they all ate dinner.

The table was cleared after they all finished eating and they stayed around just talking with each other.

Lauren got up and went into the kitchen and grabbed the dish of brownies and brought them to the table with some little plates, “Hayden made us dessert.” Lauren told everyone flashing a smile at Hayden.

“Heathy brownies.” Hayden shrugged casually with a slightly nervous smile as she hasn’t cooked or baked much for others since her parents died.

Connor made a surprised sound as he took a bite and it tasted incredible, “It’s so good. Is there sugar in this?” Connor asked Hayden.

“None.” Hayden answered smiling slightly glad everyone seems to like it, “It’s a family recipe my mom made it.” It was her mom that made the recipe for her father when he was playing hockey and wanted something sweet but still okay with his diet.

“Thank you for sharing it.” Lauren squeezed Hayden’s arm slightly having a feeling it wasn’t easy for Hayden to make the brownies and share the recipe.

Leon and Celeste left a little after dessert but Lauren and Connor managed to convince Hayden to stay a little longer.

“Have you seen Connor’s shooting room?” Lauren asked with a mischievous smile knowing Hayden would love it.

“No.” Hayden shook her head.

“Come on i’ll show you.” Connor told her and gestured for his young rookie to follow him and Lauren followed them as well down to the shooting room.

Connor opened the door to his shooting room turning the lights on, “You want a stick?” Connor offered seeing Hayden looking around and he could tell she was itching to shoot a few pucks.

Hayden nodded, “Please.”

Connor flashed a smile and grabbed one of his sticks knowing Hayden could use it just find as she is only slightly shorter than him.

Hayden nodded in thanks as she took the stick and Connor used another stick and passed over a few pucks for her to shoot.

Lauren sat down on the small couch in the shooting room that Connor and her had gotten for her so she could sit and be with Connor when Connor is in the room.

Lauren has always known Connor is a incredible Captain and leader but seeing how gentle he is with Hayden and the way he’s seemed to take on a mentor role with Hayden more than he has ever with anyone else, it was heartwarming to see.

Lauren knows Connor sees a lot of himself in Hayden and wants to protect her.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Patti Smith - Max's Kansas City, New York City, September 1, 1974

Patti Smith popped up on Instagram this week to mark the 50th anniversary of her epochal independent single "Piss Factory / Hey Joe (Version)," recorded on June 5, 1974 at Electric Lady on W. 8th St.

"A 3 hour session financed by Robert Mapplethorpe and produced by Lenny Kaye. It features Lenny, our beautiful late pianist Richard Sohl and Tom Verlaine on Hey Joe. I can still remember the sense of wonder recording this single in Jimi Hendrix’s studio. Never dreaming we would be back in a year recording Horses."

Listening to it five decades later, it still sounds weird and feral; like Television's "Little Johnny Jewel," its spiritual twin seven-inch, the music here seems to suggest other possibilities; not really what became known as punk per se, but an unearthly fusion of beat poetry, art-damaged garage rock and pure NYC energy. Even compared to what came after for Patti, Lenny and Richard, it's unique!

Also unique is this audience tape of the trio performing at Max's in the late summer of '74. Television opened up — you can hear a recording of them from this run over yonder. Without a drummer or bassist, Patti and co. are spare and skeletal, but not without a revved-up sensibility; the opening cover of "We're Gonna Have A Real Good Time Together" tells the audience this ain't a poetry reading.

From there, they bounce around from torch songs to embryonic originals that would end up on Horses to a handful of novelty songs. The latter category is interesting — Patti had previously played cabarets and you can see how she might've fit into the world of, say Bette Midler at the time. An odd confluence, but hey, it was 1974 in NYC. Anything goes, baby!

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

I KINDA HAD THE SAME IDEA with the low honor high honor thing! Im currently figuring exactly in what way the story would change [granted it does involve one of my ocs so maybe a lot more than it should] but its fun to think in what way Micah would be 'better' or more loyal to the gang

I feel like he'd still pick fights in camp, but like in a way older siblings would. Its more teasing/bullying and shit instead of straight up slurs. Idk, might just be me NNXJXJC

I also think he wouldn't go out of his way to help someone if they asked him to, but he'd watch them continue to struggle with mayne like a gun to the point where he like has to get up and be like 'OKAY you are so pathetically shit at this - im going to show you how to do this and we're not taking a break until you shoot 3 targets in a row' or something

I dont think he'd willingly be vulnerable anytime soon based on his upbringing and shit, but iiii like to think it happens sometimes accidentally idk JXJXJC

Weep weep weep this is making me wanna explore what RDR2 would be like if Micah was a marginally better person (mainly what id he never ratted).

i am glad we have converging ideas when it comes to high honor micah! I’ve talked with mutuals before on wtf micah could do that could be considered high honor, and we came up with little. One idea i suggested is that he accidentally saved people)s lives through his own selfishness (ex: saves someone from rabid dog because “if i didnt kill it, it would have gone for me next.”)

