#and satchel grinding with john :')

[pasta-pardner]

arthur and john at the top of mount shann

rdr2 companion mod

[blackwatch-ninja]

idk how long ago this was, but I bought and maxed out the last outlaw pass (4) and just maxed out the current one after it being out less than a week and I almost have 90 gold

me: hmm, I should probably save my gold for the next outlaw pass

also me: spends almost all my gold making a replica of javiers revolver

[its-deputy-caleb]

would u possibly do some NSFW morbell? where they're up in colter ( i loved ur original morbell post on them ) pls do more as i love ur blog 💛

this is an absolute mess oml i literally have no idea how to write anything smutty but here we go i guess. I love this pair but i kinda went off topic and centred this on a praise kink for micah. ANYWAY this is probably terrible since i'm melting, its literally 40 degrees and the aircon is broken so its unedited af and i wont look at it again until i have a cold drink. but pls enjoy some morbell <333

------------------------------------

‘Cold up in Colter’

Fuck, what a mess Blackwater had been. The Pinkertons were on them faster than ever and they found themselves fleeing from a blood bath.

That was almost three days ago and Micah hadn’t had an ounce of sleep. He’d been sent out with John to scout ahead, having found a homestead which ended up burning at the hand of O’Driscoll’s. Okay maybe house burning down was his fault but he tends to make stupid decisions when he’s had little to know sleep. And it was so fucking cold.

That didn’t stop heat rising to his face when he felt Arthur’s hands on his shoulder, pushing him back with a roughness he could only wish for in another way. Damn Arthur Morgan and his ability to have Micah curling in on himself and blushing like a virgin at the mere thought of a hand on his shoulder.

He should hate Arthur, really the two are nothing more than rivals, competing for the spot of Dutch Van Der Linde’s right hand. At the beginning, almost six months ago now, Micah couldn’t stand the sight of the man but somehow that anger tapered off into something more akin to admiration and that admiration slowly turned to desire.

He’ll never admit to how badly he wants Arthur but he won’t deny however that he’s pushed the man’s buttons more than once just to have an interaction with him. All he had to do start a silly argument over camp earnings or a bet at five finger fillet to have the man shaking him by the collar and threatening to break his nose.

It almost always ended with Micah sneaking off into the woods with half a bottle of whiskey and his pants bunched around his ankles as he thought of the way Arthur roughed him up by his shirt collar. Fuck he was pathetic sometimes.

There were other occasions where the two had actually managed to get along and that’s what pissed Micah off more than any threats of violence. Arthur just had to go and bring him a beer as he grabbed one for himself, letting their fingers touch accidentally. Or he went and offered him a seat by the fireplace where they ended up much to close for his comfort. Damn Arthur for always leaving him short of breath with a hole in his heart.

Despite what Micah did to impress Dutch, Arthur was still the camp’s favourite by a mile and he never failed to outcompete him in the eyes of the gang. Micah never minded much, not looking for anyone’s approval, but the thought of proving himself to Arthur, of being worthy of his praise is enough to have his wild side reined in.

Naturally that didn’t stop Micah from losing it from time to time and wasn’t surprised when his jealousy shot up again as Miss Grimshaw announced Arthur got his own cabin while he shared with the rest of the fellers. And he’d be damned if he had to share a room with Williamson who didn’t stop snoring.

That’s why he found himself huddled in the makeshift stables, choosing instead to wrap himself in his coat and down a bottle of whiskey to wait the night out. He cold planks he was sitting on offered little comfort and the draft in the room had his lip shaking. But at least he wouldn’t have anyone in his hair and he’d be left alone, just the way he liked it.

Of course that didn’t last long when the cranky wooden door was barged open, spooking some of the horses in the opposite end of the room. A broad figure entered the room, blocking most of the door way but that didn’t stop to whoosh of cold air flood into the room, draining even more colour from his face.

It wasn’t until the door was closed and the man stepped closer when he realised it was Arthur.

“Micah? What the hell are you doing in here?”

Arthur sounded surprised, with only a hint of concern in his voice.

“Sleepin’— what the hell ya doing here Morgan?”

There wasn’t much of a response from Arthur, only a quiet noise which was barely heard over the whistle of the wind between the planks. He walked over to the horses, checking over them and ensuring none of them were freezing to death. Micah watched in silence, scared to disturb the man as he patted along Taima’s neck.

It wasn’t until after Arthur had checked over all the horses did he turn his attention to Micah.

Micah watched as Arthur’s gloved hand extended out and offered itself to him, he hesitated before taking before taking it and being pulled to his feet. Arthur’s hand draped over his shoulder which he didn’t realise had shaking in an effort to keep warm, having drunk the remaining whiskey from the bottle.

“Common now, yer gonna freeze in here alone.”

Micah dug his heels into the ground, not allowing Arthur to pull him any further to the door as he tried to hold his voice steady. He’d be damned if he ever let Arthur know just how much he affected him.

“I ain’t sharing a bunk with Williams—“

Arthur tutted, pulling Micah out the door as he pushed him towards his cabin in the snow storm.

“Quit yer yapping, you’re sharing with me and I ain’t having any more folk die tonight. Now let’s go.”

Arthur didn’t utter another word until they were well and truely in his room, wrapped in a blanket that was barely big enough for the two of them. The bed wasn’t much bigger, having been made for one person which was evident by Arthur pressing against Micah’s back in efforts for them to fit. The only thing that kept them apart was the fabric of their jackets, otherwise Arthur would probably hear Micah’s heartbeat which was beating much to fast for his liking.

The uncomfortable silence was broken when Micah cursed under his breath which caused his teeth to chatter and Arthur spoke up.

“Yer still cold, c'mere”

Micah’s breath fell short as Arthur’s hands slid under his coat, resting his hands on his tummy to use his body heat as a source of warmth. In doing so Arthur had moved even closer, ensuring Micah’s back was flush against his chest.

Despite that Micah wanted to protest, to go straight to his default of arguing he couldn’t help but feel as he began to warm up and he slowly relaxed under his hands.

A blush rose high on his cheeks as Arthur also relaxed into their embrace, accidentally letting his hands drift lower until he felt the hard press of Micah’s straining erection against his knuckle.

Micah instantly sucked in a breath, panicking and trying to push his way out of Arthur’s hold.

“Shit Arthur I—“

Micah froze as Arthur gently pulled him back to the bed and rubbed slow circles along his stomach.

“S’alright Micah, I’m not mad…”

Arthur held him close, letting him relax before talking again before he whispered right into the shell of his ear.

“…This what you want? Is this why you’re always staring at me from across camp, why yer always picking fights and asking me to robberies?”

A high pitched noise left Micah as he shivered, feeling Arthur’s hot breath against his ear. His blush deepened as he pushed back slightly into him, whimpering at the feel of Arthur’s own erection pressed against his ass.

Fuck it, he thought as heat pooled in his abdomen and he finally allowed himself to have the one thing he’d been craving for months. He nodded frantically, grinding back onto Arthur’s clothed dick and squirming in his grip.

“Relax boy, gonna give you everything you’ve been waiting for— just be good and you’ll get it”

Micah nodded in agreement, a needy, desperate sound leaving him at the promise of praise. He wanted, no needed to be praised by the man so badly that he’d do anything for an ounce of it from the man.

“Oh god Arthur! I need it, need you. Fuck I can be good I promise.”

He knew he was probably being too loud but apart of him didn’t have it in him to care. He moaned softly as Arthur moved him to roll onto his back, towering over him but ensuring they were still kept under the blanket.

Arthur spent the next ten minutes undressing him without exposing much of his skin to the cold. He unbuttoned the lower buttons of his leather jacket, enough for Arthur to work his fly down and pull one pant leg off. He whined pitifully, grabbing at the lapels of Arthur’s coat in a silent plea for him to undress him properly.

Micah mentally scolded himself at just how desperate he was for Arthur to rip his clothes off and fuck him like a bitch in heat but he knew that wasn’t happening any time soon. Arthur however caught on pretty quickly to what he wanted, it seemed the man knew just what made him tick.

“I know sweetheart, once we’re well and truly outta here I’ll get us a room and we can do this properly.”

Micah’s eyes beamed at the thought of Arthur taking him to a hotel in the future, panting as his mind raced with images of Morgan making him fall apart on his cock for hours on end.

While Micah was busy in his mind, Arthur took the opportunity to retrieve the gun oil from his satchel. It certainly wasn’t the best option but it was their only choice with their limited supplies.

Arthur draped himself back over Micah’s body, kissing at his jaw and nibbling as he coated his fingers. The air was cold, only making the oil feel colder as he slowly dipped his index finger past Micah’s rim.

A devilish grin came to Arthur’s face as he heard Micah sigh and take his finger easily, deciding to work his way up to two sooner than he was expecting.

“You’ve wanted this for a long time haven’t you? I saw you once, bout a week ago. Head down, ass up with three of yer fingers inside you while you cried out for me to fuck you. It all clicked in my head then when you started acting different around me at camp.”

Micah flushed a deep red, coughing on air as he realised Arthur knew about his little crush. He tried to think of an excuse, to weasel his way out of it but his thoughts died in his head when Arthur twisted his fingers, scissoring and stretching him open before adding a third.

Arthur dragged a lip along Micah’s cheek to his lip, ghosting his lips over his before kissing him properly. This time Micah didn’t even try to fight for dominance, opening his mouth instantly for Arthur’s tongue to enter. Instead he sighed into it, pulling his legs to wrap around his waist as his hands wrapped around his lover’s shoulder.

It went on like that until Arthur was satisfied that Micah was well prepped enough, simultaneously rubbing against Micah’s prostate while he kissed him deeply. He only pulled away to pull his own leaking member out, bunching his pants around his thighs so he had enough room to move but could stay warm. He coated the rest of the oil onto his member, jerking slowly as he stared down at the sight of Micah below him.

Micah looked like an absolute mess against the pillows already, his face was flush and the scarf around his head had unwrapped slightly, revealing his disheveled blond hair. His chest was heaving as he panted and his thighs shook from pleasure as the weakly wrapped around his waist.

“You look so pretty like this sweetheart”

To say that Micah hated the pet name was a lie, one that he didn’t try deny as he moaned softly. His back arched and he gripped Arthur’s coat tightly as he felt his cock slide between his cheeks and over his hole. He’s wanted this for so long now and yet somehow it still didn’t quite feel real as his mind was clouded with arousal.

Micah’s toes curled and he moaned when he felt Arthur push into him, slowly inching forward until he felt him bottom out.

“Ah— ah! Oh Arthur fuck! Please fuck me, I’ll be good I swear.”

Micah practically sobbed with pleasure as Arthur set up a fast pace, pulling almost all the way out till just the tip was left inside his tight hole before pushing back in quickly, brushing his prostate in the process. His cock twitched from where it rested against his tummy, pinned between Arthur’s jacket which caused a string of moans to fall from his mouth.

“Look at you, so good for me— fucking perfect Micah. Such a good boy”

Arthur’s hands came to hold onto Micah’s hips for leverage, pulling on his slight muffin top under the jacket to help pull him back to meet his thrusts. Beneath him he heard Micah whine and whimper at the praise so desperately needed to hear.

Micah bought a finger up to his mouth, biting on his knuckle to silence any more noises he deemed to be pathetic from slipping out of him. He hated how close he already was just from being praised by Arthur.

It seemed Arthur wasn’t having any of it when he pulled his finger away from his mouth before kissing him like he had done not that long ago. He swallowed every one of Micah’s noises, mindful of Dutch sleeping next door and slowing his thrusts to something deeper and slower.

His hands roamed all over Micah’s clothed body, breaking away for air and whispering praises down his ear.

“That’s it, make those pretty noises for me sweetheart.”

Micah eye’s rolled into his head as he cried out.

“You’re mine, all for me— my good boy.”

More moans slipped from his lips.

“Atta boy— taking me so well, so good.”

His back arched and he withered in his embrace

“So eager to please aren’t you? I’ll take care of you now boy.”

“—Arthur! I’m close— Ah, I’m gonna—“

“Go on sweetheart cum for me…that’s it good boy.”

Micah’s whole body when rigid as he finally came. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling out as his orgasm dragged out with each thrust Arthur delivered, eager to chase his own.

He collapsed into the pillow, thighs shaking as he whined at the oversensitivity. It didn’t last long before Arthur’s thrusts changed pace to something more erratic, picking up the pace as he spilled his load inside him.

Arthur groaned into his neck, pulling him close and collapsing into him as he regained his breath.

He pulled out slowly with a wet and obscene pop, sitting up and helping Micah put his clothes back on. Micah only weakly managed to fiddle with the button on his jacket while Arthur gently manhandled his jelly-like limbs to fit back into his pant leg. He used the blanket to wipe the cum off his tummy, a weak attempt at cleaning up and something they would both no doubt regret come tomorrow morning but for now they were keen to sleep after such a horrific and chaotic few days.

Arthur pulled Micah into their original position for the night, the only difference being that his face was now tucked into his chest. Arthur rested his chin of Micah’s head, littering his hair with kisses as he played with his hair between his rough fingers.

Micah was the first to fall asleep, curled up with his forehead against Arthur’s collarbone. Arthur wasn’t far behind him either, finally letting himself get some much needed rest but not before he pressed a soft kiss to his hairline.

[thecleverdame]

This Is Not A Fairy Tale - Three

Alpha!Prince!Sam x Omega!Reader

Story Masterlist

Summary: You’re a suppressed Omega who is forced into servitude after the death of your father. Your stepmother Naomi is a heartless woman who forces you to do the cooking and cleaning, while she tries to marry off her own two daughters, Alex and Claire. But your life takes a wonderful and dangerous turn when you meet the charming Prince Sam who also happens to be an Alpha.

Warnings: ABO smut, abuse, death of parents, magic

Beta:  ilikaicalie  

*This story is complete and posted on Patreon. Become a patron for a monthly pledge of $2.50 and get access to all my Patreon content.

-

“This is what I look like,” you whisper unable to look at yourself for more than a second at a time.

You didn’t realize how much you avoided seeing your own reflection until this moment. You are unrecognizable. You look like a shell of a person, an empty husk that’s been hollowed out and held together by string and sheer force of will. You've wasted away to almost nothing. Your eyes are sunken, your hair matted and ratty.

“I can’t.” You look away as tears slip down your face. “I can’t go out in public like this.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Rowena takes your hands in hers. “You’re beautiful. It’s just been hidden for a long time and we have to find it, bring it to the surface.”

“I don’t want him to see me like this.” You feel the panic rising, how could you have possibly entertained the idea that a prince would be interested in this thing you’ve become.  

“You just let me take care of everything. Come with me.”

She leads you to the dining room, sitting you at the head of the table and unpacking her satchel full of dried herbs and flowers. She grinds together a homemade concoction with a mortar and pestle, then puts in it all in a small stone bowl.

“I need your hand, dear.” She holds out her palm expectantly and you hesitantly hand over yours. Brandishing a rather terrible looking knife, she makes a tiny cut on your palm and turns it over so that the blood drips into the bowl.

“I’m scared,” you admit quietly.

“There’s nothing to be scared of.” Giving your hand a squeeze she twirls her finger toward you. “Now, I need you to sit back and close your eyes. Don’t open them until I tell you, do you understand?”

“Yes.” You give her one last look and blink your eyes shut.

“I want you to think of the last time you felt completely safe and happy.”

“I was very young.”

“That’s perfectly alright. Just hold that moment in your mind.”

You nod and remember one of the only detailed memories you have of your father, the way he smelled and the sound of his voice reading stories before bed.

Rowena's voice is low in the background, reciting some ancient incantation.

“Tui gratia Iovis gratia sit cures. Tui gratia Iovis gratia sit cures,” she chants.

A strange, exciting feeling spreads from your belly out in all directions. Sore muscles begin to relax one by one and the kink in your back is suddenly gone. This healing glow emanates out until you are restored from the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

“Now, think about the most beautiful dress you could ever imagine,” Rowena whispers.

You think back to a powder blue dress you saw in the city last year, you can’t remember the details but it was ornate and surely made of the finest fabrics. A dress the likes of which you would never have the chance to wear.

“Keep your eyes closed and stand up.” You listen to her shuffle closer, taking your hand and guiding you across the room. “Now, open your eyes and have a look.”

Your reflection is not one you recognize. The haggard woman from before is gone and in her place in a breathtaking picture of a woman. A woman of such beauty you’ve never seen anyone who could possibly compare.

“This is not me,” you gasp, moving your hand up and down to ensure the image is real.

“It is you.” Rowena smiles. “I didn’t change a thing. The spell I cast was not transformative, but rather a spell of healing. I restored you to your natural state. This what you should look and feel like if it wasn’t for that awful tea and a lack of a proper mate. This is the true you.”

“It’s not possible,” you murmur, leaning forward to inspect your pink cheeks, supple skin, and shining hair. A thought occurs to you and your stomach drops. “The prince will not recognize me.”

“Oh, I think your prince would you know anywhere,” she laughs. “He saw the beauty in you without any magic. I simply brought it to the surface for everyone else to enjoy as well.”

Blushing, you focus on the dress. This incredible dress. You couldn’t get past your face but now this dress is all you can see. The bodice is tightened just right to give you an ample amount of cleavage, pushing everything up just so. The waist is synched and then puffs out into a shimmering pale blue ball gown that takes your breath away. The sparkles are twinkling as if the fabric is alive, made of tiny fireflies.  

“I can’t believe this is me.” You stare in awe at yourself, a million feelings bubbling up, but one overtakes them all. This is all so that you can see Sam again. “How will I get there?”

“You should know by now, I’ve thought of everything.”

You follow her outside, watching as she finds the fattest pumpkin in the garden. With a twitch of her wrist, it begins to grow and grow, slowly forming the shape of a sliver, glittering carriage.

“And now for a driver.” Rowens bends down and picks up a squealing mouse, your little friend from the basement.

“You don’t hurt him will you?” You watching cautiously.

“Of course not,” she wiggles her nose and drops the mouse. But what hits in the ground is a teenage boy who blinks wide-eyed at the pair of you. “Now, my dearest Y/N, you must go. Your prince is waiting for his mystery woman.”

-

“I know you’re disappointed, but you might at least try to conceal it.” Dean stands beside his brother, sipping wine.

“I knew this wouldn’t work,” Sam sighs. He looks around the packed room, hundreds of people laughing and dancing. Every woman in the place is hoping to be noticed by him but he's only interested in one person. “She’s not coming.”

“You don’t know that for sure. She could be late,” Dean offers.

“This late?” Sam raises an eyebrow.  “Hours late to a royal ball?”

