#hes willing to let Micah do whatever he wants as long as he stays far away from his childhood friend and sister

[tortademaracuya]

Tristán is what still being friends in your 20s with that girl you had the toxic codependent homoerotic reationship with in your youth is like

[queenxxxsupreme]

Baby Steps (dad!Arthur Morgan)

A/N: I know the techniques used in this story are wrong and should not be used I.E. using a male companion goat for a foal as they can be aggressive towards the foal, but this is purely fictional so just ignore it! Max is a part of the family and he is there for comedic relief! This is not for informational use! This is entertainment only! 

Warnings: None! just fluffy! 

This is a part 2 to Unlikely Choice which is here! But it’s also sort of a part of the dad!Arthur series I’ve unintentionally started....

***

The feeling of someone brushing their fingers over your hair woke you up. 

“Mornin’, pumpkin.” Arthur’s voice came from your left. He was laying on his side facing you, keeping himself occupied while you slept. 

He had been up for a while now. His struggles of sleeping had followed him from his life as an outlaw. He was lucky to get four hours some nights. 

“Mhmm.” You turned over to face him, keeping your eyes shut. You were still half asleep and you didn’t mind staying that way. 

“You goin’ back to sleep on me?” He chuckled softly, propping himself up on one elbow. 

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Morgan.”

“Well I do mind, Mrs. Morgan.” Arthur dipped his head down to kiss your forehead. “I’ve been up for a while now. Been thinkin’ about a lot. I don’t wanna think anymore. I need you to distract me.”

You sighed, opening your eyes to see him looking down at you. 

“A distraction, huh?”

“That would be appreciated.” There was a teasing glint in his blue eyes. 

“I’m sure it would.” You giggled. “What’s been goin’ through that head of yours?”

You reached up to brush his hair back. The blonde strands were getting a bit long and fell across his forehead. He’d need a haircut soon. 

“Little of this…. A lotta that.” He laid back on the bed, eyes finding the ceiling. 

You scooted as close to him as you could get and put your head on his shoulder. 

“Thinkin’ about how I’ve gotta fix the floorboards to the hayloft. They ain’t safe and I don’t want Daisy gettin’ hurt.”

“You can’t do that by yourself, can you?”

“Nah. I’ll need a couple extra hands.”

“I can help. Whatever I can’t help with, I’m sure Charles would be more than willing to come over and lend a hand.”

“Of course.” Arthur’s hand found the small of your back. “Also been thinkin’ bout a couple other odds and ends around here I gotta fix up.”

You looked up at him, sensing that there was something else, something he wasn’t saying. 

“Anything botherin’ you?” 

“Nothin’ you gotta worry about, pumpkin.” Arthur shook his head. 

“Well I’ll worry more if you don’t tell me.” 

Arthur was quiet for a few moments, lips pressed together in a firm line. 

You sat up and leaned back on one hand. You placed your hand over his heart, brows drawing together. He put his hand on yours, giving you a little squeeze. 

“I don’t want to have to worry so much about you both.” His voice was quiet. “This is our home. Don’t like feeling like we aren’t safe.”

“You’re still thinking about Micah, aren’t you?”

He sat up against the headboard. 

“Arthur, last we heard he was in Reno. We don’t gotta worry about him until we hear he’s closer.”

“I don’t want him any closer than Reno. Last we heard that was a few months ago.”

You looked down at the blanket that covered your legs. You smoothed out the material.

“Just…. Just want to be able to raise Daisy and any others we might have without him loomin’ over my head.” Arthur ran his hand over his face. 

“You want more?” You asked, your voice quiet as your eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Well…. I think it would be nice to try for one more, if you want. Only if you want.”

You moved around to straddle his thighs. 

“Daisy’s just…. She’s a dream, pumpkin.” Arthur placed his hands on your hips. “Still is. Sweet girl.”

“She’s definitely daddy’s girl.”

He smiled proudly. 

“Hey, maybe we could have a boy?” He suggested, blue eyes sparkling with excitement. “Even it out a little. One for you, one for me. I think it’d be nice.”

“Sure would be nice, but we don’t get to pick.”

“I know.” He nodded. His thumb on your hip began to trace circles in the material of your chemise. “Whatever we’d have, I’d love ‘em the same. Another girl would be cute too.”

“You’re adorable.” You leaned in to kiss his lips but just before you could kiss him, there was a knock on the door. 

“Mommy? Daddy?”

Arthur let out a soft sigh, moving his hands from your hips so that you could remove yourself from his lap. You settled on the bed next to him, leaning against his shoulder.

“Come on in, sweetpea.” 

The door opened and Daisy walked in. Carson slipped past her, jumping up onto the bed. Arthur gave him a pat on the shoulder. 

“Good boy, Carson.”

“Good morning, sleepy head.” You greeted Daisy with a smile. “It’s a little early for you to be up, hon.”

“I want to go out to the barn.” She climbed up onto the bed and clambered across your legs. 

“Oh, I reckon it’s far too early to go to the barn.” Arthur teased her. 

“Nuh-uh! You and Papa Hosea are always up early and outside in the barn!”

“What are you so eager to go out to the barn for anyways?” He brushed a few pieces of her hair back behind her ear.

“I wanna see my horse.” She admitted bashfully. 

Ohhh. I see.” Arthur nodded. “Well, why don’t you give me and momma here a few minutes to get out of bed and get dressed. Is Papa Hosea up?”

“Yeah he is. He’s out on the porch.”

“Go on out there with him. Have him take you to the barn while I get up.”

“Okay, daddy!”

Daisy was off of the bed and dashing out of the door in the blink of an eye. Carson was right behind her, eager to start the day. 

“Today is a busy day, Arthur Morgan.” You patted his thigh before getting out of bed. “John and Abigail should be here with the kids before noon. I was thinkin’ of invitin’ Charles and Lucy over too.”

“Of course.” Arthur nodded his head. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his face. “Hey, pumpkin?”

“Yes, my love?” You turned to look at him. 

“You know I love you, don’t ya?”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips. 

“I know. You gave me a baby girl and this beautiful house.” You moved around the bed to stand between his legs. “Love you too, you know.” Your arms slipped around his neck. His hands brushed along your thighs as he smiled up at you.

“Wouldn’t have her without you.” He leaned forward to kiss your stomach. 

“You’re feelin’ awfully sweet this morning.” You brushed your fingers through his hair. “Anything else on your mind, cowboy?”

“Just my girls.”

***

Arthur kept his hand on the small of your back as he walked you out to the barn. 

“Hey, you think we should get Hosea a mule when Silver Dollar finally croaks?” He teased as he pushed the barn door open with his shoulder. 

“Don’t you be talkin’ crass about my horse, Arthur Morgan.” Hosea spoke from where he sat in the barn. He was on a stool outside of the stall Daisy’s horse was in. Daisy was on her knees at the bottom of the stall reaching through the bottom of the fence so she could pet the foal. 

“I didn’t expect you to hear me, old man.” 

“Silver Dollar’s outlived a lotta things.” You looked over to Arthur, giving him a little smile. “Doubt he’s gonna go anytime soon.”

“When he does, I’m not gettin’ another horse.” Hosea shook his head. Almost as if happy about his owner’s statement, the Turkoman at the end stall whinnied and stuck his head over the stall door. 

“Then how the hell are you gonna get around?” Arthur moved to greet Silver Dollar. “Hey, boy.”

“I’ll figure it out when the time comes. But you know what I am gonna do? I’m gonna invest in sheep.”

“Sheep?” Arthur repeated. “Don’t we go enough of those?”

While they carried on their conversation, you moved towards Daisy. 

“Have you picked out a name yet, Daisy?”

“Haven’t thought of one.” She frowned, rubbing along the filly’s back. 

“Come on. Let’s go in and keep her company.” You opened up the stall and walked in. 

Daisy followed behind you, sitting down in the straw beside the filly. 

“Well, does she like anything? Any treats you give her?”

“She likes the carrot pieces we gave her last night.”

“Really liked them.” Arthur leaned over the stall, folding his arms along the top as he looked down at you both. “Carrot’s a cute name, ain’t it sweetpea?”

“It’s a silly name.”

“Yeah. But hey, it’d fit right in with what I call you and momma.” He chuckled. “Sweetpea, pumpkin, and Carrot.”

“You’re silly!”

“What names do you like, Daisy?” You asked her, reaching out to pull a piece of straw from her hair. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well what name do you got in your head, silly?” Arthur reached down to ruffle her hair. 

Daisy giggled again, reaching up to grab his hand. 

“In that storybook momma read me the other night, there was a girl named Piper in it.” 

“Piper, huh? Piper is a neat name.” 

“I like that name.” You looked down at the filly and rubbed her nose. “I think she’s a pretty girl.” 

“You think she could be a Piper?” Daisy asked. 

“Oh, definitely. Don’t you think the same, daddy?” You looked up at Arthur. 

“Piper suits her well.” 

“Now only if we could get the damn thing to walk.” Hosea muttered from his seat. Arthur sent him a glare. 

“Why do you think she won’t walk, papa?” Daisy looked over to him, a frown etched on to her lips. 

You looked up at Arthur, who rubbed his eyes. 

“It’s hard to tell, honey.” Hosea rubbed his neck. “But she looks like a strong one. I’m sure she’ll be walking in no time.”

“Can we make her walk?” Daisy’s eyes found you. 

