#damn pop off tilly

[twola]

Sorta got carried away with the prompt list…(I must be ovulating because DAMN the pregnancy prompts got me going)

But #161, 154,151,140,125- where the reader is preggo and miserable walking around camp so the gangs giving out ideas (sexy time) and Arthur’s like ;) then later on the reader is like ya know what get over here.

Do with it what you will.

You do the best with anything you type!

Xoxo

Oh - trust me, I am into this.

I'm also eight months pregnant myself so I am SUPER into this. Am I projecting something here? Perhaps…

Pain Relief

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI, Pregnancy Sex, Breeding Kink

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You are very over it at this point. Really. Very over it. It’s a struggle to get yourself out of the cot that you and Arthur share. 

The morning sun beats down on the worn canvas of your shared tent, and you know it's by some divine providence that Miss Grimshaw hasn’t summoned you to work yet. Or maybe it was Arthur snapping at her when he saw you struggling to carry a basket of laundry.

That must be it.

But a laze you are not - even now, when your swollen stomach makes any kind of movement difficult - when your sleep is nearly non-existent and the pains and swelling and overall discomfort are driving you crazy.

Pushing yourself up, you huff, annoyed that seven months ago you were chasing down bounty hunters on horseback and now getting up out of a cot makes you lose your breath. 

God, this was terrible. Finally getting around to standing up, you glance at yourself in the small mirror Arthur uses for shaving. Your chemise stretched taught over the swell of your belly. The dark circles under your eyes from lack of quality sleep. Sighing, you run your fingers through your long hair to tame it, or at least attempt to. After fighting with the fabric of your dress to cover your frame, you shove your feet into your boots and breathe out heavily as you sit back on the cot to tie the laces. God damn everything is a struggle with how swollen your belly is.

By the time you make it out of the tent, the midmorning sun beats down, and you shield your eyes for a moment before you feel a small tug on your skirts. You look down to see Jack give you a toothy grin, one small hand fisting the cotton of your skirt and the other clutching the most recent toy Charles had carved for him.

“Auntie, you’re so big! You look ready to pop." Jack pipes up excitedly.

You laugh as you hear a cluck of disapproval as Abigail follows in her son’s footsteps, “Jack - that’s very rude of ya - shouldn’t make comments about ladies like that.”

“It’s alright, Abigail,” You smile at her as she frowns down at the boy, “I do feel ready to pop.”

“Y’look like the baby’s dropped… ain’t long now.” Abigail’s eyes trail down to your belly as she shoos Jack off to play elsewhere.

“Too long in my opinion.” You roll your eyes and Abigail chuckles in return.

“Ladies!”

Susan Grimshaw’s voice cuts through the peace of the morning. Abigail’s gaze looks past you to where the sharp disappointment came from, and you frown as you hear footsteps stomp ever closer before the camp matriarch pushes into your view.

“There’s laundry to be done,” Susan eyes you up and down, “You can certainly sit and still do the washing. C’mon, get to it.”

She waves her hands at you dismissively, Abigail rolls her eyes and starts to head over toward where the other women have started doing the day’s wash.

You scowl at Grimshaw’s retreating figure, rubbing your aching lower back as you too make your way over to the edge of the camp, where the large tub is filled with soapy water and the pile of men’s shirts seems to be overflowing. You sigh tiredly, finding the stool 

Mary-Beth places her hand on your back slightly over your own, massaging gently as you sigh in a moment of temporary relief. 

"Try walking, I hear it helps. Tilly and I will cover for you for a few minutes.”

You thank her quietly and slowly make your way to the woodline of camp, taking a few minutes to walk back and forth before giving up and sitting down on the stool, letting out a long, labored breath as you wince in pain.

“Y’know….”

You open one of your eyes to see Karen across the tub, a mischievous look on her face. Cocking your eyebrow, you wait for her to continue.

Karen smirks, "You should try having sex."

Well - volume was never her strong suit. Across the camp, the men’s conversation falls silent as several pairs of eyes glance at you.

You flush from your hairline to your chest as you dunk a shirt into the tub, trying to ignore the stares you know you're getting as Karen merely chuckles.

“Aye, Arthur- sounds like you're needed elsewhere.” Javier chuckles and you're mortified.

You spare the quickest glance up in his direction, the man who got you into this mess in the first place. You can see Arthur’s smug grin from under the rim of his hat.

-

You silently scrub at the rest of the laundry load, handing shirts to Tilly for her to wring out and hang on the line.

“Don’t let her get to you, you know how Karen is. Tilly places a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently to assure you before returning to the laundry. You sigh, taking another shirt and dunking it into the water.

A pair of boots land in your vision before a hand reaches down toward you. You look up to see Arthur ready to pull you up to stand, a gentle smile on his face.

“C’mon now sweetheart.” 

You sigh and take his hand, secretly grateful for the assistance to stand up. He steadies you before pulling your hand to his lips and pressing them to your knuckles.

“How’s about you lay down for a little.” He offers, holding his arm out to you as you wind your own around it, letting him walk you slowly to the tent, holding back the canvas for you to step inside. 

You let out a long breath, bracing your lower back with both hands for a moment before sighing. There was just no getting comfortable at this point.

“C’mere, let me help you.”

Arthur stoops down on one knee and loosens your bootlaces enough that he can pull them from your feet one by one. You let a breath out once both boots are off, unable to deny it felt good to get your swollen feet out of them.

“Better?” He looks up at you for a moment and you nod, your hand moving from his shoulder that you were balancing on to your lower back again, idly rubbing at near-constant ache that has settled there. 

Arthur stands up and places a kiss to your forehead before turning around and taking his hat off, placing it on the small table where he kept his shaving kit.

Karen’s suggestion echoes in your mind as you watch him run his fingers through his short hair absentmindedly.

You roll your palm over your distended abdomen, frowning.

“You don’t have to lie and tell me you want me.” Your voice cuts through the silence and Arthur swings around to look at you, puzzled.

“Darlin’, it ain’t a lie. It’s never a lie.” He responds softly, taking a step closer to you.

“Really? Lookin’ like this… it does something for you?”

Arthur blushes before looking down at his boots. “Well, I… uh... Yes?”

You quirk your eyebrow, placing your hands on your hips, “I’m a goddamn watermelon-”

“You’re pregnant-”

“Literally swollen up like a damn cow-”

“C’mon now darlin’-”

And damn, if you can’t hold back the tears from collecting on your eyelashes as you spin away from him.

His broad arms wrap around your swollen waist, pulling you back half a step and against his large frame. One hand spreads wide over your belly as you feel him press his lips to the top of your head.

“I… ain’t the woman you was chasin’ after anymore.” You admit with a cracking voice, the tears spilling down your cheeks as your hand falls upon his over your belly, “Who knows when I’ll be able to ride or shoot or do anythin’ like that again.”

His lips move from the top of your head down to your earlobe, where he nips gently. Arthur’s low voice rumbles in your ear, causing a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Whole world knows you’re mine -” He pulls you another half backward and you gasp as you feel the long, hard line of him against your rear, “Christ, you’re the most beautiful thing alive, all big with my child.”

“A-Arthur - ” You whine as one of his hands cups a swollen breast through your blouse.

“Have half a mind to keep you like this.” Arthur continues, his other hand moving downward to slide between your legs and the needy sound that escapes your throat is loud enough to make him shush you as he presses at your core through layers of cotton.

Your hands fly to grasp his forearm as he gently gropes at your breast, and you turn your head up toward his and he greedily pushes his lips upon your own, tongue pressing inside your mouth as you moan into his.

You have no idea how long it is you spend wrapped up in his arms - your hips pressing back into his, his hands groping at your breasts and cunt, your knees shaking as you pant into his mouth. 

Those damned hands of this, they keep you under his spell as somehow, he unlaces your skirts and they fall to the ground in a heap around your ankles. He spins you around in his embrace, and his lips fly to your neck as he opens the buttons of your blouse. You let him pull the sleeves down your arm, leaving you in just an old cotton chemise stretched tight over your belly. The seam of your bloomers, soaked, chafes delightfully against your cunt.

It’s only another moment before he’s shrugging your chemise down over your shoulders to free your breasts.

“What’s gonna be the best for you?” Arthur whispers into your ear, his warm, somewhat rough palm engulfing your breast, squeezing it gently.

Your head tips backward as you lean against him, a high and flighty moan bubbling up from your chest. “On- on my side-”

Your chemise flutters to the floor, along with your bloomers, his hands pushing the cotton down of your body.

“Go on, get in the cot and get comfortable.” Arthur nips at your ear again and gives a playful swat to your rear.

You nod, eyes falling from his face to his hands as he pulls his suspenders down his arms and begins unbuttoning his work shirt. You back up two steps to the cot, slowly sitting down upon it, your gaze refusing to leave him as he strips himself down.

With the speed of a man on a mission, he rids himself of his boots and the rest of his clothing and stalks the few steps to the cot.  You turn yourself over to lay in it, burdened by your stomach as you let out a long breath as you finally settle down on your side, facing the wagon that makes up the side of the tent.

Arthur slides into the small cot next to you, that warm, big hand finding its way to your belly as he situates himself behind you, pressing all six feet of his frame against you, his body hard, hot, and wanting.

“You tell me what feels good, darlin’.” He mouths against your neck as his hand retracts behind your hip to stroke his cock.

You moan lowly and press your hips back against him, you can feel his smile on your skin as he guides himself to your entrance. The blunt head of his cock presses into the rim of your cunt, and his hand moves to sling your thigh back over his, opening you to him more.

“Mm, that feels good.” Your voice strains as he slides himself deeper into you, a deep, satisfied rumble coming from his chest when his hips press fully against your rear, fully sheathed in your cunt.

His arm swings across your hips, pulling your thigh backward even more as he languidly rolls himself into you. His fingers find that small bundle of nerves as he nibbles on your earlobe.

You mewl aloud at the stimulation, panting as he continues to press himself into you. His low, rough voice whispers in your ear, vacillating from sweet nothings to filthy utterances. The slide of his cock into your cunt is the constant, grounding thing as his fingers that rub at your clit speed up and slow down.

“A-Arthur-” you pitifully whine, gasping as you huddle toward that precipice. He grunts into your ear as he slightly picks up the speed of his hips rolling into yours, still gentle. He pinches at that nub and you’re gone, your legs shaking and hips seizing as you meek through your release, your slick glossing his cock and dripping from your body, even with him filling you.

“Tha’s my girl…” Arthur slurs as his hand moves up to cup at your lower belly, “Christ, I ain't ever gonna be able to stop fillin’ you-”

His murmurs fade into a groan as he presses forward one final time, burying himself deeply in your warmth as he shudders his release into you.

You sigh in contentment at the feeling, warmth blooming from your joined hips. His lips touch the back of your neck as his large hand rubs gently at your hip as he catches his breath.

Arthur gently pulls out, you gasp slightly at the feelings of the loss of his flesh and the dripping of his warm spend from your body. He shushes you with a kiss over your jaw, rubbing circles over your swollen belly.

“Feelin’ any better?”

Your hand covers his over your belly as you lean back fully into his embrace.

“Much better.”

[soufcakmistress]

Charleston Blues

Part IV

Pairing: Erik Stevens x Thick Black OC

“I took it upon myself to personally bring you this small token of our appreciation and a warm welcome to Charleston from the CNWL and me as well. I hope you’ll be able to make a home here.” Mrs. Warner had her best curls pieced and placed perfectly on her heart shaped face. She showed every tooth in her mouth shoving the massive home baked apple crisp into Erik’s chest. 

“My freezer box is full to overflowing with desserts but thank you anyway! And you said your name was…”

“Warner. Stella Warner. My husband is also a business owner; he owns his own barbershop on the peninsula. Mr. Stevens, how you liking the south? The climate seems to be agreeing with you.” 

He walks to the back where a small break room lies with a table and two chairs and a refrigerator, with Mrs. Warner following like a yearning puppy. “Hotter than what I’m used to, but it’s beautiful. Everybody has shown such hospitality. Including you, little lady.” Erik winked at Mrs. Warner and she fought not to swoon and sway. 

“Well, I have to get a move on now. The club will be convening soon and I have to get my kids situated. Surely you understand right?” Stella blinked her brown eyes right in his face, curious and mischievous. “You don’t have to leave so soon Stella..”

Erik swaggered to the front and told Jerry to flip the sign on the door and go take a break. He came back in there with her coy eyes flittering every which way and Erik fought to pull at his dick in his pants. “She’s ripe for the taking, as long as you’re up for what could come next.” Erik’s God encouraged Erik’s fervor for the female form—this would be his first dip into the abyss since he was chosen by Badoru.

Erik brushed off his God’s warning and pounced on the willing prey. Erik hadn’t made it back two steps in the break room before Stella jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Damn. You even finer up close.” Her tongue moseyed into his mouth and one thing led to another that afternoon... 

~

Chantilly straightened her hat on her head and licked her teeth for any lingering lipstick as she walked into the clubhouse. Black women of all shades flittered about as the meeting was about to begin. It was impeccably decorated with a homey touch too. The cream walls had several framed portraits of past events and fundraisers held by the club, on-site and off. 

“Cousin! I so glad you came!!!” Frieda popped out from a back room, and embraced Tilly with so much tenderness. Tilly knew that she meant well, and after all that Frieda did for her, this was the least that she could do. 

“For you, I will do anything. Some familiar faces in here. Jacqueline Shackleford, Mary Boozer, even Edith Jenkins. Y’all don’t leave no stone unturned huh?”

Frieda rolled her eyes, shuffling the stack of papers in her hands. “Give it a chance. Who knows? You might end up enjoying yourself. Just try. For me.” Tilly squeezed Frieda’s shoulder and acquiesced. Frieda moseyed to the front where the rest of the officers began to congregate, while Tilly browsed the food table. “Mmm, this cake looks just as dry. They definitely need my help, gracious.” 

Tilly picked up a few finger sandwiches and found a seat, while some other women turned up the radio by the opened window. “The pastor’s vehicle was found on Johns Island. He was sighted walking along Sullivan Avenue but has not been sighted ever since. Theodore Dunne has been the lead pastor of his church for over 15 years working in ministry with a special interest in children. If you have any idea about his possible whereabouts, please call the tipline. And in other news of the Lowcountry, more and more colored people are becoming business owners and trailblazing into areas of Charleston with a different demographic…”

Several women gasped and clutched their pearls at the pastor’s disappearance. Tilly feigned like she was aghast but inside, she rumbled with laughter. Little did they know, Theodore Dunne would never be seen again. “Ladies, ladies—simmer down now. We’re about to begin.” The sickly sweet drawl of her former arch enemy Melissa nearly turned her stomach. Of course, she would be the president—her bossiness and penchant for getting in people’s business was legendary on Johns island. 

“Welcome ladies to our midweek meeting for the Club for Negro Women of the Lowcountry for the greater Charleston area. I see a whole lot of new faces, and I’m so happy to have y’all with us.” Melissa scanned her eyes among the faces and let them linger a second too long on Tilly. Tilly couldn’t read her expression but she would make sure to personally greet her before the meeting concluded. 

Tilly sipped her tea in silence as she listened intently at the agenda at hand. Roll was called and all of the newcomers were met with a warm welcome after a quick introduction and any possible legacy ties. Idella Morrow, the chapter Vice President, thanked several committees for their efforts for the Spring Fling for the high schoolers on the peninsula. All efforts now needed to be put toward the Cotillion at the end of the year. All of the women seemed so engrossed and engaged, Tilly could sense the sisterhood in the room. Several women began to interject with their suggestions and contributions to the cause. 

“My sister does hair out of her home, she could do some of the young ladies’ hair.”

“I’m a seamstress, please send the girls and boys to me for their gowns and suits.”

“We should fry some fish after the men’s softball games to raise money for the households unable to cover those costs right now, y’all know we right there on the water.”

“You’re just as valuable to this community as these women are. Show what you can do. Be comfortable with being uncomfortable.”

Timidly Chantilly raised her hand in a fit of courage from her mother. “Ladies, I am a professional pastry chef. I actually have a bakery opening in the very near future off of Meeting Street. I would be honored to to assist in any bake sales and take care of the cake for the Cotillion as well.” 

“Aren’t we so lucky to have such an addition as Chantilly Davenport? The Club of Negro Women of the Lowcountry would is made better with your presence after such tragic circumstances that fell over your family. You’re looking much better these days, isn’t she ladies?” They all begin to clap for her, enraging Tilly. Bitch still knew how to capitalize on an opportunity to embarrass her. Maybe Tilly would become a permanent fixture; let’s see how Missy would like that. “Stay your hand, Chantilly. Her time will come.”

Fixing her lipstick, Mrs. Warner perked up to throw her hat in. “Well for all you moms with sons, y’all know y’all can come to my husband’s barbershop for their haircuts. I also have gotten some intel on that colored Yankee shaking up King Street.” She was so sure of herself by the way she twisted her lips up. 

“Now now ladies, we are not ones to gossip! Although he is quite handsome. What’s the fella’s name?” Missy inquired, nibbling on the cap of her pen. 

“His name is Erik Stevens and he’s from Massachusetts. He was in the Navy and was in the service during Korea. Said the things us colored folk down here experiencing made him want to do something! He’s quite the looker….” 

Sipping her tea to get the nasty taste out of her mouth, Tilly’s heightened intuition confirmed everything she already deduced. Mrs. Warner wasn’t just keeping her marital bed to her husband; it was written all over her face. Erik Stevens. The Yankee vet that shook up the lowcountry. With a smile like that, he has to be up to no good. 

~

Davenport Desserts & More would be opening in the next month. Tilly was still waiting on an industrial mixer to be delivered, and she could have sworn the electrician would be by to check the circuit breaker by 2. Here it is, coming up on 3:15, and a no show so far. 