Micah's high honor is selfish in a unique way compared to low honor. Instead of focusing on himself and his survival, it more becomes a common goal to keep the gang as a whole surviving. He is no hunter, but he can bring in money and be a daaaaaamn good shot. Guard duties are often reserved for Lenny and Sean and Charles and whoever else is free. Micah *can* go on guard duty but keeps himself out of that tiresome job by being out of camp and bringing in money. “Sorry, can’t got on guard duty, I just got back from a stage coach robbery and I want to enjoy my well deserved relaxation.”

he is still a snarky sounding piece of shit, but like you said, he is less of a full on hateful man. He is still a sly, observing snake and studies the flaws of his gang mates, but he keeps his fangs sheethed. The idea with the snake animal for high honor is that Micah is still as lethal and capable of assholery as he is in bad honor, he is just deciding to not. He holds his venom to be inflicted on those who the gang need (or want) dead. He also leans into the snake vibes by being a slimy slithering manipulator. He isn’t a charmer, but he has a skill for talking people long enough to get plans into action (or to just backstab the enemy).

i feel like Morgan would still dislike Micah for being a man with bad vibes. Morgan is also just a hater sometimes (look at how he perceives Kieran). Micah still murders and has bad plans like Blackwater so it’s not like Arthur has *no* reason to distrust Micah.

i imagine high honor micah makes an effort on occasion to be involved in camp socializing, Sean and Jack’s return for example. He mainly drinks and flirts with the girls and boys at the event.

and because i like the red vs blue honor color association of the game, Micah’s design would be a little different, making the blue in his design a little more present. A neckerchief is an example of blue, but i am sure more blue could be worked into his design somewhere. Idea is that the ratio of red to blue in character’s designs can allude to how honorable they are (though it is not a 1:1 visualization). I imagine Micah would be 1:3 blue to red. Maayyybe. One quarter an okay man, three quarters a pretty sleazy man.

micah is still deeply troubled soooo no sweetie pie vulnerability for him! At most he tries to flirt (like asking Mary-Beth to dance) and the people are 1-2% more polite about turning him down when he’s high honor. He’s still all alone and his prickly exterior deeps people at arms length from him. He is both deeply dependent on attaching himself to a gang/someone to follow (my hc), but he also aspires to be independent and run his own gang. I suppose in high honor, he hopes to earnestly stick with the VDL gang and rise in the ranks by impressing Dutch (because Dutch is kind of an easy man to impress when you bootlick).

[toulousewayne]

Beyond the Bat: Pt I 🦇

So I read a story a couple of months ago. It was about Terry McGinnis searching for and bringing all that Batboys (Ex:Dick,Jason,Tim, and Damian) back to the manor as an aging Bruce Wayne begins to die. I liked the story and premise of it. It made be think of stuff I wrote a long time ago and maybe I could write something similar but different. Especially with a reader instead of Terry. So let me know what you think. ;)

Batfamily x batsis!reader

Synopsis: Three years since Bruce’s disappearance, and with all of Batman’s former Robins gone, Gotham is under protection of the Batwoman, but she will need help to take on one of Gotham biggest Civil Wars ever.

—————

A seasoned and experienced Vickie Vale comes on the screen of a television. “It’s been three years since the mysterious disappearance of Billionaire-Philanthropist Bruce Wayne, Wayne was on a flight to Shanghai for a business trip when the flight was thrown off course. Still to this day the flight, crew or Mr. Wayne have been seen. Wayne Enterprise Chairman Lucius Fox released a statement.”

—

“Today marks three years since Mr. Wayne disappearance. I-I was originally supposed to born the plane but Bruce…he felt that he needed to go instead.” He swallows,” After consulting with authorities and with permission from the Wayne Estate I come before you to declare Bruce Wayne as dead. Normally this is something done after seven years,but the family has asked for this closure. We respect their wishes. No further common.” He leaves as several reports and journals ask question after question.

——

Vickie returns, “This was from the press conference earlier today. A private memorial service will be held for Wayne early next week. We from the GCN family as well as Gotham Thank you for your contribution Mr.Wayne and may you find peace wherever you are. I’m Vickie Vale and have a good night.”