You opened your mouth to answer but found that you didn’t know the right thing to say. You looked up at Arthur. 

“Yeah, sweetpea. Let’s give it a try now. She ate well last night. Should have some energy in her.” Arthur pulled open the stall door. “You go stand out with papa, Daisy.” 

“Okay, daddy.” 

Daisy moved out of the stall and instead peered through the fencing. 

“You wanna give me a hand, pumpkin?” He held his hand out for you. 

“Of course. Just tell me what you need me to do.” 

Arthur pulled you to your feet and brushed off your skirt. 

“You know how we had that calf a few winters ago that wouldn’t listen to me but loved you? Try to encourage her to get up.”

“You think she’ll listen to me?”

“It’s worth a try.” 

“Has she stood up at all?” 

“No.”

“Thought you would’ve learned by now not to trust greasy conmen, Arthur.” 

“Shut up, Hosea.” Arthur muttered. 

You took a piece of apple from the bowl Arthur brought into the barn and knelt down in front of Piper. You put the apple piece in front of her nose, letting her get a little nibble of the treat before pulling it away. 

She tried to follow you by stretching her neck but that only got her so far. 

“Come on, girl.” Arthur encouraged, giving her flank a little pat. “Gotta get up.” 

She lifted herself up on to her front hooves as if she wanted to stand but that was where she stopped. 

“Good girl.” You rubbed her head and let her nibble on the apple a little more. “Sweet Piper. Just a little more, sweetie.” 

“Come on, Piper!” Daisy anxiously spoke from outside of the stall. 

Piper looked like she was ready to stand up, but at the last second she seemed to give up and her front legs buckled. She fell back to the ground, whinnying and flicking her ears. 

You stood up, putting your hands on your hips. Arthur watched you from where he was knelt down behind Piper. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout, pumpkin?”

“Max.” 

“Oh no.” Arthur stood up, shaking his head. “That goat is not teachin’ this horse any bad habits.”

“He won’t teach her nothin’ but maybe to walk.” 

***

Max was a Saanen goat that you kept on the farm with a handful of other goats. 

Max was a handful to deal with. He was mischievous and liked to stir up trouble wherever he could. His favorite activity to do was harass your husband. Max was sweet and nice to you and Daisy. He just didn’t like many people. 

Max followed you to the barn, bleating loudly for attention. 

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Arthur muttered, blue eyes carefully watching Max as he trotted through the barn. 

“Just trust me.” You put your hand on his arm as you opened the door to Piper’s stall. 

Curious, Max followed you into the stall. Once he saw Arthur was in there, he bleated and scratched his front hoof against the floor. 

But then Piper let out a high pitched whinny, catching Max’s attention. The goat’s ears perked up and he redirected himself towards the foal. He bleated, sniffing curiously at Piper’s leg, and then he bounced around and dug his head at her flank. 

“What’s he doing?” Daisy asked. 

“I think he’s trying to get her to play with him.” Hosea rubbed Daisy’s shoulder. 

Piper placed her front hooves on the ground and whinnied once more. Max bleated. 

With bated breath, you watched as Piper stood up on shaky long legs. Daisy almost clapped her hands but Hosea stopped her, not wanting to spook the animals. 

Max sniffed Piper and then took off out of the stall. 

Piper watched him leave, ears perked up as she listened. 

“Well. That could’ve gone worse.” Arthur said. 

“She’s standing up!” Daisy exclaimed. 

Piper moved around a little, her knees shaking as she explored her stall. 

“When can I start to work with her? Like you did with Poncho?” Daisy’s question was directed to Arthur. 

“Baby steps, sweetpea. We can’t work her too hard.”

But daddy-!”

“Daisy.” You cut her off, keeping your voice gentle. “Don’t raise your voice at him.”

She frowned, looking down at her hands. 

“Maybe in a week or two, sweetpea. Gotta make sure Piper’s good on her feet.” Arthur patted the foal’s flank. 

The filly whinnied, then dipped her nose into the bucket of water in the corner of her stall. 

“I’m gonna go start breakfast.”  You told Arthur. 

“I reckon I’ll go down and see if Charles is up. See if he ain’t too busy and wants to give me a hand with the hayloft.”

“Okay. Be safe.” You leaned in to kiss him. He kissed you gently and chastly, placing his hand on your side. 

“I’ll let you know before I leave.” 

You nodded and turned to exit the barn. 

Arthur watched you leave, then his eyes flickered down to Daisy. 

“Daddy? You think I can take her out to the pasture? Maybe she wants to get some sun.” 

“Yeah, sweetpea. You can go out there with her. S’long as you’re careful and don’t get behind her when she’s standin’.” 

“I’ll go out and watch her.” Hosea offered, moving away from the stall. “Let you get some work done. Make yourself useful.”

“So you get to sit on your ass while I do all the hard work?” 

“Precisely.” Hosea chucked. 

Arthur shook his head, a grin pulling at his lips.

Taglists:  @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea @sokkasdarling @thecollection @mayday1284 @kashasenpai @misskrql

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

[cowboisadness]

Found You {Arthur Morgan x F!reader}

Summery: She was there for Arthur through everything, being more than good friends but less than partners. They support eachother through the good and bad times, it’s not love tho, no, it’s not love at all.

Rating: M. Basically porn with plot. More plot than i planned i really got carried away with this. SMUT IS HERE! 18+ ONLY!!

—–

Chapter 4 - Together

The next few days were nothing short of torture. Arthur never spoke another word to me, huffing whenever I would say something to him or just walking away from me completely. Everyone else in camp soon noticed something serious had happened between us. Their comforting words and questions on what happened went unanswered and dismissed. I hoped time would help, that I would get a chance to explain myself and apologise for my foolishness and downright stupidity. But as the days passed, the frayed ends of the rope had no chance of being reconnected, no matter how hard I tried and how hard I cried. So I flung myself into as many jobs as I could get. As a distraction.

Robbing homesteads. Stagecoaches that turned into shootouts more often than not. Gambling with fellers that were too drunk to notice me stealing their wears from right under their noses and gone before they realised anything was amiss. Fighting in hidden alleyways with meagre men that thought they could take on a woman with nothing to lose. Just to feel something, another kind of pain that would lessen with time.

It wasn’t until I was sat at the edge of the camp, cleaning my revolver while looking out over the overlook, stars raining bright above. Bottle of whiskey by my side that Hosea came over and sat beside me. Silent at first. Taking in the view.

“You going to explain whats going on?”

“Nothings going on, Hosea.” I shrugged, running the oiled cloth over the same spot mindlessly. “Arthur won’t tell me. I though out of the two of you, you would.” he kept his eyes ahead, not bothering to look at me. I sighed, my shoulders dropping in defeat. I might as well tell him, not like he would be able to change my mind.

“I’m an idiot. I spoke to Mary. Told her to leave Arthur alone and to stop contacting him.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know anymore...Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“You love him.” I could see his grin out of the corner of my eye, albeit a sad on.

“Not you too, Hosea.”

“You two were very close. Closer than you think I realise. I’m not a dumb old man you know”

I didnt reply to that. No point to, my mind was made up now. Instead, I holstered my gun and stood, picking up the bottle as I did. Turning to Hosea to finally look at him.

“I’m leaving, Hosea. Only for a few weeks or a few months. I don’t know.”

“You really think leaving will help?” “Maybe. It might help him if I’m not here. I’ll send money and write to you and Dutch. I’ve already packed.” After a few more words and questions on my plans when I’m out there on my own, we hugged and I said my goodbyes to him, Dutch and a few others. Promising the girls I will see them again, even though I was doubtful. I willed no tears to spill when I gathered my things, leaving my tent bare and hollow. Mounting my horse I left camp without looking back, letting the wind guide me in whatever direction it wanted me to go.

---

Roughly 4 months had passed since leaving. Currently holed up in a now-abandoned cabin in the depths of Grizzlies East by O’Creagh’s run, hiding from the law after robbing the fence in Van Horne. Id wrote letters and sent money to nearby stations as promised. Keeping updated with the gangs coming and goings. The last time I heard from those who would write back, mainly Hosea and Mary-Beth, was when they were held up in a place called Shady Belle. I haven’t heard anything from them since. That was a month ago. I had thought of going there, finding them. But I couldn’t bare having to leave again after realising they had been getting on fine and had left me to my own devices. Coming to the conclusion that I was not returning and that I had abandoned them all. Which was far from the truth. I still cared, which I’m sure was evident from whatever leftover money I had been sending to them. Only, it wasn’t getting picked up from the stations anymore, along with my many letters. I was travelling back to the cabin after an evening hunting for supper and hopeful breakfast. The blanket of trees now behind me, opening up the wondrous starry night, pulling my jacket closed as the cold breeze this time of year began to sting any uncovered skin. I looked around before dismounting, taking my kill of two rabbits stowed on the side of my ever faithful horse and made my way inside. Looking around once more to make sure I hadn’t been followed. Just to be safe. As I began to skin and gut the meat, the warm glow from the lantern lighting my every movement in the otherwise dark cabin, I heard motion outside. Bears and wolves were not uncommon around these parts. I had to shoot my way out of a wolf pack not a week ago, coming away with nothing but a bruise on my hip from being bucked off the horse in her desperate attempt to flee. Nevertheless, I placed down the knife and picked up my rifle propped up against the door. Looking out the window to the right of the door. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing else. I went to the door, preparing my rifle then placing my ear to the door. It was silence for a few moments, then movement again, making its way up the steps. It didn’t sound like an animal. With a hand on the handle and rifle ready to be used, I swung the door open. The rifle now aimed at the unwelcomed guest.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust in the darkness, but it didnt take long to recognise who it was.