These were the times she hated. With a snap of a finger, Ursilene could speed things along. But she didn’t want to overstep. Ursilene was an asset and the catalyst for change in her life, which is why she had to be discerning. She still had to live and be normal in Charleston and behave as normal. So human problems still plagued her. It kept her humble.

She painted the inside of the bakery sea foam green just like Ursilene’s colors. The wall facing the street was getting an extra coat when the slow wheeze of an old muffler came trudging down Meeting Street. On instinct, her stomach dropped into her butt.

Officer Josiah Morton was the resident hard ass, dying to prove a point. Charleston was very segregated and he would do anything in his power to keep it that way. Yet Josiah had a wandering eye that left him full of self hatred. Black women were beneath him and yet they occupied his mind. A sick combination of contradictions with too much power at his disposal. The police cruiser came to a halt in the front of the bakery. 

The electric sign was on its way and there was still paper on the windows shielding the inside. Tilly hadn’t known that the officer was approaching until she felt the pull from Ursilene. “He’s here to intimidate. Stay on guard, and he’ll leave.”

Tilly’s hand shook a bit painting upward with the paint roller. This particular pig was an incessant nuisance for this community and by the way his chest was poked out with that slimy smile of his—he’d been waiting to corner Tilly. 

“Officer.”

“You working for some folks here, gal?” His sly eyes roamed Tilly’s body and lingered on her round bottom in her overalls. She wanted to kill him where he stood.

“Not quite, Officer. Seems that luck has turned in my favor, I own this place.” She had the audacity to look in this white cop’s eye because she was a Davenport and they were proud people. Tilly saw how he ogled her with no regard for how she felt, and that ungodly anger swirled in her chest again. The slimy officer twirled a kinky ringlet of Tilly’s mane tied under a bandana, leading it down her arm. 

“You’ll have to make me something special once you’re all opened up, gal. I’ll be sure to pop up and every now and again….make sure you don’t get outta hand.” Tilly gulped down her ire until a smooth candy red Camaro parked behind the police cruiser. There’s no way..

“Everything okay here baby? I apologize for being a little late, I had to square away with Jerry before I closed up. I see we have a visitor..” Erik swaggered right up to Tilly, and gently brushed the officer aside and placed those unbelievable lips on her neck. The sensation that flowed through the both of them was unnatural, much like what had occurred already. Yet it felt ancient and familiar. 

Erik’s hand guided her face to his and they stared at each other momentarily before the officer cleared his throat. The haze wasn’t totally broken between the pair but Tilly was able to separate herself from him. However, not far enough to spoil the act. “This is Officer Josiah Morton, baby. One of Charleston PD’s best and brightest.” 

Erik shook the officer’s hand and looked him square in the eye. Erik easily was in a different weight class than the officer and stood almost a head above him. “Erik Stevens. United States Navy. Just made my way down south to help some vets and fell in love all the same. Isn’t she a stunner?” 

The hairs on the back of Erik’s neck stood up—he loved to gaze at her mouth specifically her cupids bow. But the wrath fought to overwhelm and it made his spine straight as steel as another cop abused his power. “Control yourself, Erik. Protect her, and that’s all.” 

Officer Morton turned red as a beet at the nerve of this uppity Yankee negro. He did shake his hand while he measured the man up. Josiah knew he would be overpowered man to man….but he had a different kind of power to aid him that Erik couldn’t access. “Stevens, is that it? You serve in Korea?”

“That’s right Officer. With the seals. We did what needed to be done.” Erik squeezed his arm around Tilly, and clenched his jaw. The tension was very high in this small space, and Tilly made sure to diffuse the pressure. “Well Officer, as you can see we have everything under control. Thank you for your….initiative to keep an eye on this community.”

She pinched Erik on his side and his head whipped towards her, with confusion and anger all in his features. The officer slowly dragged back to his cruiser and left them in a cloud of exhaust smoke. 

“I’ve beat men up for much less with the shit you just pulled. You don’t know me!” 

“Oh Miss Davenport, surely you don’t mean that. You played it tough, but your knight in shining armor came to save the day. You ain’t know?”

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[simping-on-the-daily]

https://www.instagram.com/reel/C1-wBx_Nymc/?igsh=dms3bGFlejBpeHk=

Damn, why does the live version of “Poison” sound so much better than the original? Maybe bc it’s stripped down to focus more on the vocals rather than generic pop music? Also I think Blake sounds better when he’s just singing as himself and not trying to sound like Michael’s version of Angel. I get why that doesn’t work in terms of voice acting since he needs to sound like the character he’s playing in the show, but this version of the song still is much better to listen to imo.

I think one of the stuff with getting a new voice actor is putting your own spin on your character. Doing your own little thing can help bring a character to life while also respecting the previous VA. I think they just asked Blake to soundly like Kovach, I think his name is??? But Blake isn't Kovach, he's Blake and he's gonna sound different and because he's trying do hard to be Kovach if sounds really weird, I think. You need to respect your VA's while allowing them to do their thing if you think it's good for the character. Like how Brad Douriff and Jennifer Tilly were in the same room when they did the lines for Bride of Chucky, allowing them to improv off each other and creating a great performance from both

Some actors are good at animation, some actors are good for love action, and some are good for theatre, and you need to choose actors who can do well at that medium you're trying to do. In MLP, some actors had voices for when they talked and seperate actors for when then win. Fuck, didn't Charlie have a singing and speaking voice in the pilot??? I fail to understand why they couldn't have just made Blake Angel's singing voice and Kovach the speaking VA. But apparently Viv wanted her Broadway dream, so we're stuck with it.

On the live, yay he didn't sing the fucking 'yeah yeah yeah's'! And the piano makes it sound more somber and personal rather then the typical radio pop it was as the soundtrack!! Could imagine him singing it to himself and Fat Nuggets,, Yeah I agree with you anon this one feels better

On another note is Fat Nuggets still in the show or did they just fucking nuke him?? Is the emotional support pig still present

[mushroom-crew]

Reunions Pt 2

@offederationsfuture

Tilly groggily looks up from where she'd fallen to the floor, her hand coming up to her head on instinct. Sparks are flying everywhere. Groans and quick shuffling from other crew members resound as everyone tries to get back to their stations after that last wave out of the wormhole. Tilly barely manages to stand, finding her way to her own station and looking at the readings. "Feels like my head is in a vice"

"Tidal forces from the wormhole. Like G-force, but nastier." Reno pops up from where she'd managed to get up herself. "Must've knocked us all out, including my damn back." She groans, right as the ship hits something like an asteroid field, sending everyone spinning again.

Tilly barely holds on for dear life. Shields are down. They don't have navigation or warp. They barely have a way to land themselves down on the planet. Detmer manages to get them lodged in a patch of ice, successfully stopping them from exploding on impact with the surface, but still sending everyone flying again in the process.

It becomes abundantly clear once they land that they don't have communications, or truly any of the ship's functions online, outside of life support. Tilly's heart aches in her chest. "Michael's alone."

The words hang in the air for a moment. Saru takes a breath and begins to address the crew. "We are completely disconnected at present, yes. But. We are also together, and alive. If Commander Burnham landed elsewhere, I trust she is aware that we will find her as soon as we are able."

They go about repairs, quickly and efficiently. Tilly throws herself into her work. There's nothing else she can do right now. If she stops for even a moment, she knows she'll break down. Michael, somewhere out there, all alone. Their daughter, left behind in the past with no way of reaching them. She knows that if she lets herself think about it, the weight of it all will crush her.

She still can't tell them exactly where they are, but she finally gets the scans back of the nearby surroundings. What she finds is enough to give her a weary smile. In a flash, she's rushing off to find Saru and explain her findings. Pockets of air on the surface meant for sustaining life. Pockets that must have been made. She finds him checking on repairs in a hallway, and she quickly falls into step with him as she talks.

He looks down at her with a sad look. "Then we are not on Terralysium."

"No, sir." She shakes her head, tears springing back into her eyes for a moment, before she continues. "But there is evidence of an active settlement in one of these pockets, so there... There's life."

"There is... Life." Saru takes a moment to take that in. It worked. Their plan worked. Control did not destroy this future. No matter what, they have to hold onto that fact. Their mission was not a failure.

Their joy is short lived, however, when they discover that one of their communication transtators is need of a complete rebuild. Without the parts they need on the ship, Saru and Tilly brave the outside world, hoping to find help from the local settlement. Philippa demands to go with them, but Saru refuses. He cannot let her interfere with their first contact to the outside world.

The walk to the settlement is long and Tilly talks the whole way there. She's terrified of not knowing where they are, of what it means now that they're here. So many things could go wrong. So many things already have. Saru lets her talk, his own mind still reeling with all of the things that have happened. All he can do is trust in his crew, and trust that they'll find a way out of this mess. The way they always do.

When they reach the settlement, they're almost immediately held at gun point by the locals, who seem just as confused by them being Starfleet as they do by how they're reacting. It's a standoff until they come to a deal. Some of Discovery's dilithium for help with repairs and information.

Things are going well, until Zareh, the courier who's been exploiting the colonists, shows up and causes trouble. He demands that they take him to the Discovery, and kills one of the colonists when Saru refuses to do so. It's enough to make him decide to bargain, offering to give the courier some of their dilithium in exchange for their freedom and the safety of the colonists.

Once a deal is struck, Zareh turns to Tilly, slowly beginning to walk towards her. "Now you. I genuinely like you. I believe you'll come back with my property. So you're gonna go get me that dilithium. How about we wait here, where it's cozy. But be quick, Ensign. Come nightfall, the ice... well it does what parasites do. It infests everything. I've seen it get down someone's throat. But you look like you can handle yourself. Maybe you can outrun it. Explosives help. You forge yourself a path back to us once it's dark. Okay, sweetheart?"

Before she can answer, one of his men finds Philippa around the perimeter, dragging her into the bar with a surprising amount of ease. She stumbles in, still as cocky and assured as ever. "Did I interrupt a critical moment of diplomacy?"

Zareh lets out a dry chuckle and moves to sit down at the bar. "A one-woman tactical response. V'Draysh has officially reached its nadir."

Philippa just smirks and rolls her eyes. "A fancy vocabulary doesn't mean you're scary. It means you have a thesaurus."

"Shoot her," He growls out.

"No, shoot him! He's gonna get you killed." Philippa looks at the one holding her at gunpoint expectantly. "This is when you ask why."

He lets out a small sigh and raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Philippa grins widely, like the cat that got the canary. "Glad you asked. You think you're the only ones that saw a big ship fall from the sky? He knows your competitors probably detected the ship, and they're already on their way. But he hasn't told you, you're too weak to take them out, and you don't have the firepower."

"Enough!" Zareh rises from his seat, and pulls his own weapon, aiming it at her.

"I'm gonna enjoy this new world. If this idiot can run a settlement, then imagine what I could do in my sleep."

He shoots her as she turns to face him, the laser beam hitting her in the shoulder. It's not enough to kill her, but it's enough to send her reeling. "You've got a mouth, but I've got a gun."

He shoots her several times like that, having a sadistic sort of enjoyment in torturing her. She looks to Saru from where she's fallen to the ground, and he nods in understanding.

She gives it another moment before she rises to her feet, that self-assured smirk coming back to her face. Zareh raises an eyebrow and aims his weapon again. She kicks a barrel into his legs before he can shoot, sending him sprawling. Philippa and Saru manage to subdue, or in her case, kill their assailants, until there is only their leader sitting on his knees on the floor.

Philippa wants to kill him, but Saru refuses, instead letting the colonists decide his fate. They decide to send him out on his own come nightfall, let him fight his way through parasitic ice to find safety if he can.

Night comes sooner than the crew would hope, and it's almost completely dark by the time they're able to leave. One of the colonists gives them a personal transporter to make it to their ship without braving the ice, but it's still much to late to get Discovery off the ground.

They try to take off, to push themselves out of the ice with their thrusters, but it's too strong, they can't get through it alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another ship appears on scanners, and they all fear it's one of the many competitors looking to use their ship and their dilithium. The ship gets ahold of them with it's tractor beam, giving them that last little push they need to be free of the ice. Once they're free, the other ship hails them.

With communications finally back online, Saru decides to answer it. Whoever it may be, they need to try and communicate before more drastic measures are taken. "Open a channel, Mr. Bryce. We will face whatever or whomever has come for us together."

"Channel open."

Saru stands from the captain's chair and takes a few steps forward. "On viewscreen, please."

It takes several moments to get the viewscreen up running, the whole bridge crew waiting on baited breath for whoever will be on the other line. After what feels like an eternity, the screen finally comes on, revealing a smiling Commander Burnham on the other end. The crew lets out breaths of relief and small cheers at seeing her alive and well.

"Saru!" Her smile brightens as she says his name, her eyes watering slightly.

"Michael?" He looks at her in awe and complete disbelief. Her hair, her demeanor. If he didn't know her so well, he wouldn't believe it was her for a moment.

She nods and chuckles. "Yeah, it's me. We found you. We've been looking for so long."

Tilly puts her hands up to her mouth and sighs a breath of relief. At least Michael is home. Her heart breaks again in the same instant when she realizes she'll have to tell her that Jackie never made it back on board. A small quiet sob wracks through her and she turns away for a moment to compose herself.

Saru stutters and tries to find the words to say. "You... You're... You look--"

Michael shakes her head, her smile softening for a moment. "Saru... I landed here a year ago. I've been waiting for all of you, all this time."

Saru finds his voice after a moment, clinging onto the one thing he knows to be true right now. "So you know. Our mission was a success."

Michael lets out a small sigh, and nods. "Yeah, Saru, I do. But there's more to discuss once I come on board. It'll be two to beam down. I have a bit of a surprise."

Saru cocks his head slightly at the mention of a surprise, but he nods all the same. "Of course. We will be here for you when you arrive."

Michael clicks off the channel with another small nod, and turns to Jackie with a large grin. They finally found them. They're finally home. She holds out her hand to her daughter, happy tears welling in her eyes that she has to blink back. "You ready?"

[tickle-bugs]

Oooo! Maybe something for RDR2? Lers Sadie and Abigail, lee John? Word: “raspberries?”

Tw for Alcohol 

Sweet Firelight

The firelight whispers to Abigail as it caresses her face, leaving her as warm as the whiskey in her hand. She watches the flames dance and twitch before her before she tips her head to the stars. She shifts on the log she’s sitting on and heaves a deep sigh. 

Another successful job means a camp-wide celebration--just quiet enough to keep up their ruse of innocent workin’ folk, but loud enough for everyone to let off steam in a safe environment. The scraps of dinner lay in a pile not too far from her, slowly wheedling away by the hands of Uncle and Mr. Pearson as they engage in a dreadful game of chess. 

Abby’s eyes track slow over the camp. Tilly, Karen, and Mary have made themselves busy running a fight ring--she can hear them chirping ‘just friendly competition’ even where she is. She smiles and watches Bill put poor Lenny in a headlock.  The distant shouts twist and float around her ears. It’s gotten easier, with time, to embrace foolishness in the face of doom. She’s learned how to unclench her fists, how to breathe in deep without a tightness to her chest. She’s still working on the melancholic ache that hangs heavy from her ribs, but that too will come with time. 

Heavy weight plops onto the log next to her. 

“John.” She smiles, biting back her amusement. He mumbles something at her before getting lost in the twisting light of the campfire. He leans their shoulders together and steals a sip of her drink. He’s adorably rumpled and missing his coat, with dirt streaked up his bare forearms and the visible part of his chest.

“Don’t tell me them boys wore you out.” She chuckles. 

“‘M gettin’ old,” he grumbles. 

“Well, you’ll always be a boy to me,” She coos, knocking back the last bit of whiskey and tossing the empty bottle. It thunks into the glass and rolls to a stop out of the way. 

“That wasn’ a compliment…” John frowns. 

“No it wasn’t.” She pats his knee fondly. He puts his hand over hers, rough with callouses, scars, and a lifetime of hard work. She turns her hands over so their weathered palms can meet. John laces their fingers together. 

“This’s the same boy you fell for, though,” he grins, irritatingly charming despite the stench of liquor on his breath. There’s love etched into the lines and scars on his face. Her muscles sigh with the trees, somber and steady.

“Damn straight.” She pulls him forward by the chin for a kiss. The scratch of stubble is welcome beneath her fingertips. He makes a startled noise as his log tips. Abigail pulls away, but then John’s scooping her up and pulling her into his lap. She leans into him--partly to feel the solid pressure of his warm hand on her lower back, mostly not to topple directly into the fire. 

“Still fallin’ for me, I see.” John waggles his eyebrow, barking out a raspy laugh when Abigail swats him upside the head. 

“I sure hope this dog ain’t botherin’ you, Abby.” Sadie rights the fallen stump beside them and claims it for herself.

“Aw, he ain’t nothin’ but a puppy.” Abigail pinches John’s cheek and his face pops pink. She kisses his blushing cheeks, egged on by the buzz of liquor down her spine and the bashful smile John’s failing to hide behind the downward tip of his hat. 

“Alright, ladies. I’ll, uh, take my leave. ‘Scuse me.” He starts to pick Abigail up so he can stand, but Sadie makes an irritated noise and waves a flippant hand. 

“Sit, Marston. Some quality time won’t kill ya. ‘Sides, I don’t think you wanna get between Arthur and winnin’ that bet.” Sadie jerks a thumb towards the scuffles on the edge of camp, where Arthur and Bill are tussling like stray cats in a back alley. Arthur pins Bill’s face into the dirt, both of them laughing up a storm. 