“It does seem unlikely.” Their father, King John, appears behind them. “Are you positive she’s not here? There are so many women, perhaps she’s just lost in the crowd. You should do another walkthrough.”

“I would see her in an instant.” Sam’s disposition is souring with every passing minute. “This was a ridiculous rouse.”  

“Well,” his father looks around. “You do need a wife Sam and you need one soon. We tried to find your mythical Omega and now we’re faced with reality. Pull yourself together and go talk to some of these women. There is a sea of beautiful faces and they’re all looking to you.”

-

“He’s coming this way!” Alex squeals in delight, grabbing her sister’s hand.

“Calm down!” Claire hushes.

“She’s right, compose yourself.” Naomi, stands up straight, behind both her daughters. “Remember what we talked about.”

The youngest prince is headed toward them with his mother on his arm. Naomi has had the good fortune to have met Queen Mary on a couple of occasions and knows she’ll focus in on a familiar face. Like clockwork, the Queen spots Naomi and smiles in relief, tugging her son along.

All three women bow as Sam comes to stand in front of them.

“Good to see you again my queen,” Naomi speaks first.

“And you, Naomi. You look well. And who do we have here?”

“My daughters, Alex and Claire.”  She makes the introduction to Sam who smiles softly.

“We’re having such a lovely time.” Alex bats her lashes.

“Indeed. Although I expect it can be quite tiresome for you, Prince Samuel.” Claire has practiced and knows exactly how she’ll make her impression. “All this attention is a lot for one person to bear.”

“Yes, it can be.” Sam smiles, happy for any passing interaction that’s not another woman falling over herself to impress him. “Would you do me the honor of a dance, my lady?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Claire lifts her skirts and takes his hand as they walk through a whispering crowd.

Sam hasn’t danced with a single woman all night.

Alex sighs, and Mary stands beside Noami while their children dance in front of a crowd of onlookers.

“She’s a very pretty girl. How old?” Mary inquires.

“Twenty this spring,” Naomi confirms, holding back the urge to jump with joy.

“Old enough,” Mary mutters, more to herself than anyone else. “It was wonderful to see you, Naomi, I hope to see more of you and your lovely daughters in the future.”

“As do I.”

-

You’re late. There’s no one else about as your carriage arrives and you climb up the steps of the castle. What if the ball is ending? What if Sam has found another woman he likes better than a scullery maid? What if your heart breaks in a thousand pieces? But nothing can be worse than the life you’re already living.

Reaching the top of the stairs you look to your right. There’s another wide staircase descending downward and you can see the outskirts of the ball and hear the music and voices swirling into the night.

It’s now or never.

You take one last look down at your dress, your plump bosom and twinkling skirt. I look like I belong here, you tell yourself and begin to descend down the staircase.

-

Sam has just finished his dance with Claire. He kisses the back of her hand as hundreds of eyes watch with bated breath. He says his goodbyes and turns to look for his brother. He’s in need of some air and stronger drink.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spies someone entering late. He turns to find a sight that takes his breath away. He’d recognize you anywhere, but you’re a far cry from the women in the field. Your tattered dress has been replaced with a brilliant gown. You’re practically glowing. But your face is unchanged, that breathtaking beauty that’s been seared into his mind for weeks.  

He nearly trips over himself, scrambling through the crowd that parts like the Red Sea.

You’re scared, looking around for something familiar, but instead, are met with what seems like a million faces scrutinizing the late-comer interrupting the festivities. Fear rises in your throat and you’re about to turn and run away as your prince steps forward out of the crowd with a brilliant smile plastered across his face

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” You can’t help but stare at how handsome he looks, hair slicked back and overcoat fitted perfectly.

“You came,” he breathes, staring at you as he offers you a hand down from the last step. He pulls you closer, taking both your small hands between his. “I didn’t think you wanted to see me again.”

“On the contrary,” you crane your neck up toward him like a flower searching for sunlight. “You are all I’ve thought of.”

“You look radiant.” He brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Just as I remember.”

You don’t have a response for that, but the whispers of the people around you break the bubble.

“There are quite a few people watching us,” you whisper, looking around him.

“Are they? I thought we were alone.” He grins, giving a happy laugh. “I just want to hold you. Will you dance with me?”

“I would like nothing more.” You take his hand as he leads you toward the dance floor.

-

“And who do we have here?” John looks at his wife and eldest son as they watch from a terrace above the crowd.

“I think Sam has found his Omega,” Dean grins.

-

“Who is she?” Claire stands on her tiptoes, craning her neck to spy on this new mystery woman.

“Look at her dress,” Alex mutters in awe. “Where would someone even find a dress like that.”

“Paris?” Claire looks to their mother for confirmation. “She must be visiting”

“She’s beautiful, that's for sure.” Naomi squints, trying to get a better look as Prince Samuel leads his guest toward the dance floor.

“I don’t stand a chance against a woman like that,” Claire huffs, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

“Don’t count yourself out so quickly.” Naomi raises a brow. “Let’s see what we can find out about this rare beauty.”

-

“I can’t believe I’m here.” You stare up at this man towering above you who looks just as thrilled to see you as you are him. “I feared I’d ever see you again. This is a dream.”

“I tried to find you,” Sam explains. You’re swaying to music but only to keep up the appearance of dancing. This is nothing more than an excuse to touch each other. “I tried to follow you that day but you got away before I could. My brother and I searched, but I couldn’t remember how I found the willow tree. We spent days in the woods.”

“I’m sorry I ran away.” You want to tell him everything. All the details of your life and how it came to be what it is.

“Luckily my mother came up with this solution. She said you’d show up. I should have had more faith.”

“There’s so much I want to tell you,” you admit, swimming in his kind, understanding eyes.

“We’ll have time to talk later,” he assures you. Glancing up he grimaces as the music slows and the song ends. “Can we go somewhere private?”

“Yes, of course,” you agree. He offers his arm as you head toward the corner of the room, gossip already spreading.

Sam leads you down a series of dark and winding hallways. You have to trot to keep up with him and nearly run right into his back when he finally stops. You find yourself on a small balcony overlooking the lights of the kingdom below.

Sam pulls you into his arms, wasting no time with an intimate embrace and you eagerly gaze up at him. This time together is precious and you won’t take it for granted.

“I don’t know how it is that I feel so strongly about you.” His shining eyes search yours for understanding. “We’re strangers and yet I feel as if you are the piece I’ve been looking for all along.”  

“I feel the same. After that day we met, I felt sick, more ill than usual. I’ve never met an Alpha before so I didn’t know what was happening but I think you did something to me.”

He makes a sound akin to a growl, a low hum in his throat as his long fingers curl tight around your waist.

“Do you understand the gravity of what you are?” he asks, a hand sliding over your neck as his thumb trails your jawline. “That being an Omega means you don’t have much choice in where or who you end up with?”

“I haven’t had much of a choice since I was a girl.” You breathe jagged breaths as his eyes drop to your breasts. “But I had a choice tonight and I chose to come and find you.”

“I want to make you mine,” he confesses. “I’ll do it tonight if you want it too.”

“I do but...there is so much you don’t know about me.” You want time to talk, to get to know each other and slow down this frenzied pace, but you also know that’s not possible.

“Do you belong to another?” he asks.

“No.”

“Do you want to be mine?”

You blink up at him, knowing this is the moment that will change your life.

“So much,” you whisper.

His lips catch yours without another word, the heft of his tongue sliding over yours and the sweet forage of his mouth searching deeper. He kisses you senseless, the press of his mouth is unrelenting until neither of you can breathe and he’s forced to pull away.

His touch is invigorating, the physical proximity bringing you to life as you pull him back down for another kiss. He backs you up against the wall, the heat and weight of him nearly crushing you into the stone. But you’d happily die just like this, in his arms and surrounded by his scent.

“Can I have you here and now?” he pants, pink lips parted while he waits for your answer.

“Yes!” you plead, gripping his arms as he dips down to scent you, open mouth leaving a wet trail up your neck. A shudder runs up your spine and you twist into him, desperate for more.

Immediate disappointment sets in as his body leaves yours, but it’s quickly tempered as you watch him crouch down to gets his hands under your dress. You feel his big, warm hands on your bare legs as he slides upward, brushing over the back of your knees and then your thighs, lifting your skirts.

You give a little shout when he cups your backside, one buttock in each palm as your feet leave the floor and your thighs seal around his hips. He dips back in for a quick kiss and then performs a balancing act of holding you up with one arm and somehow reaching the crotch of his pants.

The warm, silky-soft head of his manhood is suddenly pressed against your inner thigh and your eyes widen in anticipation.  

That familiar throb is back, the ache between your legs that you never felt until Sam came along.

The dress proves to be problematic, but it doesn’t stop either of you. You giggle against his lips as he fishes through layers of tulle to find his own cock.

Your light-hearted laugh turns into a moan as you feel him push the head of his shaft against your sex, slipping easily inside where you’re slick and warm.

“God,” he gasps against your mouth, before pulling back and looking up at the ceiling as he slides all the way inside, filling you to the absolute brim. “Omega,” he groans.

“Alpha,” you respond in kind, wiggling your thighs against his hips. It hurts but just a bit. Any true discomfort is overshadowed by how perfectly he fills you. If he were any bigger you wouldn’t be able to take him. This is surely fate the way your bodies join together.

With a grunt, he pulls out, watching your face as he slides back inside. Your senses are overcome, nonsensical, as he begins to move in a hurried rhythm fucking you against the stone of the castle.

This was not how you pictured your first time together. You’d never admit to how many times you fantasized about what it would be like to have him between your legs. But none of those fantasies had you fully dressed, with stone scraping up and down your spine.

And yet it’s perfect. You want him any way you can get him and in this moment, this rough, less than fairy tale moment, it’s exactly what you both need.

His hand struggles to hold you in place while the other reaches between your bodies. He fumbles several times, almost losing his grip before giving up and curling all ten fingers into your backside.

“I’m sorry,” he grunts, scraping his nose up the side of your neck. “I wanted to touch you, to bring you pleasure.”

“You are,” you gasp. “Please just...don't stop.”

“I thought you were gone forever, Omega.” His voice is hot breath over the hollow of your throat as he nips and kisses his way across your chest. “I won’t let you go again.”

His words are like smoke, curling inside you, the sound of his voice is enough to bring you pleasure. He’s moving faster now, his cock stroking easily in and out of your sex at a pace that has you bouncing in his arms as he chases his own release.

You feel him beginning to swell. You’ve only heard whispered stories, but enough to have a vague idea of what’s coming. The thick ring of muscle at the base of his cock thickens rapidly until he gives one final thrust and buries himself in you to the tilt. There’s an even more challenging stretch that should hurt, but instead triggers your Omega instincts.

You cum with his name on your lips, the back of your head smacking the wall as you squeeze around his cock, fluttering and shaking from the burst of satisfaction that makes your jaw clench.

Completely engulfed in this new indulgence you’re unprepared when his teeth sink into your neck. You feel your skin tear open as his hips push upward, trying to rut further inside you as he makes a permanent mark, biting even deeper than he needs to.

You cry out, still racked with pleasure that now blend with sharp pain and a sense of complete catharsis. The fear and pain you’ve been holding on to since your father died let's go in a deluge of emotion and you begin to cry.

He nuzzles his face into your shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“It’s not that,” you sniffle. He raises his head to look at you, blood on his lips.

“What is it then?” he asks gently, rubbing the tip of his nose over yours. “My knot?”

“No, there’s nothing wrong. For the first time, there’s nothing wrong.” You look into his eyes, he’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. “I’m yours.”

He smiles, his eyes darting to the fresh claiming bite.

“Yes, you are. We’ll have the rest of our lives together.”

He holds you in this precarious position until his knot recedes. There’s a sad, empty feeling without the heat of his body pressed against you. Then the uncomfortable sensation of his seed sliding down your thighs.

“Come with me,” Sam grins, tucking you under his arm and leading you back inside the castle.

[splat-dragon]

heavy is the head that gets no sleep ~Cold is the Night, Oh Hellos

Whumptober 2020, #23: What's A Whumpee Gotta Do to Get Some Sleep Around Here?: "Sleep Deprivation" "Exhaustion"

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

He’d tried, but no one would let him. Every time he so much as looked at his tent, Miss Grimshaw or Dutch was there, nipping at him for not contributing enough, or Pearson was there, heckling him to go out hunting.

@whumptober2020

Arthur was so, so tired.

 He couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

 He’d tried, but no one would let him. Every time he so much as looked at his tent, Miss Grimshaw or Dutch was there, nipping at him for not contributing enough, or Pearson was there, heckling him to go out hunting.

 Every time, he wanted to scream. ‘Look at the ledger! Look at my goddamn name!’ he was contributing more than anyone else, but they acted like he was just sitting on his ass. Like it was him getting drunk, sitting around the campfire, night after night, instead of skipping sleep to bring in supplies and money and provisions. Last time he’d lost his temper - once Dutch walked off, of course, he was no fool - and nearly thrown the ledger when he’d found he was right, his name had been on the page thirty nine out of the fifty times on the front-back spread, all jewelry or decent amounts of money or carcasses, not goddamn bat wings (really Marston?!) or nickles and dimes.

And it was another one of those nights.

 He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d slept.

 Three nights?

 Four?

 Five?

 His stomach was growling but he was too tired to eat.

 He finished signing his name on the ledge - Arthur     Silver Pocket Watch     $8.00 - for the ninth time in a row, making sure his satchel was empty before turning on his heel, sending up a small prayer before beginning to make his way to his tent.

“Arthur!”

 Oh no.

 “I have a lead I need you to follow up on.” Dutch. Why was it always Dutch.

 He looked longingly at the cot he could see beckoning at him from his tent,

 “Please son, I need you to do this for me. It’s very important.”

 He sighed, knew Dutch wouldn’t let it drop. “Alright, Dutch.”

 The man’s face lit up, and he clasped Arthur on the shoulder. Arthur wobbled, had to catch himself, but Dutch didn’t notice, already digging through his pocket, shoving a piece of paper in his hand. “Here, there’s a man named Jackson Ricketts at this address, he’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

 “...okay Dutch.” but he was already walking away, picking up his most recent book off the table he kept near the flaps of his tent.

For a moment, all he could do was stand there. Stare at Dutch, plopping down in his chair and leaning over to start reading with Molly. Turn to stare at his cot, then at the ledger. Had he put in what he’d brought back that evening? He was pretty sure he had, but he really couldn’t remember.

 Arthur took a moment to fumble through his satchel.

 Either he’d put in the jewelry and money he’d brought back, or he’d been robbed.

 He was so tired he couldn’t find it in him to care.

 But then Javier’s guitar started to play over at the campfire, and he did care. Anger, indignation, started up bright hot in his stomach, how was that fair? He could see Bill sitting near the campfire, and he hadn’t even seen Bill’s name on the ledger!

 But just as quickly the anger flickered out, what was the point? He’d just get told he needed to pull his weight, do his part, and then he’d get shoved towards the horses even if he demanded they check the ledger, get told to stop acting like a child, ‘you’re too old to be acting like this, Arthur!’ and then the others would laugh at him, and Micah was over by the fire too, and nothing infuriated him more than seeing that smug bastard laughing at him.

 So he threw a last, longing look at his cot, could have sworn he heard it say “Sleep?” though that could have been his subconscious telling him something, and trudged over to the horses.

 Stared blankly at his mare - the O’Driscoll had untacked her.

 He had to tack her up.

  Fuck, he had to tack her up.

 The O’Driscoll had left her saddle on the post right next to her.

 Small blessings.

He picked up the saddle, grunting beneath his weight, took a step and proceeded to drop it.

 Heard someone laugh - looked up, but no one was looking at him. Scowled, very funny Micah, stooped down and picked it up again, struggling, couldn’t remember the saddle ever being this heavy before. John was laughing, but when he looked up the man had turned away, was staring at the campfire as though he’d never moved, and irritation boiled low in Arthur’s stomach.

 Finally managed to fling the saddle onto the horse, throwing it more than setting it down, apologized under his breath and stepped forward, tried to tighten the cinch and

  “Even after all these years, can’t even tack up a horse.” Dutch scowled in his ear and he whirled about, bared his teeth the man was going too damn far! but what the hell? He was still sitting over with Molly, showing her something in his book, and he blinked - he must have been more tired than he thought, goddamn was it even safe for him to ride out?

 Probably not, but it wasn’t like anyone would listen if he tried to say anything, so he shook his head, ‘Just imagining things,’ and fastened the cinch.

 Or, at least, tried to.

 He couldn’t get the damn cinch fastened.

 His hands were shaking too badly, and the world was doing a funny swirling thing. He took a deep breath, found it oddly shaky and then he wasn’t even trying, was just clutching the cinch in his hands and taking deep breaths, then not even those.

 “Arthur?” Hosea’s voice was loud in his ear, too loud, and he flinched, “Arthur son, what’s wrong?” and oh, he’d thought he was imagining things again but then there was a very real hand on his arm, one grasping his chin and forcing him to look up, he hadn’t even realized he’d leaned over, grinding his forehead into her saddle, and wow Hosea was whirling wasn’t he?

 “Arthur, you’re crying,” and huh, he hadn’t even realized that, reached up to wipe his face and was startled to find his hand wet, “Son, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

 “...I can’t do this.” his breath hitched, and he looked at Hosea pleadingly, “Hosea, I’m so tired, I… I can’t… I just want to sleep.”

Hosea couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Arthur so distressed. He was looking at him with nothing shy of sheer desperation. Looking at him as though he needed permission to sleep, tears streaming down his face, breathing becoming more and more labored, hitching as though he couldn’t catch it, “Okay Arthur, okay, you can sleep, just calm down.”

 But Arthur’s nostrils flared, face flushing red as he tried - failed - to raise his voice “No I can’t! No one… no one will let me! I-I just… I want to sleep. I haven’t slept in days. Everyone else is… is drinkin’ and partyin’, and I haven’t slept.”

 Fury settled, cold as fresh ice, in Hosea’s stomach.

 He wanted to storm over to the men that he could see drinking around the campfire. Beginning to slur along to Javier’s singing, celebrating nothing at all, costing them money in beer while bringing in nothing. Wanted to wrench Susan and Pearson and Dutch by the ears - Arthur hadn’t named names or pointed fingers, but it didn’t take a fool to guess who’d caused him to work himself to the edge.