“Arthur?” It was barely a whisper. A question of disbelief. I blinked a few times, surely my eyes were playing tricks on me.

After a few breaths, he finally spoke “I’ve found you.” We just stood there, I released a breath I didnt even know I was holding. How did he find me? Why would he? Months of keeping myself away from people the best I could and staying hidden for long periods of time I was beginning to feel content with being a lone wolf. Not thinking that lone wolves are weakened beings after too long. Often driven out when deemed useless or a weakness to the pack, or leaving to find their own family. Not alone forever, wolves would struggle and go insane.

But he, of all people, found me. The only question now is why. And that was the only thing I could say as I lowered the gun.

“Why?”

He told me everything that happened. The downfall, the betrayal, the heartbreak. Those that we lost. Everyone gone in one way or another. Sean, Kieran, Lenny, Hosea, Molly, Miss Grimshaw. Dead. Saint Denis bank, Guarma, Micah working with the Pinkertons. In the end, Micah had turned Dutch against almost everyone, whispering little worms into his ear until they grew and grew to leave no room for anything else.

Dutch turning his back on Him and John. Leaving John to bleed out and leaving Arthur on that mountain. Where he thought would be his final resting place. But once the sun was up, high in the sky, he found the energy to live. To heal. To find me.

And that’s what he did the last few weeks until he heard whispers of someone fitting my description that caused a bit of hell in Van Horn. He knew he was close.

“But...why did you want to find me?” I asked. Both of us sat around the small table below the window, two empty whiskey glasses before us.

He took in a deep breath, his perfect blue eyes meeting my bloodshot and watery ones. “I wanted to the moment I was told you left,” He leaned over, taking my hands in his.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think these last few months. Especially in the last few weeks. What you did before you left, I understand now why.”

“But I hurt you.” letting a sob escape, my body starting to tremble and I’m sure he could feel it in my hands.

“It did hurt. But losing you hurt even more,” He said, nothing more than a whisper, his eyes never leaving mine and his hold on my hands not faltering as he continued. “I remember what you said to me that night years ago. ‘Bout not knowing how much I mean to you. Well - I - I do. Because I feel the same. Always have. it just took me a while to realise it I guess.”

I couldn’t stop the tears. The damn had busted open. Within seconds he was on me, his arms enveloping me, my hands coming to purchase on his shirt. Neither of us wanted to let go, out of fear the other would disappear into the air like dust in the morning rays. We held each other for what felt like an eternity, my tears slowing and the shaking subsiding. I lifted my head from where it was perched on his chest to look at him, our eyes locked once more. No words were spoken but I could see it in the depths of those pools, the forgiveness and longing. And I was sure my eyes mirrored the same. His hand came up to cradle my face and I instinctively leaned into him, my breathing hitching despite the calmness that washed over me. Then I looked into his eyes again, only to be met with a look I had not seen in many years. I opened my mouth to speak but before I could he surged forward, his lips on mine. It was delicate, more fragile than any other kiss we had shared. It wasn’t long until that fragility turned into desperation, my hands at the nape of his neck, his on my waist. My mind was running a million miles a minute, all thoughts of him and this moment. Feeling like we were young lovers again. His hands roamed my sides as I gripped his hair, keeping each other glued to one another. My body began to burn up, feelings I had repressed for months pushing their way to the surface, refusing to be drowned. We broke apart and he pulled me to stand, his lips now on my neck, trailing wet kisses from below my ear to the hollow of my neck, causing me to moan. He looked at me then, desperation and pleading etched upon his face before I kissed him again. Kissing the scar on his chin that was easily visible within the stubble, his jaw, down to his neck and then his chest. Pushing off his jacket and suspenders with it. My fingers returned to the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly as he pushed me back into the direction of the bed. My legs soon coming into contact with the edge. His hands now making a start on my blouse, pulling it from the confines of my pants and lifting it over my head. My hands roaming his chest and snaking down to his abdomen, stroking the hair there, causing him to tense at my touch. He always was a fine man, built from hard work that I couldn't help but adore. His arms wrapping around to my back to undo the corsets lacing, completely surrounding me and all I could smell was him. Horse, rain, sweat and something that was just so undoubtedly him. Undoing his gun belt was muscle memory, hitting the floor with a thud, my corset following, now both bare from the waist up. We couldn’t wait any longer, our lips on each other once again as we worked on unbuttoning our pants. He leaned me down to lay on the bed, my legs hanging over the sides as he wasted no time to pull off the rest of my clothing. Laying there propped up on my elbows I watched as he raked his eyes over every curve, scar and freckle on my body. Kneeling between my legs he drew kisses from my knee up my thigh, getting oh so close to where I wanted him to be. He looked up at me once more, giving a shuddering breath before his mouth landed between my legs, soft but purposeful strokes easily pulling moans from me. He didn’t let up, devouring me like a man starved as he paid close attention to my little bundle of nerves. My body shaking again but for a whole different reason. It had been too long and I knew I wasn’t going to last if he kept going for a minute longer. My hands fisting the bedsheets I tried to speak but it was useless, squirming from the sensations. Lifting my legs to rest on his shoulders feeling him moan against me, the vibration causing bolts of electricity to fire through my whole body and land at my core. I could feel my orgasm rapidly approaching and my hand flew down to card through his hair, holding him there. My body convulsed as I tipped off the edge, my head rolling back as the blinding pleasure washed over me, moaning his name into the air. Arthur was above kissing me within seconds, tasting myself on his tongue and lips. Catching my breath he pushed me further up the bed until my head hit the plush pillows. Removing his pants and then situating himself between my legs. I could feel him pressed up against my thigh, hot and swollen and begging for attention. And oh how my body craved to give him what he needed. His eyes met mine, hooded and filled with lust. Silently asking for permission. I nodded, placing a kiss on his forehead and placing my hands on his shoulders. Electrifying jolts surged through my core as he strokes himself along my slit tenderly. His skin burning to my touch and looking downright drunk. Completely intoxicated. He sinks into me slowly. My body soon getting accustomed to the memory of him as he bottoms out, his hips meeting my thighs. My breath hitches as he bites back a moan. Both of us taking a moment just to bask in the feeling of one another like this again. It all felt the same but so different. He kissed the scar on my collar bone that he only got to see before when it was fresh. We had been through so much over the years we would need to learn about each other again. But one thing remained the same; my body yeard for him. He pulled out before setting a languid pace, lifting one of my legs to wrap around his waist, allowing him to go deeper, his pace quickening and lifting my hips to meet him, Chasing our pleasure. One hand in my hair, tangled up with my locks as his other hand firmly grasped my hip. The look on his face was evidence that he was holding back, needing to completely lose himself in me. And I felt the same. “Arthur...Please.” I purred, not needing to say anymore. His pace quickened with a grunt, one that was a borderline growl. My moans and the sounds of skin on skin filling the air and our ears as he kept hitting that sweet spot. My nails forming crescents on his shoulders. Pulling him down to crush my lips against his, our teeth clicking and tongues dancing together. Pulling back suddenly with swollen lips as the pressure began to build, my whole body trembling more and more as I got higher and higher. Moaning out his name as his rhythm began to falter. Nuzzling into my neck and mumbling ‘oh, fuck,’ in that gravelly but wanton voice. His hand on my hip made its way between my legs, rubbing in quick circles. I couldn’t hold back. That coil within me growing tighter and tighter before snapping. My back arching as the shockwaves rocked through me. Slowing his pace slightly to ride me through it before picking up his pace again, chasing his pleasure with a few more pumps of his hips and he stilled. His hand like a vice on my thigh as he spent himself inside me with a drawn-out moan. It took us a few moments to get our breath back. Pulling himself from me causing me to whimper from the empty feeling and sensitivity. He moved to lay beside me and pulled me to lay with my head on his shoulder. Neither of us willing to clean ourselves up just yet. My skin now acknowledging the cold air around us. The thin sheen of sweat cooling me. Nothing was said for a while as he held me close until he broke the silence to place a kiss to the top of my head then lifting my chin for my face to meet his. “I love you,” he said. My eyes getting blurry from the confession I never thought I would hear. But looking at him I knew it was true. His eyes shone with adoration. I smiled weakly before kissing him once. Looking back into his eyes and with no hesitation, I said out loud what id only heard myself mutter in my dreams. “I love you too."

[thesardonicwriter]

The Way It Is, Arthur Morgan x Reader

Crossposting on AO3 and here! Except on AO3 it’s an OC and here it’s you! So forgive any mistakes, I kinda just eyeballed the you’s from the she’s.

Anyway, here you go, friends!

You sat quietly in Beaver’s Hollow, cleaning your trusty pistol and pretending to ignore Micah and his loud mouth. The train job had gone better than they’d hoped but John… John was dead. Arthur and Sadie had ridden off to get Abigail back from the Pinkertons because Dutch had refused to. Dutch would rather have let his friend’s son be orphaned than go to get Abigail back. Things had been changing in the gang for a long time. You had seen it coming for a long time. You had never thought you’d see the day that Dutch would just abandon his own people. And at the word of Micah Bell, of all people! It hurt. It was time to move on from the Van der Linde gang, you could see that now. It was only a matter of when and how. Her heart stung as you thought of leaving Javier and Bill, as brutish as the latter was. You had been with them for 12 years. 12 years that you would never see again. There weren’t any other options now.