“I could take him.” John practically pouts. Abby doesn’t bother to hide her laughter. Arthur could and has lifted John like a sack of potatoes. It would hardly be a fight. 

“I could!” He protests, indignant, and she curls forward to snicker into the crook of his neck. Her fingers brush the nape of his neck and he makes a choked noise. She leans back and immediately grips his face, her slightly-swimming gaze boring directly into his soul.

“John Marston, are you injured?” She squeezes tighter. 

“No--”

“You better not be lying to me, or I swear I’ll--” 

“Abby.” He grabs her wrist and pulls her hand away. He refuses to meet her eyes, his face pinker than the liquor should allow. “I promise. Not hurt. Just--”

“No way.” Sadie’s jaw falls slack before her lips twist into a gleeful smile. “It must be my lucky day.” 

“No. No! Adler, stay the hell away from me.” John backs away, hands outstretched. Abby has to catch herself before she falls, and when she goes to chastise him, she sees a depth of apprehension from John that she’s unused to. 

“Am I missin’ somethin’?” Abigail laughs, only a little nervous. Sadie probably wouldn’t kill him. Probably. John and Sadie stare each other down, both twitching and feinting for the other to make a move. The tension folds on itself and builds, jumping high with the embers of the campfire. 

John bolts, but he barely makes it a few steps before Sadie’s clambering on his back and taking him down to the dirt. They both roll around, incoherent expletives and pleas rising from their twisted pile. 

“Sadie, wait!” Abigail runs with surer footing than she would’ve guessed of herself. She tries to pull Sadie off by the waist, but she doesn’t budge--she’s gotten solid in the time she’s been with the gang. 

John’s…laughing. Abigail slackens her grip and peers over Sadie's shoulder. 

“Jesus, Sadie! Made me think I was gonna have to kill you or somethin’.” Abigail heaves a deep sigh of relief and presses her hand to her racing heart. Sadie looks up at her with a cocky grin and a glitter in her eye that makes Abigail’s face burn.

Goddamn it, she’s gotta stop fallin’ for reckless cowboys. 

“Well, if you want…you can most certainly help me.” Sadie purrs, pushing back against John’s attempts to shove her off. John grabs Sadie’s face and she licks his palm. The screech he releases sends the fight ring into a furtive pause on the other side of camp, before laughter picks up at John’s fate.

“Kick his ass, Adler!” Arthur’s raspy voice carries with little effort.

“With pleasure!” Sadie worms a hand under John’s arm and his entire being buckles. He cackles and throws his head back, his hat rolling sadly away into the grass. He lets out a string of garbled noises and tries to flop over on his side, absolutely trembling with the force of his laughter. 

Oh. Oh. Abigail’s smile grows so wide it hurts. 

She drops unceremoniously to the ground and starts gathering John into her arms. She slips her fingers under his vest and fits them to the grooves of his ribs, leaning forward to force him to sit up a bit more. 

“Abby!” He yelps and drums his heels into the dirt. He wrenches his eyes shut and turns away from the sky, as if the stars are to blame for his poor judgment. Personally, Abby wants to thank them for giving her a lapful of giggly cowboy. 

She kisses the back of his neck and almost gets her face crunched in, but she continues her trail around the curve, right where he can’t escape. Her heart blooms with a fondness that terrifies her but she chases the fading dredges of her liquid courage and leans into it. She says ‘I love you’ in prompt squeezes to John’s sides, ones that make him snort and Sadie screech in delight. She murmurs sweet nothings into his neck and the spot just behind his ear, smiling into his skin. His laughter peters into silence before rocketing back into full volume. He kicks his legs and tosses his head, his hair a stringy and unsalvageable mess. 

“Hey Sadie,” Abigail drawls, “Wanna see somethin’ cute?”

“Abby, darlin’, hold on a minute--”

Abigail waits until Sadie’s eye sparkles with interest before dipping her head low, finding the point just before his collarbone. She inhales, relishes in John’s tumbling please, and blows a raspberry into his neck. He squeals and chooses his dignity over escape, burying his head deep into his hands.

“You’re evil.” John pants, but his eyes crinkle with tired joy at the corners. He reaches up and caresses her cheek.

“You love it,” she hums, leaning down to kiss him. He presses up into her, sighing into her mouth. His hands find her waist, awkward at this angle, but still firm and sure.

Abigail’s world inverts and she yelps, scrabbling for purchase. She grabs a fistful of John’s shirt, pulling their bodies nearly flush. She catches the mischievous sparkle in John’s eye far too late. 

“My turn!” He laughs evilly, pressing his thumbs into the softness of her stomach. She screeches and arches back into the dirt, her hair tumbling free of its bun. John dips in and rubs his stubble against her neck and she screams, plunging into desperate giggles that make her chest burn with exertion. She’s not proud of the noises she makes by any stretch, but she is proud of the way Sadie sidles up behind him, silent and deadly, poised for the strike. 

[amorgansgal]

Summary:  You've just finished robbing a house in Saint Denis, when who should you bump into but our favourite outlaw? You plan on making your way home, but Mr Morgan wants to treat you first!

Warnings: Flirting, little bit of sexual tension, ice cream drippage, but mostly still fluff. Maybe more steamy fluff. 

Pairing(s): Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur Morgan x You, Arthur Morgan x Y/N Can be read on AO3 too.

It sometimes took you by surprise how easy it was to sneak into these parties and events. But then you knew from experience how easy it was to practically disappear into the wallpaper, when it came to these wealthy families and their never-ending calendar of social events. Saint Denis was no different. With a mop cap to hide your face, a plain grey skirt, clean blouse and the apron tucked around your waist, none of the rich party guests gave you a second look.

A couple of the servants threw odd looks your way, perhaps trying to figure out who you were and why they had never seen you before, but none of them questioned it. Even when you left the garden party, pockets loaded with valuables, your strong, quick pace meant no one questioned where you were going.

Finally, after getting away from the tall red brick building and it’s sprawling gardens, you removed the mop cap and untied the apron. You slipped both into your pockets and began the long walk back to your pony, Pepper.

The hot sun baked the street, but with the marshy swamp around the area it wasn’t a pleasant warmth. The air was humid and heavy, and you felt a trickle of sweat run down your back. You wished you had brought a fan with you, but there hadn’t been any room for it. You decided to cut through one of the city’s parks, so you could splash your face with the water from the fountain there.

The leafy, green trees in the park gave some much needed shade, and you approached the large, marble fountain at the centre with it’s gawkish looking fish spewing water from their mouths. A couple of people were dotted about the park, some sat on the edge of the fountain itself, a few on the benches. You got a few disapproving looks when you splashed the cold water on the back of your neck and then pressed your now cooler hands against your face.

Satisfied that you could at least make it across the city without getting too sweaty during the journey, you wiped your hands on your skirt and began to walk to the other side of the park. Around the pathways and stone wall that marked the outer edge of the public garden, a cluster of shops and businesses lined the street.

You briefly glanced at the tailors, debating whether you could afford a new dress, considering your current one was a little worse for wear. A pretty light blue, summer dress caught your attention in the window. It had three quarter length sleeves, with white lace around the neckline and waist, and tiny daisies dotted the amongst the blue fabric. You pursed your lips on seeing the price. Sure, it wasn’t made of silk, satin or velvet, so you could probably scrape together enough for it, but then doubtless in the weeks that followed it would only get crumpled and dirty.

You sighed and were about to turn around to continue your walk, when a voice behind you made you jump, ‘Would look good on yer.’

Arthur chuckled when he saw your expression change rapidly from one of surprise to fear then to annoyance.

‘You’ve got to stop doing that, Arthur!’ You muttered.

‘You’ve got to stop being so god damn jumpy all the time.’

‘I’ll have you know-’ and you quickly looked around, checking to make sure Arthur was the only one who could hear you. ‘I’ve just robbed a house, so yes, I’m a little jumpy.’

‘Whatcha get?’

You grinned, ‘None of your damn business.’

He smiled and rubbed a hand against his chin, ‘Aw, and there was me going to treat ya, but if you got a good enough prize, guess you can treat yourself.’

‘Treat me? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, yer still interested?’

You rolled your eyes, ‘Well if you’re just going to play games with me, Mr Morgan, I best be on my way. Pepper is waiting for me and he’d probably be better company.’

You moved away from the shop and began walking down the street, but Arthur still fell in step beside you, ‘Don’ know why you like that pony so much, he’s a stubborn, scruffy thing.’

You smiled and arched your eyebrows, ‘Guess you would know a lot about that, Arthur!’

Arthur tried to bite back his smile, and looked down at his boots, ‘I ain’t too scruffy.’

‘He’s a sweetheart really, deep down,’ You replied, then quickly glanced away, warmth rushing to your cheeks when you realised that you very much felt the same way about the man next to you.

After a short walk Arthur came to a sudden halt and gestured to a small shop tucked underneath an archway, ‘Anyway, we’re here now.’

‘Where?’ You asked, looking up at the sign over the business. La Glace Parlour. You frowned, unable to gather why you were here and what Arthur had in mind. He sighed, shook his head, then pressed a hand to the small of your back and guided you to a small sign they had in the window. Though the feeling of his warm palm against the thin material of your dress, meant your mind could barely focus on the words in front of you.

‘Ice cream, pastries and light refreshments,’ you finally read, hoping that Arthur could not feel the slight shake that ran through you as he pulled his hand away from your back. You looked up at him.

He seemed to give up on your cluelessness, and went to open the door, the quiet afternoon interrupted by the bright ring of the bell over the door. ‘You still want raspberry?’

‘Um… Raspberry ice cream?’

‘Sure.’

‘I guess, but wait-’

He didn’t and walked quickly into the shop, leaving you alone on the street and fiddling with the frayed material of your sleeve. He wasn’t long though, soon returning holding a cone topped with a reddish pink swirl of ice cream and offered it to you.

‘Oh, thank you, Arthur.’ You took the cone from him, and licked the edge of the ice cream to stop it dribbling down. You relished the sharp, zingy flavour of the raspberries and the contrast between the cold sweet treat and the warmth of the afternoon sun. You mm-ed softly and smiled at Arthur, who quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening a little.

He shrugged, ‘S’alright, saw it when I was last here, remembered what you said. Figured I’d invite you into town at some point, but as you were already here…’

‘You ain’t getting one?’ you asked.

‘Nah.’

‘Well, you should try some of mine then, it’s really good,’ you offered the cone to him.

‘Nah, that’s all yours.’

‘Feel kind of bad that you’re not having any.’ You took another lick, before glancing at the man beside you. ‘This isn’t just because you’re a big gruff outlaw who can’t have ice cream, is it?’

He choked out a laugh then. ‘What?’

‘Don’t want to ruin your fearsome reputation by enjoying something sweet!’

Arthur managed to force out a strained sounding laugh, then rubbed the back of his head and scratched under the brim of his hat. ‘No, I… no, that’s not… I can enjoy...’ he tailed off, suddenly staring at the road, as though the dust of Saint Denis and the passing coaches were the most interesting things in the world.

Perhaps it was seeing him as equally flustered and speechless, as you were normally, that left you feeling a little bolder. You dipped your thumb into the ice cream and then brushed it over his cheek. You would have almost felt bad, but his startled expression only left you in a fit of giggles.

He tried to look annoyed, but failed miserably. He lifted up his bandana. ‘I could just wipe that off with this.’

‘Oh, but then you’d ruin my fun and my devious plan, Arthur Morgan!’

He smiled, wiped his thumb against the light red stain on his cheek and popped into this mouth. You immediately remembered why you were often speechless and flustered around Arthur. His sharp blue eyes stared into your own, and you knew you were biting your lower lip while a warm flush crept up your cheeks.

He pulled his thumb from his mouth with a pop and you felt your mouth drop open, before you managed to slam it shut. Arthur gave you a slight smirk, but his eyes dropped to your hand and he quickly reached out.

‘Careful, you’ll drop it!’ His hand grabbed your own and pulled it up, so you wouldn’t drop the cone in the dirt of the path. Little dribbles of red ice cream ran down your hand, and you unthinkingly darted your tongue out to lick up the melted cream.

‘Thank you for-’ You looked up at Arthur who was staring at you so fiercely, it almost made you forget the ice cream in your hand again. Even under the shadow of his hat, his eyes were dark and stormy, pupils blown wide. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if you had really seen his eyes drop to your pink stained lips.

He cleared his throat, then put his hand on your back once more, and forced you to walk ahead of him, ‘Come on, can’t be late back.’

-

Tilly let out a small ‘hm’ when you unwrapped the brown paper parcel you had found on your bedroll a few days later, and found the blue dress dotted with daisies therein.

‘Wonder who got you that!’ she said sarcastically.

You revelled in the warm feeling that entered the pit of your stomach and pulled the dress up to look at it properly. You’d have to think of a seriously good way of thanking Arthur Morgan for his kindness.

[reddeadreference]

Blog Progress Update (Travel Blog Style 😎#11)

Gonna go rob a bank~

FUCK I forgot this is the mission where I have to go back and see Edith FUCK

Alright time to finally go get Tilly’s necklace and Sadie’ Harmonica because I keep forgetting…

Found out the stage coach is still in that river Micah and I left it in… oh and so is that TREE across the road (owwie…)

Got the items and since I had to deal with Emmet Granger to get Sadie’s I’m gonna go deal with the other three, get those outta the way. I do have to do EVERYTHING I can as Arthur to get all his journal pages, the second playthrough he will do absolutely nothing extra, only the bare minimum so john can do everything.

First up is Flaco and OMG I DID NOT NEED DRAMATIC PIANO TO BLAST MY EARDRUMS THANKS

From Flaco yelling from the shack some of the Del Lobo we killed outside were named Anselmo, Elisio, and Gonzalo. No idea which was which unfortunately..

Alright so… I’ve never been good at drawing against Billy Midnight… Arthur I am so sorry for this recurring nightmare you’re about to have.. I SWEAR I’M TRYING- I did it on the second try O_O

*lil Jack voice* I’m getting better! =D

Arthur jumped off the train, knowing it would hurt… but NOT knowing he would get up in just the right way for the train to BONK HIS BRAIN.. He’s okay…he’s okay…

Alright, saved the best and my favorite for last. Into da bayou I go… yet again…

I love Mrs Belle she's so cool.. and pretty… and I like her clothes

I plan on getting through the chapter so I can get to Shady Belle for those camp photos (cause I'm sure the outfits are similar for there if not the same, it's pretty much the same temperature I think. I really wanna get photos of the house.

Great now that Dutch is back in camp he and Molly are fighting… awesome… I got a scene where Molly asks Abigail for advice and Abigail gives it to her straight but Molly isn’t having it… oh Molly..

On the other hand Karen and Sean were hanging out looking out at the water. They did the she looks at him when he's not looking then he looks when she's not looking… she did look mad a few times though…

I'm very curious about why Karen is drinking so much in this chapter.. like it makes sense for after she loses Sean but- ... does she think he only likes her when they're drunk .. cause he thinks she's too much when she’s sober that’s what he said at the party that night… or she just thinks she’s no good when she’s sober... omfg… Karen no Q-Q

Pupper! Doggo! Cain! Woo!! 

(Fuck Micah, fuck him to hell, let me kick HIM)

As much as I need to get to the next chapter… knowing what comes next… I don't wanna go to the next chapter.

I'm gonna get a few more pretty photos then I'm doing the next mission. I swear. 

*Two hours later*

(That better have been read in your head as the SpongeBob guy… that's how it was typed. XD) 

Yeah… so about that thing I said I'd do… I didn't. *Insert John Malaney meme "and then I didn't!"*

Decided to go get Trelawny before going to do John or Hosea's missions so that way I can get him and his scenes at camp before moving.  

Did both his missions… he should be in camp… where the fuck is he?

Bill’s optional stage coach robbery with Tilly popped up so I wanted to get a photo of him with the map before greeting…. Bill… my dude… you know how to read that thing right? Map’s upside buddy…

Tilly, honey, your voice is too nice, you do not sound threatening at all… (I mean she’s probably not actually that mad at Bill… but still) -  Also I would have photos of the map and of Tilly on a horse but I deleted them all by accident T-T

Hopefully Trelawny will be at camp when I get back so I can get some photos of him… swear I had at least a few… but they’re gone…and this was before I deleted the other photos… (Damn magician…)

My journal on the companion app isn’t updating anymore… which sucks because it gave me really clear photos of the pages… maybe if I do another main mission…

SINCE WHEN CAN YOU DANCE WITH KAREN?!

AW I missed Trelawny pulling a crow from Susan’s ear to make Karen laugh! DX

Anyone else make sure they walk past people with camp chores (sack, hay, bucket) so that people will comment. Like a child trying to impress their parents. “Look! I do good thing! Praise me!”

Trelawny came up to me “I know you saw me in town with my wife” like dude… if you’re talking about Saint Denis… I’ve seen EVERYONE in that town. But also i never heard the dialogue you hear when you get close enough to where she lives. I don’t think you CAN hear it until Trelawny is in camp/more with the gang.

I still have no idea where the fuck he sleeps. He has no tent… it hasn’t been night yet. I’m just hoping Dutch and Grimshaw don’t yell at me to leave before it becomes night.

Okay i’m bored.

I swear I had Valentine bank photos… now I gotta go BACK ugh.

Uhhhhh I got the photos and decided to give Arthur a haircut

“Good job I sharpened my scissors this morning” (Cause I’m at max length)

Bruh… What happened to your head? (Doesn’t this happen when essential NPCs get shot? Who shot him????)

…found the bank photos.. I didn’t need to come back here… eh I need Downes photos anyway…

Okay had to break the lock but *hacker voice* I’m in.