 Shit, but he wasn’t blameless. He’d spent the last few days with Arthur when he was in camp (which, he realized with a sinking stomach, wasn't many) and hadn’t seen him sleep, didn’t think he could remember him eating either, and how he had missed how awful he looked he didn’t know. His eyes were bloodshot, his face sunken in. His eyes were so dark he’d thought, when he’d first walked over, that he had had a pair of black eyes, the bags beneath them so heavy even his bags had bags. Even as tears dripped down his face his eyelids sagged as though he were about to fall asleep right there, “Hosea, please, I’m so tired.” but he was fumbling with the cinch again, failing to secure the strap by a mile.

 Hosea’s throat clicked on a swallow - what had they done to their son? what had they done to make him think he had to work himself to this point? - and he nodded, “Of course Arthur, come on, let’s get you to bed.” but Arthur didn’t move, instead wavered on his feet, and Hosea’s heart leaped into his throat, lunging to grab his arm and steady him, called out “Mr. Smith! Help me please!” and Charles jogged over from where he’d been on watch, leaning his rifle against a hay bale as he shrugged Arthur’s arm over his shoulder, the man’s head lolling against him.

Arthur was vaguely aware of his arms being thrown over people’s shoulders, of being carried-dragged-a small distance. Of being laid down on something that seemed impossibly soft, wanting to surge up because I need to work! no one else will! but he felt so heavy so surely he could lay down for just a second?

 “‘Night Arthur,”

 A hand ran through his hair, “Sleep, son,” and his blanket was tucked up to his chin, but he was already long asleep.

Hosea nodded to Charles as they stepped out of Arthur’s tent, rolling his shoulder, protesting at having supported Arthur’s heavy weight, the young man frowning in concern even as he went back to take up his watch.

 The older man sighed, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose, remembering what Arthur had been mumbling as they carried him back to his tent - most of it had been too nonsensical to make out, but he’d definitely made out one word.

 But he didn’t dare risk waking Arthur, so he waited until he was flinging open the man’s tent to boom,

 “VAN DER LINDE!”

[galadrieljones]

That he may hold me by the hand - Chapter 13

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Albert Mason  

Rating: Mature (Adult Themes and Situations, Violence, and Sexual Content)

Summary: After saving Albert from stumbling off a cliff in the Heartlands, Arthur invites him to Valentine for a drink. What ensues after that is a quiet love story, in which both men find themselves completely undone.

Masterpost | AO3 | Epigraph

Chapter 13: You came into my soul, like a song.

The spurs in the hallway belonged to John. Just John. He knocked. Albert opened the door.

“Hey, Mr. Mason,” said John. He looked a little sweaty, as if he’d been riding a long time. “Is Abbie here with you?”

“Yes, she is,” said Albert. “Do come in.”

“John Marston,” said Abigail, a kind of angry relief as they greeted at the door. They held both their hands together, but the intimacy between them was suppressed, it wasn’t free. He knew from what Arthur had told him, they’d been having a lot of problems, but they were working through it. “Where’s Arthur?” she said.

“Don’t worry,” said John. “Arthur is fine. He just had to run an errand.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“He said it would be best. He went back to Shady Belle.”

“Shady Belle,” said Albert. “Did he say why?” He felt hypertensive all of sudden. Jack stirred in his sleep. He glanced on instinct.

“He’s going to see Mary Beth,” said John. He removed his hat. “He’s giving her some money, so she can leave.”

“You shouldn’t’ve let him go alone,” said Abigail.

“He’s better all by himself,” said John. He looked at Albert, his scars muffled in the dim light of the room. “It’ll be be okay. He’ll be back before morning. Told me to tell you not to wait up.”

Albert laughed to himself, looked down at his feet.

“Fat chance of that,” said Abigail. “Albert, you gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “Take Jack and go on back to your room.”

“Okay,” she said. She went over to the couch, scooped up the boy and he sort of flopped over her shoulder as a rag doll. He made little chewing motions with his jaw and ground his teeth in his sleep.

“I hate that,” said John. “Why does he do that?”

“Because you do it,” said Abigail. “Or, you used to.”

“I used to grind my teeth in my sleep?”

“Used to wake me up some nights, when we was in Denver City.”

“Shit,” said John, holding the door for her. “I didn’t know.”

“Thank you, Albert,” said Abigail. “For everything. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes, of course,” said Albert, smiling. He handed her the parasol. Then, “John?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you—well, how did it go, on the job?”

John smiled and placed his hat back atop his head. “It went good,” he said. “We got the bastard alive, made some money. Arthur is fine, not a scratch on him. I swear.”

“Splendid,” said Albert. “I was just wondering.”

They said goodnight. John and Abigail went back to their room. Albert put on his jacket and his shoes and went down to the bar. There was nothing else to do. He ordered a whiskey and sat alone in a booth by the window. There was a man playing something on the piano and two woman dancing while drunk and smoking clove cigarettes. It reminded him of college. The bartender was throwing somebody out. There were enough people there, even after midnight, Albert blended right in.

Back at camp, it was very dark. The sky was purple, and it was a full moon, swimming in stars. Arthur had tied up Amelia somewhere far enough from the perimeter of Shady Belle that nobody would see her. Her white coat made her a most recognizable filly. He couldn’t risk it.

Midnight in the swamp, he heard Sadie playing on her harmonica. This meant there were not many about, as she would only play under the illustion of solitude. She was sitting in a chair on the edge of the river, near Strauss’s set-up, but Strauss was not around. He walked right up to her. She looked at him, set down the instrument and appeared embarrassed.

“That’s real nice,” he said. “You should play it more.”

“Arthur,” she said. “I heard rumors you was leaving.”

“I am,” he said. “I just came back first. I gotta find Mary Beth. Do you know where she is?”

“The house, I expect,” said Sadie. “She was in Rhodes for most of the day, but her and Tilly are back now.”

Arthur glanced up at the big old house, looming, haunted and alive with candles in the windows. “Is Dutch here.”

“I don’t think so,” said Sadie. “He left a little while ago.”

“Where’d he go?” said Arthur, lighting a cigarette.

“Not sure. But he was alone.”

Arthur smoked. This didn’t sit right. “Sadie, when I go, John’s coming, too. Things are gonna get…confusing.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Sadie. She pocketed the harmonica. “Me and Charles already talked about it. We’re looking after the vulnerable. Don’t you worry about that. You done your time.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur, thinking of Albert. “Thank you, Sadie.”

“So,” she said. She placed a cigarette between her lips but did not light it. “Who is she?”

“Excuse me?” said Arthur.

Somebody was coming up then, out of the darkness. Upon squinting, Arthur saw that it was Mary Beth. She wore a dark scarf over her hair. She was holding a basket full of orchids. “Arthur?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Arthur tossed his cigarette and went toward her with conviction. “I came to see you.”

“Me? Why?”

“I gotta give you something,” he said. He tipped his hat to Sadie, then him and Mary Beth walked up the river bank some until it was they felt completely alone. The fireflies flickered over the tall grasses. The moonlight on the water was bright and still. Everywhere you could hear the sounds of the swamp in the evening, the bugs most of all. Arthur reached into his satchel. He withdrew a thick envelope and gave it to her. Enclosed within was $800.

“What’s this?” she said.

“It’s a gift, from me. A thank you, for taking care of me in my time of need, for being such a good friend. I’m going away, Mary Beth. Like you said I should. With Albert. I’m leaving the gang.”

She looked away, drew quiet. She did not seem surprised, only maybe, a little sad. “I figured as much,” she said, pushing back the scarf, revealing her curly hair, unkempt that night. “I talked to Albert, at the opening the other night. I know about his mother and the place in California.”

He sighed, looking at her, his hand on her shoulder. “I came back tonight to give you that envelope.”

“What is it?” she said. She set down the basket, opened the flap. “Arthur, is this money?”

“Yes,” he said. He removed his hat. “As much as I can spare. I want you to take it and get the hell out of here. Live your dream. Write your books. This ain’t no life for a woman such as you.”

“Arthur, I—” She was counting through the bills with her fingers. “This is too much. I can’t accept.”

“I don’t need it,” said Arthur. “You do.”

She looked up at him, her eyes very clear and reflecting all that light from the moon. They were filling with tears. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She looked down again, at the envelope. Then she placed it in her pocket. She embraced him. He held her on the river bank. “Thank you,” she said, sniffling into his vest. “I will put it to good use. I'll miss you, Arthur. I'll miss everybody, but I'll miss you most.”

“I know,” said Arthur into her hair. “I’ll miss you, too.”

She wiped her nose on her sleeve, smiled as they parted. She said, “It’s been quite a time.”

“Yes it has.”

“When you get to California, will you have an address?”

“I will,” said Arthur. “I wrote it in a letter there, inside that envelope. When you get wherever it is you’ll be for a while, you write to me. I wanna know you’re safe.”

“What about John and Abigail, and Jack?”

“They’re coming with us,” said Arthur. “You can come, too, if you want, Mary Beth. The invitation is open. But even if you don’t, that money is an unconditional gift. You owe me nothing. You go where you want, do what you want.”

She looked very starstruck, filled with longing. He knew she would not come. He knew that being close to him would hurt, and it was for the best that they part. She just smiled. “Thank you, Arthur. I think I’ll still go north.”

“Wisconsin?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “Madison, maybe.”

“I wish you luck.” He covered her hands in his. “Be careful. Be quiet. Don’t get caught with your hand in nobody’s pocket. You hear?”

“I hear.”

“Good,” said Arthur. “I know you’ll be okay. You’re a smart woman.”

“I try.”

“I gotta go,” said Arthur. “We’re heading out by train in a week’s time. But until then, we’ll be lying low.”

“I’ll write you,” she said. “When I get up north. I promise.”

Arthur placed his hat back atop his head. “Okay, Mary Beth.”

They hugged one more time and said goodbye. Mary Beth went back to the house. Arthur stood up the river bank a little ways from Sadie who had once again begun to play her harmonica. It was the harmonica he had found for her, in a ridge line shack somewhere over in West Elizabeth so many months before. She looked at him, didn’t stop this time. She just nodded. She paused once to salute him as he went. He took one last look at the house and the camp and all of its murky innocence.

Albert was on his second glass of whiskey. He was reading the newspaper. It was an older edition, whatever the bartender had lying around. There was a story about a bank robbery, way up in Valentine. For a moment, he wondered. He lit a cigarette, which he ashed into a crystal ash tray. Thus far, nobody had approached him but saloon girls, looking for his order and lively conversation. Albert was a staple figure in the saloon by now. They asked him about Arthur. He said, “Arthur is well. Arthur will be back soon.” They all loved Arthur, too, though Arthur was more gruff and more likely to smile and nod than he was to chat. They still liked him. They liked that kind of stoicism in a man. It was reassuring. Made him seem strong. Albert understood in his heart of hearts that they all knew the truth by now, about him and Arthur. They must have, and yet, they did not judge him. They did not even ask.

“Howdy,” said a man’s voice, out of nowhere.

Albert looked up and saw a stranger.

“Hello,” he said.

The piano still went on in the background, real loud. The place was not raucous but it was bustling enough. The stranger was very tall, as tall as Arthur, thought Albert, perhaps even taller. He slid into the booth, across from Albert and folded his hands on the table. It was a presumptuous move. Albert wondered if, for a second, he was supposed to recognize him. He did not. The stranger removed his hat, had black hair curling behind his ears. He wore many gold rings, and at first, Arthur took him for a particularly ostentatious dandy, but upon further inspection, noticed the wear in knuckles, and the ornate engravings upon the handle of the gun in his belt. They were a lot like the ornate engravings in the various handles of Arthur’s guns.

Albert set down his paper. It was warm in the saloon, a little stuffy. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “How may I help you?” he said.

“It’s sure hot in here,” said the stranger. He adjusted his collar. “You’d think they’d open a…window or something.”

“Yes,” said Albert. “You’d think.” He waited patiently for the man to explain himself. He didn’t seem particularly drunk, or lost. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Are you Albert Mason?” said the man. “The nature photographer?”

Surprised, Albert straightened up off the table. “I am,” said Albert.

“I thought so,” said the man, grinning, nodding. “What a wonderful happenstance, you should be here, tonight.”

“I suppose,” said Albert. “Were you at the opening, the other night? I don’t remember you, though it’s possible I did not meet everyone.”

“No, I was not,” said the man. “But one of my associates was there. He mentioned you, and your subject matter.”

“I see,” said Albert. “Well, thank you for stopping by, saying hello.” He smiled.

“You’re welcome,” said the man, looking around. He beckoned to one of the saloon girls, ordered a glass of scotch. The girl who came over, Josie, blushed upon his flirtatious charm. Then she went away, and the stranger sipped. “So, what’s Albert Mason, nature photographer, doing here in the saloon all alone on this fine evening?”

Albert set down his paper, folded it in half. Realizing he had been sucked into some sort of conversation with a man he did not know, he did his best to engage his social graces. Truth be told, however, they were rusty, and he was tired. “Nothing much,” he said. “Just enjoying a drink.”

“You live around here?”

“I do,” said Albert. “But only on a temporary basis.”

“Is that right?” said the man. Josie came back with the scotch. The man thanked her and called her my dear. “Where you headed?” said the man, sipping, once more. “I mean, when you leave St. Denis.”

“West,” said Albert, growing suspicious now. It was an odd question.

“West, huh?” said the stranger, stretching out his arms, casually resting them along the back of the bench. He had an enormous wingspan. Like the condors Albert had once photographed in Tallahassee. “Business or pleasure?”

“A bit of both,” said Albert. He folded his hands on the table. “Before we continue, might I ask your name? I mean, if we’re going to sit here, having a conversation at the saloon, I should know what to call you.”

“Oh,” said the man. He lit a cigar from his pocket. Puffed off the end. “I thought I’d introduced myself.”

“No, you did not.”

“My name is Dutch.” He placed the cigar between his teeth, held out his hand for a shake, “van der Linde. It’s extremely nice to meet you, Mr. Mason.”

“Ever since we fled Blackwater,” Abigail said that night, back in the room, the moonlight pitching through the windows, “Dutch has been…different. John, I’m scared.” Her hands were shaking as she smoked. They had been talking about the plan, going west to California. Jack was asleep on the bed. “I am ready to go, John. You know I am. But I’m scared that Dutch might view this as some sort of…mutiny. He ain’t stable. He’ll threaten your lives. You and Arthur. If he has his way, I just—”

“Hosea already knows the truth,” said John. “About Albert, and about us leaving, everything. He already gave Arthur his blessing.”

They could hear the piano downstairs. It was a pretty song, slow and dark.“You think Hosea can make Dutch see reason then?”

“Maybe,” said John. “It always was that way, growing up around them.”

“I don’t know,” she went on, smoking. “Maybe. I just—I still worry. I’m worried about you.”

“I know,” said John. “I know you are. Abbie, look at me.”

She was gazing at him then, stars in her eyes. She was softening. “You ain’t gonna flake out this time,” she said. “I can see it, in your eyes. That’s scaring me, too.”

“Why?” said John. “I swear it, Abbie. It’s different this time. I’m with you now. I promise. You and Jack.”

“How?” she said. “Why? What happened?”

John shrugged. He took the cigarette out of her hand and set it in the ash tray. Then he gathered her hands up into his own, so chivalrously, and he held her knuckles to his lips. “A lot of things happened,” he said. “Arthur helped me see all them things I done, bad things. To you and to Jack. I’m sorry. I’m gonna earn back your trust, if it’s the goddam last thing I do. And Arthur, he’s gonna help us out. The two of us, we got plans for once we get out there, maybe go in on a livery or something.”

“A livery?”

“Sure,” said John, squeezing her hands tightly. “Ain’t nobody better with horses than Arthur. And I ain’t so bad.”

“No, you ain’t,” said Abigail.

“It’s settled, okay?” said John. “You don’t need not worry. No more being afraid. I got this. Trust me, Abbie. Please, try. We’re leaving by train in one week.”

“What’ll we do till then?”

“Lay low,” said John. “We’ll stay here. Dutch ain’t gonna interfere. I’m gonna go back to Shady Belle myself, once, maybe in a couple days when things quiet down, get whatever it is we left back there, all our money. I’ll be real quiet about it, and then I’ll be back, and then we’ll disappear.”

“Disappear,” said Abigail.

“Go west,” said John. “I should have said, Go west. We ain’t disappearing. That’s Dutch’s point of view. From our point of view, we ain’t disappearing, Abbie. We’re starting over. Starting fresh. A new life.” He was smiling, real bright, and she believed him, because she wanted to.

Many years later, living in a humble ranch home in Carmel-by-the-Sea, Abigail would never again feel the unrelenting chill of winter in her bones, and she would drink French wine while wearing a long dress in late summer and remember how, amidst a life of scoundrels and sin, she had still somehow managed to surround herself with gentlemen.

[shark-from-the-park]

FIC: The Fitzier of It, Episode Four

A Fitzier The Thick of It AU in several parts. You can find Episode One here , Episode Two here and Episode Three here. With sincere thanks to @casperthefriendlylittlefan and @coffeesugarcream for their cheerleading and encouragement and to everyone else who has read and enjoyed so far. I love you all, your comments/tags/asks/PM’s make my heart swell.

In this installment, James really does go for broke in his attempts to get hired as Francis’s spin doctor. This certainly won’t awaken anything in him... will it?

Warnings for very bad language, NSFW themes, endlessly snacking LeVesconte and a wild Blanky.

@litttlesilkworm @boisinberryjamarama @thegreenmeridian @cinemaocd @the-jewish-marxist @hereliesnils @nashilena @itisa-profoundbond-sarandom @idlesuperstar @what-a-terrorific-mess @kahootqueen69 @jaredharrisankles @shit-in-silk-stocking @bobbole @fellowshipofthegay @aconfusedwriter @uncannybrightside @glorioustidalwavedefendor @zaphodbeeblebro @sasheenka @intrepid-inkweaver @full-of-terrors @anadequatesir

Contact me via semiphore (or some more convenient method) to be tagged/untagged, or just to say hello/hurl abuse. xXx.

Episode Four

When James strode into Baffin House the next day, his confidence was based on more than just his usual bluster and self-assurance.  

He struck it lucky as soon as he reached the second floor.

Ed Little and Thomas Jopson were sat at a desk together near the elevators, heads bent, chatting and laughing. The sideburn brothers didn’t even notice James as he passed them.  

That just left Blanky.  

Who was, of course, perched on the desk outside Francis’s office door like a guard dog, exchanging friendly banter with two women a few desks over (the term ‘duck’ was being thrown about with bewildering regularity).

James steeled himself and approached the Yorkshireman with his palms up in a gesture of peace.  

He also kept his mouth firmly shut.  

Blanky regarded him with crinkly, laughing eyes, almost fondly.  

“Go on then, Fitzjames, lad. Yer’ve caught me in a good mood.”