“Get them bags packed up quick, Miss Grimshaw,” Micah ordered. “And you, (Y/L/N), get off your ass and help out.”

You ignored Micah, refocusing on your gun. In the chaos of everyone fleeing here, that was when you would peel off from the group. Maybe you’d be able to convince Susan to leave with you, too. God, you wanted to slap some sense into Dutch. It was too late for that. You knew that, somewhere, but it was still your first instinct.

“Hurry up! We don’t got much time,” Micah barked.

As you felt yourself falling deeper into your own thoughts, you heard Arthur’s voice echo through the camp. You holstered your gun quickly and looked up, expecting to see Abigail and Sadie with him. But he was alone. He was alone and he was angry. His hat hung low over his eyes. Worry built in your chest. Arthur jumped off of his horse. He was walking with a dedicated purpose.

“We just got plenty of time, Micah,” Arthur said. “We all need to have a little chat.”

“Morgan. You’re back. Hooray.”

Dutch slowly emerged from his tent. The canvas flap moved shut behind him. The sight of their once great leader no longer filled you with a sense of pride. A sense of duty, like you were doing the right thing in your life. Arthur and Dutch slowly walked towards each other. If a stranger had come into the camp right then, they wouldn’t have seen two old friends welcoming each other. They would have seen two men, two enemies, having their final confrontation. It wasn’t so hard for you to believe that Dutch and Colm O’Driscoll had been friendly once now as you watched those two regard each other.

“I just had a little chat with Agent Milton, Dutch. Abigail shot him. She’s okay… not that you care too much about that.”

Micah, Cleet, and Joe started to stalk towards Arthur. It was like watching a cougar eyeing her meal. You pushed yourself to your feet and moved behind your friend. Her hand was hovering over your guns, willing Micah to give your a reason to fire. Dutch stopped walking. His eyes never left Arthur. Susan stopped packing and looked from both sides of the camp. Arthur turned to Micah and his men, effectively stopping them in their tracks.

“You rats,” he scoffed. “All of ya. Seems old Micah was pretty good friends with Milton.”

“What the hell are you talking about, cowpoke?”

“You talked.”

Those words. Those two simple words made so much click together. Micah talked. Hell, there had been problems before Guarma, but after then, even when the rest of the gang was being careful, things still seemed to go wrong. Micah was even closer in Dutch’s ear. It seemed like that was the only person their leader would listen to for anything. Micah talked. Dutch’s actions hadn’t been entirely his own as things progressed. Because Micah talked.

“That’s a goddamn lie.” Micah hissed.

“Dutch…” Arthur’s voice was wavering. He, too, still hoped that his friend, his mentor, was still there.

“Dutch, think of the future.”

Dutch stood by his tent, looking at both men in confusion. Even from where you were, you could see the conflict in his eyes. The fight between who he was becoming and who he used to be. His mouth was slightly agape, as if in disbelief as Arthur continued speaking.

“Milton told me.”

“And you believed him, Morgan? You believe him?”

“It all makes sense now.” 

“No, it damn well doesn’t.”

Arthur drew his pistol, aiming for Micah’s headYou was quick behind him, aiming at Joe while Cleet struggled with his gun. Bill stood from the table, gun in hand but unsure of what to do. Slowly, he raised his repeater towards ArthurYour hand was steady. You pulled your second gun, aiming for Bill. Oh, Bill. They had spent some good years together. You refused to hesitate.

“Dutch, think!”

“Dutch, be practical now.”

“Dutch!”

Your heart sang as a painfully familiar voice came through the fog and tension. You turned to see John walking towards camp, holding his arm and limping towards them all. You held back a happy sob as you saw him. He was alive. He survived. And Dutch lied about it. Had he even gone back to check on him? Once, anyone would have insisted that John was the golden boy. John was the favourite. John was the one that Dutch would have done anything for. Just another example of just how far he had really fallen from grace. Oh, to go back to those days when things seemed so much simpler. So much better.

“You left me! You left me to die!” John’s voice was dripping with venom and his eyes were filled with rage as he looked to Dutch van der Linde.

Dutch’s eyes were wide in shock. He started walking towards John slowly. “My boy, I didn’t have a choice. John, I didn’t…”

“You-”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

“-left me!”

“All of you, you pick your side now, because this is over. All them years, Dutch,” Arthur shook his head, “for this snake?!”

Micah chuckled. “Be quiet, cowpoke, be quiet. You live in the clouds.”

“No, you be quiet, Mr. Bell,” Grimshaw spoke. She walked into the fray with her trusty shotgun. “And put your gun down,” she sneered.

“There’s Pinkertons coming!” Javier ran from down the hill.

Jesus, how many more people were going to burst into their camp today?

Micah took Javier’s distraction in stride. He fired one shot into Miss Grimshaw’s stomachYou moved both guns to train on Micah. Her eyes were stinging with tears. You may have fought with Susan over things, but you had always loved the woman. She was one of the people who made you feel like you belonged in the gang when you first got there. Your finger was close to pulling back on the trigger. Dutch pulled his guns, pointing them at Micah and Arthur. 

“Now! Who amongst you is with me and who is betrayin’ me?!” Dutch demanded.

Dutch moved towards the treeline. Arthur and you backed closer to the cave, John as close as he could get. They were the only three people leaving Dutch’s side. You tightened your jaw. If that was how it had to be, then that was what you were going to do. Bill and Javier stood behind Dutch. Bill, a man you had called your brother, was aiming his gun at your, no remorse or regret in his eyes. Javier still seemed unsure of what to do, but he knew he had to stay with Dutch. The man you once would have said was like a father was aiming his guns at you. All because of a traitor he still trusted. How had they let things get this bad? Micah continued to insist that Arthur was lying. Before the firefight could begin, the Pinkertons started yelling. You pulled John and Arthur’s shoulders back towards the caves, pushing them down as you sent a few shots back towards the people that you used to call your friends.

More gunshots rang out from everywhere. You kept urging the boys forward. You lit a lamp as they ran deeper and deeper into the cave. You had been through here once and found the secret exit. Even if they had been in the dark, you could have found it but you weren't taking any risks. Pinkertons shouted behind them. Agent Ross or whatever his name was told them to freeze, stop running, and he ordered his men to find them. You wasn’t going to let that happen. You led them to the ladder.

“Go, go!” You said, pushing John towards it. “Fuckin’ climb!”

You waited until they were both up before climbing yourself. You hit the lamp against the stone walls of the cave. Kerosene splashed your leg but you didn’t care as you poured it onto the ladder. This was the only way you could think of to make sure the Pinkertons couldn’t follow them out here. You were pulled up the rest of the way by Arthur. You reached into his satchel and found his matchbook. 

“This is gonna have to do.” You struck a match on your boot and let it fall onto the ladder. 

The three of them ran from the exit. The trio kept moving, kept running, until they were far from the cave. Arthur and John whistled for their horses. You had one of your pistols out. You were waiting for someone to show up. They had two groups after them now. They had to get off of this damn mountain before they got caught by Micah or the Pinkertons.

“Thank you,” he said, “for believin’ me,”

“‘Course, Arthur,” you said.

“Can we talk about this later?” John snapped as the horses came into view.

Arthur lifted you into the saddle behind him. You had one arm wrapped around his waist as they started riding through the forest. You hadn’t even had time to properly process that John was still alive, what with all the chaos going on. It didn’t seem like there were Pinkertons following them, but you knew that could change at any moment. You kept your eyes peeled. You studied every movement in the trees.

“Those bastards left me for dead!” John yelled.

“Seems that’s what they do now,” Arthur responded.

“And here I was wastin’ my time savin’ your sorry asses all these years. If I’da known I coulda left you I would’ve!” you shook your head.

“Is now the time to be sarcastic, (Y/L/N)?!”

“It’s now or never, Marston!”

“Micah was the rat, John. Milton told me,” Arthur said.

“Figures. We shoulda killed him months ago!”

you was inclined to agree. You went over all of the times you could have left the bastard for dead or shot him in the back. There was no use in focusing on things that couldn’t be changed now. They had to get John to his family, at least. He was the only one of the three had actually  had people waiting for him now. Arthur glanced back at you and you knew that he agreed. It didn’t matter if the two of them died here as long as John was safe.

“Abigail’s at Copperhead Landing with Jack. Tilly and Sadie, too. We’re gonna get you there, John. Once we get these damned Pinkertons off our backs!” Arthur’s voice rose above the wind.

“Thank you. Thank you, brother,” John said.

“Don’t look back, John. When you find them, don’t you dare look back. Like I said.”

you could see John nodding his head in understanding. They must have been talking about getting John and his family out for a long time before this. That was good. That meant that they were ready for this. They were ready to run as far and as fast as they could. You just had to make sure that they actually got that chance. You lightly squeezed Arthur’s waist as your way of silently showing him you would help. You would do whatever it took to get John to them, even if it meant dying yourself. The gang was dead. Her family was dead. There was nothing out there waiting for you. If you did die on that mountain, there wasn’t anyone waiting to mourn for you. And you were okay with that. 