Well either Archie smokes or he shared this bunkbed with someone. (one of each pack in the nightstand) Only a pillow in the wardrobe and open horse medicine in the cabinet.. Wild West Heroes, no. 132? Cool. There’s a booze box inside… beer… no one to chase this time. Can’t go into what I assume is the kitchen..

Okay, back at camp I saw Bill standing by a tree (bright red shirt so I knew it was him) and I get over there and Jack is sitting on the ground behind him “Hiya Arthur” Arthur’s response “Gentlemen” then Jack does the cutest little finger gun in the entire universe LOOK AT THIS PRECIOUS BOY T_T

Well… time to finally head over and help Hosea and get some shots of the manor…

[neon-junkie]

Vanity is a Sin - Chpt.1

Summary: The last person you expected to fall for is that pretentious man, Javier Escuella, but maybe you're not so different from him after all?

Pairing: f!Reader x Javier Escuella

Word Count: 2709

Rating: SFW

Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Arguments, Bickering, Denial of feelings, Reader has a lot of self-doubts.

Notes: I’ve wanted to write a Javier multi-chapter fic for aaaages, but wanted to do something different for it. So, enemies to lovers it is, my fave trope hehe, but we don’t see much of Javiers negative side, so let’s explore that :0

Next Chapter

It's another chilly day at Horseshoe Overlook. Despite your occasional shiver and constant goosebumps, you're thankful that you're still not stuck in Colter, but that still doesn't mean you can't wish to be somewhere warmer. It seems no matter how many layers you put on, you can't quite get warm, and you question how other gang members are walking around in their summer attire, especially Arthur.

You shiver again and accidentally manage to prick your finger with the needle you're using to sew somebody's patchy pants. "Fuck sake," you mutter under your breath, looking at your finger to inspect the damage. It's nothing, and you know it's nothing, but you're in a grumpy mood, so everything feels tenfold, especially the sting to your fingertip.

You sigh, looking up at the sky, questioning why whatever being that lives up there continues to rain on your parade. It's not just you that's in a bad mood, the whole camp seems off, but Dutch continues to attempt giving his many uplifting speeches whilst he poses in his tent with a cigar in hand, not lifting a finger to do even some basic camp chores.

He's doing the same now, and your eyes gaze over him as you stop staring at the sky. There he is, the man himself, the big boss, his voice cracking every so often; that always brings a smile to your face. Your eyes follow around the rest of the camp: Hosea is the only one stood listening to him. Molly's on the other side of her tent staring into her pocket mirror because for some reason, she no longer has to pull her weight. Bill is still asleep. Mary-Beth and Tilly are beside you, still sewing away. The O'Driscoll is still tied to the tree. Strauss is... doing whatever he does. And there's Javier, gussying himself up in Arthurs mirror, no surprise there.

You'll never understand how these boys get away with doing the bare minimum, whilst yourself and the other women are the only thing keeping this camp together. Everybody knows that if the women decided to up and leave in the night, the men would end up setting the camp on fire, probably attempting to cook their own dinner... no offence to Pearson. There's a fair few, such as Arthur and Hosea, who are able to survive on their own, but you've seen Arthur attempt to do tedious jobs before and just like you, he pricks his fingers every time he sews. At least Hosea has an excuse, being in his grey years, his bones not able to move as they used to, but he makes up for it in other ways.

But Javier? What does he do? Apart from prance around the camp in his designer crocodile boots, spending an hour shaving his moustache every morning... why does he even shave his moustache like that? You asked him once, and he replied "It rubs off from all the friction." Sure, Javier, because you're obviously a very wanted man.

Unfortunately, Mary-Beth and Tilly take quite a liking to him. They've confessed what you would view as sins before, saying they both have a soft spot for the man, to which you scoffed then laughed, and ended up choking from laughing too hard.

"Why are you laughing? I don't see why you two don't get along? He's real sweet and..." Mary-Beth had begun droning on, and you eventually interrupted her with a "Where do I start?"

Needless to say, neither of them agreed with any of your opinions of Javier, apart from him not pulling his weight as much as he makes out to. But oh, he plays guitar, so that means he doesn't have to do any chores because he blares out his music all hours of the night. You've told him to quit playing so you can sleep many times, seeing as your tent is right by the campfire, to which he always glares at you and plays louder. He once even had the audacity to wake Uncle up and begin shouting Ring-A-Dang-Do.

You took your revenge by waking up early and pouring water in his boots. He knew it was you the second he put them on, sighing and glaring at you, but not being confrontational for once. At least he started putting a curfew on his music after that.

You've been manifesting in your thoughts for a while now, not realizing your name is being called out. "Huh?" you almost yelp as somebody taps your shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Tilly asks. "You've been staring into the distance again, didn't even hear us callin' your name."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I was just thinking," you explain as you turn your attention to them.

"About what?" Mary-Beth questions.

"Nothing that's worth my time."

"Oh, boys?" Tilly questions, making all three of you laugh.

"Unfortunately."

"Well, Mary-Beth and I are all finished here. We're gonna make ourselves look decent and head into town, you coming?"

"Yeah. Let me finish up this, and I'll meet you by the wagon," you reply.

"Alright."

The pair excuse themselves, heading over to their tents to begin looking 'presentable', even though you would happily argue with them about that. They always look incredible, flawless yet effortless, whereas you constantly feel like a drowned rat...

You watch as they wander off, saying hello to Javier, who's still stood in front of Arthurs mirror. He's not even having a shave, he's just been stood there checking himself out for the last ten minutes, or however long it's been. Your brows furrow and you force yourself to tilt your head down, focusing on your final stretch of sewing, eventually finishing up, so you can put them back on the laundry pile and begin getting ready for your day out.

Going into town with your girl friends is always relaxing, something to get you out of camp, when you're not trailing in and out on your own accord. Yes, you know damn-well how to shoot a gun, along with all your other basic survival skills like hunting and fishing. Dutch was reluctant to take you on heists at first, calling you "another Karen, a woman who wants to get her hands dirty when she's needed here."

Dutch wasn't expecting you to put your money where your mouth is, trailing back into camp a few days later with more than enough cash to keep the camp happy. Only that was somewhat of a waste of time now you look back on it, your share being lost somewhere in Blackwater, along with the rest of the camps hard work and progress. Back to square one, yet again...

The sound of a thud startles you, looking over your shoulder to see that the final crate has been loaded into the wagon. The shop helper gives you a wave, and you beckon him over to tip him; he pours out his thanks before going back inside.

"Back to camp?" you question as you turn your focus to Mary-Beth and Tilly, who nod in agreement.

With a flick of the reigns, the three of you begin leaving Valentine, only popping into town to grab a few camp supplies and treats for yourselves. You've fancied a new outfit for a while, and you're excited to try it on later, maybe make yourself look nice so you can... sit by the campfire...

What else is there to enjoy in camp?

The path you're following leads you straight back to Horseshoe Overlook, and you warn the girls of the bump before crossing over the train tracks. A familiar figure can be seen in the distance, and as they approach, you realize it's Arthur on his new mount. He pulls up beside you as you stop the wagon, tipping his hat to the three of you.

"Where are you going?" you question.

"Just headin' into town. I didn't know you girls had just been there," Arthur explains.

"We only went to pick up supplies. What are you going for?" Tilly questions.

"Javier and Charles wanted to meet me at the Saloon, said I'd drop by this afternoon. They must already be there."

"You should get going then, you know what Javier is like," you complain, the words slipping from your mouth.

Arthur laughs at your statement. "You're right," he agrees. "But you two will learn to get along one day, you've gotta if you're gonna be in the same camp together."

"Arthur, there are plenty of camp members that don't get along. You and Micah, for instance?"

"...Yeah, you're right," Arthur hums in frustration. "Forget I said that then... Well, I best be going."

"See you later," the three of you reply.

Arthur gives another little nod and taps his spurs, heading into town, whilst you whip your reigns again and begin your return to camp. 

 By the time you arrive, it's almost sundown, and your evening is spent unloading the wagon and scoffing down your dinner. The night is free to do as you please, so just like you told yourself earlier, you get changed into your new clothes and make yourself look presentable, taking a seat at the campfire with the others and joining in on their story telling.

The evening is going well, relaxing and peaceful for once, even with Uncles banjo playing. All until the sound of heavy hooves come thudding back into camp; you turn to see a handful of the gang members returning from their night in town, only they don't seem too happy. They're huffing and grumbling, nursing what appear to be wounds, and it's easy to piece everything together and realize that they been in a bar fight.

A few of your fellow camp members get up from their seats at the campfire to go and check on them, and as much as you do care, you don't want to overcrowd them. You get up and make your way over to Pearson's wagon, picking out another bottle to drink. You're spoilt for choice, a nice selection of whiskeys and gins at your service, something different from cheap, warm beer.

You pick up a bottle and begin reading the label, checking the alcohol percentage and debating how drunk you want to get tonight. You don't overhear the sound of footsteps approaching, your mind paying no attention to sounds like that as you hear them all the time, but the sound of somebody speaking directly behind you makes you jump.

"That for me?" they ask. You peer over your shoulder to see Javier standing there, his hand rubbing his chin where a bruise is beginning to form.

"Why would this be for you?" you scoff, turning your body to face him, the bottle in your hands.

"Your poor camp member has just been in a fight, yet you won't help nurse them?" Javier questions with a laugh.

"That's your own fault, plus I ain't your mother."

You begin to walk off, but the comment Javier makes forces you to stop in your tracks. "Mary-Beth and Tilly would."

"Go and ask them then," you roll your eyes, turning to face Javier again. Who does he think you are? He begins to softly laugh and the sound makes you gag, so artificial, just like the rest of him.

"But what if I want you to help me? Surely you don't dislike me that much."

"I do, so I'd suggest you ask them."

You try and walk away yet again, and Javier mutters something under his breath. "You'll learn to like me eventually." Another scoffing sound escapes your lips as you frown at him, leaning against Pearson's table and crossing your arms, your bottle in hand.

"You know, I've never seen you wear purple before. It suits you," you smirk.

"Oh, very funny," Javier says as he raises his eyebrows. He approaches you, his strides small and slow, stopping right before you. His hand moves away from his bruise, his skin turning a deeper purple as every second passes, but your eyes are drawn to his; They're dark and blown, his eyebrows slightly furrowed, staring into yours. He's too close for your liking, you can smell the tobacco in his system with every exhale, his breathing deep, still clearly worn out from the fight.

"What's your issue with me?" Javier asks. "I mean, I've never done anything to upset you, not that I know of, but you've always had something against me."

"I've told you before," you begin as you uncross your arms, placing your bottle down on the table and resting your hands on your hips. "You don't do shit around this camp. You'll drag a sloppy score in here and there, but your vanity distracts you from doing some proper work, chores and what-not."

"Vanity?" Javier repeats the word with a laugh. "There's no harm in looking good, at least you're putting some effort in tonight. Did you buy this today?" Javier asks as he goes to tough the fabric of your blouse, but you swat his hand away.

"You're as bad as Micah," you spit at him.

"Mhmm, we both know that's a lie. For starters, I do a lot more than him around here, and you know it-"

"Please, will the pair of you quit it already?" Dutch calls out as he approaches. He must have noticed the way you two were stood so close, squaring up to each other, both too egotistical to let the other talk them down.

Dutch puts his arm out between your bodies, lightly pushing both of you away, forcing you to take a few small steps back. "I've said before that you don't have to get along, but these pathetic arguments happen far too often. Either you both drop this, or I'll have to find a way to make you get along," Dutch threatens, and you know he'll stay true to his word.

You don't bother saying anything, glaring at Javier once more before turning heel and walking away. "You forgot your drink," Javier calls out to you.

"Seems I've lost my appetite," you call back, and you overhear Dutch sigh at your comment.

Part of you feels sick, and you're unsure if that's from the adrenaline pumping in your veins, or the nerves Javier has shaken into you. Why was he stood so close? Your noses were almost touching, and you wouldn't be surprised if he kissed you just to wind you up even more. You try to keep your mind clear as you enter your enclosed tent, taking off your makeup and getting ready for bed, but you can still feel Javier's hot breaths on your skin.

You debate having a towel bath, wanting to wipe away the sin of being so close to that irritating man, but you're already in bed with no motivation to move. As you roll over, the sound of his guitar grows outside, forcing you to place your head under the pillow in an attempt to drown the music out. He's a good musician, and you're happy to admit that, but why does everything about him have to be so... him?

The perfectly coordinated outfits, the way his steel toe boots are always shining, the effortless yet pristine ponytail he always wears, the confidence and vanity in everything he says. He's like one of those flawless characters you've found in awfully written books, no weaknesses or downfalls, no ugly days, everybody loves him, yet his artificialness makes you sick.

And he knows it makes you sick, and he loves to play on it. Tonight isn't the first time he's got up close and personal with you. You know he studies your every move, watching your body language, checking to see if blush grows on your cheeks, searching for your insecurities. The comment he made earlier is still on repeat in your mind... "at least you're putting some effort in tonight." What a smug bastard. He knows how low your self-esteem is, yet you weren't expecting him to pull a Micah and make a comment like that.

But this is what he wants. He wants it to settle in your brain, to weigh you down and make you feel even worse. You just have to not let that happen, but that's easier said than done...

[whirlybirbs]

𝒜.𝑀.   ;   watering hole   |    a high-society drabble

summary: arthur and the boys have a bit to drink. reposted since the read more was glitching in the ask! anon asked: psst, i know u wrote about drunk!arthur before but. mayhaps, some more?

pairing: arthur morgan/reader (turner placeholder lastname)

a/n: drunk arthur absolutely kills me - i just replayed the lenny mission last night so this is (chef kiss) timing. part of a companion piece to simpler said aloud. this is a drabble for the collection high-society, which follows the events of that fic. 

It's a quiet night.

You're posed by the fire with a needle and thread in your hands. In your lap sits a tumble of blue fabric. The stitch along the shoulder has been ripped, leaving a gaping hole in one of Arthur's favorite flannel shirts — and with all the washing and cooking done for the night, you'd settled in beside Tilly and Abigail intending on finally fixing up the shirt for the outlaw.

Fireside chatter is nothing but a gentle lull; the majority of the camp has settled in for the night, save for Hosea and Lenny, playing cards at the table beyond the fire, and the handful of boys who'd ridden out just after dinner set on gathering some supplies from the General Store.

You're tying a knot in the thread when you hear the clamor of laughter and hooves coming in from the woods — immediately, Tilly spares you an unimpressed look.

"Here comes th' carnival," she sighs, "No wonder it took them so damn long."

"Christ, I can almost smell the whiskey off them from here," chirps Hosea, holding his cards and shaking his head. That muscles a laugh out of you.

Abigail snorts. "This'll be a real show."

Considering the fact it was Charles and Javier and Bill and Arthur... well, of course, it oughta be. Anytime that posse decided on a drink at the local saloon, it almost always turned into a flurry of laughter and one too many bar fights.

Standing, you smooth down your skirts and pull the patterned shall around your shoulders a bit tighter. You fold Arthur's shirt neatly, pop it on the log you'd previously been perched upon, and make your way over to the jovial gaggle of men with a smile.

You aren't surprised to see Arthur hanging off of Charles with Sugarcube hitched to Taima — the blonde outlaw clings to his dear friend as laughter rocks his shoulders and he slips gracelessly off the back of the appaloosa and into the tall grass.

"Whoah!"

The thud sends all four of them into a barrage of laughter; and as legs wobble down from their horses, you wonder how the hell they even made it back to camp. Even Charles, a notorious heavy-weight, sways with a buzz as he hitches Taima and stumbles towards Arthur — he's hellbent on offering a hand, only to crack a wry grin when he spies you nearing.

"Arthur, look who it is."

You have to laugh when a blonde head suddenly pokes up from the grass like a field mouse. The crooked little smirk on his face is terribly charming, and you just shake your head when the outlaw gives a big holler and scrambles upright.

"Y' look a lot like th' girl m' gonna marry —"

He trips over his own two feet when he finally stands — and he laughs it off, blinking down at the gilded steel-toed boots as if they were to blame — but manages to stagger on over your way with a goofy grin on his face.

"I been singin' about y' all night," he slurs, hands moving to his hips, "Did y' hear? All th' way from Rhodes... reckon I was loud enough..."

"Singin'?" you gasp playfully, sparing Charles a look over Arthur's broad shoulders, "Is tha' true?"

Charles manages a pained nod.

"He wouldn't shut up!" comes Bill's bark.

"He really does try," Javier grins, moving to press a chaste kiss to your cheek as he weaves by in friendly gesture. You roll your eyes, patting his arm as he bids goodnight.

God, Hosea was right.

They all smell like whiskey.

"My, my, Arthur Morgan," you croon, watching as he tips his head back and adjusts his gambler's hat as he swaggers near. There's a prideful grin on his face as he wobbles, "It's a shame I missed it."

He nearly giggles then, leaning into Charles as the equally-broad man wraps an arm around the outlaw's shoulder. As the others wander off, it's the two gentle giants left to muscle each other around like brothers.

"Maybe next time, y' can come with us, then."

"An' see me at my worst?" he scoffs, waving his hands and giving a toothy grin, "Can't be havin' that."

"Oh, yes," you agree, shaking your head as Arthur snorts at your tone — it's playful and sweet and oh-so-amused and he finds himself rather enraptured with which your hair disagrees with the humid air. Tumbles of tresses fall around your shoulders and you press an unruly tangle behind your ear, "God forbid I see Mr. Arthur Morgan piss-drunk, howlin' at a piano... I mean, if I tagged along, at least I could play while y'did."

His laugh is distracted. He's busy being moony-eyed, stuck on the soft glow you hold in his heart. It doesn't make much sense but it does to him. You're so damn pretty he swears it's like someone's shoveled a bushel of roses right into his lungs. He forgets how to breathe around you.