James reached into his leather satchel, and with the bare minimum of theatricality (that he was physically capable of), brought out his gifts. One by one he placed them on the desk next to Blanky.  

First came a box of colourful Paperchase paper-clips in the shapes of whales and anchors.

Second, and this one was an educated guess really, a grab bag of steak flavoured McCoy’s.  

Thirdly, a folded slip of notepaper with the words ‘Shadow Cabinet’ written on it in James’s neat handwriting.  

Blanky regarded each gift thoughtfully, picking up and unfolding the slip of paper, reading the contents, then meeting James’s eye.  

Blanky refolded the notepaper and handed it back, the beginnings of a grin on his face.  

He rapped on Francis’s office door three times, then held it open.  

“Go on then, lad. Yer’ve earned it.”

With a tiny sigh of relief, James darted through the door before Blanky could change his mind.  

Francis, elbow deep in some report or other, looked up at James from behind his desk in surprise.  

“Thomas Blanky you useless, traitorous gimp, I should have you flogged!” He bellowed after a moment of silence.  

“He brought me crisps, Frank. ��And fancy paper-clips.  I’m not made of stone.”  Blanky closed the office door behind James, effectively trapping him and Francis inside together.  

“Class traitor!” Francis yelled at Blanky before sneering at James across the expanse of his desk and saying; “To what do I owe this pleasure, James?” acidly.  

Realising that he had placed both hands up in a peace gesture again, James swiftly dropped them to his sides, feeling like a twat.  

“I just wanted to talk, Francis. I, uh, I brought you this.” He laid the folded piece of notepaper on Francis’s desk and then took a step back.  

Francis unfolded the paper, read it, peered up at James to give him a quick glare, then read it again.  

“Do you honestly think I don’t already know who I want working with me?  You arrogant, snot-nosed little public school wanker...”  He managed to grind out at last.  

James breathed out slowly through his nose.  

Humility. Humility.  

“The thing is, Francis, it’s not just the list. I, uh, talked to them. All of them. I mean, I vetted them all first, of course. Official and unofficial channels. Did some research into their stances on your key issues. And they’ve all, er, agreed. To back you. To serve on your shadow cabinet and toe the line on your fundamentals. All would be willing to meet with you about it. All committed. I mean, I made it clear that it was all speculative, of course. I made it clear that I was doing it off my own back. And then I found out that you’d already spoken to some of them…  It’s just… I’d really like to work with you, Francis. For you.”  James stopped, feeling light-headed.  

Francis’s mouth kept opening and shutting silently.  His face had gone the colour of cooked lobster.  

James chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and waited.  

Eventually, Francis managed;

“Fucking hell James. Why? Why the fuck… I’m no Sir John. I’m not in this for a fucking seat in the House of Lords. You won’t get me to schmooze with any of the great and good. There’ll be no champagne dinners. No golf. No parties with Richard fucking Branson. Have you lost your mind, James? I’m a backwards, Stalinist potato-fucker with bad dress sense, remember?”

“I’ve never said potato-fucker, Francis. About anyone.”

“I just don’t know what your game is here, James.”

“There is no game. I want to work for you. I think I can help you win.”

“You, Mister privately educated, Oxbridge, gap-year-in-South-East-Asia, Paul Smith ties and expensive haircuts, want to work for this ex-alcoholic, Bangor University graduate, backbench, cardigan-wearing Irish...”

“Look!” James interjected desperately. “Francis... Somewhere along the line, I think you might have gotten the idea that I don’t respect you...”

“Whatever could possibly have given me that impression, James.”  Francis said, steely-eyed.  

“But the thing is, you see, that actually, I -”  James’ larynx tried to seize up over the words and he was forced to clear his throat loudly, feeling colour rise to his face.  “I admire you.” He managed at last in a rushed voice that didn’t sound at all like his own.  

Somehow, he felt as if he’d just said something else.

Utterly exposed.  

Francis looked completely astonished. It didn’t suit him.  

They stared at each other from opposite sides of the room, evidently having run off some sort of conversational cliff.  

James chafed under Francis’s intense blue gaze, but having said his piece he found himself unwilling to back down or look away.  

Seconds ticked by, lengthening into minutes and they just breathed in and out and looked at one another.  

The office door opened and Blanky stuck his head in.

“I’m not sorry for interrupting.” He said. “Yers have been quiet for so long I thought one of you must have killed the other.  Now I see it’s just some sort of homoerotic staring contest. My mistake.” He retreated and shut the door on them again.  

“Alright.” Francis finally ground out from between clenched teeth. “I’ll consider it.”

James, whose brain had snagged on the words ‘homoerotic staring contest’, blinked at him in confusion.  

“You’ll...”

“I’ll consider bringing you and Le Vesconte on board. I’ll meet with the names on your bloody list.”

“Oh. Well. Good. Good.”  James felt as though he were having an out of body experience.  

“Just… liaise with Blanky. Set up the meetings.”

“Alright Francis. And… Thank you...”

James exited Francis’s office as quickly as was humanly possible, only to find Blanky, Ed Little, Jopson and half a dozen others crowded around the door, peering at him with rapt curiosity.  

*****

“Fucking hell, Fitz. It sounds about as nerve-wracking as asking him to a school disco.”

“No, it was worse than that.” Muttered James, strangely subdued. “It was like one of those dreams where you…  No, it was like… Like I accidentally took off my face and showed him the horrific writhing mass of gore that is the real me, for a second...”

“Fuck. That’s deep, Fitz. I’ve known you going on thirty years and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the real you.” Dundy managed around a mouthful of treacle scone.

“Exactly, Dundy. It wasn’t like I meant to do it.” James rubbed a hand over the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“It worked though, didn’t it?  We’ve actually got a shot at being in government!”

“Mmmm? Yeah.”

Dundy looked both worried and worryingly thoughtful for a moment.  

“James?” He spoke gently, as though trying not to spook a horse. “You do realise that you’re in-”

“Shut up.”  James snapped back into gear all at once.  “Come on, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”  

*****

Episode Five here...

[saxonspud]

The Outlaw and the Treasure Hunter - Chapter 7 - Wolves

John rode back from Valentine, to the camp at Horseshoe Overlook. A million thoughts rushing through his mind. What was Arthur thinking of? This was so unlike him. Holding some poor woman hostage, and also her daughter. Threatening them both, playing one off against the other, He was more concerned for the daughter. He hadn't actually seen her. What sort of state was she in. Well, it would be up to Dutch to decide the next move.

John hitched his horse, and headed over to Dutch's tent. Dutch was standing outside his tent, smoking a cigar, deep in thought.

"Dutch!" John called, as he approached him. "It ain't good. I think Arthur's finally lost it!"

Dutch's brow furrowed. He threw his cigar down, grinding it, into the ground, with the heel of his boot. "What's he done John?"

John looked at the ground, shaking his head, "he's kidnapped a couple of women, one's shackled to a bed, in a cabin. The other one," he sighed, "well I ain't seen her, but I reckon he's got her holed up, in a house in Valentine."

Dutch scraped his fingers through his hair, "What! Why would he do that?"

John shrugged, "Seems like one of 'em is some sort of treasure hunter, seems like he's been forcing her to get treasure for him. I just hope that's not all he's been forcing her to do. Sounds like she's quite young, but that ain't the worst of it!"

Dutch stared at John, "how could it get any worse?"

"Well it seems like he threatened the woman, if she didn't do what he wanted, he was gonna cut up her daughter, and her. This just ain't like Arthur, Dutch." John warned.

Dutch paced up and down. "As much as I hate to do this, we're gonna have to wait until he comes back. If we try and help either one, like as not, he'll do something to the other one. I can't have that on my conscience. We just gotta pray, he don't do anything, to that poor girl."

Izzy woke up, she hurriedly looked towards the door, and breathed a sigh of relief, when she saw it was still closed. She looked out the window, and was surprised to see that the sun had been up, for a while. She thought, hoped, that Arthur Morgan, had decided to leave. But the creak of the door opening, made her realise, that she couldn't be that lucky. She thought, with his recent advances, it would only be a matter of time, before he decided to take, what he wanted. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. The only slight relief that she had, was that all the while they were out hunting treasure, she would be relatively safe.

Izzy walked towards the open door, to see Arthur standing there, smirking.

"C'mon Princess, we gotta long ride ahead. You better go and get the map, from the study."

He stood to one side, to allow her to leave the bedroom. She rushed past him, and ran downstairs. She could hear him, laughing, as he followed her down the stairs.

Izzy returned from the study with the map in her hand. Arthur smirked, as he opened the door. "Go and stand by my horse, I'll be out in a minute."

Izzy walked out the door. Again she was tempted, to make a run for it. But she thought, if she could get him to trust her, next time he had to leave her, he may decide not to tie her up, then she could head for the sheriff. Until then, she had to bide her time.

Arthur looked out the door. He'd expected Izzy, to try and make a run for it. This was of course a test. If she had, he could have quite easily chased her down. Maybe she was finally beginning to realise, that he was in charge, and she would have to do, whatever he said.

Izzy heard the front door close, and the key turn. She turned to face him. "I could always ride my own horse today," she suggested.

Arthur sniggered, "I don't think that would be a very good idea at all, princess. I like to have you, where I can keep my eye on you,"

Arthur quickly picked her up, and put her on his horse. He mounted up behind her, and wrapped his arm, tightly around her waist. "Now, ain't this so much more cosier, princess?" He nipped her earlobe, and smirked, as he felt her tense up.

Arthur turned his horse, and headed for the road out of Valentine, and northwards. Once they were out of town, he pushed his horse into a gallop, as they headed north, up the winding tracks that led to the springs.

Whilst Izzy wasn't too comfortable with Arthur's arm wrapped around her, she was glad of it, as the horse twisted, and turned at a fast pace, as it made its way along the tracks.

As they reached the springs, she could see large and small geysers, bubbling hot water, with a faint smell of sulphur.

Arthur, brought his horse to a swift stop. Izzy pulled the map, from her pocket and was glancing around. Near to the geysers were some cairns, with rocks piled on top, some small, some large.

She pointed to a large cairn, relatively flat on top. "Over there, I think."

Arthur dismounted, and lifted Izzy down. She started to walk towards the flat cairn, that she had pointed out, whilst Arthur followed her. Izzy walked around the other side of the Cairn, and found a hollow opening. She reached her hand inside, and grabbed a large pouch. As she did, she heard a noise, from behind. She snapped her head around, in front of her, were two large grey wolves, heading towards her, growling. She pulled out her prize, spun around, and screamed. Arthur, hearing the scream, ran to the cairn. "Shit!"He hissed, his rifle was still on his horse. He pulled out his pistol, but not before, one of the wolves, had pounced, knocking Izzy to the ground, she let out another shriek.

Arthur, shot the wolf, that was on top of Izzy, twice. It fell down, motionless on top of her. He shot the other one, as it turned to flee.

Arthur ran over and pulled the wolf, from Izzy's body. As he did, he saw, three gash's across her shoulder, running down to her chest, where the claws of the wolf had ripped the fabric, and penetrated the skin. Her thigh, was also pumping blood, where the wolf, had bitten her.

Izzy lay on the ground, groaning. Her hand, still clutching the prize.

She looked up at Arthur, her eyes, beginning to glaze.

Arthur knelt down beside her, and took a closer look at the wounds. "Ahh shit!" he muttered.

He quickly whistled for his horse, who came running over.

Arthur grabbed a spare shirt, out the saddlebag, and ripped it in half.

"Sorry Princess," he muttered, "but this is gonna hurt."

He dowsed one half with whisky, and shoved it inside her shirt, pressing down on the flesh, to try and stem the flow. Izzy groaned as she felt a searing pain, run through her shoulder, and chest. He took her hand, and placed it over the top, "ya need to hold it firm, can ya do that?"

She gritted her teeth, and nodded. He took the other half of the shirt, and tied it tight, around her leg. To try and stop the blood, from flowing. This time, she cried out. Dropping the pouch, and grabbing hold of Arthur's jacket. She pressed her forehead, into his chest.

Arthur quickly grabbed the pouch, and jammed it into his satchel.

"Hang on, Princess," he whispered in her ear, as he lifted her onto his horse.

Izzy gasped, as the movement sent jolts of pain, through her shoulder and leg. Arthur, mounted up behind her, and wrapped his arm around her. Holding the arm in position, that was keeping pressure, on the lacerations, on her shoulder and chest.

Arthur swore to himself, as he galloped back to Valentine. He couldn't take her to the doctors there, and he sure as hell couldn't stitch her up himself. He only had one choice. He'd have to take her back to camp.

Izzy still semi conscious, heard Arthur whisper in her ear.

"You remember the rules, Princess, you talk to no one, you say nothing, or this pain your in now, will be nothin' , compared to what I'll do to you, understand?" He growled.

Izzy gritted her teeth, and nodded. She groaned, even the movement of her head, caused shafts of pain to ripple through her body.

Arthur sneered, the last thing he needed, was Dutch or Miss Grimshaw, asking her questions. But he didn't have a huge amount of choice. Not if he was gonna keep her alive.

As he rode up the path to the camp, he was relieved to see that Dutch's horse, The Count, wasn't hitched. That meant at least he wouldn't get questioned, as to why he was bringing a stranger in.

As he rode in, Bill Williamson yelled, "Who's there?"

He soon shut up when he saw it was Arthur, but then yelled again, when he saw a girl on the front of Arthur's horse.

"What the hell are you doin' bringing a stranger in to camp," he yelled.

"Mind your business!" Arthur snarled.

Arthur jumped off his horse, and carried Izzy across camp.

"Miss Grimshaw," he shouted, "I need your help!"

Susan Grimshaw came running over, "Mr Morgan, what the hell do you think your doing, bringing a stranger in here!"

Arthur scowled, "I ain't gotta choice, she's been attacked by wolves, she's a friend, she won't do no harm. She can stay in my tent."

Susan took a closer look, "Ahh shit, that don't look good, bring her over here then."

Susan yelled across the camp, "Miss Tilly, bring me a needle and thread, and some bandages, got a wolf bite, to attend to."

Arthur laid her on his cot.

Izzy first stared at Arthur, then at the Woman, he had called Susan. A terrified look on her face.

Susan, looked at her. "Poor thing, she looks scared to death, what's her name Mr Morgan?"

Arthur hesitated. "Her names not important, just fix her up, then I'll take her home. I'll be back soon, I've got some other business to attend to," he grunted.

Susan rolled her eyes, "what shall I tell Dutch,"

Arthur shrugged, as he walked back to his horse. He didn't really care what Susan told Dutch, right now he was gonna go and take Mrs Pickett to St. Denis, and retrieve her cache. At least that way, if the girl died, he'd have something to show for it!

Susan looked at the young girl, on Arthur's cot. She didn't look good. She started to remove her bloody clothes. Izzy tried to resist, but it only caused more shafts of pain, to sear through her body.

Susan spoke softly, in an attempt to calm the strange young woman.

"Don't struggle, my dear. We need to take this off so we can clean you up. Try not to be frightened. We'll soon have you as good as new." She whispered.

By the time, Susan had removed her shirt, Tilly had appeared with the bandages, needle and thread, and some warm water.

Susan looked at Tilly, "I think we may need some help. These wounds are deep. See if you can find, Charles and Javier. I don't think she's going to lay still, whilst we do this, whoever she is!"

Tilly nodded, and ran off to find the men.

Susan started to remove the shirt that Arthur had tied around the bite wound, in her leg. As she did, the blood started oozing out. Not wanting to waste any time, Susan, cut Izzy's trousers off. She didn't have time to struggle, with the panicked girl, whilst trying to remove them normally.

As she did, she heard her name being called.

"Susan, what the hell is going on, where's Arthur." Dutch yelled, as he walked into Arthur's tent. Closely followed by John.

Susan scowled, "Arthur, left her here, and rushed off again. He said she's a friend. Seems like she got attacked by wolves. I wasn't gonna just let her die!"

Izzy stared at the two men, now completely terrified.

John, whispered in Dutch's ear. "This has got to be her, Dutch, Arthur's other hostage!"

Dutch turned to look at John, a horrified look on his face. Then turned to look at the young woman.

"Oh Arthur," he mumbled to himself, "what have you done?"

[maglana-x]

a kind face

DESC.: Arthur Morgan helps a woman trapped under her horse, and claims a better reward than he expected.

CHARACTERS: Arthur Morgan, Alice Stanton (OC).

WARNINGS: Dubcon.

Valentine wasn’t much to look at, in Arthur’s opinion. He had never been fond of livestock towns and the stench of animal shit that lingered in the air. The people were awful and weren’t fond of outsiders, though in their defence, Arthur had beat a man to a bloody pulp on his very first trip to the town. It had been a relief when Trelawny had given them the lead on Sean MacGuire’s whereabouts; while Arthur hadn’t been keen on going anywhere near Blackwater ever again, it was good to save Sean from inevitable hanging. The bloodbath they had created in the bounty hunter’s camp was good for the stress too, Arthur thought.

“Are you coming with us, Arthur?” Javier’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Arthur saw the man climbing onto his horse as Sean talked Charles’ ear off. Wanting to spare himself from the Irishman’s endless chatter, Arthur shook his head. 

“I’m going to see what’s worth taking from here,” Arthur announced, watching Sean climb onto the back of Boaz and ramble on about the amount of stories that he had to tell. Javier had exasperation painted all over this face as he followed Charles down the trail, trying not to give Sean too much attention. Arthur whistled for Boadicea, walking over to a body laying nearby to loot the bounty hunter as the American Standardbred made its way toward him, the Buckskin coat horse whining as it halted nearby. Arthur did a quick sweep of the camp; there wasn’t much. The man decided to leave before the law or more bounty hunters showed up, he spurred his horse toward the trail to make a getaway.

Perhaps he should head toward Strawberry, he wouldn’t arrive back in camp until nightfall and he didn’t quite feel like partying with Sean. He knew there would be a party; there was always a party when something like this happened. The hotel in Strawberry wasn’t awful, it would do for a night.

“You’re alright, girl,” Arthur mumbled, brushing his horse with his hand briefly before reaching into his satchel; the man had picked up some oatcakes from the general store in Valentine earlier in the day. After all the riding they had done today alone, Boadicea deserved a treat. She ate right from his hand and he praised her more; there wasn’t much that he cared about more than his horse. Arthur almost didn’t hear the cries and calls for help nearby, and he halted Boadicea. The shouting was louder and belonged to a woman, and Arthur left the main trail to move toward the noise. On a less clear dirt track that he likely would have missed if not for the cries, Arthur came across a dead horse. It was a large shire horse, and underneath it laid a woman. She was alive, and looked relieved to see him. 