————

Gotham City was a sea of old rotten gothic buildings and shiny overgrown skyscrapers. Gotham had been the early stages of becoming more a city of tomorrow. Though the plans had fallen without Bruce. Most of north Gotham was now being rebuilt and renovated, the lights of the older city still shinned just a light more dim due to the new LED light that consumed the night.

Sirens filled the night and busy traffic and honking on every corner. Three squad cars fly down the road chasing after two armed trucks.

Gunfire rings the night and civilian duck away from the street.

“Pull over! This is GCPD!” The cars race onto the bridge and barrel pass cars causing some minor accidents in its wake.

“Lenny,should we stop?” A rookie driver swerves from running into a gas truck. The goon beside him pulls off his skii mask and takes an assault rifle.

“And risk getting thrown into a cell, I’d rather die than let the boss know we got caught, keep drivin.”

Lenny takes the gun and starts firing towards the squad cars. Taking out of the tires causing it to crash into a three car accident.

“Pigs, still too slow for Rupert Throne men.” The car speeds up and then faint sound a ringing as the goons look at each other.

“Did you hear that?” The car jerks as they’re rammed into. “The fuck?”

The turn to see the Batmobile flying towards them.

“It’s the fucking Bat!” The driver floors the gas and takes the exit into East Gotham. The take a sharp turn and rush down the road.

The Batmobile rams into the truck again and the driver runs over a bus stop and light rail.

“Do something!” He shouts. Lenny takes the gun and fires at the car. The bullets fly off the car without a scratch.

“Shit.” The car speeds besides them and slide swipe the truck. It barrels over the Batmobile and crashes into a store front. The goons groan. Lenny takes a pistol and leans out the window.

The Batmobile is parked on the other side of the room but it’s not moving.

“Where’d he gooooooo-“ he fires the gun as he yanked from the window and the sound of punches and grunts are heard. The lanky drive makes a run for it but only get five feet before his foot his tied and he pulled across the ground and pulled up toward the truck.

“Help!!”

The figure leaps down and towers over him. It draws closure until the grab him by the shirt.

“Where’s Throne?” A gruff female voice snarls.

“Look-lady I don’t know.” He punched in the stomach.

“I won’t ask twice.” She grips him tighter.

“He fled this morning, we were supposed to take this stuff to the docks and that’s it I swear.” He cries.

Batwoman grins, “That was so hard was it.” And she punches him in the face knocking him out cold.

Squad cars and a transport truck arrive seconds later. Another black Police van arrives and Commissioner Barbara Gordon wheels her way to the scene.

“Another one of Throne men?” The older woman pushes her glass up. She huffs, “Any word on where he went?”

“He’s left this morning, knowing him he told his men one place and went in the complete opposite direction.” Batwoman holds a phone out and hands it to the Commissioner.

“You think he’d left something at his mansion, he’s not a sharp as he used to be. He’s getting sloppy with his trails.” She turns in her chair as Batwoman hoped into his car.

“I’ll find out.” The car raced down the street towards the outskirts of the city.

“Alfred.” Alfred appears on the screen. He’s more weather and more grey than normal but the older man is still able to assist anyway he can.

“I see you have stopped the stolen goods from reaching the Harbour, I take it as that will conclude your night?”

“Not likely, Rupert Throne’s men said he fled town this morning, any activity on his bank accounts, or the offshore ones?”

“You’d think a man of his age would learn to stop his shenanigans,but I digress. Three days ago $100,000 was withdrawn from his checking account. Nothing sense.”

Batwoman nods, “I’m heading to his house, Barbara thinks he’s getting sloppy and I agree.”

“Very well ma’am,I will be here if you need anything.”

——-

Batwoman drops down in front of the doors to the office and pushes it open. She swiftly moves inside and feels the air is stiff.

She scans the room and sees that it looks slightly messy. Papers scattered around the room and desk, the fire is long gone and it’s cold. The chairs at pushed to the ground and safe is wide open. She glides to it and scans it.

“His finger prints are recent. At least..three days old.” The glances into the safe to find it empty.

She worlds around the find the door toward the hallway ajar. She ventures into the dim hallway. She turns a corner and is shocked at the scene before her.

“Agent A, I’m sending live footage to the Batcomputer.”

“My word, it’s a massacre.” The hallway is full of Throne’s men dead, blood, painting the marble tiles and splattered across the walls.