"Christ, I love you."

It comes out like an exhale.

Soft enough to remind you how much you love him, and earnest enough that Charles suddenly wonders if he is intruding on this moment.

"Maybe it's best we get you to bed, Arthur..."

"I love you, too, you goon — now c'mon, Charles s'right."

You spare Charles a fond look, fingers moving to touch his free hand gently in thanks — for all of it. Carting Arthur back, keeping an eye on him, being his friend... Being your friend. He squeezes your hand back as Charles' brows quirk at the trading of affections and you can see the gears turning as you slip an arm around Arthur's waist.

"Didja hear that, Charles?" Arthur slurs, "Sh' loves me."

"I thought we went over this —" you laugh, sing-song sweet.

"Yea," a chuckle bubbles up as he staggers along towards his tent, supported by yourself and Charles, "Still like hearin' it, though."

"Once you're in bed," you grunt at the sudden weight being leaned your way, "I'll tell y' it all you'd like."

Safe to say, Charles Smith has never seen a drunk Arthur Morgan be put to bed that fast.

[justanalto]

How am I supposed to know

By all standards, she’s as prepped and ready as possible. She’s read all of the books, exhausted every holodeck simulation there is on the Discovery and then some, even forced Georgiou to run her through some of the Charon’s drills in the off chance they ever landed in the mirror universe once more.

Ensign Sylvia Tilly is a prepared captain-to-be, and she’s got the test scores and run times to prove it. The command test is going to be her bitch. So why does it feel like she’s monumentally unprepared for the biggest test of her life?

“Isik for your thoughts?”

Tilly looks up at Michael, who’s just entered their quarters with a suspiciously large box in her arms. “How did you know?” Tilly blurts, because if there’s anyone to ask, it’s the woman who came closest to captaincy herself. (Even if it had led to her mutineering.)

Michael pauses. The box shifts in her arms, making the tiniest of squeaks. Tilly will wonder what it is later, but for now — “Know what?”

“Know when you were ready.” She gestures fruitlessly at the piles of manuals and PADDs scattered around her bed. “I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but studying for this damn thing, and I still feel like I’m gonna freeze up at the first question.” She sighs. “How am I supposed to know I’m ready if don’t feel it?”

Michael shrugs and sets the basket down, settling next to Tilly on the bed instead. It squeaks again, and Tilly is so tempted to just reach over and pop the lid open — “That’s easy,” she tells her, and Tilly can feel her expression morphing into absolute confusion — easy, knowing? Was there something she was missing? “You’ll never feel ready.”

She intends to ask why, she really does. But all that comes out of Tilly’s mouth is a strangled “whaaaa?”

“Feeling ready comes with time,” Micheal says. “You can’t rush it with books or holodeck simulations, only with experience. It took three years for me as Captain Georgiou’s Number One to feel remotely ready, and that was after I did the same thing you did.”

Tilly sighs. Not exactly the words she was expecting to hear from the famed Michael Burnham, but… “I guess it’s just..everything that’s happened to me so far has just happened,” she explains, and Michael nods in understanding. “I just want to be ahead of the game for once.”

“But that’s part of what makes you a good captain,” Michael offers. “Not knowing, how to adapt…all of that serves you better in the chair than any field manual could.” She gives Tilly a rueful grin and pats one of the large books. “Trust me. I know.”

“So you’re saying I could study for a fortnight and still not be ready?”

“I’m saying nobody ever feels ready by studying alone, Tilly. And that’s okay.”

Tilly sighs again. It’s hard not to take it as a slight against her preparation skills — what if this is the one thing that stands between her and command? — but Michael is right. Being a captain is far more than manuals and protocol. And she’s from the Discovery — front lines to the Klingon war and fresh from a jaunt in the mirror universe. If anything, she’s more than qualified for whatever those suckers bring.

“I got this, don’t I?” she asks Michael, who nods.

“You’ve beyond got this, Tilly. Now, as for right now…” The squeaking in the box has increased frantically since the beginning of their conversation, and Michael finally lifts the flap of the box to reveal…oh, no. “Turns out Lorca was breeding them in his lair of specialties. I was hoping you could help me get rid of them…discreetly.”

Tribbles. What a way to prep for a command test. Oooh, Keyla would kill to see one of these.

[twola]

Seven Deadly Sins - I

PAIRING: low to mid honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Summary: Because if one thing is true, it is that Arthur Morgan is a sinner. Pure, organic, non-GMO smut. A continuing series.

Lust: an intense sexual desire or appetite, uncontrolled or illicit sexual desire or appetite; lecherousness, a passionate or overmastering desire or craving.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Next

That is the absolute last time he ever listens to some hare-brained plan dreamed up by Sean MacGuire. Abandoned cabin, he said, not a soul around, he went on. He just failed to mention that this cabin near Eris Field was a goddamn Lemoyne Raiders safe house. Not nearly worth the take, and now Arthur needed more shotgun shells. He made sure Sean caught hell before sending the boy off in the other direction. He cuffed him over the head for good measure.

Arthur swung around to the south of Rhodes to keep away from camp for a while, it was only a matter of time until those inbred hicks realized it was another gang encroaching on their territory. 

He spurred his horse into a gallop as the sun set over the west, and a full moon rose over the hill country of Scarlett Meadows. 

Arthur hits the shores of Flat Iron Lake just north of Braithwaite Manor.

He pats his mare’s head as she slows to a walk, breathing heavily, coat worked into a lathing sweat. “You’re alright, girl.”

Trailing along the shoreline, in the distance, he can see the faint lantern lights from the gang’s camp at Clemens Point. He stops the horse, allowing her to step down to the water and take a much-needed drink. Swinging off the saddle, he pops his shoulder, still feeling a twinge of pain from his ‘stay’ with the O’Driscolls weeks ago.

A sound reaches his ears, rustling of leaves, movement of water. 

He ties up his horse against a tree, unholstering his revolver as he sneaks closer to the small cove that the shoreline creates. He takes cover behind a wide tree trunk, slowly clicking the safety off his revolver.

He peers on the other side of the tree at the rocky shoreline.

It is not some bounty hunter, or robber, or frankly any kind of threat.

It is you.

You’re partially obscured by the outcropping of rock, but there is more than enough moonlight to trace the sinuous curves of your body.

You’re completely bare, nude as the day you were born, washing yourself in the waters of Flat Iron Lake.

He should be blushing and turning away, leaving you privacy while he reaches camp from another direction. But as the moonlight dances on your dewy curves, Arthur is guided by another notion.

He did always say that he wasn’t a good man.

Arthur holsters his gun, trying to be as quiet as possible. He watches you with the eyes of a predator, a hungry wolf with a doe in its sights. It hasn’t been since his untried youth that he’s so governed by an urge like this, being driven by pulsing blood and hotheadedness and want.

You’re wringing out your long hair over your shoulder, the expanse of your back and the curve of your spine above your hips visible above the water.

He swallows, hidden by foliage, behind the tree trunk overlooking the cove where you bathe.

Arthur can’t say he’s ever looked at you like this, thrumming with the singular need to sink his cock into your body. You’ve been around a few years, a dependable thief, a decent shot, he looked at you no differently than he looked at Karen, Tilly, or Mary Beth. But now, seeing you like this, he’s driven by a need that pounds in his blood. He knows he shouldn’t be here, dirty old man , but by some kind of force far stronger than shame, he is rooted to the spot, breathing in a deep breath through his nose.

He uncomfortably shifts, his hand over his gun belt that’s slung across his hips, tighter now against his hardening cock. He pushes at it awkwardly, trying to find some damned relief. 

You turn, humming to yourself while taking a step closer to the shore. More of your skin becomes visible to him as you rise from the water like some storybook nymph.

He swallows, tracing the rivulets of water down your frame, down over your pebbled nipples and the swell of your breasts, your soft belly, sliding down your skin into the thatch of dark hair at the apex of your thighs.

Arthur liked to think of himself as being above that. Not so completely enraptured by the female form that he could think of little else.

But right now? His stiffening cock pressing against his pants is his priority. With guidance that he knows could only come from thinking with his cock, he steps out of his hiding spot and down to the shoreline.

Leaves rustle on the ground.

You catch his gaze. Surprised, fearful, like a skittish doe in the jaws of that hungry wolf. Stunned into silence, into stillness. 

Water continues to drip down your body. Nothing is hidden from his eyes. 

Were he not but a trickle of that fresh lake water, trailing slowly down your skin, down your breasts, your soft belly, collecting at the cradle of your hips. Weaving its way through the hair there. 

Drip, drip, dripping to the hidden, dewy skin of your cunt.

-

You swallow. Your skin breaks out into gooseflesh as you shiver under the cold weight of his stare. You should scream, you should run, you should hide yourself from him.

Should, should, should. All of these things you should do.

But the way he is looking at you. The way he is staring. The shadow across his face from the brim of that old leather hat. The telltale sign of heavy breathing, his chest rising and falling. You can see his fist clenching at his side.

Arthur has always been distant. You had heard talk of a woman he had been involved with years ago, some high society girl that broke his heart. Not that you were particularly eyeing anyone in the gang for any self-gratifying reason - it was less complicated that way.

But now, now,  he looks at you with a hunger that needs to be slaked. Arthur Morgan. Dutch’s top gun. The enforcer. You’ve seen him break men with his two hands, those two hands that clench at his side as he struggles with some semblance of control.

In this moment, you imagine those hands on you.

Something, perhaps the traitorous clenching of your cunt around nothing when you look at him, goads you into speaking up.

“Want to join me, Arthur?”

-

Your voice is soft, breathy, when it reaches his ear. He continues to stare, gnawing at his lower lip for moments that seem like an eternity.

His cock is so hard it’s almost painful, straining against the fabric of his jeans. A cool breeze rushes in from the lake and you shiver, the goose flesh that springs up on your skin makes him itch to touch you. Even feet away, he can see your nipples darken and harden.

“Are you coming?” You whisper at him, your hand slowly raising toward his still form. 

The double entendre is not lost on him. 

Arthur hasn’t been one to be guided by his cock, certainly not recently. Not in years. He’s not one to seek out whores in far-flung cattle towns the gang rolls through like a prairie wind. But Christ , if you aren’t here, hand outstretched, beckoning him to come to you.

His gun belt lands on the ground with a clatter. Arthur is kicking his boots off while shrugging his suspenders down his arms, fevered in his movements. His satchel joins his belt on the ground. He refuses to look away from your figure, refuses to give up a single moment of the moon shining down on the expanse of your skin.

Arthur works at the buttons of his work shirt, one by one, as his breathing becomes heavier. He nearly rips his shirt off, it falls to the ground over his discarded gun belt. The Lemoyne heat and humidity are stifling, and he has forgone a union suit underneath his clothing.

You suck in a breath, and he sees a glint of hunger in your eyes, beginning to match what he’s sure is emanating from his own. 

His hands glide to the buttons of his pants, pressing them between the fabric eyes, his cock insistent against his fly. 

One, two, three.

-

You stare at him, your gaze darting downward from his hungry eyes to his broad chest, covered in wiry hair. His arms, muscled and sculpted and brawny. The way his waist slightly tapers inward down to his hips. He is hewn from decades of intensive labor, the chase of violence, living on the lam. 

The trail of dark hair from his navel that disappears under his pants becomes more and more visible to your gaze at each button he undoes. His fly hangs open for a moment, before he hooks both of his hands at the sides of his pants and slides them down, baring himself to you the way you are to him. He tosses his pants into the pile of clothing on the shore.

He steps into the water, unafraid, confident, driven. Wading toward you, the water creeping up with each step, up his calves, past his knees, up his thighs to where his engorged cock hangs heavy. 

Arthur reaches you, his hungry hands on your body as your breath hitches, shivering as you close your eyes. A thumb brushes over one of your nipples. Fingers dance across the soft skin of your inner thigh, moving closer to the apex, and you widen your stance unconsciously, as your hands find their way to his chest, palms spread wide over the planes of his solid pectorals. 

Your eyes snap open as your breath quickens, Arthur drags the knuckle of his pointer finger between your folds. You gasp, and in response his mouth hangs open, his other hand leaving your breast to dart down to his cock, stroking it slowly as he rubs at your core.

“A-Arthur,” you stutter, one of your hands moving to his forearm, clenching it tightly as he presses against you. 

“ Jesus , woman.” He slips a finger inside you and you keen, head thrown back and gasping to the nighttime sky. Arthur groans in response, his other hand moving from his cock to grasp roughly at the back of your neck, pulling you forward, nearly stumbling into him, and captures your lips with his own, smothering your high-pitched wail with his mouth.

The hard, hot line of him is pressed against your hip, insistent, and as you quickly get used to his ministrations in your cunt, you reach between your bodies to ghost your palm over his cock, taking the place of his hand that is winding through the hair at the nape of your neck.

It’s his turn to groan, and you feel the vibrations of the low register of his voice down your spine, he juts his hips against you. He pulls away, gasping, pupils blown. His hand moves slowly back from your neck to cup your jaw, the rough skin of his thumb tracing your lips.

You open your lips and take his thumb in your mouth, sucking gently. His eyes widen, mouth twitching for a moment. You feel him push a second finger into your cunt and you burn , your teeth clenching down on his thumb gently as you suck.

You know, you know , that there is no going back from here, that you’re about to tread on dangerous ground, but from the way your vision narrows to the pulsing of your blood underneath your skin, you don’t care.

-

Arthur stares down at you, his thumb in your mouth, fingers in your cunt. One of your hands lazily strokes at his cock, your thumb swiping over its head every few strokes.

He draws his hand from your mouth and leans back in to take your lips against his again. His tongue presses against yours. You’re completely pliant against him.

“Gonna fuck y’ now.” He pants into your mouth, taking his hands from their places and quickly grabbing the undersides of your thighs, hoisting you from the water as your hands find his shoulders. Your legs immediately wrap around his hips.

Your lips remain locked on his as he wades back toward the shoreline, and once he’s out of the water, he’s sinking to his knees, bending over to lay you out on the ground. 

Your hands card through his honeyed locks, as he presses his lips to yours again. He settles in between your hips, his cock pressing against your thigh.

You moan into his mouth, and one of your hands reaches between the two of you to grasp him, guiding him in between your thighs.

He pushes inside. 

It’s slow, as much as he wants to fuck you until you scream, he can get to that later. Inch by torturous inch, he presses forward, until the bones of both of your hips touch, and he is buried deep within you.

Christ, you’re just as tight, wet, and warm as he’d thought you’d be.

He grunts, rolling his hips back to withdraw, then pushing forward again, swallowing your moan as his lips remain on yours.

There he is, fucking you on the sandy shoreline of Flat Iron Lake, the both of you naked as the day you were born, kissed by moonlight. He pulls away from your lips, and you both breathe fast, panting breaths.

“ God -” you croon, your blunt nails digging into his back.

He chuckles lowly, “Not quite.”

Arthur loops one of your legs over his shoulder, and your babbling becomes incoherent as he widens the yaw of your legs, and you struggle to keep your eyes open.

He’s careening toward completion, that feeling deep in his gut where he knows he’s about to have this burning energy that’s overtaking him pulled out through his cock.

You’re shamelessly moaning beneath him, gasping syllables of his name. God, hopefully, you ain’t so loud the camp hears you, cause there would be absolutely no hiding what he’s doing to you.

“I’m, ooh- god…” you spit out, voice breathy as you begin to arch underneath him, your cunt embarrassingly wet, the squelching of his thrusts becoming louder as you cry out, clenching around his cock, scratching his back near painfully. Arthur continues to fuck you through your release, chasing his own as his breathing tumbles into panting as he slams his hips into your own. He lets your leg down from his shoulder.

Arthur pulls out with not a moment to spare, the hot spatter of his release against your inner thigh as your back continues to arch against him. He groans, his forehead against yours, out of breath, barely holding himself up as his forearms bracket either side of your head.

You sigh, satiated, breathy, slowly coming down from your high, “Mister Morgan.”

“At your service, ma’am.” He places his head in the hollow of your shoulder, nipping slightly at your neck before he rolls off of you. 

You’re both covered in sandy mud, streaks of the red clay that helps give Scarlett Meadows its name coating your skin.

“Looks like I need another bath. I was almost done, ‘fore you interrupted me.” You sit up, wiping at a smudge of mud on your hip bone.

“Mm, could help ya there, if y’ need it.”

You roll your eyes at him, and he reaches over to pinch at your hip, causing you to giggle and scoot further away from him.

“Arthur. Knock it off or we ain’t ever gonna get clean.” You scold but cannot keep the smile from your face. You push yourself up to stand, moving back toward the water, stepping in gingerly, wading out until you can sink down so the water covers your shoulders.

Arthur reclines back, propped up on his elbow, watching you pick leaves and twigs from your long hair. 

You turn around, catching his eye. “You coming in?”

Arthur snorts, looking down, but cannot keep the grin from his face. He pushes himself up from the ground, standing up and wading into the water.

“Y’know, Mister, you ain’t half bad.”

“You ain’t half bad yourself, Miss.”

He circles you, your hair fanned out in the water. You eye him with a glint of mischief.

“I wouldn’t mind if we did that from time to time.”

“Oh? Would you now….” He reaches toward you, and you push a small wave of water at him in response.

“Mhm. But not now. You’ve got mud on your face.”