“Oh, thank the Lord! Can you help me sir?” She asked, looking up at him with sore eyes. The woman had been crying, Arthur noted. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be trapped under a horse in wolf infested woods. “My horse, poor thing, he up and died on me.” She explained the obvious situation, and Arthur sighed; he couldn’t walk away from this with a clear conscience. 

“Sure, why not.” He replied, climbing down from his horse and walking toward her. “How long have you been out here?” He questioned, watching the woman as she sat up more and helped him push the heavy beast from her leg. It was a struggle, and Arthur felt himself straining as he lifted the horse up enough for the woman to pull her leg free.

“Oh my, that’s it! I was there for hours, sir, I couldn’t quite tell you how long,” She answered, and Arthur offered the woman a hand. He pulled her to her feet, and the poor thing’s face scrunched up in pain as she stood on the injured leg. “I was terrified that wolves would find me before anyone else did, thank you sir!” She grinned, practically throwing herself at Arthur to hug him. It was odd and unwelcomed contact; he made that very clear as he tensed up. 

“Do you want a ride home, ma’am?” He offered, though honestly he would much prefer to leave her here as she seemed to be the chatty type. He had intentionally avoided it with Sean, but Sean wasn’t a lady in clear distress. The woman’s eyes lit up and Arthur already knew her answer before her big mouth opened. 

“I would really appreciate that, thank you! I knew you had a kind face!” She beamed, and Arthur mounted Boadicea without another word. He offered the woman his hand and pulled her up onto the back of his horse. He predicted it well enough, she was the chatty type. He hadn’t even reached the end of the trail to the main track before she was going on about how she had raised her horse since it was a filly.

“I live just west of Emerald Ranch, sir. I know it’s far away, but I have some money in the house as a reward.” She informed him, and Arthur felt like kicking himself. This better be some reward, he thought. At least she wouldn’t talk for the entire time, right?

**

A few hours later, Arthur couldn’t help but feel so incredibly wrong about Alice Stanton. They were halfway there, by it was dark now and too dangerous to keep riding on. There were wild animals and O’Driscoll’s around the idea, he didn’t feel like getting himself or this innocent woman killed. He had explained to her that they needed to stop and set up a camp for the night; she seemed hesitant but agreed with Arthur, assisting him as much as she could on her injured ankle. She wasn’t as useless as he had anticipated, she knew how to set up a tent at the very least. She focused on setting up Arthur’s bedroll inside as he collected wood for a campfire. 

Did she still talk the entire time? Yes, she did. Alice blabbered on about how she used to go camping with her older brothers all the time, and Arthur honestly considered gagging the woman until the morning. It wasn’t the first time he considered it, there had been a point where she got off of the horse to relieve herself and he had briefly considered leaving her there as she pissed behind a tree. She seemed to run her mouth a lot, and Arthur wondered if she could put it to better use. He rarely had thoughts about that, especially when it came to strangers, but Alice? Those painted red lips had to be good for something. He didn’t see why anyone would marry her if they couldn’t gag her on their cock to shut her up.

“... Mr Morgan? I have some ground coffee, if you want it?” She smiled, holding a tin out to him. He silently declined with a wave of his hand, returning his focus to lighting the fire. He had his own coffee and he would need it, given that Alice was going to sleep in the tent while he stayed awake. He may not have the mind of the gentleman, but he wasn’t going to show that by sleeping next to her in the tent. 

“Alright, well, if you change your mind it’ll be in my satchel.” She told him, gesturing to the bag that she had placed near the mouth of the tent. 

“Get some sleep, Miss Stanton. I want to pack up at first light.” Arthur informed her, and the woman nodded her head. At least she could take orders, he mused, watching her crawl into the tent. She didn’t secure the flaps of the tent; perhaps she thought he would join her? Arthur wasn’t so sure. He lit up the fire and sat back, deciding to document today in his journal. While she was certainly annoying, she was pretty to look at. Those lips he wanted to sew shut were plump and looked so soft, her eyes full of happiness even in such strange circumstances. He didn’t understand how she could be so happy after everything she had gone through, not only with her horse but because she was a widow. She seemed quite young, though, she couldn’t be much older than Sean but definitely younger than John. Arthur glanced toward the tent briefly, hearing the Alice’s soft snores, before returning to the portrait he had started in his journal.

As the night crawled by, Arthur had finished a rather detailed sketch of her in his journal and documented what he knew of her, and how annoying the encounter had been. He tucked his journal into his satchel again, looking around for his own tin of coffee before realising that he had run out. Of course, he sighed, he would have to take hers. Arthur was quiet as he reached into the tent, not wanting to wake the talkative woman, and retrieved her satchel. He could always put it back later, rather than dig around for her coffee at an arm’s length away from her.

Her satchel didn’t have much. Coffee, biscuits, a coin purse and photo of who Arthur could only assume was her husband -- a journal too. It was a light brown leather bound book slightly smaller but thicker than Arthur’s journal; he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t want a peek at the pages. Alice had already told him her life story, what could be in here that he didn’t know? Arthur set the satchel down between his legs as he opened the first page of her journal; a checklist of groceries to collect from the market, the date in the corner telling him that the journal was purchased or at least started only two months ago. 

Arthur flicked through the pages; she wasn’t much of an artist, he noted, but a particular page caught his attention. There was a photo between the pages of a naked woman, Arthur could tell from the face that it wasn’t Alice. On the back of the photo the name ‘Hilda O’Neil’ was written in neat cursive above a year. 1898. Arthur looked at the actual journal, reading what the woman had written. His eyes widened as the woman documented her exploits with Hilda, and the images that filled Arthur’s mind certainly weren’t unwelcomed. The woman went into detail about how she and Hilda grinded on each other, kissing like their lives depended on it. Hilda had something Alice called ‘heavenly labium’ that had shown her a ‘new realm of pure bliss’ that she had never experienced before.

Alice was a lesbian, Arthur assumed, until he tucked the photo of Hilda back into the pages and turned to the next one.

Alice must like both men and women, based on the photo of a well-endowed man named ‘Dennis Malone’ taken this year. He had heard of men who document all the women they had laid with, but this was the first time that Arthur had heard of a woman doing the same thing rather than call it disgusting. Again, the widow went into detail about her exploits. Rather than be on her knees lapping at Hilda’s cunt, Alice was bent over her kitchen table as Dennis railed her. The woman went into detail about the things that Dennis had done to her, including degrading her as she sucked his engorged shaft. Arthur was mildly relieved to know that he wasn’t alone in the fantasy of putting Alice’s mouth to better use.

As he turned the page again, he expected to see a photo of a man or woman again, but only saw more writing. She was explaining a dream -- well, a fantasy -- that she had experienced about a strong, handsome stranger. The man broke into her home in the middle of the night and pinned her to her bed, his mask pulled over his face as he ripped the nightdress from her body. She whispered ‘no’ but she meant yes, she wanted the bandit to completely ravish her. That’s just what the man did, pulling his ‘throbbing beast’ from his trousers and fucking Alice until she saw stars. Arthur read on, the fantasy only becoming more and more graphic. 

He glanced toward the tent again before unbuttoning his trousers, pulling his cock out; the outlaw was semi-hard and flipped the page, seeing another photo. With one hand wrapped around his own shaft, he examined the photo and realised that it was of Alice herself. The woman was completely nude, one hand grasping a large breast and the other spreading her labia. She looked like she was about to be fucked, or perhaps use her fingers to pleasure herself. The look of seduction on her face made Arthur groan lowly as he stroked himself; he had to have her. 

He closed the journal and left it beside her satchel, not bothering to stand and just crawl into the tent. There wasn’t much light, but in the minimal glow of the fire behind him, he could see that Alice was asleep on her side facing the wall of the tent. There was enough room for Arthur to lay behind her, and Arthur decided that he would do so after he prepared her. He lifted her skirt and petticoats with one hand, exposing the woman’s lack of drawers. Instead, the woman wore a pair of blue cotton stockings that reached just other her knees. As he lifted her skirt over her ass, he realised that she was wearing a shorter pair of split cotton and lace drawers that buttoned up at both the front and back; Arthur popped the buttons easily, pulling one half the garment down her thigh. 

His hand roamed over her asscheeks then her thighs, her skin was so soft and perfect. Arthur heard her stir, goosebumps breaking out over her skin as the cool air of the night finally reached her exposed lower body. Arthur moved his hand back to his cock, stroking to get himself fully erect; she had a fantasy and he had needs, caused largely by his own intrusion into her journal. Not waiting a moment longer, Arthur lifted her thigh up, slowly until her snatch was exposed to the cool night air. He positioned himself so that his cock rubbed against her folds; she was wet and he hadn’t even touched her yet.

“M-Mr Morgan?” Alice’s tired, trembling voice made him look at her; she was staring over her shoulder at him. He could feel her eyes on him; and Arthur shushed her quietly. “What… Why?” She questioned, her arm moving and he expected her to push him away; instead her arm held her own leg up by the knee, giving his hand better movement. His hand held his cock again, rubbing the tip along her slit and teasing over her entrance.

“Read that journal of yours,” Arthur admitted, pressing his chest against her back and moving his other arm underneath her; Alice propped herself up slightly as the head of his cock pushed into her cunt, and his hands pulled open the front of her shirt. He didn’t think about the consequences, and also tore open her camisole in order to fondle her breasts as he bucked his hips, jutting his cock deeper into her. She was wet but not quite enough, but Arthur didn’t mind too much.

“Saw that photo of ya, had to have a piece.” He mumbled, lips latching onto her neck. Alice groaned, pushing her hips back as Arthur pulled back, one hand moving down to rub her clit. “You should be glad I’m not gagging you, with the way you’ve been running your mouth all day.” Arthur stated, though he noted that she was unusually non-vocal aside from the little moans.

Perhaps this was something that Alice was heavily accustomed to? Being woken by a lover in the dead of night to fuck, perhaps she was used to needing to keep quiet during her scandalous rendezvous? It also left Arthur wondering what kind of man could pin such a harlot down in a marriage; but Alice’s sharp gasp as Arthur thrust harder and deeper into her cunt brought him back to reality. 

“Mr Morgan, if you wanted me to be quiet… You could have just asked me!” Her voice was strained as she spoke, with Arthur attempting to bury himself balls deep in her cunt, it was clearly hard to remain coherent. “I could put my mouth to better use…” She sounded so seductive; Arthur bit into her neck lightly, his teeth nipping at her skin. It drew a shuddering breath from Alice’s lips, barely a moan, barely anything. He decided to give her something to remember him by; a thing or two, perhaps. 

“Oh, Mr Morgan…” She groaned as Arthur sucked and nipped at the soft skin, her throat clearly sensitive in the best way as his mouth set about marking her. Property, at least for the night. His property. It became increasingly easier to fuck her, too. Her cunt slickening up and allowing his cock better access easier, slipping almost balls deep into her. He couldn’t help the groan that escaped him; the noise vibrating the tender skin of her neck. 

When Arthur was satisfied that her skin would bruise from his kiss, Arthur planted his hands either side of her trembling torso and began to fuck her harder; more dedicated thrusts into her snatch. It was for his pleasure alone, of course, but every groan and gasp was encouragement. It was letting him know that he was doing good; although he was simply being selfish. 

“You like that?” Arthur’s voice rumbled, low yet powerful, his eyes meeting Alice’s own as he thrust so mercilessly. Her eyes, full of pleasure, were barely open anymore. He could vividly see the glint of light reflecting in those orbs, and her soft lips parted as she moaned in ecstasy. 

“Yes,” She cried. “Yes, yes!” She repeated, and repeated again a few more times, only interrupted when Arthur’s strong palm connected with her soft asscheeks; the slap echoed lightly through the tent. His fingers dug into the skin, spreading her cheeks briefly before his hand crashed into the reddening skin once again; her gasping lost in the bliss. 

It had been so long since Arthur could spend a night with a woman like Alice, so long since he had stopped and dedicated himself to the pleasure that he so deserved. He needed his release and he knew that he wasn’t far from reaching it; the way Alice’s cunt hugged and squeezed his cock as he worked her like a whore was getting him there like a speeding train. 

“Good girl,” Arthur grunted into her ear, one hand moving to her hip and gripping her hard; it might bruise, and her whimpers were like music to his ears. “What a fine bitch you turned out to be…” He mumbled, his lips pressing against the smooth skin just under her ear; his nose buried in her beautiful hair. His grunts grew more jagged until eventually his hips just bucked wildly against hers; grinding to a halt as he blew his load deep inside of the woman below him. 

“M-Mr Morgan!” Alice gasped, she hadn’t quite expected this from him. She could feel Arthur’s hot cum inside of her; he was filling her up without a single care in the world for the consequences. She bit her lip, hands digging into his back as he emptied himself. 

“Get some rest,” Alice muttered to Arthur as he laid on her, catching his breath and regaining his senses. He rolled off of her, laying beside her; his cock softening against his thigh. Heavens, this woman was as good as she claimed to be; even when she laid there to be fucked like a piece of meat. A dark chuckle escaped him, and he used her tattered camisole to clean himself. 

“Goodnight, Miss Stanton.”

[ladyboltontoyou]

Arthur Morgan x Reader: Last Minute Savior

Ask: Hey can I do a request (Arthur x Reader) where the reader save Arthur from that mountain, and she manage tu cure him from the tb, and when he feels better they can finally have some good sex

Warning: Cursing, slight angst, smut.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

A/N: I know there wasn’t a cure for TB back then but just play along, alright? Hope you all enjoy!

If not for John, you never would have found him. He was in such a secluded area it was a wonder you did, even with his friend’s help. He was left in such a sad place. Such a sad, lonely place.

When you found him he looked like he was already gone. His face was so pale, so pale and bruised. Blood coming from his mouth and nose. He had already accepted his fate and didn’t bother struggling anymore.

“Arthur, are you still with me?” You struggled to talk as you leaned down to feel for a pulse. “Please, please tell me you’re not gone yet.”

The man weakly opened his eyes, his lips struggling to make words. You’ll never forget the look he had on his face when he saw you. The pure disbelief.

“Oh, god. Thank you.” You gasped when you saw he was still alive. “I know you haven't’ seen me in a while, but it’s for good reason.” You sniffed and reached in your satchel. “I met a doctor a few states over. They’re more advanced up there and they’ve been working on a cure.”

Even though you had a huge bag full of all sorts of medicines, it was hard not to doubt. He looked so weak. The TB was in its final stages and the possibility of the cure not working was so high.

“Micah.” He wheezed, gasping before a coughing fit gripped him.

“It’s alright. Relax. I’m gonna get you somewhere safe, alright?” You found what you were looking for and pulled the syringe out from your satchel, it was already full of the first dose. In your mind you went over the doctor's instructions as best as you could remember. She said if everything went right he would be feeling better in a few weeks, and be completely cured in thirty months.

“Hold still.” You muttered and found the spot she told you to inject, and after you emptied the syringe you put the tool back in your bag. “Good. Good. You’ll be alright, Arthur.”

***

By some goddamn miracle, he made it. He pulled through. It took a few days, but after a week he was able to talk and walk. He still had a while to go before he was feeling himself again, but so far so good.

He told you about everything that happened when you were gone. The fighting, all the deaths, the betrayal. But there was some good in it all. John and his family made it out. Mary-Beth, Sadie, all the good ones. Your heart broke when you heard about Hosea. You cried for hours.

After two months he was finally himself again. He was back to full health and it was no longer contagious. You could kiss him again.

And kiss you did.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed this.” He whispered as he let his hands roam up your naked form. His hands that were once cold and skinny were once again huge and warm. He cupped your cheek and ran his thumb along your lips, causing you to smile.

“I’ve missed you so much, Arthur.” Your voice was soft. At that moment in time you were happier than you’d ever been in your entire life. You were so damn happy you had to hold back tears.

“Thank you darlin’.” He pulled you into his lap and kissed your lips again. You’d missed those lips of his so much. They were plump and hot again, eagerly leaving kisses from your lips to your jaw, all the way down to your collarbone. “You’ve saved my life once again.”

“Let this be the last time, okay?” You smiled and reached between you to guide him inside you. It had been so long you had to take it extremely slow, even though both of you had very little patience at the moment. “Oh, god.” You whimpered as his head stretched your entrance.

Arthur hissed at the tightness and clutched onto the chair arms. You had just given him another dose of medicine and it was official that he was no longer contagious. Technically he would have been fine a month ago but he was too worried about putting you in danger that he waited an extra month, just to be sure.

“Easy, take your time.” He comforted you and helped you lower yourself onto him. “Been a while, huh girl?”

You tossed your hair out of your face and sunk down the final stretch. His head lightly touched your cervix and you felt his hips under your thighs, meaning he was completely inside you. It had been way too long. Months. Maybe even a year.

“Arthur. Oh, god, I love you. I love you so much.”

Arthur leaned up and pulled your body flush against his chest so his face was in your neck. You rested your cheek against the top of his head and relaxed as he moved your hips for you. The moment was so intimate you both felt like crying.

“I love you too, (Y/N),” Arthur said and gave your collarbone a kiss. “More than you’ll ever know.”

Once you were fully adjusted he moved your hips faster, hooking his arms under yours and grabbing hold of your shoulders so he could pull you down on him. He was so deep it felt like the two of you had become one.

“Yes, yes, please, please,” You whimpered into his hair and pulled back, looking down at him. “You’re so beautiful.” Your voice was less than a whisper. “Faster, I don’t want to wait.”

Arthur felt the exact same. It had been too long to take it slow, you had the rest of your lives to take your time but at that moment it was like your last moment together. He tightened his grip on your hips and moved you faster on him, each time he would thrust up into you and grind your body down on his to achieve the deepest and most intense feelings.

“I’m close.” He grunted and ran his right hand through your hair, his left still firmly grasping your waist. “Kiss me.”

You obliged, smashing your lips against his. His hand went back to your hips and he quickened his pace so each bounce was unintentionally in sync with your heartbeats.

His lips felt so soft and perfect against yours. You remembered when he was sick and he wouldn’t let you kiss him. They were always chapped and pale. Now they were plump and a beautiful shade of pink.

When you came it was like magic. You clenched down around him and kissed him harder, your tongues dancing together carelessly. That orgasm was the most intense one you’d ever had. For a moment, you thought you would pass out.

After you finished, he wasn’t too far behind. “I’m, oh, shit.” He breathed against your lips before giving you a gentle bite on your lower lip. He came, his orgasm causing his whole body to twitch and jerk against yours. He hadn’t had an orgasm like that in… well, he couldn’t even remember. Maybe this was the first time he came like that.