It wasn’t long into the ride before they almost ran headfirst into Dutch’s group. They started shooting at the trio without mercy. Arthur expertly maneuvered his horse out of the line of fire. John was close behind him. You aimed backwards haphazardly, not really caring if you hit anything this time. It just needed to be enough noise to maybe spook one or two of their horses. Micah yelled at them from behind, promising that they’d all be dead soon enough. You takes one look back. You can’t even see the white coat of the Count anymore. 

“Pinkertons ahead!” John announced,

You cursed under your breath as you fired a few more bullets. You heard the click of an empty chamber and started reloading while the boys cut through the river. John started to lead them further and further up the mountain and further and further away from Copperhead Landing. They had to lose their “friends” before they could get there. You knew that. It seemed like the further along they went, the more guns they were met with. John did his best to lead them through the trees. After what seemed like an eternity, the treeline broke. You looked back into the forest. This wasn’t a good development. They were just more in the open now. You aimed your pistol again.

Before you could pull the trigger, you felt yourself getting thrown into the air. You hit the ground. Hard. Her body started rolling down. You felt John’s hand on your arm, stopping your from going any further back into danger. Arthur was kneeling next to his horse, gently patting her head and whispering to her while she passed. You looked around wildly. You found your pistol in the grass and picked it up. You walked to Arthur. Softly, you placed a hand on his shoulder.

“We’ve gotta go, Arthur. We gotta move, now,” you said.

He nodded. “I know. I know! Just… gimme a minute.”

“We ain’t got a minute, hun, we gotta go. Now.”

He looked at the ground. With a grunt, he pushed himself to his feet. He leaned down to pick up his hat. Arthur looked back down the mountain. Back towards Beaver’s Hollow. He shook his head. You watched him curiously.

“All right, let’s go. I’m gonna get you out of this bullshit if it’s the last goddamn thing I do.”

John took Arthur’s hand for a moment. All the years of them fighting seemed to fade away in that moment. They were finally able to forgive each other for everything that had happened. You wished silently that it could have come about in a different way. A better way. 

“All right, that’s enough of the man love for now,” you said with a slight smirk, “we gotta go before they come back. C’mon, this way!”

You started running up. Arthur and John followed closely behind. You forced yourself to forget all of the times you had had in the Van der Linde gang as you shot indiscriminately at those you saw on the mountain. You forced yourself to forget that Dutch had saved your life more than once. . You remembered how Hosea was killed. The memory of his body there in the street was more than enough to fuel the fire within you. You were going to get out of this and you were going to put a bullet into Micah yourself. That was your last goal before you died.

you pushed against a rock as you turned a corner to get to higher ground. The boys were still a little ways behind you. You spun around. It was higher ground, all right, but there wasn’t anywhere to take cover. They would get killed if they stayed there. It wasn’t any better further down. Truly a damned if they did, damned if they didn’t type of situation. You cursed loudly, kicking a stone over the edge. Arthur looked around. He nodded.

“All right then, here’s the plan. You two are gonna get the hell outta here. Don’t you argue with me, you. This is the only way. I’ll stay here and keep as many of the bastards back as I can. But you gotta get John to his family,” Arthur said with a nod.

“No. No! I ain’t leavin’ you here, Arthur!” you protested.

“Darlin’, you ain’t got no choice. Get him outta here. Get him to his woman and child safely.” Arthur put his satchel around your shoulders. 

“Don’t call me darlin’,” you said weakly.

Arthur chuckled. “I know. Just go. I’ll meet you there if I can. Now go. Go!”

He pushed you towards John. John looked up at Arthur. Arthur nodded. This was what he wanted. They weren’t going to talk him out of this. Even if they could, they certainly didn’t have the time for it. You and John started running. Arthur was shouting, telling, no, daring the Pinkertons to come for him. You refused to look back to him as the gunshots started. You couldn’t. You knew that as soon as you did, you’d be right back up there with him, firing and fighting. You reached for John’s hand. You were going to keep him as close as you could as they ran. 

Her feet slid to a stop on the rough stone. You looked around. There had to be a way out of this. A better way out of this. John was catching his breath. Just as you were about to start pulling him a different way, you saw a flash of a leather coat. Micah’s coat. The rage you had been holding in was just about ready to burst.

“That’s it. I’m endin’ this, once and for fuckin’ all,” you sneered. “John, I’ve gotta kill that bastard.”

He looked up at you. “Make sure you don’t miss,”

you smiled. You were a better shot than that. You hugged John. You kept one hand on the back of his head. You wanted to remember this moment. You wanted to commit John to memory forever. You stepped away. John held your hand for a moment. 

“Thank you, sister, for everything.”

“Don’t mention it. Just get to your family. Get them safe.”

“Thank you.”

He turned and started running. You watched him for a moment. He was going to be okay, you knew it. That kid always seemed to have things work out for him. This wouldn’t be any different. You turned on your heel and ran back the way you came. You kept your gun in your hand. You had pictured this day so many times back in camp. You could hardly wait to see what it actually looked like when Micah was begging for mercy under your boot. There were no Pinkertons around you now. It seemed like Arthur had succeeded in leading them off. Wherever he was, you hoped that he had at least managed to get somewhere safe. You’d hate for him to see just how blatantly you’d ignored his last order.

you rounded a corner. Her heart dropped to your feet as you looked on. You were rendered speechless for what felt like the first time in your life.

Micah was standing on Arthur’s neck, laughing maniacally about this situation. Arthur barely looked like himself. There was no way that Arthur had lost this fight unless he had thrown it to protect you and John as they ran. You saw Micah aiming one of his precious guns at Arthur. You didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger on your own pistol.Two gunshots sounded. Blood spurted out from the wound, hitting the dirt as Micah fell over the ridge. You ran towards Arthur, begging him not to be dead.

“Don’t you dare die on me now, Morgan, not after all of this shit. You don’t get to take the easy way out you bastard,” you said.

“Not… ow… not dead yet.” Arthur coughed.

“Good. Not dead is good. C’mon, cowboy, let’s get you outta here.”

You put one of Arthur’s arms around your shoulders and struggled to get him to his feet. He helped as best as he could, but he was pretty much useless.

“Bastard shot my leg,” he said, “hurts like a bitch,”

“Shut up for a minute, Arthur, I’m tryin’ to come up with a plan,”

Ultimately, you decided down the mountain was probably the best bet. Slowly, as slowly as you could while still running and supporting Arthur, you started to move down, watching your steps as you went. Arthur was a lot heavier than you thought he’d be. You supposed it made sense, considering. You turned a corner and almost ran directly into the fine silk vest of Dutch himself. You looked up. Instantly, your pistol was aimed at his head. He held up his hands and looked from your to Arthur.

“Your pet rat’s dead, Dutch. I shot him myself. Fell over the ridge down there,”

Dutch opened his mouth to speak. Your eyes flicked up. More Pinkertons. You kept your gun trained on Dutch as he ran away. You kept pushing Arthur further. You held on as best you could. Your foot slipped as you moved further down. Arthur was sent tumbling from your arms and further down. You cussed and made your way back to him, apologising. He was next to a curtain of lichen. His arm was passing through it. Curious, you stuck your head through. It was a cave. A well hidden cave. With the last of your strength, you pulled Arthur inside and hoped that would be enough to keep them safe.

So there you go. Chapter 1 of like 20 something. :D

[joon-ipersgirl]

O6 - “the jaded jessica rabbit”

genre: mafia!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, mystery-thriller

pairing: namjoon x reader (f)

word count: 3.8k

warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol, some vulgar-is dirty talk at the end (not the way you think lol)

summary: charismatic. beautiful. fearless without question. the ambitious team of seven young men in charge of spiral, downtown district’s hottest new club, go above and beyond to provide 100% satisfaction to their clients.

after an eventful night out, you have no choice but to join the team for property damages greater than your intern salary. challenging a series of events that can no longer be left to coincidence, secrets threaten to burst at the seams as your professional and private life collide, and another - more sinister - debt is added to your total. 

how far are you willing to go to pay back your pound of flesh? remember, nothing is ever as it seems...

a/n: hello everyone! wow, i received some really nice comments about this fic so thank you. like seriously. i’ll keep you guys posted on discontinuing or not. i only have a few more parts pre-written so i may just post those and decide after. either way, i hope you enjoy. this was fun to write :) leave me an ask and let me know what you think and any theories as to what you think the boys are up to!

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

Staring at yourself in the full length mirror in your room, you conclude you look crazy. How Suga had approved this uniform is beyond you, especially as winter hasn’t let you out of her cold, damp grip. You adjusted the waist of your skirt again as you try your best to make sure your ass isn’t hanging out the bottom. At least the neckline of the t-shirt is high enough that all of your assets aren’t on display. You guess you could appreciate how nice your legs look in the sheer black stockings you’d paired with the look.

You try your best to fit the vibe Spiral is going for and keep your makeup fairly neutral except for the bright red matte lipstick across your lips. Your hair was swept into a slick low bun, a few tendrils left out to frame your face. Though it probably isn’t part of the vibe, you throw on your chunky gold hoops to add some personality. Honcho could kiss your pretty little ass if he didn’t like it.