[irishmacguirefucker]

Sometimes I can still hear his voice

I told yall i would write smth based on that video. Anyways heres 1.2k words of sean macguire and his friends based on this  video posted by @easyboah​

It’s no secret that Sean MacGuire thrives on attention. Karen knows it, Lenny knows it, the whole camp knows it. So when Sean fucks up, it’s rather easy to make him regret it in the most hilarious of ways

-

It’s not like it was on purpose, it was hardly even his fault! And by hardly he means mostly. And by mostly he means it was 100% his fault. How was he to know that spitting his first mouthful of moonshine into the fire pit would make it pop? He hadn’t expected some backwoods hillbilly made alcohol to be so damn bitter when he tried to sip it like it was smooth. 

Lenny was too close to the fire with his damn paper books anyways, what did he expect! It is not Sean’s fault that the debris from the fire landed on his book. And set it on fire. Dumping the rest of the moonshine on it to put it out didn’t exactly help.

Either way, this punishment hardly fits the crime. Lenny hadn’t said a word to the man in 2 days! Hadn’t even tried to make him do his reading, and at this point he was willing. The ignoring was bad but really? Pretending he was dead? A childish low for the younger man. A low that Sean did not appreciate.

Sean was pouting by the fire when he heard Arthur and Lenny talking. “Lenny.”

“Hey, Arthur. Don’t suppose you got a lead on that book I was looking for?”

“Nah, I ain’t seen it. It was one of them fancy novels though, we ain’t exactly been robbing anywhere fancy lately.”

Lenny laughed. “That we ain’t. Damn Sean, I was nearly done that one too.”

That made Sean bristle, and chug back his beer. Damn them, talking like they didn’t know he was in listening distance.”

“You know, Sean was just starting to get good at the reading too. Ain’t the same now that he’s gone.”

Arthur laughed out loud at that, but the real offence was that he played along, the English bastard. “Damn shame about that boy huh, gone before his time.”

Finally fed up, Sean shouted from his seat at the fire. “I’m not bloody dead ya bastards, stop talking like it! It was just a fuckin book. And I’ll have you know I weren’t anything close to good at readin’!”

His outburst had Arthur bent at the knees laughing, had Grimshaw swatting him over the head for the noise, and Sean’s ultimate annoyance, Lenny remained stoic. “Sometimes I can still hear his voice. he was a good friend.”

“That’s it, get over here you little arsehole!”

Watching Sean chase Lenny across camp was wonderful entertainment with lunch, and within 2 days Lenny’s book was replaced. Sean denied any involvement in its replacement, but Hosea’s wink was contradictory to that.

-

The thing with Karen wasn’t Sean’s fault either. She never had any bloody issue with him flirting before, but suddenly when it’s with some rich sheriff’s daughter at a saloon it’s an issue. Or maybe the issue was that Sean was the one who brought Karen to the bar in the first place. Or maybe the issue was that Sean got so wasted that he thought Karen was a prostitute when she tried to drag him back to camp. 

Either way, not his fault. Drunken antics are part of the Sean Macguire package! And the fact that Ms. Jones took queues from Lenny on how best to get him back is downright unfair. It started in the morning. Despite the raging hangover, he never missed the opportunity to wake up early and stand with Karen for her morning coffee, even if the two of them were too hungover for conversation. When she didn’t say a word to him that morning, he figured that was the reason and thought nothing of it. But now it’s dinner and she has yet to talk to him. It’s outright ignoring of him at this point, she won’t even look his way when he speaks to her.

It was when they were all eating their stew around the fire that she started the real joke.

Karen seemed to have no issue making light dinner conversation with the others, as she pointedly sat as far away from Sean as possible. Sean was halfway done his stew when she put her real plan into action. Lenny had just made a joke at Sean’s expense, not that the man really minded when his mouth was full of stew and his mug was full of whiskey, but it was Karen’s response that set him alight. “Oh Lenny, you shouldn’t joke. Not now that he’s gone...”

Sean could see that fucking smirk behind her mug and began chewing faster, desperate to goat her into conversation. (Christ almighty, Pearson could turn the most tender cut of beef into pure gristle and chew.) For all his less than polite mannerisms, he wasn’t about to start yelling with his mouth full. Not with Ms. Grimshaw in the seat beside him anyways, she would take his bowl away. Not that it would be the first time. Lenny caught on quickly with a snort. “You know what, you’re right Karen. Distasteful now that he’s dead.”

“It was just a damn shame about that. I suppose I’ll have to find someone else to screw around with at camp. Interested?”

Though he had been playing along, that took Lenny out of the game with a flustered expression and some stuttering. Sean, however, did NOT find the joke as funny as the rest of the girls giggling behind the fire did. “Karen Jones that is too bloody far! And YOU-”

As he turned on his best friend who was looking both delighted by the joke and afraid of what was about to happen, the meat Sean still had in his mouth was practically spat out as he was yelling. Before he could say another word, Grimshaw slapped him up the back of the head and confiscated his bowl of stew without a word. The group around the fire was practically rolling with laughter, Sean was still fuming like a wet cat, and Lenny was wiping food off his face. “Christ Sean, say it don’t spray it, man.”

Instead of responding, the redhead shot up to his feet and was walking towards Karen with purpose and a maniacal grin. “I’ll show you I’m not bloody dead, woman.”

“Oh shit, move move MOVE TILLY-” Karen practically pushed her friend off the crate she sat on to bolt. 

The ensuing chase was absolutely hilarious. They ran two full circles around the camp until Karen tripped on her skirt and nearly faceplanted down in the sand, and Sean was on her in a second. For how thin and lanky he is, years of being an outlaw gave him the strength to get his revenge. The Irishman seemed to have minimal issue throwing the girl over his shoulder and marching down the beach as she screamed and pounded on his back. He waded in up to his knees, before flipping her over into the water and landing on top of her. 

The camp probably could have done without the very loud makeup sex they had later, but it was nice to see everyone in such a jovial mood.

[ratonnhhaketon]

See The Fire In Your Eyes (Chapter 4)

Read on Ao3 | Previous | Next

Summary: Catherine Hays grew up in a picture-perfect, high society family in Virginia. She had her whole life planned out for her and was about to get married to a man she could not stand. When her brother uncovers a murder plot and has to pay with his own life, Catherine decides she can’t continue playing along. She takes control of her own destiny and goes south to a pretty little town called Blackwater.

Warnings: Swearing, Canon-typical violence, Kidnapping

Chapter 4 - Misadventures In Mail Delivery

It had been about two weeks or so since the incident with the stagecoach, and Catherine had definitely been keeping busy around camp. Mrs. Grimshaw quickly put her to work with the laundry, dishes, and assisting Pearson with the stew preparation. Adjusting to the life of an outlaw was a slow and strange process, especially after never having to do regular chores prior her entire life, but it was starting to feel normal. She even picked up new skills and hobbies that she enjoyed, like sewing, despite how many times she pricked herself while Tilly taught her the basics.

Catherine awoke to a particularly chilly morning and quickly got dressed in an effort to block out the cold air. A simple long-sleeved maroon shirt and a pair of black jeans, that she actually preferred over skirts after wearing them so often, accompanied her riding boots. She ran a brush through her tangled hair, taking time to pay special attention to a stubborn knot in the back, before putting it in a simple plait.

As she exited her small tent she raised her arms up and stretched, groaning a bit when her lower back popped a bit. Like every morning, she made a beeline to the fire and grabbed a cup of coffee.

Hosea called her over to the table he was currently sat at. “Would you mind taking a ride into town to pick up the mail?”

She gave a quick nod at him before downing the rest of her coffee. “Of course! What do we need?”

“Mrs. Grimshaw ordered some clothes and there are probably some letters for Dutch and myself.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get a move on now.” They shared a smile before Hosea returned his attention to the book in his lap and Catherine headed back to her tent. She grabbed the dark blue jacket that was slung on top of her clothing trunk before walking over to where Arthur, John, and Lenny were standing and enjoying their coffee. “Morning fellas,” she said with a warm smile as she pulled the jacket on.

The group replied with their own nods and small ‘morning’s of acknowledgement before she spoke up again. “Well I’m heading into town to grab the mail, any of you need me to pick up somethin’ from the store?”

Arthur spoke up first. “A pack of cigarettes would be nice.”

~~~~~

She looked between the other two as they just shook their heads. “Can do, Mr. Morgan. I should be back in an hour or so.”

The ride into town went smoothly as always. Catherine passed only a few people on the road, as the sun was still just over the horizon, and stopped at the post office first. She collected everything they needed, a stack of letters addressed to the ringleaders of the gang and a package for Miss Grimshaw. She securely strapped the package to the back of her horse before slipping the letters into the saddlebags and walking to the general store.

Catherine made a quick lap around the store, picking up Arthur’s request as well as a can of peaches for herself and some candies for Jack. As she stood at the counter to pay she felt someone staring at her and quickly looked around the store before taking note of the man paying a little too much attention to the box of biscuits in his hand. She passed the clerk a few bills before gathering her things and returning to her horse.

As she was putting the things into the saddlebags, that same looming presence of someone watching made itself known once again. Catherine quickly slipped the cigarettes and chocolate bar into the inner pocket of her jacket before she mounted and spurred her horse into a gallop to get out of town as fast as possible. When she was barely half a mile out of town the sound of steady hooves following her seemed to grow louder with each passing moment. She spared them a quick glance over her shoulder before turning off of the road and into the thick forest of Tall Trees.

Her mare protested every time she was spurred on to keep up her pace, but the stead never once slowed down. Catherine ducked and weaved through low hanging branches, keeping a hand held out in front of her face to avoid any collisions.

The sound of hooves only faded for a moment as she ducked into the forest before reappearing almost twice as loud. A small “shit!” escaped her lips as the sound of hooves and the edge of Tall Trees grew closer.

Catherine failed to realize that she was nearing a small cliff and, before she could slow down, her horse slid down the slope uncontrollably. Her mare began to freak out, frantically trying to regain its footing on the loose dirt and rocks, and bucked her off in the process. She fell to the ground with a hard thud, pain in her chest and the air fully gone from her lungs.

Between ragged breaths as she lay on the ground, trying to regain her breathing, she noticed the sounds of hooves had stopped and steady footsteps crunching leaves began to approach her. She tried to reach for her pistol but one of the men shot a bullet next to her head, obviously missing on purpose.

“The boss is gonna be very happy about this,” the other man chucked. The last thing she saw was her mare sprinting off in the direction of camp before the butt of a rifle knocked her out cold.

~~~~~

“Hey, Lenny!” Arthur called to the man on guard duty as he walked towards his horse. “Has Miss Hays gotten back yet?”

He adjusted the rifle in his hand as he turned to look back at the man behind him. “No, I haven’t seen her.”

“Damn, I could use that pack of cigarettes she promised.” No sooner than the words left his mouth did the steady gallop of hooves start to approach the camp. The two men looked towards the sound expecting to see the woman they were just discussing, but were met with her dark brown mare barreling down the path. Arthur, wasting no time at all, instinctively put his hands up to slow the horse and grab the reins. He calmed her down enough that she stopped moving, though she was still shaking her head and huffing from the unfamiliar contact.

The two men shared a glance before Lenny spoke up. “Well,” he exhaled. “This ain’t good.”

~~~~~

The world was a haze around Catherine as she started to come to her senses. The room she was in was mostly dark, with a small stream of light peeking in from the torn curtain. She blinked a few times to get her eyes adjusted to the space around her. It was a small room, with a mattress pushed against the opposite corner of the room and a table covered in playing cards and empty cigarette cartons next to her.

Her mouth was dry and tasted like metal. Her vision was still blurry from the darkness, but she could still tell her eyes were very swollen. Despite her whole body screaming and protesting against her, she tried to move. Her muscles ached against the rope tied around her hands and legs.

She stopped struggling when a male voice spoke up outside. “How much longer do we have to be in this shithole?”

Another man replied, “Another day or two, probably. Just waiting on Calvin to send word for us to send her back.”

She felt her stomach churn. Of course he was behind this.

The door to the cabin swung open and she could vaguely make out the shape of a man walking towards her. “Look who’s awake, boys!” As he walked closer she recognized the figure to be the man that shot at her earlier.

“I’d rather die than go back to that rat,” she spat, struggling against the ropes.

The man laughed and crouched down next to her. “As much as I would love to make that happen,” he said with a smile. “I’m afraid Mr. Foster specifically requested you be returned alive so he could decide exactly what to do with you.” He lifted up a hand to her cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. God , she wanted to throw up. Or punch him in the face. “Pity though, that he gets to have all the fun with you. I bet you’d make a very-”

Before he could continue she moved her face to the right towards his hand and bit down hand, directly at the base of his thumb. He yanked his hand back and grabbed it, making sure that he wasn’t bleeding. Catherine looked at him with fire in her eyes and he returned the gaze with pure anger. “You bitch!!” he yelled, using his opposite hand to slap her across the face. Her head went back and hit off the hardwood of the wall behind her, a yelp of pain escaping her lips. The world started to spin around her and her vision started to get hazy. She vaguely heard the man spew some string of curse words at her before she blacked out.

~~~~~

The second time she woke was to gunfire outside of the small cabin. The men that captured her were not only yelling a lot between each other, but she had a feeling that they were losing the fight as well.

“Check inside, we’ll keep watch out here,” a distant voice said. It sounded hazy and muffled as it broke through the ringing of her ears.

The door to the house opened and she tightly shut her eyes from the heavy moonlight. After a moment she opened them to see a figure approaching her, to which she instinctively curled her bruised body further into a ball. Her figure shook violently from fear and the cold air surrounding her.

“Hey, s’okay. I ain’t gon’ hurt ya.” the figure spoke up in a soft tone. The voice was deep and gravelly but also gentle. One that felt familiar and safe.

She looked up with tears in her half-lidded eyes and said, “Arthur?” Her voice was weak and sounded almost like a wheeze.

“Shhh, it’s alright. We’re gon’ getcha outta here.” He carefully cut the ropes on her arms and hands. “Can ya walk?” When Catherine slowly shook her head Arthur bent down to slide his arms under her legs and behind her back. He hoisted her body up- to which she let out a loud cry of pain- and walked back out of the small cabin, careful to not hit her against the doorframe. She rested her head against his chest as they walked to try and stop the world from spinning around her.

For the first time in what was probably days she felt safe.

“Take her back to camp,” another voice spoke up. “We’ll stay back for a bit and make sure no one is left.” Arthur sat her on the front of his horse’s saddle and carefully got in behind her to assure she wouldn’t fall during the ride.

As they rode off back towards camp Catherine kept her head propped up against Arthur’s chest with her eyes closed, desperately trying to ignore the aching pain her body felt as the horse galloped. Her right hand clutched the front of his shirt, her legs dangling over the side of the horse, and a few stray tears leaked out of her eyes.

“Well be back soon, just stay with me.” She felt his chest rumble against her head as he spoke and groaned out in pain, to which he instinctively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I know it hurts but we’ll be back soon.”

She started to feel lightheaded and groggy. Using the last of her strength, Catherine opened her puffy eyes and looked up at Arthur. “Wasn’t.. O’Driscolls,” she murmured, voice nearly giving out at the end.