“I need to send that doctor some money.” You panted as you finished the last waves of your orgasm with your walls still twitching around his softening cock. “God, I, no, we need to visit her ourselves and personally thank her.”

Arthur nodded in agreement as he kissed your neck. “That sounds like a plan. Tomorrow morning?”

You nodded as you caught your breath. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

“Jesus. Every time I look at you I remember how damn grateful I am.” He said after admiring your post-orgasm glow. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Well, you could ask him the same damn thing. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, (Y/N). More than you’ll ever know.”

You could listen to him say that one line a thousand times and never get tired of it. 

[rainythefox]

Oh, Brother (RDR2 Fanfic CH.5/Final Chapter)

Synopsis: 1885, Illinois. A young Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur wander into a country town following a lead to swindle a wealthy homestead and break their control over the town. But while scoping it out, Arthur encounters a young John Marston, setting fate in motion that will eventually become a rocky, yet loyal brotherhood. A short multi-chapter story revolving around how Dutch, Hosea, and Arthur met John. (Rated T for violence and swearing) (Mostly Adventure/Friendship/Humor)

Ko-Fi page

AO3 Link

Chapter 5

Six months later...

"Relax."

The breath that came from John's lips was shaky. Arthur reached out and cupped a hand over the drawn revolver that quivered in John's fingers. He steadied the boy, looking down the range where the bottles sat atop the fence.

"Keep steady now. The key is to breathe in and then release it slowly and pull the trigger. Don't anticipate the kick, or you'll always miss your mark. You gotta get used to it."

Arthur stepped back, allowing John some space. John stared down the bottles with a determined gleam in his eye. He fidgeted on his feet, arm extended out with the revolver.

Arthur smacked the boy upside the head.

"Ow!"

"Steady, I said, boy!"

John focused again, letting a breath slip from his lips. He pulled the trigger. The revolver went off, a loud bang to their ears, the kickback tossing John's arms up.

All bottles remained unscathed. John growled in frustration.

"I killed a man with one of these things but now I ain't got the nerve to shoot a bottle."

Arthur chuckled. "That was luck back then. And luck's nice to have, but it ain't always gonna save you. You got plenty of nerve, kid. It's confidence you lack. Here."

Arthur picked his hat off his head and plopped it on John's head, grinding it down on his scalp and getting a small giggle out of the thin boy.

Arthur wasn't sure why, but John liked his hat, even still after running with them for six months. He never gave a reason to Arthur on why, but he guessed it didn't really matter. He'd let John wear it time to time, and it gave the boy a boost of confidence needed in his teachings.

"Now, let's try again. Spread your feet a bit further apart. There ya go. Aim with a steady hand."

Arthur fixed how John held his arms out with the gun aimed.

"Good. Now remember the breathin'. Don't anticipate the kick. Shoot that green bottle now. Go on. You can do it."

John sucked in a deep breath and released it. He pulled the trigger and the shot rang out across the valley. The green bottle shattered on the fence.

John's mouth opened wide with a grin as he jumped in victory. "Yes! I did it, did you see it, Arthur?!"

Arthur walked over and patted him on the back. "Damn kid, good shot! You keep that up, you'll be shootin' better than me."

John laughed. "I wish. There's no way I can shoot like you or Dutch. And I don't even wanna think 'bout tryin' to beat Hosea. You're the fastest I've seen with a six shooter and I saw Dutch shoot a bird out of the sky through the trees with his revolver. And Hosea hit a deer in the eye on a runnin' horse with his rifle."

Arthur took back his hat, ruffling the boy's hair. "Hosea will probably outshoot us well after he's old 'n gray."

"Probably."

Arthur nodded his head towards the grazing horses. "C'mon. I reckon we better get back to camp and skin that pronghorn or we'll be goin' hungry tonight. Besides, you got more lessons comin' up."

John groaned. "What's so important about readin' and writin' anyway?"

They mounted their horses and started back towards camp. John guided his horse to canter alongside Arthur's horse, where their freshly killed pronghorn was stowed.

The Wyoming valley extended in rolling, grassy hills around them within clusters of trees and surrounding mountains. The sun was high with not a cloud in sight, but the wind nipped hard on their skin, warning of coming winter.

Arthur took a drink out of his water canteen and passed it to John. "If Dutch and Hosea say it's important, then it's important. Ya need to be literate in the jobs we do."

"Sometimes I think that's harder than learnin' how to ride a horse or shoot a gun."

Arthur nodded with a soft laugh. "Yeah, it's hard sometimes. They taught me, same as you. I reckon if they can teach a dummy like me, then they can teach you too. I mean look at you. It didn't take long for you to learn how to ride a horse."

"I guess so…"

They rode together side by side while chatting. John could be a talkative boy and today he was full of questions. Arthur kept an eye out around them as they crossed a bridge over a low-running creek into a field of sagebrush and boulders.

His eye caught something down near the water and he quickly pulled on the reins to stop his horse. He recognized the familiar flower that bloomed there, the soft pink petals and dark anthers stood out amongst the reeds and mud.

Arthur got off his horse. He couldn't believe it. He didn't think he was far enough west yet to find one. The flower was his mother's favorite, and he remembered her telling him it brought good luck. He was so young when she passed, it was one of the few precious memories he had of her.

"What is it?" John asked.

"I'll be right back," Arthur replied, sliding down the slope into the creek bed.

Arthur wasn't surprised that John's curiosity and stubbornness got the best of him. He followed Arthur down into the creek bed on his horse. The steed nickered nervously around the reeds and muck.

"John, better not get down in this on that horse," Arthur warned.

"I'm fine."

Arthur bent down once reaching the flower. He admired it for a moment, caressing its petals. He reached down and grabbed the stem, carefully pulling it from the soil.

Just as Arthur stood his full height, he heard it. The unmistakable, nerve-shattering, dreadful noise of a vibrating rattle. He froze, looking into the reeds, but John's horse spooked. The gelding reared with a loud neigh, tossing John of its back and bolted.

John fell with a yelp into the reeds and muck. Arthur scanned the green stalks for movement, his hand hovering over his holstered revolver.

"John, don't move!"

He saw the serpent, the bend in the reeds as it slithered by in haste. Arthur drew his gun and shot it. John got up, his body and clothes now covered with muck. He flicked his hands to cast off excess mud, curling his lip in disgust.

"Ew!"

"I told you not to bring that horse down here, boy."

John spat out mud from his mouth. "Yeah, yeah."

Arthur picked up the rattlesnake, looking the limp body over. He grinned at John and his now even dirtier appearance. "Miss Grimshaw ain't gonna allow that, ya know."

"I'll wipe it off as soon as we get back, don't worry."

"Somehow, I don't think that's gonna be enough."

Arthur cut the rattle off the dead viper and extended it out towards John. John smiled and took it, testing the rattle out with a shake.

"Neat!"

"C'mon, best we get back and clean you up."

Arthur looked over the flower one last time before slipping it inside his satchel. Luckily, John's horse didn't flee far, taking comfort next to Arthur's horse. They climbed up and headed out once more.

"So, what's with the flower?"

Arthur frowned, wondering if he should tell him or not. "It was my Ma's favorite flower. One of the few things I remember 'bout her. She died when I was real young. I always pick one when we come out this way. They only grow out west."

"Oh."

Arthur glanced over at John. The boy became solemn, his eyes falling to the mane of his horse.

"What is it?"

"I never knew my Ma. S-She died havin' me. My Pa never told me much 'bout her."

Arthur understood how the poor boy felt, and sighed. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

They were quiet for several minutes. Arthur scratched his cheek, uncomfortable. He cleared his throat. "Susan's strict but she cares a lot more than she lets on. And-And Bessie, well, she's the gentlest woman I know. I've come to care for them as mothers, in their own ways. I'm sure you will too. Them two ladies would never let anyone touch a hair on your head. Bessie for sure. She has quite the soft spot for you."

John smiled. "I like Bessie a lot. She's the nicest lady I've ever met. I-I like Miss Grimshaw too. I know she cares, even when she's bein' tough on me."

Arthur chuckled. "I'd be pissin' my pants more if I saw them two comin' after me after you were hurt even over Dutch 'n Hosea. You ever see Miss Grimshaw grab a shotgun while fumin' you better hunker down, boy, 'cause things are 'bout to get ugly. Hah!"

John laughed with him. "I wouldn't doubt that! She can be scary."

They took another trail going up into the evergreen forest along a rocky ridge. The path was worn down to dirt and rocks that jutted out from the soil, so they had to slow their pace some for the horses. Camp wasn't far now.

"I overheard Hosea and Bessie talkin' a couple weeks back, not long after we got here."

"You're a nosy little bugger aren'tcha?"

"Hey, they thought everyone was sleepin' and I happened to not be. But anyways, well, it worried me a bit. Sounded like they wanted to leave us."

Arthur shot his eyes over at John from those words. "Surely, you misheard. What did ya hear?"

"Bessie asked Hosea if they would ever try again. To leave this life behind and start their own family. Hosea asked her if she wanted to, but I didn't hear an answer. I dunno if she shook her head or what. But it's what Hosea said next that confused me."

"What did he say?"

John thinned his lips, thinking back. "He said…he said there's an internal conflict within Dutch, one that he doesn't even know about. And Hosea said he has to stay by his side…to keep Dutch from feeding an inner wolf…whatever that means. That he has to guide Dutch as well as protect us. He said he fears that Dutch is becoming disillusioned with his own beliefs, but I don't know what he means."

Arthur scowled, not sure what to take from those words either. For some reason, he thought back to Dutch's behavior at the Warren homestead when they saved John from being hanged. Arthur didn't see anything wrong with what Dutch did, seeing it as an "eye for an eye" for what Mr. Warren tried to do to a young boy, for all the corruption he was behind in Hickory and Andell. But there had been a certain…burning in Dutch's eyes that Arthur had never seen before.

Arthur shrugged. "Eh, Hosea worries too much sometimes. I'm sure it's nothin'. He and Bessie tried goin' straight once and came back. The thing is…Dutch and Hosea are a package. One cannot function without the other. Like buddy-sour horses if you try and separate 'em."

"So, it's nothin' to worry 'bout?"

"Nah, 'course not."

"Oh, good."

They came upon the camp, hidden in a glade within the spruce forest and half surrounded by an overhanging cliff. The tents and wagon were stationed around the rocky opening. A campfire was smoldering near some sitting stones and a log. The horses were hitched in a grassy patch near the cliff.

The gentle rumble of a small waterfall sounded on the other side of the cliff as the water cascaded into a basin next to the camp before flowing out into a large river.

Arthur and John hitched their horses with the others and got off. Arthur took the pronghorn off his horse and carried it over to the butcher table to skin later.

He looked around camp. Bessie was washing clothes in the basin while Susan hung some sheets up to dry. Hosea and Dutch were at a table, a chessboard in between them. Both looked to be in deep thought as they considered their tactics. Dutch was black and Hosea white, but Arthur didn't understand chess too well and so was lost at who was winning.

Arthur and John had just taken off their satchels and gun holsters when Susan stamped their way with a look in her eye.

"Uh oh," John muttered.

"John Marston, look at you! You look like you've been in a pigsty!"

"Sorry Miss Grimshaw, my horse threw me on the way home. I'm goin' over to the water barrel right now."

"Oh no! That won't do. You need a bath!" Susan pointed down nearby at the basin of clear, cold water.

John's eyes went wide. "What?! No way! I'd rather be eaten by wolves!"

John slipped behind Arthur to avoid Susan's grabbing hands. Susan stepped around Arthur's back, and the two preceded to chase each other around, using Arthur as an obstacle. Arthur watched them go round and round while arguing, catching Bessie's and their leaders' attentions.

"Arthur, help me!" John cried.

"It's just a bath, you little imp!"

Arthur groaned. He reached out and grabbed John, picking the boy up off the ground easily. He started walking for the basin with John fighting his clutches.

"There's no use fightin' it, John. Let's just get this over with."

He stopped at the water's edge. The water was clear and clean, but the basin sloped fast, becoming deep and turning dark blue in the middle. There were tons of fish in the water, and a gentle ripple came from the waterfall.

"I know you don't like water, but the sooner you get clean, the sooner we can get about our business."

"It's not that!" John hollered, squirming. "I…I can't swim!"

Arthur narrowed his brows. "Whatchu mean you can't swim?"

"Just that, ya dummy! I never learned and ever since I almost drowned, I've been scared to! Now let me go!"

"I know how to fix that."

"Wha-?"

Arthur tossed John into the basin. Susan gawked, jaw going wide as the splash sounded across camp. John burst out of the surface, gasping, limbs flailing. Soon Dutch, Hosea, and Bessie ran up.

"Kick them legs and move them arms, you'll learn!" Arthur yelled.

"You're evil!"

"Arthur, what the hell are you doing?!" Dutch snapped.

"What? That's how my Pa taught me," Arthur defended.

"Your daddy wasn't exactly right in the head then!" Hosea exclaimed.

"Well, he-" Arthur started, but Dutch smacked him hard across the back of the head. "Ow, hey!"

"Get in there and get him before he drowns!"

Arthur jumped into the water and swam the short distance to John. The clean, blue water turned brown from the muck washing away from the flailing boy. Arthur reached out and snagged John, and like a prickly bur, the wild boy seized onto him and wouldn't let him go.

He got to the basin edge and was helped out by Dutch and Hosea. John clung onto Arthur's back, terrified, soaked, and shivering.

"Sorry, John. I thought it would work with you too."

They helped John down. The boy glared up at Arthur, still shivering and dripping wet. "Your pa was an evil bastard, Arthur!"

Arthur shrugged. "I mean, ya ain't wrong."

"You alright, John?" Hosea asked.

"I think…so."

Dutch sighed. "Susan, Bessie, could you please clean him up?"

"Sure, Dutch," Susan replied.

Bessie took John's hand and guided him for the wagon to clean him up and get him fresh clothes. John followed silently, leaving a dripping trail behind.

Arthur felt Dutch's and Hosea's chastising glares on him. He blinked at them. "What?! He got clean didn't he?!"

Dutch shook his head. "You just graduated to a new level of big brother."

"Try to refrain from throwing John into bodies of water in the future until we can teach him how to swim…the proper way," Hosea said.

"Alright, sure." Arthur scratched the back of his neck, looking down at his own soaked form. "Well, s'cuse me, gentlemen. I better change and get to skinnin' an animal."

The sun had disappeared beyond the western horizon, and the stars glowed like perfect orbs across a black sky. Like infinite shining jewels, they lit the sky up in a spray of brilliance. They glimmered so vibrantly, Arthur felt he could reach up and pluck one from the heavens. He admired their beauty while eating his supper. They seemed so…endless.

John sat beside him, wolfing his stew down. The boy still ate like a starved dog, and Arthur was sure the boy ate nearly double he did. He had gained a little weight since being with them, but was still a scrawny twig.

He was clean now, even his hair seemed a bit less greasy. Arthur was surprised he was even sitting next to him. John sure had been mad for Arthur throwing him into the basin.

"John, I'm…sorry for that. I didn't know that almost drownin' freaked you out that much. Ya know, when my Pa did that to me, I panicked, but…but I learned. I guess."

John wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking up at him. "It's alright. I know you meant well, even if it was really mean. But your Pa…well he weren't right in the head!"

Arthur laughed. "Not arguin' with ya there. But hey, we'll teach ya properly, whenever you're ready."

"Okay."

Dutch approached them at the campfire, a cigar curled in a finger. Hosea and Bessie played dominoes at the table while eating, and Susan read at the other end of the campfire while she ate.

"Arthur, I'm going to need you to come into town with me tomorrow."

Arthur sat his empty plate aside, nodding. "Alright, sure, Dutch. What're we doin'?"

"Meeting a man named Colm O'Driscoll. Supposed to have a good handle on any jobs out this way. We could help each other. He mostly works in California, which is where we're headed. So…could be a promising start."

"Oh, can I come, Dutch?" John asked, thrilled.

Dutch smirked, flicking the ash of his cigar into the campfire. "No, son. Not this time. It may be dangerous. I appreciate your enthusiasm though. Don't worry, you'll get to come with us soon enough."

John frowned. "Okay."

"How's your shootin' coming along?" Dutch asked him.

John glanced up at Arthur then smiled at Dutch. "Comin' along real good, Dutch. I'm gettin' better!"

"Good to hear. Say, how about you and I go out shooting when we get back from town tomorrow? I think it's my turn to give Arthur a little break anyways. I can show ya a little trick you may like."

"Really? Sure!"

Dutch chuckled, ruffling John's head. "That's my boy. Now, don't forget you have a study session with me and Hosea after supper, ya hear?"

"Oh, right. Yes sir."

"Arthur, try to get to bed at a decent time tonight. I need you well-rested for tomorrow, son."

"Don't worry 'bout me, Dutch. I'll be ready."

Dutch patted his shoulder and left the campfire. Arthur sighed and scooped up his empty plate and spoon. John handed over his empty plate as well.

"You want seconds?" Arthur asked.

John shook his head. "Nah, I better get my study over with."

"Yeah, I better get my chores done."

"Will I ever get to go with you and Dutch on jobs?"

"Well, sure. You just got to get better at shootin' and readin' and writin'. You're getting there, John. Dutch is real proud, he praises 'bout you all the time. You'll get to come with us before you know it."

"Ugh, just seems like I'll never get the hang of it."

"You will. I thought the same too. Dutch and Hosea and well…me also…we just don't want anythin' bad to happen to ya. We're just bein' protective, is all."

That got a smile out of John, and he looked grateful. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur playfully smacked the boy on the arm. "Course! Now, get over there and learn some readin'. Maybe we can play some dominoes later."

John left to go to Dutch's tent. Arthur took their plates to the wash bin and went to feed and brush the horses. Since the sun went down, the temperature dropped considerably. Arthur knew that winter was getting close, and hoped they would make it to California before the first snow.

After tending to the horses, Arthur helped Susan and Bessie with the laundry and dishes. He stopped to peak into Dutch's tent. A lantern lit the tent up, and showed Dutch sitting next to John and Hosea sitting across from them. John looked like he was mouthing something from a book.

"He's such a good kid. I'm so glad we found him," Bessie said, looking over at the tent as well. "He deserves much better than what's he had growing up."

Arthur slowly nodded. "Yeah. We all had it rough, but he…well, it ain't been easy for the boy. You can tell he ain't used to nobody carin'."

"You're right. He's sure has taken to you though. Follows you all over the camp…eager to go with you hunting or shopping."