A soft meow! broke you out of your inner monologue. “Rosalia!” you coo at your shared Russian Blue cat. She saunters into the room and makes herself comfortable on your Queen-sized bed. “Don’t wait up,” you tell her as you grab your small backpack and trusty black, wool overcoat. It was time to head to Spiral.

“This must be the new spot for the young folk, huh?” your Uber driver, George, asks as he pulls onto the interstate. He’s an older man that could have probably been your grandfather. You pay him no mind. Maybe he would get the hint that you weren’t interested in having a conversation if you barely respond.

“Hmm?”

“You’re the third young woman I’ve picked up to head there tonight,” he explains. You look up at him quickly through the rearview mirror.

“Oh really?” you ask absentmindedly. George nods, his cap looking to flop off of his head.

“Oh yeah. They were so excited about it being back open since it got closed down for that robbery they had 2 months ago, though I don’t know if those young boys can handle running an establishment like that,” he mutters.

“Why do you think that?”

“They aren’t paying their respects to the elders in the business. Respect will go a long way you know?” he adds as he exits off the highway and heads towards the “party��� area of downtown. You sit up, intrigued by what he’s saying.

“Respect to the elders? In the business? What do you mean?” you inquire again.

“You can’t just pop up on someone else’s territory without explaining what you’re doing there, even if it was an order for expansion,” he explains. You glance out of the window; you were close to the club. Time is running out.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, sir.”

“Of course you do, young lady.” George smiles at you through the mirror as you stare at him confused. “Robberies of that sort don’t just happen outta nowhere,” he elaborates, his words seeming to take on another meaning. You open your mouth to respond, but he cuts you off with a whistle.

“Wow, it didn’t look like that when I was just here.”

You turn to look out the window and your eyes widen as you take in the line, the neon red sign brightly illuminating the street. It wraps around the corner of the club and extends down the street past where your eyes could see. Numerous patrons are huddled together to stay warm as they brave the chilly wind. It’s only 9pm and the club doesn’t officially open until 10pm. Had news of the re-opening spread so quickly?

George pulls up to the curb. “You be safe now, miss,” he says pointedly, turning in his seat to deliver his seemingly innocent warning.

“You too. Have a good night,” you tell him as you step out of the car and he tips his hat in response. The conversation leaves you uneasy as he pulls away and you’re left on the corner of the street looking very much so like the woman of the night you feel in your uniform. You don’t stand for too long as the icy wind slashes across your legs, forcing you to head inside.

You approach the front of the line, much to the groans and protests of the people at the front. You ignore them. No one had told them to arrive at least an hour early and subject themself to this kind of torture for a few measly drinks and to rub up and down on another equally sad individual.

“Y/N!” Jack calls out to you from the front door of the club. He looks good in his own large bomber jacket, black skull beanie pulled low over his dark brown hair and the tips of his ears. Though he’s the size of any pro NFL quarterback, you could only see him as a rugged teddy bear when he grins at you like that.

“Jack,” you greet him with a soft smirk of your own. “How are you?”

“Good. Cold, but good. Ready for tonight?” he asks cheerily.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, chuckling. He smiles at you again and holds the door open.

You duck under his arm and slip off your coat as you head down the stairs. Spiral looks incredible after the renovation and you’re surprised at how well everything flowed together; Min might actually know a thing or two about interior design. The new, red neon lights along the floors and the ceiling add to the ambience and the sleek black marble furniture fits in well with the leather booths.

Standing around the bar where the rest of your coworkers in their uniforms. Jin, Luca, and Moon are setting up behind the bar, the three of them looking like the city versions of Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades. Not necessarily in that order though; Luca would definitely be Hades. Honcho and Suga chat quietly to one another while Savannah prattles on with Tae, her arms moving wildly as she explains whatever story she’s so into. Jeon and Micah are tucked on the other side of the bar, a comfortable silence settling between them. Giselle sits alone on a bar stool as she scrolls on her phone completely oblivious to her surroundings.

“Good evening Y/N. So nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Moon remarks. You ignore the way his eyes flit across your body as you approach the bar.

“Finally Kid. We’ve been waiting,” Suga calls from where he stands, his mint hair falling into his eyes.

“You guys act like I was 45 minutes late or something. What’s going on?” you asks.

“Did you go clock in?” Honcho asks, ignoring your question. You shake your head. “Do that, put your stuff away, and then come back here. We’re having a staff meeting.”

You nod and set off towards the employee lounge. It’s a fairly small room with some lockers available to store your things as well as a miniscule refrigerator to store some snacks as you wouldn’t be leaving until at least 3am. You carefully fold your coat as best as you can before shoving it into one of the lockers and shutting it closed.

The cold metal of the lockers presses into your back as you lean against it for support. It’s finally hitting you that you’re back at Spiral. Where you shot a gun. Where you shot a man. Where you got shot at. You look at the slight burn that’s on your upper forearm. You let out a shaky breath. Fear couldn’t get the best of you now. You had work to do, clues to discover, and a man to find before he found you first.

“Took you long enough!” Honcho calls out as you perch on the edge of the bar stool. A roll of your eyes is your only response. “Great. Everyone’s here. It’s opening night and the line is wrapped around the building. People still want to experience us, and experience us they shall. You all have your positions. Do your job well, and we shouldn’t have any issues. Anything else to add?” Honcho turns to Moon.

“Be engaging and if there are any issues, find myself or Honcho. Only.” Moon directed his last comment to you. “Suga?”

“Don’t fuck up,” Suga says with a shrug and the room erupts in laughter. “Let’s have a good night.”

The meeting is dismissed as Suga heads up to his office and you use the last 20 minutes to do the last of the prep of our stations. Tae has started spinning tunes from his booth as you vibe out. Jin and Luca are tending to the downstairs bar while Moon heads up to the VIP lounge. You and Giselle are tasked with serving tables on the main level, Savannah and Micah on the second. Jeon had left to man the main door with Jack. Everything is set.

You peek at Jin as you secure the little black fanny pack with the notepad and pen to take orders around your waist. Your conversation from earlier in the week flits across your mind and you narrow your eyes in determination; it was time to get to work.

“Here!” Giselle calls over the increasingly loud music. “It’s tequila!” She pushes the shot into your hand. You can hear the chatter of people starting to enter the establishment faintly. You toss the shot back and she grins. It was definitely time to get to work.

“I need a strawberry daiquiri, a lemon drop, a mango margarita, and a blue hawaiian!” you yell to Luca as you lean over the bar, waving the ticket in your hand to try and grab his attention. He serves his customer at the bar before grabbing the ticket from you.

“It’s fucking crazy in here!” he yells back. You nod and look out into the crowd.

Spiral hadn’t been open a full hour and a half, but it was like there was no room to walk. Talk about packed. The air is thick with heat and hormones as people dance in the middle of the floor, bodies swaying sloppily from the amount of alcohol they’d already consumed. You’re grateful you’d decided to tie your hair back because Gods knew how it would look after your shift was over. The demand for drinks hadn’t slowed down once, putting your personal mission on hold.

“Order up!” Luca calls and shoves the drinks over to you on a tray. You huff as you balance it in both hands and head back through the crowd.

As you approach your table, your mood sours. Instead of there being four girls sitting in the booth, a fifth has arrived. Your favorite crime scene investigator. Her hair hangs down around her shoulders in loose waves instead of the tight ponytail it was in when you first saw her. Her white off the shoulder dress clings tight to her body as she rests on the edge of the booth, her legs crossed. You set the tray down a little harder than needed as the rest of her friends jump.

“Oh. It’s you,” she says in disdain. You ignore her as you set their drinks down in front of them.

“Hi, my name is Y/N and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with anything or would you care to see the menu?” you ask, giving her the usual speech. She looks bored as you stand there waiting.

“Hmm, nothing that you can give me. Have you seen Moon? I need to speak with him,” she says.

“He’s working in VIP. I’m not sure if you have the clearance to be up there,” you say with a smile. She glares at you.

“You barely have the clearance to work here,” she spits. Just as you’re going to respond, you feel a heavy hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N, why don’t you go on break? Jennifer, so nice to see you again. Shall we?” It’s Honcho. If you weren’t so angry, you would have been frightened at his ability to move so swiftly in a crowded room.

Jennifer, in all her raggedy glory, brushes past you with a smirk. You barely resist the urge to drag her back by her half-assed waves and pummel her smug face into the pretty black, marble table. Watching her saunter up the spiral staircase makes your blood boil. Who did she think she was? You excuse yourself from your patrons once you make sure they no longer need you and head for the restroom. If the boss says it was time for a break, who were you to oppose? It was time to figure some things out.

“Y/N!” Jin’s voice is barely audible over the blaring bass Tae is blasting. You roll your eyes.

“I’m on break!” you yell to him as he beckons you over.

“I need you to do me a favor!” he shouts as you approach his side of the bar, Luca hurriedly making drinks on the other.

“I need you to stop lying to me, but I guess we all can’t get what we want,” you say with a shrug and turn away.

“Y/N, please. Honcho hasn’t come back down for this order. Can you run it upstairs for me? I’d do it myself, but -” He gestures to the people surrounding the bar waiting for his attention.

“I told you, I’m on break,” you emphasize.

“Please,” he asks once again, resting his hand on top of the bar. You glare at him.

“Fine, but you owe me,” you say pointedly. He flashes you a beautiful smile before setting the tray filled with a glass of white wine, a pint of beer, and a whiskey sour.