“Who could have done such butchery?” Alfred asks. Batwoman check the body of one of the men.

Batwoman stands up,” judging by the smell of decomposing and state of the bodies the time of death was 72 hours ago.” She passed by the remaining bodies until she comes to two large wooden doors with blood splattered and a dagger embedded in it. She pushes it and across the room his the master bed with Rupert Throne’s body.

“That smell, he’s been here for just as long.”

“Dear Lord, and no one knew.”

She scans his body and finds a large gash in his chest.

“He was stabbed with a sword.” She scans his hand and find gun power. She finds the gun on his bed and she able to tell he used it.

She looks at the door and sees blood. She scans it and it doesn’t match the blood from the hallway or Rupert’s. She finds a blood trail the leads to the balcony. Old bloody bandages are found along with the bullet.

“Seems like whoever was there wasn’t able to do the job without getting injured. I can’t track any blood trails it been to long and the rain has washed it away.”

“I’ve already notified Ms. Gordon she’s in route.

Batwoman looks toward the city across the bridge. “Something’s missing Alfred, and I’m going to find out.”

——-

The Batmobile races through the waterfall and down the platform until it stop. Batwoman climbs out and takes the lift down toward the Batcomputer where Alfred sits and the computer with a cup of tea.

“And how was the rest of the night ma’am?” She pulls off the cowl and pushes her dark locks from her face.

“There’s assassins back in the city.” She begins typing and pulls up the three other crime scenes.

The two look at each one. A victim with either a single large gash or several closely net ones are the on the screen.

“It’s not the small killer, the one that killed Throne and his men are different than these three. These victims were struggling and suffered. Throne’s was quick.”

“As quick as having a sword shoved into your chest can be I presume.” H sips his tea and stands with his cane. He moved quietly as he always did but a little more slower.

Y/n sighs, “Is he awake?”

Alfred stops at the elevator and nods. “He’s been up for sometime, I’ll prepare breakfast.”

Y/n stands up and was to the display cases. All different suits.

Starting with a few of Bruce’s old suits, then the original Robin and Batgirl suits. Finally she stops at of last suits. Bruce’s last suit was in mint condition as he left it.

She turns to the empty case and start placing her gear in it.

—-

She emerges from the office and ties her hair up waking into the kitchen.

“Mommy!” A little boy with brown hair and blue eyes smile with syrup all over his face. Y/n wipes his cheeks and smiles.

“Did you sleep well?” The five year old boy nods while eating his food.

“Finish up so I can take you to school.” She walks toward Alfred who’s making a plate for her.

“It still feels weird to leave her sometimes.” She takes the mug from him as well and sips on her coffee.

“Master Bruce wanted to be sure you were safe while he was gone. I don’t think he indeed for it to be permanent but he enjoyed the company as do I.” Y/n rolled her eyes.

“If you say so, though I will say we enjoy it with you Alfred. Even considering the circumstances.” Alfred gives her a weak smile and begins washing dishes.

“I guess most Assistants don’t get his kind of attention, or is it due to the fact I keep Bruce on his toes.”

Alfred smiles, “It had been sometime since someone annoyed him the way you did, and I think it loved having someone to color with again.” He glances at Rowan who has finished his food and brings the plate to Alfred.

“What do we say Rowan?”

“Thank you Alfie.” He sings. Alfred smiles warmly at the kid.

“You’re very welcome, now run along and get your shoes so you can go to school.” Rowan runs out the room and Y/n hums.

“These Assassins, do you think they killed Bruce?” She asks. The room is still.

“I don’t know, but I must say I wouldn’t be surprised. I’ll contact Ms. Gordon and see if she has any information.”

Y/n places her mug down and walks to the foyer where Rowan has his shoes on with his backpack.

She slides into her sneakers and grabs her keys. “Let’s go kid.”

———-

After dropping off Rowan Y/n pushed through the doors of Wayne Enterprises. Some of the staff waved at her while some held other emotions.

She walked past the front desk and into the elevator towards the top floor. She is met the receptionist Sara who doesn’t look up from her computer.

“Good Morning, do you have an appointment with Mr. Fox?”

“Really Sara.” The ginger grins and looks toward the woman.

“How are you hun?”

“I’m good, about as good as anyone.” The double doors open and Lucius waves her inside.

“I’ll talk with you later.” Y/n walked into the large office where Lucius turned to an old chest table and unlocked hidden elevator. They take it down in the underground bunker.

“So what have you crafted this time?” She grins with her arms crossed over her chest eyeing the new prototypes.