Arthur rubbed his neck. "Yeah, well, he likes to follow Dutch around too, ya know."

Bessie giggled. "Ain't nothin' to be embarrassed about, Arthur. He looks up to you. That's always a nice thing."

Arthur softly snorted a chuckle, lowering his head. "Well, he likes you a lot, Bessie. I think…I think he may see you as a mama he ain't never had."

Bessie put a hand over her heart, a smile gracing her beautiful face. "That…That means so much to me. I'm happy to hear that."

Bessie stood up on her tip toes and kissed Arthur on the cheek. "G'night, dear. You boys be careful in town tomorrow, ya hear?"

"Yes, ma'am. G'night."

Arthur went to his tent to do some writing in his journal. He kicked his boots off and took his hat from his head. He pulled the flower from his satchel and admired it for a moment, thinking back to the blurry memories of his mother. He placed the flower in a jar and sat it to the side by his bag and weapons and his pictures.

John's writing and reading lesson went on longer than Arthur thought it would, and so by the time he was done scribbling in his journal, John finally appeared and crawled into the tent with him. Arthur wasn't surprised. The boy had his own tent now, but there were many nights that he slept with Arthur in his tent. It annoyed Arthur at first, but he had come accustomed to it and didn't gripe about it…too much.

"How'd it go?" Arthur asked, shading the sketch he drew of his Ma's flower.

"Good, I s'pose. Went on longer than usual. We didn't even get to play a game."

"Maybe tomorrow then."

"You draw really good."

Arthur pulled the journal closer to him so John couldn't see. "Don't be peekin'. This is for my eyes only."

"Dutch has a similar journal. He has some drawings in there, but not as much as yours. He writes real fancy though. Maybe one day I'll be able to read what it says."

Arthur heaved a sigh. "You ain't supposed to read or go through other people's things. It's rude and wrong. Better not let Dutch catch ya doin' that, or he may tan your hide."

"Ain't that what we do though? We go through folks' things and steal them?"

Arthur snorted. "Gotta point there. I meant your friends' things."

"Do they always stay up late talkin'?" John asked, looking out of the tent.

Arthur followed his gaze out of the tent and across the way. Hosea and Dutch sat at the table, both peering at the stars as they smoked on cigars. Hosea pointed at something in the sky while talking, but Arthur couldn't make the words out.

"Most nights, yeah."

"What do they talk about?"

Arthur grumbled. "I dunno. Life, philosophy, their dreams. All kinds of things."

"Must be nice to have a friend that you can do that with. To have all your trust in, to care for you and have your back. That you can tell all your hopes and fears to and-and know they will do anythin' for you."

Arthur closed his eyes, releasing a quiet breath. He reached over and grabbed his hat. He placed it on John's head. John smiled, his eyes tearing away from Dutch and Hosea to look up at Arthur.

"You have that right here. We all got your back, kid. We all care about you, and will never let anything like what happened back at that homestead ever happen to you again. You need someone to confide in…we're here."

John's cheeks flushed, but he looked so happy as he reached up at felt Arthur's hat. "Thanks…Arthur. I…I never thought I would find a place I could belong."

"Well, now you have."

"I promise, I will learn and become strong like you and will return it...I'll be loyal and strong and do anything in my power to help and protect you folks. I care 'bout all y'all very much."

Arthur chuckled. "Alright, alright. No need to get all emotional. I get ya and I have no doubt in it. Now, c'mon, let's get some shut eye. We got a long day tomorrow."

Arthur laid on his pallet and fluffed his pillow. He sat his journal aside by his satchel. John got comfortable on the other side of the tent on his own pallet, still keeping Arthur's hat on his head.

"Why do you like my hat so much anyways?" Arthur asked as he snuffed out the lantern.

"I don't really know. When I first saw you in Hickory, I just thought it was neat looking, and wanted it. But now…I think it's 'cause it's yours, and it makes you look like one of them legends or heroes you hear in them wild west tales. And when I wear it…I feel like maybe I can be like you one day. Brave, and strong, and loyal. That I can be a good man."

"Not sure if I'm any good. What we do ain't good. But you'll be a man one day. I plan to give that hat to my son, if I ever have kids that is. But who knows…maybe one day, I'll give it to you instead."

"I always wondered what it would be like."

Arthur glanced over John's way, but couldn't see him in the dark. Only the dancing of flames shimmered within the tent.

"Wondered what?"

"What it would be like to have a brother."

Arthur softly smiled. "Me too."

[chiseler]

The World's Unfair

It's Sunday, April 30, 1939. The New York World's Fair is opening today at Flushing Meadows in Queens. Mayor La Guardia is there to give a speech, and Albert Einstein, and President Franklin Roosevelt. Roosevelt's speech is televised, making him the first president ever seen on tv. A single NBC camera shoots him for an estimated audience of 1,000 viewers in a 50-mile radius.

The fair's organizers, a consortium of businessmen and political operatives who conceived the fair back in 1936 when the Depression was still grinding on, predicted a crowd of one million. But it's a blustery, rainy day, and the wet crowd is at best half that – some say no more than 200,000. The damp speakers crackle as Einstein gives his speech in the evening. When he pulls a switch the whole fairground is supposed to be lit up. Instead, the generators overload and throw the whole fair into a blackout.

As James Mauro noted in Twilight at the World of Tomorrow, it's hard not to see this as a bad omen. The 1939 World's Fair, with its wonderful Perisphere and Trylon and all its soaring streamline pavilions, celebrated the World of Tomorrow, just as the world of today was falling apart all around it.

Of the 60 nations that originally signed up to participate in the fair, three were missing when it opened. Two had recently disappeared as independent states: Hitler had annexed Austria in March of 1938, then, just six weeks before the fair opened, invaded and conquered Czechoslovakia. Germany itself had originally signed up for the fair, but withdrew, at least partly because of harsh and relentless criticism from Mayor La Guardia, who from early on had railed against Hitler as a "perverted maniac" and "brown-shirted fanatic."

On September 1, Germany invaded Poland. Poland closed its pavilion and draped it in black cloth. The English poet W. H. Auden, who had moved to New York the previous January, marked the event with a bleak poem. Simply titled “September 1, 1939,” it begins:

I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-second Street

Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire

Of a low dishonest decade

On September 3, two other fair participants, England and France, declared war on Germany, and World War II began. Two weeks later Soviet troops also entered Poland.

The Soviet Union had been the first country to sign up for the fair, and had erected one of the most impressive, popular, and eventually controversial pavilions at the fair. The main building was a mammoth horseshoe shape. Spiking up from the middle of it was a 188-foot tower, and posed on top of that was a 79-foot sculpture of a heroic worker, holding aloft a huge, illuminated red star. The press called him Joe the Worker.

Despite some protests that it was Communist propaganda on a grand scale, the pavilion was one of the most visited in the summer of 1939. But now that the Soviets were in league with Hitler and had joined in carving up Poland, the USSR’s reputation among Americans plummeted. The Soviets would quietly dismantle their pavilion over the coming winter and haul it away.

When the fair shut down in October, the peaceful, orderly future it had so boldly and beautifully envisioned now looked less like a forecast than a forlorn hope. The following April, 1940, a month before the fair was scheduled to reopen for a second season, the Nazi blitzkrieg began devouring western Europe. Ten nations — half of the original European contingent — did not reopen their pavilions in 1940, most because they were now in Nazi hands. (Finland, overrun by the Soviets that winter, was among them.) That July, the Luftwaffe began making bombing runs over England to soften it up for invasion. That same month,

on the 4th of July, a satchel filled with dynamite found in the fair's British pavilion detonated, killing two bomb squad detectives and severely injuring five others. Many German nationals in New York City were rounded up and grilled, but no one was ever charged.

At the end of October, 1940, the fair that had opened predicting a world of peace and prosperity limped to a demoralized close in a world at war. The Parachute Jump and some other amusements went to Coney Island. Most of the rest was immediately torn down, until only the New York City pavilion remained, to be converted to an ice rink.

After the war, the abandoned fairground would become a world focal point again. In 1946, while the new United Nations was debating where to build its permanent headquarters, it desperately needed an appropriate venue for the General Assembly to begin work. Robert Moses lured them to Flushing Meadows by quickly reconverting the New York City pavilion from an ice rink to a handsome meeting hall. He hoped the UN would decide to build its permanent home there, but a Trumpian developer named William Zeckendorf (who had previously dreamed of converting the west side of Manhattan into a giant elevated airport) sold the organization on Manhattan's Turtle Bay neighborhood instead.

Moses would get his consolation prize when the second New York World's Fair opened at Flushing Meadows in 1964. The New York City pavilion was reconverted yet again. Not only the last building left from the 1939 fair but certainly the most useful, it has been the home of the Queens Museum since the 1970s.

by John Strausbaugh

Excerpted from Victory City: A History of New York and New Yorkers During World War II

[naturexsoul-blog]

Angels to the Rescue

Just yesterday I was hanging out with a companion of mine and we started sharing individual stories from our childhood (we're both more than 40). Has this at any point occurred with you? The environment is correct and the sharing starts... also, proceeds for whatever length of time that important until the point when the association is fixed in time for eternity. It's a great ordeal, both discharging and recuperating in the meantime.

Anyway, she let me know in awesome detail a story that was both unfortunate and elevating in the meantime. Her words depicted the involvement in such detail that I believed I was with her amid the occurrence, watching it occur before my eyes. The story moved me to motivation.

So here I sit today, New Year's Eve, 2010, retelling it to you with expectations of drenching your feelings of trepidation of death and eternal life, and, in addition, imparting inside you a profound energy for life on earth as you most likely are aware it. Our souls may live everlastingly, however this lifetime will in the end arrive at an end as we move into existence in the wake of death.

As we enter 2011 we have new chances to make delight inside every minute. On the off chance that this sounds charming to you at that point please read on for a tale about supernatural occurrences and confidence. My companion, Ronda, lived and worked in Miami Lakes, Florida in the late 80's. She was hitched to John at the time and bringing up their little child, Jonathan. Their marriage was tumultuous and accordingly, Ronda had unintentionally lost so much weight that she was a size 0. This winds up plainly imperative as the story proceeds.

The day Ronda experienced a wonder past all marvels throughout her life started as a commonplace day for her. At 8:15 in the morning she dropped her child at his childcare and started exploring through interstate activity on her way to a prospective employee meeting. The prior night she worked late into the night refreshing and invigorating her resume. They had as of late moved to Florida from Louisiana where they both had worked for J.S.M.

She as of now had one occupation in TV coordinating, however she needed another to give her full-time salary with the goal that she could keep on living the sort of way of life she had turned out to be acclimated to living while at the same time working for Jimmy. This kind of work is serious and requesting, which could have just added to her general mental anxiety level.

Activity was moving yet congested due to endless development on the 4 path roadway going south. She murmured and sang so anyone can hear to the tunes on the radio in her fresh out of the box new 1989 silver Lincoln Ltd, not knowing the unbelievable and loathsome experience she was persevere. The interstate roadway was stacked with activity because of development and as Ronda moved to another lane, she accidentally kept running into some solid hindrances at a speed of no less than 55 mph. This sent her auto flipping wild, off the interstate, and down a long bank before at last grinding to a halt. It probably resembled an insane trick auto like we find in the films, however it wasn't. It was genuine.

Ronda said it happened so quick that all she saw was a scratching sound and after that when she opened her eyes whatever she could see was white. "Where am I?" Ronda asked to herself. No answer.

As she took a couple of full breaths, she understood that she was inside her auto, which was topsy turvy, and she was still strapped in her safety belt. When she endeavored to open herself, nothing happened. At that point she understood that her auto was in some sort of a discard utilized for development and water was spilling inside.

"What do I do? It would be ideal if you help me!" she argued, now acknowledging she needed to escape the auto... furthermore, soon...

"Attempt to turn your shoulders and bend your body," she got notification from a voice outside of herself however by one means or another inside also. When she attempted this thought, by one means or another knowing precisely which approach to move, it worked and out of the blue she fell onto within rooftop, misshaped and befuddled. She endeavored to open the auto entryway and it didn't move in light of the fact that the compel of the water against it was excessively solid. When she wound up pondering where her attaché was on account of it had her new resume in it, it came coasting up to her alongside her handbag.

"Gracious, that is a help," she thought, not understanding how ludicrous it was. "Yet, how would I get out?" she asked once more, planning to hear the saintly voice once more.

"You will know in 90 seconds," an alternate voice said.

"What?" Ronda thought.

"Ronda," the saintly voice stated, "Would you like to live incredible? Whichever way you will be okay."

At that point decisively, Ronda answered, "I need to live. Kindly help me." By now she is hearing sirens drawing nearer and the hugeness of her circumstance is beginning to soak in. Glub, glub, glub was the sound of the water as it was currently leaking substantially speedier into her auto. Before she could request more help she listened, "45 seconds," from the second voice.

"What is this? A heavenly attendant that monitors time?" she thought, feeling disappointed that time was moving so gradually and she was as yet stuck in her suffocating auto.

At that point she could hear the voices of the crisis group drawing nearer to her auto. They were stating that they couldn't see the traveler so she called out,"I'm here. I'm here. If you don't mind offer assistance."

"Ronda, you should move to the secondary lounge of the auto," the voice summoned. "You should do it rapidly." She rushed, realizing that the 45 seconds wouldn't keep going forever and that something awful could happen on the off chance that she didn't comply.

When she got to the back seat, she was told to put her feet in specific positions. She had a feeling that she was not inside her body, rather, she was watching herself from outside as though her body was a manikin. "Presently, when we give the order you should push energetically on the back window," the voice said.

"The water is no less than 12' profound," one of the fire fighters said. The sound of the rescuers was getting nearer, however Ronda had no clue how far away they truly were. She was all alone. All alone, that is, with the exception of the blessed messengers that were helping her and sparing her life.

"Also, it is essential that when you push you don't take in the meantime, Ronda. Push as you inhale out," the voice said. At that point before she could ponder what to do next, she listened,

"Alright, Ronda, Push!" This time the voice talked in a tone so uproarious that it vibrated through her whole body and gave her quality. As she pushed the whole back window of her auto flew off easily. And after that the white shaded water hurried into her face and body, pushing her cockeyed and down.

"No big surprise I should breathe in," she thought as she snatched her folder case and satchel and advanced out of the auto into an immense lake of thick limestone buildup. As she left the auto, she heard what more likely than not been a cop requesting a detail of the mishap. "I saw it," she heard another voice say. "Her auto more likely than not moved no less than 20 times."

The thickness of the limestone muck that Ronda was swimming through was of no worry to her. She knew security was under 20' away on the inclined banks and she would arrive no matter what happens. She likewise realized that she was a decent swimmer, and in spite of the fact that she had some neck and back agony this would have been a considerable measure simpler than being stuck in that sinking auto. It appeared as though it was taking perpetually, and afterward her prepare of focus was broken by the sound of chuckling.

"She's good," one of the team hollered, "on the grounds that I can see she has her tote and her concise case with her." Ronda had totally overlooked that she had these fundamental to life things as she gripped onto them for dear life. At the onset of her drudgery she had understood that her shoes were backing her off so off they came, yet not the sacks.

After what appeared like a hour of swimming in the sludge, Ronda made it to shore where she was helped starting here on by save laborers of the mankind. She was raced to the healing center by rescue vehicle and her wounds to the neck and back were dealt with on an outpatient level. She was not admitted to the doctor's facility! A little while later, Ronda went to the destroying yard to recoup the enlistment from the auto with John. She was so totally crushed when she saw the unrecognizable, destroyed auto that she separated in tears. She couldn't trust that she was as yet alive, but then in the meantime she could trust it since she had been asked and she recollected that she was sure she would live.

"It was no happenstance that I lived," Ronda let me know. "I have imperative mending work to accomplish for our planet."

In the time in the wake of review her auto, she comprehended that numerous synchronicities had happened on that day:

Synchronicity #1: She wouldn't have survived the force of the crash if not for the security of her blessed messengers.

Synchronicity #2: She additionally realized that she wouldn't have possessed the capacity to squirm out of the safety belt in the event that she were not all that little.

Synchronicity #3. Also, she realized that she was separated from everyone else in the auto when the mishap happened on the grounds that she wouldn't have possessed the capacity to spare both her self and her baby child.

[trendingnewsb]

100 Motivational Quotes To Bring Your Spirits Up

Let’s imagine that there is a car on the road. This car keep going all the time until one day it uses up all of its fuel. In fact, we, human, are like cars. If we keep working and running on our route everyday without giving ourselves fuel, we will be tired easily. It is important to fuel our life. Here are the 100 motivational quotes for you to fuel yourself and keep your life moving!

The key to life when it gets tough is to keep moving. Just keep moving.

Credit: Tyler Perry

Keep Smiling And one day life will get tired of upsetting you

DON’T LET PEOPLE’S COMPLIMENTS GET TO YOUR HEAD AND DON’T LET THEIR CRITICISM GET YOUR HEART

You can’t get unfamous. You can get infamous but you can’t get unfamous.

Credit: Dave Chappelle

Stages are getting higher and higher, and I’m getting older and older.

Credit: Iggy Pop

You’ve got to be honest; if you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

Credit: George Burns

When a gust of wind hits a broken bone, you feel it.

Credit: Shia LaBeouf

I wouldn’t support Limp Bizkit being on some snuff backyard brawling, fighting contest.

Credit: Fred Durst

Fun is like life insurance; the older you get, the more it costs.

Credit: Kin Hubbard

Freedom is just another word: It seems to get truer the older I get.

Credit: Kris Kristofferson

Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well

KEEP CALM AND RIDE ON

When your arm gets hit, the ball is not going to go where you want it to.

Credit: John Madden

It’s just really hard to work and get better, building and planning for the future with the new Monte Carlo and keeping the race team intact and keeping them healthy.

Credit: Dale Earnhardt

When I go to the press conference before the game, in my mind the game has already started.

Credit: Jose Mourinho

In the sports arena I would say there is nothing like training and preparation. You have to train your mind as much as your body.

Credit: Venus Williams

I let people see the cracks in my life. We can’t be phony. We’ve got to keep it real.

Credit: Charles R. Swindoll

Life is a game. Money is how we keep score.

Credit: Ted Turner

Meditation makes the entire nervous system go into a field of coherence.

Credit: Deepak Chopra

Money was never a big motivation for me, except as a way to keep score. The real excitement is playing the game.

Credit: Donald Trump

Money is like an arm or leg – use it or lose it.

Credit: Henry Ford

LIFE IS LIKE A ROLLER COASTER. LIVE IT BE HAPPY ENJOY LIFE

When you visualize, then you materialize. If you’ve been there in he mind you’ll go there in the body.