The last thing she heard was Arthur’s confused “What?” before her field of view was swallowed into blackness and she slipped out of consciousness again.

~~~~~

Catherine didn’t remember much of what happened after that. She remembered a lot of yelling, people rushing around, and what she thinks was Arthur and Lenny talking. When she was finally fully conscious she woke up to a very dry mouth and almost every part of her body in pain. She looked at her surroundings and realized she was back at camp, in her tent, with Hosea reading a book beside her cot. Upon noticing her awake he smiled and shut the book, and reaching for a cup of water he had resting on the crate next to her.

“Good to see you awake, Catherine.” He helped her lean up and drink, reminding her to go slow and breathe so she didn’t choke. “You gave us all quite the scare.”

Before she could reply the flap to her tent was opened and Arthur’s familiar hat peaked in. “Glad to see you’re up.”

She felt the corner of her mouth turn up in a light smile at his voice. Hosea waved Arthur in and stood before saying, “I’ll let you catch her up on everything, but make sure she eats something and gets a lot of rest.” He gave Arthur a pat on the arm before leaving and closing the tent’s canvas.

“How..” she started, struggling to speak as her throat was still sore and voice was almost gone. “How long was I out?”

Arthur sat down in the chair next to her and leaned back. “A few days. You’ve been in and out a couple times, but never as aware as ya’ are now. Hell, Reverend was considerin’ reading you yer last rights last time you were conscious.” They shared a chuckle at the thought before Arthur continued. “Took a hell of a beating back there but at least Miss Grimshaw will go easy on you for a while.”

Arthur looked at her for a second and took in her features. “Do you have any idea who those men were? ‘Cause you said they ain’t O’Driscolls when we were coming back to camp.”

She let out a sigh. “Yeah, I do.” Her gaze shifted from him to the canvas covering the top of the tent. “Calvin sent them. The man I was supposed to marry.”

He looked down at his feet and nodded, before looking back up at her a moment later. “I’m guessing he’s not too happy you left your old life?”

Catherine’s eyes returned to the man next to her. “Not at all.” She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked down at her hands, her thumbs fidgeting together in her lap. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I didn’t want to get you all wrapped into more problems than you already have.”

Arthur leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Catherine,” he said with a sincere tone, “You’re a part of this gang now, which makes you family. And as a family one person’s problems become a concern for all of us. If this son of a bitch shows his face again we’ll take care of it.”

She smiled at the sincerity of his words, tears threatening her eyes. The two sat in silence for a moment, enjoying each other’s company before a thought popped into her head. “Oh!” she said suddenly. “Is my horse alright?”

Arthur chuckled at her concern. “She’s perfectly fine. An hour or two after you left she showed back up at camp without you, so me and Lenny figured you were in trouble. Real smart girl you got there, seeing as she was able to bring herself all the way back to camp on her own.”

Catherine smiled at the good news. “Thank god she’s alright.” Her eyes drifted to the trunk on the floor next to Arthur’s chair and she spotted her jacket laying on top of it. “Arthur, could you grab my jacket for me?” She gestured with her right hand to where it lay and he picked it up before gently laying it on the bed next to her. “Before I forget,” she said with a smirk as she reached into the pocket on the inner lining. “You might be wanting these.” She handed over the, now slightly squashed, pack of cigarettes to him.

He laughed as he accepted the gift, having nearly forgotten that he even asked for them. “Thank you very much, Miss Hays.”

“Consider it payment for rescuing me from my captors.”

[nothingunrealistic]

casting call information from the two river theater production of love in hate nation

A turbulent rock romance set in a 1960s Juvie Hall, Love in Hate Nation uses classic “bad girl” movies as the inspiration for the story of young people caught between eras of a changing America. Sixteen-year old Susannah Son is carted off to the National Reformatory for Girls to get her head put on straight. There she meets the aggressively incorrigible Sheila Nail, and a relationship forms which leads to an all out “revolution in the institution” as they attempt to break out of the boxes society has created around them. Girl Group Wall of Sound harmonies are filtered through a punk rock spirit in this rebellious and romantic new musical.

NOTE: The show is set in 1962. The world is stylized, but the characters should feel firmly planted in the time period in terms of timing, delivery, speech patterns. Specific inspiration was taken from the “bad girl” movies of the late 50s – early 70s. See: Switchblade Sisters, Kitten With a Whip, Rebel Without A Cause, Female Trouble, etc.

SUSANNAH SON: In Juvie for attempted suicide. A total weirdo and our heroine. SUSANNAH is a black girl from suburban CT. Her father is a former military man, her mother is drunk. She’s adopted. Neither parent understands SUSANNAH or seems to like her very much. She’s been teaching herself ukulele for a few years. She loves girl group pop music. She has never felt at home anywhere and she always feels alone in groups. She felt calm around her grandma, but now her grandma is dead. She designed a logo for herself (what’s the logo for, exactly? Unclear) and draws it on everything. She is not badass. – Should have a versatile voice that has lots of personality. Ukulele skills a real plus. Guitar skills a plus but not necessary. (Who would play her in the movie: a teenage Kimya Dawson, a teenage Odetta, a teenage Janelle Monae.)

SHEILA NAIL: In Juvie for theft, pyromania, violent tendencies, thrill-craziness, and rampant waywardness. Sheila is total badass. Unsentimental, sexy, tough, weird, furious, calm. – Should have a great rock and roll voice: think Aretha, Janis, Smith, or Amy (Winehouse). Any ethnicity. (Who would play her in the movie: a teenage Gina Gershon, a teenage James Dean, a teenage KILL BILL-era Uma Thurman.)

DOROTHY DONALDSON: In Juvie for incorrigibility and impersonating others. Dorothy is a Southern belle, by way of Jersey. A warm criminal from New Jersey whose “special skill” is impressions. She does a few characters from time to time but her main guise these days is Southern Belle. – Any vocal type will do. Any ethnicity. (Who would play her in the movie: a teenage Ellie Kemper, a teenage Cookie Mueller, a teenage Mindy Kaling.)

BRENDA “Rat” RATOWSKI: In Juvie for kleptomania and destructive tendencies. Rat is a scrappy little thieving weasel. A rough, snarling sneak with a mean streak. Pure Brooklyn, total street rat. – Any vocal type will do. Any ethnicity. (Who would play her in the movie: a teenage Steve Buscemi, a teenage Cyndi Lauper, a teenage P.J. Soles.)

KITTY MINX: In Juvie for “cross-dressing” and sexual deviancy. Kitty is the ‘family secret’ who feels at home in Juvie. In 2019, Kitty would be referred to as transgender. In 1962, she’d be referred to as a “cross-dresser.” She is confident and kind and strange and in love with the screen goddesses of the 1940’s. She is a rebel in the making and she bites. – She should possess a strong rock/soul voice: think Anohni, a female Elton John, Nina Simone. Any ethnicity. Seeking Transgender and Gender Nonconforming actors. (Who would play her in the movie: a teenage Candy Darling, a teenage Justin Vivian Bond, a teenage Jackie Curtis.)

JUDITH RAMONE: In Juvie for cutting a guy’s dick off. Judith is one tough cookie. She’s got an eye patch. Don’t ask about it. Tough, nasty, woke up on the wrong side of the bad. The school bully who revels in being the bully. She roots for the Wicked Witch every damn time. She’s totally annoyed by you and wants you to know it. – She should possess a personality-filled voice that ain’t pretty. Any ethnicity. (Who would play her in the movie: a teenage ROCKY HORROR-era Tim Curry, a teenage Pam Grier, a teenage Divine, a teenage Grace Jones, a teenage Ellen Greene.)

GLORIA “Ya Ya” MEEKS: In Juvie for general strangeness, compulsive behavior, and promiscuity. Gloria might be an alien. Bizarre, sweet, prickly, warm, cool, painfully unhip, fragile. The weirdest one in a group of weirdos. – Any vocal type will do. Any ethnicity. (Who would play her in the movie: a teenage Melanie Griffith, a teenage Courtney Love, a teenage Brittany Murphy, a teenage Amanda Plummer, a teenage Jennifer Tilly, a teenage Amy Sedaris.)

MARGARET ASP: The Warden. “Ms. Asp” is a fraying version of a 1950s suburban housewife. She is trying desperately to hang on to the values and sensibilities of days gone by. Her flawless exterior and just-so mannerisms mask the fact that she is losing her grip on reality. She’s all smiles as she stabs you in the heart. A disturbed human being who will go to any length to show you that she is absolutely not disturbed in any way. – She should possess a versatile musical theater-y voice that can maybe do some other fun stuff. She’s not a rocker, but she wishes she were. (Who would play her in the movie: Judy Davis, Lucy Liu, Mary Woronov, Kathleen Turner, Lynne Whitfield, Glenn Close, Charles Busch.)

THE GUY: FRANCIS, SUSANNAH’s buttoned-up intellectual, pretentious boyfriend. Presents as a liberal, but is completely trapped in the 1950s and is often unintentionally racist / misogynistic / etc. And, more often than not, intentionally racist / misogynistic / etc. Physically intimidating/imposing. ALSO plays: BUZZ, the bizarre fast-talking orderly; DOC SHOCK, an evil scientist Shock Treatment facilitator; MR. SON, SUSANNAH’s military father. – A brilliant, versatile character actor. Dangerous, alive, and period. Voice type not important at all. (Who would play him in the movie: Michael Shannon, John C. Reilly, Vincent Kartheiser, John Goodman.)

[darlingsdevil]

Give Me Strength Against All Erosion (Arthur Morgan x F!Reader)

Modern AU

I sincerely apologize, I can’t add read more breaks on mobile so sorry for flooding your feed :(

Warnings: drinking, swearing, the usual

Summary: After a recent breakup, Karen drags you to a party, who you see leaves you reeling.

Words: 3.5k

Masterlist

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this idea for a long time haha, this came to me while writing my other fic, How Time Flies. And ABBA songs.. and for some reason Castlevania inspired this, but mostly ABBA.

Angst, angst, and some more angst. And some fluff. Just a dash.

•••

“He’s such an ass! Come on let’s go get some drinks, let’s go party! Tilly’s party is tonight! Let’s get drunk and forget about him!” Karen pulled you up from the cocoon in your bed. She looked stunning, a purple tank top that accented her cleavage and a leather jacket, a black skirt, fishnets and boots.

You groaned, you were a mess. You had been crying all day, wasting away in your bed. Your bed was littered with candy wrappers and old takeout. You felt like you had binge watched every heartthrob movie on Netflix already. Someone can only watch The Notebook so many times you have learned.

Everything reminded you of him.

“We have to go to her party, you already told her you would go,” Karen whined, she turned to your dresser and started pulling out clothes.

You sat on your bed, hugging a pillow.

“I said that when I was still with him,” You grumbled.

“So? Your life doesn’t end the second you lose a man. In all honesty, it just begins.” She told you with a wave of her hand.

“I don’t think I can go,” You hiccuped.

Karen turned around.

“I know you don’t want to go, but you should. It’ll be fun, and you sure as hell need a drink.”

“I’ve already had a drink.”

“I know,” Karen smiled, continuing with her work creating the best outfit for you.

There was no mistaking the empty bottle of cheap whiskey below your bed.

You watched her, biting your lip. The only human interaction you’ve had this week was giving the delivery man money for the food and abruptly slamming the door on him. You weren’t ready for a party. But a party sounded fun, and you needed some fun in your life.

“Do I have to go?” You groaned, falling back into your bed with a thud.

“Yes.”

“Fine,” You drew out the word.

“See? I knew you’d come around,” Karen laughed, pulling out a shirt and looking at it. She turned to you, holding up an outfit she knew you would love.

You were silent eyeing the outfit. You would look really good in it. You sat up, clutching your pillow again.

Karen said next to you.

“What if he’s there?” You mumbled.

“If he’s there, we’ll show him what he lost.”

You nodded.

“You’ll look beautiful, sexy, absolutely drop dead gorgeous. You’ll give him a run for his money.”

“I will?” You asked, wiping away your tears.

“You already are.”

•••

Tilly’s house was in the outskirts of the city, while your apartment was smack dab in the middle. Karen drove, you felt queasy the entire time. You tried your best to take your mind off it, aimlessly staring out the window or listening to Karen’s (awful) pre game singing.

When the buildings became smaller, and the aspect of the city drifted behind you, you finally arrived at Tilly’s. It was early in the night already, but her house was already booming with music. It reminded you of the frat parties you used to attend. Cars lined the streets, it seemed like everyone in the damn city was here.

“I feel sick,”You blurted out, the house almost looked menacing. You could see the outline of people in the windows, and you knew any one of them could be him.

“It’ll be okay, I promise. If anything happens I’ll be with you the entire time. Mary Beth and Sadie are here too,” Karen grabbed your hand, slowly taking you up the steps, she pulled the door open and you looked out once more to the night sky. Tonight would sure as hell be interesting.

You immediately noticed the wave of people. It was seemingly endless. Karen dropped your hand, noticing Tilly walking up to you.

“Tilly! My girl! I’ve missed you!” Karen hugged her tightly.

Tilly laughed.

“It’s been like, three days!”

“Three days too long!” Karen laughed with her. Tilly held out a drink for Karen and another for you.

“What is it?” You asked.

“Drink it and you’ll find out!” She shouted over the loud music. You took a sip, it was strong as hell, the dark liquid sloshed in the cup.

Karen drank too, nearly spitting it out.

“I wasn’t expecting such a kick,” She laughed.

“John brough it, if you wanna know what the hell's in it ask him,” Tilly said. Your heart stopped, you felt sick again.

“John’s here?” You asked her, eyes wide.

“Oh my goodness! I am so sorry, I forgot to tell you!” Tilly covered her mouth. You knew she would never deliberately hurt you.

If John was here that meant the entire ragtag group was, including him.

“Is Arthur here?” You asked slowly.

Tilly nodded, biting her lip.

“I’m sorry, I am. I can try and keep them away from you guys,” She responded.

Tears welled in your eyes, you were not ready to see Arthur again.

“I haven’t talked to him, but I saw him earlier,” Tilly told you.

“Do you want me to give Arthur the heads up?” Tilly asked, Karen rubbed your back soothingly.

“No,” You sniffled, you were an absolute mess. But tonight was about having fun, not crying.

“Okay. Well, I can get Mary Beth and Sadie for you, I’m sure they’d love to see you again,” Tilly told you.

“Yeah, that’d be good for her,” Karen said for you. Tilly walked away, looking for your friends. You felt like every single eye was on you alone, and knowing Arthur was in that crowd made you feel somehow even worse.

“If Arthur tries anything, I’ll beat his ass for you,” Karen proclaimed. You knew she actually would. She grabbed your hand again, pulling you towards the kitchen.

“Come on. Let’s go get some more drinks!” She said over the noise of the party. You held your arm close to your chest, you didn’t want to be seen, especially not by Arthur.

You wanted to leave, but you didn’t want to disappoint Karen.

“Karen, my love!” Sean suddenly appeared. Sean. Fuck. He grabbed Karen by the waist. He mumbled something in her ear, they both looked at you.

“Heard what happened between you and the old brute. I’ll make sure to give him a good beating for breaking my girl’s heart!” Sean said, he was drunk as hell, slurring over his words already. Sean always knew how to party.

“Thanks, Sean.” You gave him a weak smile

“I hate seeing you so down, where’s my fun girl?”

“I’m still here.”

“I know you are, but lighten up a little, will you?”

Karen scoffed, grabbing your hand again. Sean was left in dust, wondering what the hell he had said wrong, probably scratching his head.

“He can be such a jerk sometimes,”Karen told you.

“I know.”

You were supposed to have fun tonight, be sexy, live a little, but you couldn’t bring yourself to have fun, with the threat of your newly made ex surrounding you, you were on edge.

The breakup was messy. Arthur received a job out of state, and you were very contempt with your job now, promotions were suddenly coming steadily. You weren’t ready to restart your life in another state, away from everything you had ever known.

It had been a week, or two, you weren’t sure anymore. You were foolish to come to a mutual friend’s party.

He was here, and you were miserable, nearly drunk and crying.

Karen pulled you to the kitchen, she took your red cup, and poured it down the drain. She pulled a bottle of vodka from the counter, pouring you some in your cup.

“God, that stuff was awful. John doesn’t have good taste in alcohol,” Karen giggled, pouring more in your cup.

“It really was awful,” You laughed, your first real laugh the entire night. Karen smiled, handing you back your cup.

You took a sip, it burned, but it would do the trick.

The music boomed from the living room, you were tempted to dance, but not with a cup of vodka in your hand.

Karen grabbed a beer bottle from the cooler on the ground and opened it with a satisfying pop.

“What happens if he tries to talk to me?” You asked quietly.

“Then I’ll swoop up and go full mama bear on him. He won’t even know what will hit him.”

Just imagining Karen smack Arthur was a funny thought.

You sipped more of your vodka, feeling looser and looser. Atleast you weren’t quite as on edge as you were.

Arthur probably wouldn’t be dancing, he was never much for dancing, perhaps that would be safe to do. If he wasn’t dancing, or in the kitchen, where was he? Luckily Tilly’s house was big, she had worked like hell to get it. There was the basement of course, and the backyard bonfire. The dance floor seemed the only safe place.

“Can we go dancing?” You asked Karen.

“Sure, but let’s wait for Mary Beth and Sadie first,” She said, taking a long swig from her beer.

You watched the doorway to the kitchen, praying every person that walked in wouldn’t be him. It was unavoidable of course, but if you were able to put it off, you sure as hell would.

Mary Beth and Sadie entered. Mary Beth was beautiful, wearing a floral romper, black open toed sandals and wavy curls. Sadie was stunning as well, with her ripped jeans and band shirt, she was wearing a leather jacket too, however, not quite the same as Karen. Sadie had French braids in, and a new piercing on her ear it seemed.

Mary Beth gave you a tight hug.

“How are you doing?” She asked you.

“I’m fine, I guess. I heard Arthur’s here, which won’t be too good,” You shrugged, taking another sip from your cup.

Mary Beth’s shoulders went slack, she gave you a sympathetic look.

“We saw him earlier. He looks just as miserable, trust me,” Sadie told you with a wave of her hand. Karen handed her a beer.

“Karen and I will beat him up for you, trust me,” Sadie nudged Karen with her elbow.

“I know you guys will. Mary Beth and I will cheer you guys on from the sidelines,” You laughed again.

“Go Karen! Go Sadie! You beat Arthur Morgan up!” Mary Beth gave her peppiest cheer.

“Who’s beating up Arthur?” A voice asked from around the corner.

Dutch.

Sadie groaned, mumbling something under her breath.

“Be calm, my ladies. I’m just bringing my men some drinks, I’ll be gone soon enough,” He said dismissively.

“Where’s Arthur?” Sadie asked him, glaring at him as he pulled some beers from the cooler.

“Backyard with the rest of us. I’d avoid it if I was you, rest of the guys are cheering him up.”

“Cheering him up?” Karen scoffed.

“Last time I checked, he broke up with her,” She continued.

“That's none of my business.” Dutch gathered his beers and headed for the door.

“You ladies have a good night,” He said while leaving.

“We sure as hell will,” Sadie narrowed her eyes.

Karen and Mary Beth burst out with laughter.

“Let’s go dance!” Karen cheered, pulling you with her. Your cup of vodka was discarded at the kitchen counter.

The dance floor didn’t seem quite as menacing anymore, no wonder they called alcohol, liquid courage. Body’s swayed in the dark mass of people. The bright strobe lights were damn near blinding.

Karen and Mary Beth already began dancing, their arms moving to the tune, body’s swaying. Sadie wasn’t much of a dancer, but she seemed to like this song.

So why weren’t you dancing? You were motionless in the sea of people, your eyes wandering to the screen door that led to the backyard.

You couldn’t see out, but you knew he was there. The music seemed to fade away, almost like falling asleep. You were awake one moment, and you were in the realms of sleep moments later.