“You’re the best!” he calls as you heft the tray onto your shoulder and make your way to the stairs.

The second level is less crowded than downstairs, but all the booths are occupied with men in luxurious suits and their companions dressed in their finest dresses. It reeks of expensive perfumes and stuffy cigars. Some of the velvet curtains are drawn and you didn’t want to know what could possibly be happening behind them. Honcho is nowhere to be seen and you grow impatient as the tray’s weight settles into your arms. This was becoming tiring.

“Hey Y/N! How’s it going? Do you need some help?” Savannah chirps as she ducks through one of the closed curtain booths, her blonde hair a little disheveled. Interesting. Definitely didn’t want to know what kind of sunshine service she was providing.

“Uh, yeah. Have you seen Honcho? These are his drinks,” you say gesturing to the tray in your hands.

“Hmm, not for the past few minutes. Maybe he’s in the back?” She points to the hallway leading to the third level. You sigh. You’d been sent on a wild goose chase.

“Alright. Thanks.”

You dodge a drunk woman who seemed dangerously close to breaking a heel, the pint of beer sloshing over the side and soaking the front of your shirt. You clench your jaw in anger. Slamming the tray down angrily on one of the high tables, a few of the customers jump at the noise. You know your smile is not friendly by the way they lower their heads and avoid your gaze as you march past. At this point, you were taking an additional half an hour break; they owed you.  

The bathroom on the second level is empty as you try to wipe the stench of beer from your shirt. Your first night and you’re already fed up with Miss Fake Jessica Rabbit, Jin and his favors, and the spilled drinks. In fact, you’re highly irritated. You’re ready to go home. Giving up trying to salvage your shirt and resigning to smelling like beer for the next 2 and a half hours, you head to exit the restroom, but stop when you glimpse the back of Jessica Rabbit herself.

“I don’t know, Moon. It’s not looking too good on our end.” You tuck back behind the door, leaving it slightly ajar to hear what they’re saying. Thank Gods for the acoustics of this hallway.

“Didn’t this case just get planned?” he asks. “Vance was supposed to secure this contract for us after we were down for those couple of weeks. What happened?”

“I don’t know. Things have been a little busy with Julian going haywire. I haven’t seen Vance in two weeks. Someone mentioned something about reputations and what not -”

“We just started this operation. We barely have a reputation, Jen,” he emphasizes. “But we’ve been damn good at what we do, so I’m not understanding what the issue is.”

“What are we not understanding?” You almost stumble back as Min passes the restroom but catch the door with your fingers before it can slam shut. You exhale slowly as you recover, peering through the small slit of the door again.

“We just lost the Fader contract,” Moon tells him.

“Wait, wasn’t that supposed to come out tomorrow? I thought we had it secured before it was set to be released.”

“So did I, but Jen said Vance couldn’t pull through. Something about reputations -”

“Reputations? If anything, we should be getting great reviews; I’ve been quick and effective with every job you’ve sent me on. So much so, we couldn’t take on all the clients because of demand.” You can hear the confusion in Min’s voice even with the music still thumping. “What changed? How is that affecting our operations?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Jen replies. “This is bad for business which is in turn bad for me.”

“There has to be something we’re missing. Min, do you think you could contact Santi-”

“Have y’all seen Y/N? She’s not on the floor and Savannah said she was looking for me,” Honcho’s voice rings out and you squeak, letting the door slam shut, effectively cutting off the sound of their conversation. Shit. You duck behind the partitioning wall and try to calm your breathing as someone knocks on the door.

“Is everything okay in here?” It’s Honcho.

“Everything’s great! Just slipped on some water and fell, but I’m good!” you call to him, cringing at your lie.

“Y/N? What the fuck are you doing up here?”

“I work here. What do you mean by what am I doing up here? I was trying to find you so I could give you your fucking tray with your drinks, but you were nowhere to be found,” you reply with just as much attitude, finally appearing around the corner and facing him. He looks at you confused as you stare him down.

“I was busy with a -- customer. Come on, you have work to do,” he says while grabbing your wrist.

“And you don’t?” you retort as he pulls you into the hallway where Min, Jennifer, and Moon are still standing. They look surprised to see you.

“Kitten!” Min exclaims as you approach them. “How’s your shift going?”

You shrug. “It’s going.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?” Jennifer asks rudely. You can just make out the frown on her face under the low lighting of the side hallway.

“Shouldn’t you have chosen a better outfit to solicit on a corner?” Honcho snorts and she glares at both of you.

“Kitten is feeling a little fiesty today,” Min hums, leaning against the wall.

“Y/N, you can’t say that to customers,” Moon chides you though you can tell from the faint showing of his dimples he’s amused at your words. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“Hmm, I guess it wasn’t dirty enough for good ol’ Jen, huh? How about on your knees in the back of the alley behind Spiral?” you offer. “Maybe you’ll get off if he reprimands you the way he’s trying to do me,” you ponder.

Jennifer’s face is red with anger as she continuously opens and closes her mouth to respond. You smirk as your own anger and irritation settles in your belly, happy that you’d gotten under her skin. Apparently too well as she rears her hand back and slaps me across your face. Tears spring to your eyes from the force of the blow and you blink at Honcho as you slowly comprehend what’s happened. She had well and truly slapped you. You whip your head around to face her and she gasps as she had now just realized what she’d done.

“Holy shit,” Honcho whispers. You grin as you step forward to stand in front of her, holding your ground. You were tired of her shit.

“Is that the way you like it, Jen? Hard slaps to the face?” you goad. “What about your pretty little ass, hmm?”

“Y/N, stop. That’s not necessary.” Moon steps in front of you, blocking your view of an almost teary eyed Jennifer. Ah, an angry crier. Your favorite.

“Oh come on, Moon. It’s just a little teasing, isn’t it? Just like how you all do to me. No harm, no foul,” you say nonchalantly, but your words have a sharper tone. The irritation of the night was getting to you.

“Y/N, let’s go downstairs,” Honcho says as he tugs on your wrist, trying to diffuse the situation. “Give everyone some time to cool off.”

“I am cool. I’m not going to hit her and ruin my chances of filing an assault claim,” you say with a chuckle. “You guys wouldn’t even have to testify against your little friend. The cameras will witness for me. And I can walk by myself, thanks. Continue whatever business you guys had going on,” you reply with a wave of your hand.

“An assault case! Are you crazy?! Bitch, fuck you!” Jennifer calls from around Moon’s large frame. You roll your eyes as you spin around to face them again.

“I’m as crazy as they come, babe. Pencil me in once you're done with your lover boy and I’ll let you know if I can squeeze you in with the rest of my appointments! Business is booming as they say!” you yell back and blow her a kiss. She scowls.

The four of them watch you go and you only rub your stinging cheek once you know you’re out of their eyesight. For a small woman, she had a heavy hand and you’re grateful it hadn’t been a punch; you couldn’t afford a trip to the dentist. It was time for you to cash in on that favor Jin promised you as you head down the spiral stairs. An old fashioned on the rocks is calling your name. You could use the ice.

full masterlist // series masterlist // previous // next

[docholligay]

Just in case anyone else didn't ask it: She-ra thoughts?

Ah, yes, we finally finished the She-Ra last night. Okay, so I feel like I don’t have to say this, because I think this is in keeping with my general empotional timbre but: It’s fine if you loved the last season. I cannot EXPRESS how little I care. I do not go to bed at night thinking “IF ONLY I COULD CONVINCE THOSE FOOLS” I think arguing about it is stupid, by and large, because I find it highly unlikely that anything I sy is going to make someone who loved it go “You’re right, it was fool’s gold, but truly, I wanted so badly for it to bring wealth” and I doubt anyone could say anything that would get me to say “Oh you have opened mine eyes! I can see the craftwork that I so long denied” like come on. 

Remember how Jet hated Madoka Magica, and how it stopped me for not even five seconds from thinking it was fucking incredible, and how we managed to continue being friends because an animated show being good or not is not something grown people stew about? Good. 

So this isn’t a REFERENDUM on however you felt about it. I don’t cre. Let me take your hand. I do. Not. Care. 

So: 

I thought it was HORRENDOUSLY paced, and most of the problems I have with it, but not all, come out of that. It was frustrating because the show by and large had been so good, even when I hadn’t loved  a step it took, of being well considered and being willing to fully embrace the idea that a character can be wrong, or that you are allowed to feel multiple ways about something. 

People, I think, assume I hated Catra, but I don’t! I NEVER did, I LOOOOOOOVED Catra as a character, allowed to show how someone can be so twisted in their own fucking victimhood that they become the villain. I thought it was a brilliant bit of writing. I though having her and Glimmer, both so driven to the point, square off against each other, was amazing. I FULLY EXPECTED, and you can find me talking about this several seasons back, that she would have a redemption arc. I know how kid’s shows work, but also I knew she was Noelle Stevenson’s favorite, and there was no way she was going to let her close out the show being unredeemed. 

I also knew Catradora was happening, because it’s Stevenson’s ship. And no hate! Please know if I was running either SM or OW: The HBO series, it would go down EXACTLY the way I wanted. 

So I think what people thought my problems were are mischaracterized, reductionist, and a bit unfair. 