Credit: Dr Denis Waitley

A buddy will keep you honest and add a dimension of fun to your workout.

Credit: Bill Toomey

I like sports, and I enjoy playing basketball and lifting weights.

Credit: Joel Osteen

I ain’t the same person I was when I bit that guy’s ear off.

Credit: Mike Tyson

When we first sold the Wallace and Gromit shorts to America, people suggested we get rid of the strange British accents and put clear American voices on them, and we held out.

Credit: Nick Park

Set the gearshift for the high gear of your soul, you’ve got to run like an antelope out of control!

Credit: Trey Anastasio

Some of today’s athletes do not have that kind of pride. They left school at 16, have never had a job in their life and are getting Lottery funding, earning money as an athlete.

Credit: Linford Christie

Get busy living, or get busy dying.

Credit: Stephen King

Caught between a strong mind, and a fragile heart.

One disco, one soft ball game, one lost love, one gay pride rally at a time.

Credit: Jasmine Guy

To me, cricket is a simple game. Keep it simple and just go out and play.

Credit: Shane Warne

There is no such thing as natural touch. Touch is something you create by hitting millions of golf balls.

Credit: Lee Trevino

you can still be dead With a beating heart and a pounding chest.

People work for a living. They got families to raise. Their lives are tough.

Credit: Ann Richards

I have a temper on me that could hold back tides.

Credit: Shirley Manson

If I cut you off, chances are, you handed me the SCISSors.

The older you get the more capable you get at managing life.

Credit: Rachel Weisz

You don’t have to swing hard to hit a home run. If you got the timing, it’ll go.

Credit: Yogi Berra

MOTIVATION IS WHAT GETS YOU STARTED. HABIT IS WHAT KEEPS YOU GOING.

Credit: Best MothalnomalQuotesinto

A horse never runs so fast as when he has other horses to catch up and outpace.

Credit: Ovid

DO NOT GET UPSET WITH PEOPLE OR SITUATIONS, BOTH ARE POWERLESS WITHOUT YOUR REACTION

It frustrates SS me that I have all these words inside of me that you will never get to hear.

Credit: Silence

Don’t let ambition get so far ahead that it loses sight of the job at hand.

Credit: William Feather

In sports, teams win and individuals don’t.

Credit: Fran Tarkenton

Don’t shed any tears for me. I got to live a dream most people don’t get to live.

Credit: Tony Dungy

My pitching philosophy is simple – keep the ball way from the bat.

Credit: Satchel Paige

Keeping score is for games, not friendships.

Credit: John C. Maxwell

As you get older, time speeds up but life slows down.

Credit: John C. Maxwell

The secret to getting ahead is getting started.

Credit: Mark Twain

The fact is I don’t drive just to get from A to B. I enjoy feeling the car’s reactions, becoming part of it.

Credit: Enzo Ferrari

My motto is, you have to get in a sport a day.

Credit: Paul Walker

I was hoping he would get up so I could hit him again and keep him down.

Credit: Mike Tyson

I’ve been lucky to work with people that I like most of the time. If I don’t like them, I’ll play head games with them to get their minds spinning.

Credit: Vince Vaughn

I couldn’t beat people with my strength; I don’t have a hard shot; I’m not the quickest skater in the league. My eyes and my mind have to do most of the work.

Credit: Wayne Gretzky

Baseball was one-hundred percent of my life.

Credit: Ty Cobb

You’ve got to have dreams to keep you going.

Credit: Steve Waugh

Be sure to taste your words before you spit them out.

KEEP QUIET, I M PINNING

Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.

Credit: BestMolivattonalQuotesinAo

KEEP SMILING AND ONE DAY LIFE WILL GET TIRED OF UPSETTING YOU pure happy

In motivating people, you’ve got to engage their minds and their hearts. I motivate people, I hope, by example – and perhaps by excitement, by having productive ideas to make others feel involved.

Credit: Rupert Murdoch

People like to tear you down. People are always going to take shots. You’ve just got to go for it.

Credit: Joan Jett

It’s not life or death it’s a game and at the end of the game there is going to be a winner and a loser.

Credit: Bernhard Langer

I’m motivated by creating a level playing field for the world so that the weak have a chance.

Credit: Iqbal Quadir

A team takes on the personality of the head coach.

Credit: Ricky Williams

If the heavens throw you dates, you got to keep your mouth open.

Credit: Navjot Singh Sidhu

There’s a possibility in life in being OUT OF YOUR MIND JOYFUL Ali MacGraw SuPer OWN SOuL PRAH WINFREY NETWORK

Money cannot buy peace of mind. It cannot heal ruptured relationships, or build meaning into a life that has none. Richard M.

Credit: DeVos ll Quoteistan.com

Life is like a roller coaster It has its ups and downs. But it’s your choice to scream or enjo the ride.

Credit: DTag-pictures.com

The thing that drives most coaches out of coaching in college is they get tired of the grind of recruiting.

Credit: Bobby Bowden

It’s a mistake, when life hands you a tough lesson, to think that you can get back at life by not learning it Robert

I disagree with people who think you learn more from getting beat up than you do from winning.

Credit: Tom Cruise

I like almonds as a snack – keeps your energy up but doesn’t fill you up.

Credit: Ina Garten

I’ve told the guys to keep their heads up. I really believe we played a great game here.

Credit: Ricky Ponting

The reason sport is attractive to many of the general public is that it’s filled with reversals. What you think may happen doesn’t happen. A champion is beaten, an unknown becomes a champion.

Credit: Roger Bannister

My mind. wanders and I get lost in thoughts of you Curia no Comm

I can’t seem to get the thought of you and me being together Out of my head.

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.

Credit: Albert Einstein

Only fools let compliments get to their head and criticism get to their heart Curia no.

Credit: Comm

As for our great King, when we venture into His presence, let us have a purpose there. Let us beware of playing at praying; it is insolence toward God.

Credit: Charles Spurgeon

The dread of lonliness is greater than the fear of bondage, so we get married.

Credit: Cyril Connolly

I go out there and get my eyes gouged, my nose busted, my body slammed. I love the pain of the game.

Credit: Dennis Rodman

It takes more than just a good looking body. You’ve got to have the heart and soul to go with it.

Credit: Lee Haney

More enduringly than any other sport, wrestling teaches self-control and pride. Some have wrestled without great skill – none have wrestled without pride.

Credit: Dan Gable

Laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh and suffer, or you got your beans or brains on the ceiling.

Credit: Wavy Gravy

With the sax, I learned technique well enough so that it feels like part of my body, and I just express myself. That’s where I want to get in golf.

Credit: Kenny G

I like silence; I’m a gregarious loner and without the solitude, I lose my gregariousness.

Credit: Karen Armstrong

I know of people who don’t believe it, but depression is an illness, but unlike, say, a broken leg, you don’t know when it’ll get better.

Credit: Marian Keyes

Instead of thinking Outside the box, get rid of the box Deepak Chopra

I enjoy now doing what I do… playing golf, relaxing a little, enjoying life.

Credit: Yogi Berra

I’ve got big shoes to fill. This is my chance to do something. I have to seize the moment.

Credit: Andrew Jackson

The cost of living is going up and the Chance of living is going down.

Credit: Flip Wilson meetvile.com

You’ve got to keep fighting – you’ve got to risk your life every six months to stay alive.

Credit: Elia Kazan

KEEP SMILING AND ONE DAY LIFE WILL GET TIRED OF UPSETTING YOU

KEEP YOUR EYES FOCUSED ON YOUR LONG TERM GO ALS EVEN IF YOU MAKE A MISTAKE GET BACK ON TRACK AND KEEP MOVING

You find that you have peace of mind and can enjoy yourself, get more sleep, and rest when you know that it was a one hundred percent effort that you gave – win or lose.

Credit: Gordie Howe

You only get one chance at your life so why not jump cars?

Credit: Dax Shepard

To get to be somebody who gets to love what they do for a living, that’s so rare, and so there must be some kind of price you have to pay.

Credit: Ethan Hawke

The post 100 Motivational Quotes To Bring Your Spirits Up appeared first on Lifehack.

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100 Motivational Quotes To Bring Your Spirits Up

Let’s imagine that there is a car on the road. This car keep going all the time until one day it uses up all of its fuel. In fact, we, human, are like cars. If we keep working and running on our route everyday without giving ourselves fuel, we will be tired easily. It is important to fuel our life. Here are the 100 motivational quotes for you to fuel yourself and keep your life moving!

The key to life when it gets tough is to keep moving. Just keep moving.

Credit: Tyler Perry

Keep Smiling And one day life will get tired of upsetting you

DON’T LET PEOPLE’S COMPLIMENTS GET TO YOUR HEAD AND DON’T LET THEIR CRITICISM GET YOUR HEART

You can’t get unfamous. You can get infamous but you can’t get unfamous.

Credit: Dave Chappelle

Stages are getting higher and higher, and I’m getting older and older.

Credit: Iggy Pop

You’ve got to be honest; if you can fake that, you’ve got it made.

Credit: George Burns

When a gust of wind hits a broken bone, you feel it.

Credit: Shia LaBeouf

I wouldn’t support Limp Bizkit being on some snuff backyard brawling, fighting contest.

Credit: Fred Durst

Fun is like life insurance; the older you get, the more it costs.

Credit: Kin Hubbard

Freedom is just another word: It seems to get truer the older I get.

Credit: Kris Kristofferson

Life is not a matter of holding good cards, but of playing a poor hand well

KEEP CALM AND RIDE ON

When your arm gets hit, the ball is not going to go where you want it to.

Credit: John Madden

It’s just really hard to work and get better, building and planning for the future with the new Monte Carlo and keeping the race team intact and keeping them healthy.

Credit: Dale Earnhardt

When I go to the press conference before the game, in my mind the game has already started.

Credit: Jose Mourinho

In the sports arena I would say there is nothing like training and preparation. You have to train your mind as much as your body.

Credit: Venus Williams

I let people see the cracks in my life. We can’t be phony. We’ve got to keep it real.

Credit: Charles R. Swindoll

Life is a game. Money is how we keep score.

Credit: Ted Turner

Meditation makes the entire nervous system go into a field of coherence.

Credit: Deepak Chopra

Money was never a big motivation for me, except as a way to keep score. The real excitement is playing the game.

Credit: Donald Trump

Money is like an arm or leg – use it or lose it.

Credit: Henry Ford

LIFE IS LIKE A ROLLER COASTER. LIVE IT BE HAPPY ENJOY LIFE

When you visualize, then you materialize. If you’ve been there in he mind you’ll go there in the body.

Credit: Dr Denis Waitley

A buddy will keep you honest and add a dimension of fun to your workout.

Credit: Bill Toomey

I like sports, and I enjoy playing basketball and lifting weights.

Credit: Joel Osteen

I ain’t the same person I was when I bit that guy’s ear off.

Credit: Mike Tyson

When we first sold the Wallace and Gromit shorts to America, people suggested we get rid of the strange British accents and put clear American voices on them, and we held out.

Credit: Nick Park

Set the gearshift for the high gear of your soul, you’ve got to run like an antelope out of control!

Credit: Trey Anastasio

Some of today’s athletes do not have that kind of pride. They left school at 16, have never had a job in their life and are getting Lottery funding, earning money as an athlete.

Credit: Linford Christie

Get busy living, or get busy dying.

Credit: Stephen King

Caught between a strong mind, and a fragile heart.

One disco, one soft ball game, one lost love, one gay pride rally at a time.

Credit: Jasmine Guy

To me, cricket is a simple game. Keep it simple and just go out and play.

Credit: Shane Warne

There is no such thing as natural touch. Touch is something you create by hitting millions of golf balls.

Credit: Lee Trevino

you can still be dead With a beating heart and a pounding chest.

People work for a living. They got families to raise. Their lives are tough.

Credit: Ann Richards

I have a temper on me that could hold back tides.

Credit: Shirley Manson

If I cut you off, chances are, you handed me the SCISSors.

The older you get the more capable you get at managing life.

Credit: Rachel Weisz

You don’t have to swing hard to hit a home run. If you got the timing, it’ll go.

Credit: Yogi Berra

MOTIVATION IS WHAT GETS YOU STARTED. HABIT IS WHAT KEEPS YOU GOING.

Credit: Best MothalnomalQuotesinto

A horse never runs so fast as when he has other horses to catch up and outpace.

Credit: Ovid

DO NOT GET UPSET WITH PEOPLE OR SITUATIONS, BOTH ARE POWERLESS WITHOUT YOUR REACTION

It frustrates SS me that I have all these words inside of me that you will never get to hear.

Credit: Silence

Don’t let ambition get so far ahead that it loses sight of the job at hand.

Credit: William Feather

In sports, teams win and individuals don’t.

Credit: Fran Tarkenton

Don’t shed any tears for me. I got to live a dream most people don’t get to live.

Credit: Tony Dungy

My pitching philosophy is simple – keep the ball way from the bat.

Credit: Satchel Paige

Keeping score is for games, not friendships.

Credit: John C. Maxwell

As you get older, time speeds up but life slows down.

Credit: John C. Maxwell

The secret to getting ahead is getting started.

Credit: Mark Twain

The fact is I don’t drive just to get from A to B. I enjoy feeling the car’s reactions, becoming part of it.

Credit: Enzo Ferrari

My motto is, you have to get in a sport a day.

Credit: Paul Walker

I was hoping he would get up so I could hit him again and keep him down.

Credit: Mike Tyson

I’ve been lucky to work with people that I like most of the time. If I don’t like them, I’ll play head games with them to get their minds spinning.

Credit: Vince Vaughn

I couldn’t beat people with my strength; I don’t have a hard shot; I’m not the quickest skater in the league. My eyes and my mind have to do most of the work.

Credit: Wayne Gretzky

Baseball was one-hundred percent of my life.

Credit: Ty Cobb

You’ve got to have dreams to keep you going.

Credit: Steve Waugh

Be sure to taste your words before you spit them out.

KEEP QUIET, I M PINNING

Motivation is what gets you started. Habit is what keeps you going.

Credit: BestMolivattonalQuotesinAo

KEEP SMILING AND ONE DAY LIFE WILL GET TIRED OF UPSETTING YOU pure happy

In motivating people, you’ve got to engage their minds and their hearts. I motivate people, I hope, by example – and perhaps by excitement, by having productive ideas to make others feel involved.

Credit: Rupert Murdoch

People like to tear you down. People are always going to take shots. You’ve just got to go for it.

Credit: Joan Jett

It’s not life or death it’s a game and at the end of the game there is going to be a winner and a loser.

Credit: Bernhard Langer

I’m motivated by creating a level playing field for the world so that the weak have a chance.

Credit: Iqbal Quadir

A team takes on the personality of the head coach.

Credit: Ricky Williams

If the heavens throw you dates, you got to keep your mouth open.

Credit: Navjot Singh Sidhu

There’s a possibility in life in being OUT OF YOUR MIND JOYFUL Ali MacGraw SuPer OWN SOuL PRAH WINFREY NETWORK

Money cannot buy peace of mind. It cannot heal ruptured relationships, or build meaning into a life that has none. Richard M.

Credit: DeVos ll Quoteistan.com

Life is like a roller coaster It has its ups and downs. But it’s your choice to scream or enjo the ride.

Credit: DTag-pictures.com

The thing that drives most coaches out of coaching in college is they get tired of the grind of recruiting.

Credit: Bobby Bowden

It’s a mistake, when life hands you a tough lesson, to think that you can get back at life by not learning it Robert

I disagree with people who think you learn more from getting beat up than you do from winning.

Credit: Tom Cruise

I like almonds as a snack – keeps your energy up but doesn’t fill you up.

Credit: Ina Garten

I’ve told the guys to keep their heads up. I really believe we played a great game here.

Credit: Ricky Ponting

The reason sport is attractive to many of the general public is that it’s filled with reversals. What you think may happen doesn’t happen. A champion is beaten, an unknown becomes a champion.

Credit: Roger Bannister

My mind. wanders and I get lost in thoughts of you Curia no Comm

I can’t seem to get the thought of you and me being together Out of my head.

Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving.

Credit: Albert Einstein

Only fools let compliments get to their head and criticism get to their heart Curia no.

Credit: Comm

As for our great King, when we venture into His presence, let us have a purpose there. Let us beware of playing at praying; it is insolence toward God.

Credit: Charles Spurgeon

The dread of lonliness is greater than the fear of bondage, so we get married.

Credit: Cyril Connolly

I go out there and get my eyes gouged, my nose busted, my body slammed. I love the pain of the game.

Credit: Dennis Rodman

It takes more than just a good looking body. You’ve got to have the heart and soul to go with it.

Credit: Lee Haney

More enduringly than any other sport, wrestling teaches self-control and pride. Some have wrestled without great skill – none have wrestled without pride.

Credit: Dan Gable

Laughter is the valve on the pressure cooker of life. Either you laugh and suffer, or you got your beans or brains on the ceiling.

Credit: Wavy Gravy

With the sax, I learned technique well enough so that it feels like part of my body, and I just express myself. That’s where I want to get in golf.

Credit: Kenny G

I like silence; I’m a gregarious loner and without the solitude, I lose my gregariousness.

Credit: Karen Armstrong

I know of people who don’t believe it, but depression is an illness, but unlike, say, a broken leg, you don’t know when it’ll get better.

Credit: Marian Keyes

Instead of thinking Outside the box, get rid of the box Deepak Chopra

I enjoy now doing what I do… playing golf, relaxing a little, enjoying life.

Credit: Yogi Berra

I’ve got big shoes to fill. This is my chance to do something. I have to seize the moment.

Credit: Andrew Jackson

The cost of living is going up and the Chance of living is going down.

Credit: Flip Wilson meetvile.com

You’ve got to keep fighting – you’ve got to risk your life every six months to stay alive.

Credit: Elia Kazan

KEEP SMILING AND ONE DAY LIFE WILL GET TIRED OF UPSETTING YOU

KEEP YOUR EYES FOCUSED ON YOUR LONG TERM GO ALS EVEN IF YOU MAKE A MISTAKE GET BACK ON TRACK AND KEEP MOVING

You find that you have peace of mind and can enjoy yourself, get more sleep, and rest when you know that it was a one hundred percent effort that you gave – win or lose.

Credit: Gordie Howe

You only get one chance at your life so why not jump cars?

Credit: Dax Shepard

To get to be somebody who gets to love what they do for a living, that’s so rare, and so there must be some kind of price you have to pay.

Credit: Ethan Hawke

The post 100 Motivational Quotes To Bring Your Spirits Up appeared first on Lifehack.

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