The outside looked like a portal, mysterious and intriguing. It was right there. He was right there. You could so easily walk out there and tell him how much you’ve missed him, praying he would take you back.

But Arthur didn’t want to see you. It was over, you were both finished.

It’s like your heart beat with him, like you could feel him just on the other side of the barrier between you.

Sadie shouting your name woke you up from your trance. It was somehow even more ear splitting than the deafening music.

“What?” You shouted over the music.

“Are you okay?” She responded, looking into your tear filled eyes.

“Can we go talk?”

Sadie nodded, pulling you aside, she led you through the crowd to the kitchen again. The only safe place in the house it seemed.

It was much quieter now. Your heart thrummed in your ear like a steady drum.

“Have you talked to Arthur at all?” Sadie asked, leaning against the counter.

“No, not since he broke up with me,” You bit your lip, the words came out choked.

“Well, I did. I talked to him yesterday. He’s not handling it very well. I know you want to talk to him.”

“No, not since he broke up with me,” You bit your lip, the words came out choked.

“Well, I did. I talked to him yesterday. He’s not handling it very well. I know you want to talk to him.”

“What did he say?”

“For starters, he was drunk out of his mind. I had to swing by his apartment to make sure he didn’t die,” Sadie continued.

“Thank you for taking care of him, Sadie.”

“Yep. But, he was pretty much out of it. He mumbled a few things about you, I’d never seen him so distraught. I got him in bed though.”

You wiped away your tears, giving Sadie a hug. She always did give the best hugs.

“I think it would be in your best interest to talk to him. Maybe not tonight, but in the next few days. I think it would bring some closure for the both of you,” She told you.

“Yeah, I think so too. I’m just afraid, what if I can’t do it or he yells at me?” You felt weak, embarrassed that you were acting so fragile.

“Then, like I said, Karen and I will swoop in there.”

“Thank you Sadie, seriously. Where would I be without you?”

“Probably dead in all honesty.” She laughed.

You stared at her for a moment.

“Let’s go dance some more,” You said with newly found cheer.

This time, you led Sadie to the floor. Mary Beth and Karen were still dancing like the goddesses they are.

You swayed to the music, letting your body feel the music. You let go of worry for a moment's notice. The music was uplifting and fast, a song you could dance to.

Worries and fears melted away, in that moment, it was only you and the music. Nothing else mattered. You felt like the only person in the room, above all else.

Karen, Mary Beth, and Sadie were all elated to see you dance like no one was watching.

The song was coming to an end, and you felt yourself slow. Like your veins were stopping pushing blood through your body.

You were coming down from your high, your cloud nine experience. When the music finally stopped, you took in your surroundings. Looking towards the screen door, you saw him.

Arthur was there. In the corner. He was staring directly at you.

You instantly felt sick, you split through the crowd, racing to the front door. It was all too much.

The crowd was left behind, your friends shouting your name.

Anxiety filled your entire body like a virus, taking over every part of your being.

You reached the door, pulling it open, relishing the feeling of the cool air on your skin. It was too damn hot in that house. You slid against the porch, falling to the concrete with a thud.

Tears fell from your eyes freely. A thousand memories, a thousand thoughts rushed through your mind like a tsunami, forcefully upturning everything you had ever known. Your face felt hot, but the cool air felt absolutely wonderful on your hot skin. You tried wiping away the tears but they kept falling. It felt suffocating, like you were trapped in your own body.

The front door opened, letting the noise from the party enter your small slice of heaven. You looked up. Mary Beth, Sadie and Karen watched you with caring eyes.

“Arthur was just coming in for a beer,” Sadie said first.

You rested your head on your knees, looking up at your best friend’s.

“He really was. He didn’t know you were here,” Mary Beth continued.

“I think I just want to be alone right now,” You mumbled, staring out towards the deserted street.

“Alright, well, we’ll come check up on you in thirty minutes, okay?” Karen opened the door, looking at you one last time.

You nodded, continuing to stare at the street. You could see the lights from the city. Your home was there, everything you had ever known resided in that city. You wondered what would have happened if you went with Arthur to his new job, everything would be different, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be sitting on your friend’s porch crying your eyes out at a party.

Minutes passed as the tears rolled on. The lights twinkled from the city.

Arthur was hurting too, you remembered. Neither of you had much of a choice, you still loved him, as much as you didn’t want to, you did. Your heart ached at just the thought of him, your chest felt heavy.

You inhaled deeply, you shook with every breath. The tears kept coming. It was a mistake to come to this party, you would rather be at home in bed, with a bottle of whiskey and ice cream.

The door slowly pushed open. You didn’t bother looking up.

“Nice night, ain’t it?”

You froze, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Go away,” You said, your voice weak.

Arthur was silent, he leaned against the doorframe. You didn’t dare look at him.

“I know you don’t want to see me.”

This time, it was your turn to be silent. You allowed your head to fall against the wall. Arthur sat down next to you. You immediately felt your body tense up, like a big red warning sign was going off in your head.

“But we need to talk.”

“About what, Arthur? What could you possibly have to say to me?” You snapped at him. It was like the words weren’t even yours, anger consumed you.

“I don’t know. I guess that I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You’re fucking sorry?” You stood up, brushing yourself off, turning away from him.

“You know I had no choice,” Arthur said, almost accusingly.

You scoffed bitterly, you turned to face him. His face shattered your heart, it was like his eyes were begging you to understand. Tears welled in your eyes again as you felt your anger crumble into sadness.

“Where did we go wrong?” You asked him, your bottom lip trembling. All you wanted was a hug, and him to tell you it was alright. You wanted him back in your bed, wanted him to hold you when things got rough, to whisper sweet nothings in your ear.

“I don’t know,” Arthur said quietly. He looked as handsome as ever.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” You slowly walked towards him, your hand reaching up like you were waiting for permission, your hand was right in front of his chest. He leaned into it, and pulled you into a hug.

You sobbed into his chest, it felt so good to just get it all out, he gently caressed your hair. The two of you stayed that way for what seemed like hours. His hug felt so secure, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

“I’ve missed you,” Arthur said. The single sentence held so much meaning, so much depth.

You let go off his warm body, looking directly into his eyes that seemed to peer right into your very soul. God, he was handsome.

“I’m not taking the job in Phoenix,” He said after a moment.

You lightly gasped.

“You’re not?”

Arthur shook his head.

“Why?”

“I realized there’s a lot more here for me than there is in Arizona,” Arthur reached out, and lightly held your chin, forcing you to look directly at him. You slowly leaned into him, your eyes fluttering shut.

It felt like the first time. He kissed you slowly, it was welcoming and intoxicating. Arthur felt like home. He was your home.

When he finally pulled away, his eyes looked like they were swirling, clouded with emotion.

“Can we just go back to normal?” You asked.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” Arthur responded. He kissed you again, this time with less hesitance.

“I missed you too,” You said when he pulled away.”

“I know.”

•••

[msilwrites]

The Beginning of a Marriage

A/N: SEXUAL TENSIOOONNNSSS... LOL!

JUST A SHORT THOUGHT:

WARNING! SPOILERS from the book and movie 365 Days: I just finished reading a detailed review of the book. The difference between the Massimo in the book vs Massimo in the movie was so great, I felt so sad reading the detailed review about the book and the characters. (DETAILED REVIEW Read here....). Nonetheless, this story was inspired quite a bit by the Massimo from the movie. The review of the book and the difference it has with the movie not only made me want to write about strong female leads, but also, develop some sort of bond between my two characters as; (another spoiler from the book review; “Laura and Massimo as a couple - Those two didn't really share any interests, they didn't talk a lot about anything aside from how perversed they are & their sexual fantasies. Their whole relationship was built on violence, blackmail, anger and fighting.”)

And I believe the reviewer did make a point!

This story is the continuation of ‘The Wedding’

Genre: Action/ Drama / Comedy

Sandro Balestreri - Michele Morrone

Tilly McLeod - is an original female character

Will McLeod - Liam Neeson

Henry McLeod - Henry Cavill

                                     The Beginning of a Marriage

The moment they reached the Balistreri’s ancestral home where the wedding reception will be held. Tilly immediately got out of the car, and ran all the way to the front door of the villa. 

“What’s the hurry bella?!” Sandro teased. 

He expected Tilly to trip and fall and embarrass herself, with the way she was going, but to his surprise, she was very graceful, despite the high heels and the long gown. The long part of the back hem of her dress, flew with the wind, which made him stare longer than he intended, she looked so ethereal, reminding him of the goddess of the wind. 

“Quickly, Sandro! they’ll be here in an hour or two?” Tilly says whilst running up the on the steps of the entrance, completely oblivious to the way her husband stared at her.

He sighed, and turned off the car’s ignition, and pulled out the keys. By the time he entered the villa, he can hear the clucking sound of Tilly’s heels from upstairs like a staccato on a piano. 

He chuckled as he climbed the staircase and was a little surprised that the sound of the tick-tocking of her shoes suddenly stopped. When he reached the second floor, he saw her door, slightly ajar, enough for him to peek through. Out of sheer curiosity, Sandro took a peek at the small slit of the door only to find his wife busy talking on her phone,dressed in nothing but a nude strapless bridal shapewear, whilst her wedding gown, lay neatly on the side sofa. Though it didn’t show the parts that he wanted to see, it accentuated her hourglass body. Who would’ve thought his wife hid such a voluptuous figure. 

“Damn...” he whispered to himself, a naughty smile formed on his lips. “Who would’ve thought...”

“You’ll be late for an hour later than the designated time? Oh! of course, there’s no problem with that, we have more time to prepare for my side then. Take your time, we do not mind...” she says to the person on the other side of the line. He guessed it must be the magazine interview later on. After putting down the call, she sighs, and lays her head on top of the dressing table, completely exhausted. 

 With another exhausted sigh, Tilly gets up from her seat and changes into different dress, swiftly slipping into it. It had the same elegant silhouette as her wedding dress, but this time, it was black and a bit more minimalistic, with longer bell sleeves complementing the classic silhouette in the most delightful way. She paired with another set of emerald necklace, but took a little longer choosing the earrings, so she spread what she had brought on to the table to compare. Unable to choose, she leaves the previous task to re-touch her makeup.

Sandro didn’t notice that he had been watching a little longer until she lifted her head, to check the time. Though, there was nothing much to see now that she’s dressed, he felt like a voyeur. He didn’t understand it himself  as to why he seemed to be enjoying watching Tilly dress up, there was something so sultry about it. In fact, he was getting a little hard down there.This was the first time he considered something so sexy without a woman being naked. 

Suddenly, Sandro accidentally pushes the door open, causing Tilly to almost jump out of her seat.

“Who’s there!!??” she shouts.

However, Sandro quickly slips away, and hides at one side.

Tilly pops her head outside of her door, and looked from right to left, trying to see if there was anybody in the hallway. Much to her relief, there appeared to be no one. She closes the door shut, and Sandro hears the clicking sound of the doorknob, indicating that she had locked it this time. 

Sandro sighs in frustration, and tried to find a way to ‘cool’ himself and his ‘friend’ down there. His eyes lands on the large window not far from where he stood, and the first thing he saw was the pool.

“Good Idea...” he thought to himself. It was indeed the perfect time to go for a relaxing swim.

                                                          ********** 

“Sandro!” Tilly’s deep, mezzo-soprano voice echoed throughout the hallway, reaching all the way to the backyard where the pool was. One of the first things he had noticed about Tilly in the beginning was her voice. Despite the sunny disposition and the small height, he didn’t expect her to have a such deep soothing voice that reminded him of those narrators in documentaries. When happy, it will be a little tone higher. When annoyed, he could hear her voice strain, turning a little raspy, as if she was containing something within herself. It made him little curious how would she sound like if angry.

Sandro swim’s to the side of the pool and sits down, he could already hear the tick-tocking of her heels approaching.

“Yes, bella?” he greets turning his head to her direction. There she was looking so regal in her black off-shoulder gown, walking towards him.

For a moment, she stops to take a good look at him. He was wearing nothing but those swimming shorts. She couldn’t help but agree that Sandro was no doubt a very handsome man, with a well-toned muscular body. 

“See something you like, bella?” he teased, seeing the expression of admiration in her face. 

Tilly smiles, clears her throat, and crosses her arms. “In fact yes... you’re a really handsome man, Sandro!” she says shamelessly, catching him off-guard. Often, a woman would either ‘neg’ him, tease him, call him arrogant, outright deny it, play coy, or play games when in such situations. But it completely surprised him that Tilly owned up to it. 

“Wow... Thank you...” he chuckled, not really knowing how to respond to her honesty. 

Tilly nonchalantly sits at the lounge chair behind him and asks. “What made you want to swim at this time?”

“I don’t know?” he said, as he looked up at sky. “ I just found it a little too warm for my liking, I guess...” he says, when she was the very reason.

“I see, well, I’ve come to tell you that I have your new suit ready. I placed it on top of your bed, just wear it when the people from the magazine arrives.” she instructs, before walking off.

“Where are you going?” he asked, watching her walk back to the door. 

“I’m gonna take a nap, I’d appreciate it if you’d wake me half-an-hour later!” she says, before closing the door behind her.

                                                          **********

Sandro smiled, trying to contain his laughter, as he approached a sleeping Tilly, laying in the couch. He didn’t understand the weird, hammerhead shark looking ‘headdress’ she was wearing. He did see it in a magazine before and thought it was ridiculous.

“Well, an odd wife indeed...” he tells himself. “So she does have her inelegant moments...” he adds, realizing that he always saw her composed and dignified. 

“Wake up, bella... they’re here...” he said, slightly shaking her. To his surprise, Tilly gets up, in a bit of a panic.

“I can’t see! what’s happening!!??” she said, her hands flailing in slight panic. 

Sandro bit his lips to stop himself from laughing and pulled the unsightly thing off her head. 

“Oh!” she lets out, laughs a bit, which caught him off-guard, he surely did not expect Tilly to laugh at herself. “I forgot I was wearing that...” she said, a little embarrassed.

“What the hell is this?” he says, examining the weird looking object. 

“An ostrich-pillow... I’d get you one if you want?” she offered. 

“No, Thank you...” he said, placing it on the side. The thing looked far from an ostrich. 

                                                          ********** 

“Hi! how are you doing?!” Tilly greets the interviewer cordially, giving her a hug and the customary kiss on each cheek.

“I am fine, oh by the way, you look stunning!” the journalist compliments and looks at Tilly from head to toe with admiration.  “Congratulations and Best Wishes to both you and your husband!” she adds.

“Thank You!” was her response.

Sandro watched from the side as Tilly greets the staff from the magazine one by one. It wasn’t so long ago that she looked unpoised, wearing the hammerhead pillow of hers. Now she was back to graceful and sophisticated Tilly. 

“Sandro?” Tilly called and then turned back to the journalist. “ Come and meet my husband, Sandro...” she says. “Sandro this is my friend and reporter Lauren Wescott, Lauren, this is my husband, Alessandro Balestreri...” 

“Nice to meet you Mr Balestreri, congratulations on your wedding, and winning the Forbes Travel Guide and Haute Grandeur awards.” Lauren mentions, referring to Sandro’s actual job. 

Though Sandro’s family is still a mafia, they had long since been trying legalize, and have been continuing to do so. In the surface, everyone knew Sandro as the outstanding and award winning restaurateur and hotelier, and the COO (Chief Operations Officer) of the Balestreri Group. Only those who are loyal to the oath of Omerta knows what Sandro is and his family, including Tilly’s family. Though Sandro and Tilly’s family have long been trying to legalize their businesses, it never meant that they still don’t get their hands dirty. Especially when things take a different turn. Sometimes, things are just done the hard way.

“I heard that you and your hotels were nominated for the Stelliers awards? I wish you luck...” Lauren adds, talking about another hotel awards. 

“Ah, yes, Thank You... I do hope to win something this year...” he adds. “Please take a seat...” he offers as he sat beside Tilly. “Shall we begin?”

“Of course!” she says enthusiastically. Lauren takes out a pen notepad, ready to jot down notes. “So how did you two meet?”

“Oh, through my parents, and then his aunt...” was Tilly’s simple answer. “His aunt was trying to matchmake me with him, and so here we are...” she added. 

“Matchmaking?! that’s a good way to meet each other, specially now that it’s full of social dating apps...” Lauren comments and sighs. 

“The first time you met, what were the things that caught your attention about your significant other?” Lauren reads from her notes.

“ I always saw Sandro as a man with quiet confidence about him. I would say the most memorable part of the first meeting would be his eyes. When I turned to look at him, he was looking at me with the citrine eyes of his... and I was not able to speak, so I drank tea to cover it up.” Tilly turns to face Sandro who had one brow arched, and a mischievous smile plastered on his lips. She knew that what she said will be used against her anytime soon.

Sandro’s turn came, and looked at Tilly. “ The first thing I noticed and captured my attention was her voice. Well, she might not know this, but the first time I met her was during the Wimbledon...”

“Oh!” Tilly looks at him surprised, and tries to see if he was making this up, or she had really seen him in person before?

“Really? we would love to hear that story?!” Lauren says, interested at the story that Sandro was about to tell.

“ It was during the men’s doubles a few years back. There was this lady and her brother, who was seated beside me and It turns out to be her.” he begins, Lauren was genuinely interested, whilst Tilly felt nervous, and tried to recall if she had committed any blunder that day. 

“It was when Marach was hit in the worst possible spot, and then I overhear this woman beside me telling her brother, ‘ Headlines tomorrow, ‘Marach gets a whack!’ Well, he doesn’t have to worry about contraception now!’ ” Sandro says, saying it in typical Tilly fashion, spot on with her scottish accent.

Lauren throws her head back laughing, remembering that particular incident during one of the Wimbledon’s match. “ Yes! that is so Tilly!”  confirming Sandro’s story on how Tilly usually is.

Tilly laughed along too, in relief.  But she did remember the guy beside her laughing at her dry comment, dress in a light blue summer suit, wearing shades. But then that was all to it. She just didn’t  expect that her future husband had been sitting right next to her then.

By the way, if you want to read the previous story, here it is,  ‘The Wedding’

The Next Part of this story is here; ‘Marriage’

A/N:  I will be editing this because I probably have made a number of grammatical errors. I hope you enjoyed the story. FYI. It will be a series of one shots.