He nods takes a blue batarang, he throws it and it instantly electrifies the dummy.

“Fancy.”

Lucius picks up a device and hands it over to Y/n. “This was something Bruce wanted crafted, I’m still getting it fine tuned but it’s useable. Alfred filled me on our new decline of population use it and it will instantly capture and give a small concentrated burst of energy to those wrapped in it. Should help should you get out numbered by assassins.”

“How thoughtful, I appreciate it. Though I’m sure you giving me new tech isn’t the only reason you wanted to see me so soon. What’s going on?”

He takes a seat and sighs. “Bruce’s memorial is next week. They’re gonna be some changes with stuff around here. Now I’m not leaving per se but with him…gone. My attention will need to be focused more on the business side for a while. I’ve asked Luke to come home he’ll be helping craft some more stuff for you while I’m busy.”

She nods. “I understand, I appreciate you still being able to help.”

He gets to his feet slowly, “My kids now I’d never leave this unless I died. But with his services coming there are something’s that will change for you too I’m sure.”

“I asked what will happen to the manor and the cave. Alfred it’s not just his decision,what does that mean?”

Lucius nods, “Bruce’s son will have to decide what will become of his estate. And they’ll all have to agree,not sure how that’ll go.”

The exit the elevator and the office returns to normal. “Let me know how the device works.” Y/n thanks him before leaving and returning to the manor.

She immediately enters the cave, where Alfred is waiting.

“Ms. Gordon is on the line for you.” Y/n sits her purse down and answers.

“What’s wrong Commissioner?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, the mayor was just killed in his office. How fast can you get down here?”

———

Batwoman emerges from the corner of the office. Barbara looks frustrated as the CSI team dust for prints, take pictures and exam the mayor’s corpse.

“When did you find him?” Batwoman strolls toward the body as a few tech move away.

“Just after lunch, his wife found him.” Batwoman scans the body. She notices the same claw marks and a golden dagger imbedded in his chest.

She takes it out and glances at it. The craftsmen was old but it was just as good as if it was made yesterday.

She returns to the Commissioner who she shows the blade to in a clear bag.

“I’ve never seen it before, can’t say it isn’t something new for use.”

“I don’t think this is a common killer this is the work of something more sinister.” Barbara nods and something catches her eye. It’s a small piece of paper with the same dagger holding it into the wall.

Batwoman takes it and unfolds the paper. She read it and turns to the Commissioner.

“I have to go.” Before Barbara can question her she’s already gone from the balcony.

——

As nightfall begins to sit in Batwoman lands on a rooftop of a hotel with the red neon lights of the building flashing.

She scans empty rooftop and comes to a stop, she dodges left as three morning stars are sent flying. She throws smoke and evades another wave of the weapons.

She backflips from a sword attack and disarms the person causing them to stumble. She begins to fight the ninja and is hit a few times.

“You are no match for me, impostor.” She spats. The ninja kicks Batwoman back and she stumbles giving the ninja time to drive a dagger into his thigh.

“You are nothing like your Predecessor. He was a lot more quicker.” She kick Batwoman who punches her in the side.

Ninja regains her balance and glares at her. “You’ll pay.” She picks up the sword and turns to the her.

“Who are you?” The ninja draws her blade at her throat.

“I am apart of the League of Assassins those who don’t want to be apart of the sorry and pathetic League it as become. Me and my faction are purists who only serve Ra Al Ghul and we will complete his mission. Neither you or this court will stop us.”

“What—court.” The ninja chuckles, “You don’t know, the Court of Owls. Your predecessor was on to them before they killed him. They will try to take Gotham back but we will defeat them, we already have the last known location of the Pits something they can’t recreate, they’ll to will bow before greatness—

Batwoman knocks the woman down and disarms her once more. The two are in a fight for the sword and Batwoman pulls the Assassin way and pulls off her mask.

The woman has a short black bob with a white strike throw her hair.

“Who,are you?” Batwoman huffs. She yells as a dagger is driven into her back.

“Mistress are you hurt?” Another assassin yanks the blade out of Batwoman.

She grins, “I am.” She gets her feet. “My name will be the last thing you hear before the poison kills you, I’m Nyssa and don’t worry about Gotham I’ll take good care of it.” And true to her wound everything went blurry and fuzzy. The last thing Y/n felt was hot then cold and everything faded to black.

————

The flashes of light, sound of being and muffled voices come in and out before slowly Y/n wakes up in the cave to the faint beeping of machines. She sits up and groans as a hand is placed on her’s.

“Barbara?” The older woman nods and squeezes her hand.

“Are you alright the poison nearly killed you?” Y/n tries to sit up but is pushed back down by Barbara.

“You need to rest, Leslie and Alfred worked on you for hours to make you stable you need to give your body time to heal.” She offers her a cup of water which Y/n takes in on gulp.

“Who got me off the rooftop?” Her voice is gruff.

“No, Alfred called in some help.” They both turned to a woman Y/n never wanted to see, at least she hoped.

“Hi kitten.”

“Hello,Selina.” Barbara wheeled out of the room and Selina drew closer taking her spot.

“Alfred called me, he was worried. I happened to be back in—“

“…I don’t care why you’re back, or what you’ve come to steal. I don’t want your help.” Selina kept a somewhat vague smile.

“I understand you hate me for leaving you-“

“My entire life was spent in and out of neighbors houses, in the system because you kept getting sent back to Blackgate. You were never there for me, you or my father you talked on and on about. I’m twenty-five and still don’t know who he is or was knowing you. So I don’t need your help. Not now and not again.” Y/n laid back down and grumbled in pain turning to look at her monitor. “You can go Selina.”

Selina nodded and exited the room. A few moments later Alfred entered and sighed.

“Ms. (L/N) You do know the extent of your injury. I needed to remind you what could have happened if Ms. Kyle wasn’t in the vicinity?”

“….”

He sighs,”Very well, while you were done Ms. Gordon and I had to find the Assassin next move. They’re going to kill everyone in their way in order to defeat one another I hate to say it but we do need the assistance.”

If looks could Alfred thought to himself. “I assume you I’m not referring to Miss Kyle, you’re going to need more than one person to help you take on two deadly threats.”

Against his advice Y/n gets to her feet and exits the medical bay and made a beeline for the computer and begins typing away until four files appear on screen.

“He didn’t talk much about them.” She mumbles to herself.

“They all had their own problems and struggles with Master Bruce. But they all knew when he needed the help, I just pray you’ll ask unlike he wouldn’t.”

“Where can I find them,most of these files are four years old and no known addresses for any of them?”

Alfred moved to the side as Barbara wheeled up to the computer and began typing away as if no time had passed.

“Dick will be easy to find, maybe not to recruit. He owns a martial art and gymnastic studio in East Bludheaven. Tim lives in New York he mostly keeps quiet with attending tech events. The others will take me time to find them, they tend to go off the grid.”

Y/n nod, “I drive out in the morning—“

“I’ll take you to Bludheaven myself, I’ve asked Ms. Gordon to look after Master Rowan for a few nights if that’s okay will you?”

Y/n nods,” I’ll pack.”

———

Stepping onto the curb as a sharp wind bits through the air. Y/n pushes open the door into a dojo. A group of kids are doing routines.

She watches for a moment taking in the warm environment before someone walks behind her.

“Are you picking up or are you just here for the classes?” She turns to see a man in his late thirties. Black hair with sliver streaks, weathered features and bright sky colored eyes.

“Barbara wasn’t wrong, you do look the same.” He rolls his eyes and moves past her.

“Adult classes are Tuesday and Thursday, sign up sheet-“

“I don’t need lessons,” she grabs his arm. “But I do need your help.”

Dick removed his arm and turns to her slowly, almost as if his gaze his scanning her from head to toe.

“So,” he leans in a lowers his voice, “Your the new Rookie.” He smirks which in turns makes Y/n scowl.

“I’ve been at this for three—“

“Try a few decades. Look I know about you you’re not the first detective and probably won’t be the last. But I’m done with capes, cowls and spandex I left that life and I left Gotham.”

He walks past the students with Y/n following him.

“Look I don’t know what your relationship with Bruce was like-“

He scoffs and sits at his desk, “Be thankful for that.”

She narrows her gaze at some photos. Some with other boys younger than him and some of him younger than that.

“I came here for help for Gotham, you know as well as I do that Bruce cared about his mission. I’m not asking you to help me for him, but for the people you care about that are still there. For the memories you still have there the good one and the bad ones.” Dick turns away from her.

“I’m sorry but you need to leave, I can’t help you.” He stands up and opens the door for her. She shakes her head and leaves.

“That was a waste of time, think the others will be much help?” She slides back into the car as it drives down the street.

“I can’t say for sure, but I’ve prepared the jet for you, Master Timothy is in New York and he’s attending a gala.” Y/n sighs in her seat.

For the love of God why are your sons so stubborn Bruce?