My problem was I got fucking WHIPLASH off the turnaround. We should have: have more seasons, made it last the whole season, started it earlier, or not had Catra fall so far. ANY of those would have helped the situation IMMENSELY for me. Catra literally tried to MURDER them all, MULTIPLE times, and I feel like she made one gesture and was let off the hook. I will have to go back and take a tally, but I think we stay pissed at her in the group for like TWO EPISODES. MAX. No one is allowed to continue to mistrust her, to resent her, nothing. 

 I feel like she was never really held to task for her self-pitying horseshit, and unfortunately, the DIRE circumstances made things where I even maybe thought she had a point dissolve before my very eyes. 

Like, I know you don’t want Adora to die, and you may even have a fucking point here, but if it’s one girl versus the world, you are being selfish to keep her. The world matters utterly more. Doc, I would think you would like that, her being utterly selfish, oh I WOULD LOVE IT, if the show in any way allowed you to hold the idea that Catra is Selfish and Bad. It’s the Iron Man problem, where the movie won’t leave me space to think he’s terrible, so instead of being like, Tony Stark, you little twit, I have to full-on hate him. 

And unfortunately, this isn’t just a problem with that whole storyline. Everything felt so rushed and set to the side, and the side characters we’d come to love got almost no real feel of resolution for me, or emotional depth. 

Like we haven’t spent any time with Spinerella or Netossa, but I’m supposed to get emotionally involved in the fact that they’re on opposite sides? I’m supposed to care about two characters who I have really only seen in passing? It takes a lot to make me want to bring my own emotions to the table, and it never managed that. 

The Glimmer and Bow thing felt entirely shoehorned in for reasons I don’t even fully understand, and I thought the pair-offs at the end were GENERALLY lazy. Not everyone needs to have a romantic interest at the end of the show! It could have been SPinerella/Netossa, Catra/Adora, and Mermista/Seahawl, and I think we all would have lived fine. Those are the couples we’ve come to expect, that were laid into the show, etc. Why pair everyone else up? I don’t get it all. 

I find brainwashing storylines very lazy and can never get emotionally invested in the whole ~my friend is now my enemy~ thing unless it’s VERY VERY well-written. 

MInor side note: INCREDIBLY unimpressed with the future flash with Adora all feminine and Catra having walked back her short hair. But glad, I suppose, to see that this show has never stopped from it’s goal of making any woman you could possibly take as butch and making sure you feminize her. 

THE GOOD

I did love the showdown between Micah and Glimmer. I thought that was really thematically important for Glimmer and her struggle with her powers, and there was nothing on earth I found disappointing about her blasting her dad in the face with 895 volts of eat a dick. It was great. Loved it. 

SHADOW WEAVER. Perhaps my vote for MVP of the entire show, I love that she was emotionally complex and difficult to read to the end. I love that even as she’s giving her lives for Catra and Adora, but also, mostly, because she knows it’s the only way the world will get saved, her last words are “You’re welcome” She was never NICE, but she provided a very complex marrative about evil and good, and she lived in the greys in many ways, and I thought she was a terribly interesting character that you were allowed to feel a WHOLE VARIETY of ways about. 

Seahawk’s whole “This reminds me of when we first met! You tried to kill me then, too” I howled at his whole thing. They are the only valid straight/het/whatever couple in the show and perhaps the world. (I mean, I would have rather he be a butch lesbian anyday, but) 

WRONG HORDAK. That was so well done and funny, I just thought it was a delight throughout the entire season.

But all in all, it was such a major writing disappointment. It was so poorly done in these final strokes, and that's so ridiculously shocking given the good writing of other seasons.

[tiredcowpoke]

TITLE: Blank Spots [8] PAIRING: (Somewhat pre-established) Arthur Morgan/Fem!Reader, could be seen as an OC. REQUEST: Unprompted. BLURB: After waking up at the base of a steep incline and nearly freezing to death, you stumble upon a group of strangers who swear up and down that they know you. WARNINGS: Some creative license for amnesia. Angst. NOTE: I’ve been struggling with writing this week, but I managed to get this chapter out and I have this story planned out for a couple chapters, so it’s coming a little easier to me than anything else. I also wanted to take a different approach to a certain topic in this chapter than what I usually see.  Still, I hope you all enjoy it! TAG LIST: @on-my-way-to-erebor / @otherthingstoreid@ireallyhonestlydontcare @elanisha @darlingsdevil@cirillamylove@bunnyreese12 @rollyjogerjones @callmemythicalminx

Your gut was twisting in knots by the time you, Arthur, and Jack had made it back to camp. 

It had been a short ride, something you could have walked if need be. However, with the weight of those men and Arthur’s vague mentioning of needing to talk to you, it didn’t feel like whatever he had to tell you was good news. Still, much as you admittedly wanted to duck out of camp and avoid the uncomfortable feelings, you remained true to your word and lingered about in camp. Arthur left Jack with Abigail after mentioning that he needed to talk with Dutch about the men who had confronted you all at the river bank. 

They had called themselves Pinkertons, and considering there was the talk of bounties…

Really, it shouldn’t have been much of a surprise to you. Dutch had said up in the mountains that they were trying to survive something, and you had overheard a number of times about the issues with Blackwater. Combined with the secrecy and even Dutch’s paranoia toward your own activities with how your memory of them currently was, it wasn’t hard to gather that they were on the run from something. No, you weren’t surprised about that. It was more about what this meant. 

Also, they had seen you with Arthur. You couldn’t very well go wandering around without some paranoia, now. 

You watched on somewhat as Arthur and Dutch talked in his tent, though you couldn’t hear what was being said. Arthur seemed as tense as he did down at the river, but Dutch seemed somewhat less so. Still, there appeared to be some concern--how could there not be? Still, you found yourself taking a step back with a slow exhale before turning and wandering back toward your bedroll. There were a number of assumptions and conclusions your mind tried to jump to--some about the current situation, some about you staying with the gang, some being more personal about your relationship with Arthur. All of them left confusing feelings in their wake, putting a bit of distance behind your gaze as you stared off into the woods that surrounded the camp. 

They had seemed safe enough before, but now? Well...they had to ask where Dutch was. If they knew, you figured there wouldn’t be a point in confronting as they did. 

“Hey.”

The greeting caused you to jump slightly, your heart racing as you turned to cast Arthur a somewhat wide-eyed look. He raised his hands slightly at the alarm in your expression, causing you to let out a small breath as you nodded back, not quite finding your voice just yet. 

“C’mon,” Arthur continued, tilting his head toward the treeline somewhat, “Figure you might like less a chance of us havin’ an audience.” 

“Sure…” 

You stood and followed out after him into the trees. You could feel the cool air of the evening starting to settle, you and Arthur stepping toward the outskirts of camp but not too far. That was probably for the best, you figured, much as you knew you likely preferred not having to worry about curious ears and eyes. Though, you still didn’t really know what he had to talk about. It wasn’t just about the Pinkertons, but…

“So, what happened?” you asked, tilting your head, “With Dutch and those agents?”

“He’s still waitin’ on more of a solid reason to leave,” Arthur replied, sounding like he disapproved of that notion. If that were true, you couldn’t exactly blame him. You were anxious about them, too. “Says that it’s a good thing they don’t know where we are, wants to keep his eye on it.” 

“Is that a good idea?”

“I dunno,” Arthur replied with a light shrug of his shoulders, “Only one we got. Still gotta get Micah outta that jail in Strawberry and…” 

You shifted to stand beside him a moment as Arthur let out a breath, bowing his head as he crossed his arms, obscuring his eyes from view under the brim of his hat. This really was a bit of a contrast from the man down at the river who had been trying to teach you and Jack how to fish, that terrible twisting in your stomach still persisting. 

However, despite yourself, your hand reached out and squeezed his shoulder, causing him to glance up toward you for a moment. Catching the movement, you let it drop back to your side as you let out a small sigh of your own. 

“Christ, everythin’s just been pilin’ on today,” Arthur remarked as you moved to lean yourself against a tree opposite of him, “Can’t really do much about them Pinkertons without Dutch’s word, but everythin’ else…”

“Best to just get it out, I suppose,” you offered, watching him carefully. 

“There’s no way to bring ‘em up without upsettin’ you, but…” 

“The way you’ve been reminding me of them hadn’t had me believing it was good news, Arthur.” Despite the words that left you, you knew there was still a part of you that was hoping it wasn’t as bad as your head was making it out to be.

Really, you had no idea just what he had to say, but it was vague enough to plant a seed in your mind and it had been growing in a number of different ways today. 

“I...got a letter recently,” Arthur said after a moment, glancing up from where he was staring holes into the ground, “I never told you about Mary, my ex-fiancee. It’s a...long story, but it didn’t work out. We was...too different or...I dunno. She wrote me recently because she’s been stayin’ in Valentine and heard of me in town, wanted my help with her brother.” 

You listened as he talked, your expression rather even as you tried to sort that out in your head. Really, you weren’t too sure how to feel about that. You knew it would have been different, the news would have hit you differently if you had your memories still intact. Hell, even then you weren’t too sure how strongly you would have reacted. Arthur had said the two of you had only been together a couple of months at that point, but...well, you knew there was something. The memory of kissing him didn’t feel like it was empty, the lingering effects of it pulling harder at that feeling in your chest ever since you had remembered it. 

Though, regardless of that, you wouldn’t have known about her anyway. Arthur said he never told you about her. 

Yet, from how he carried that news around with him, you could tell he cares for her. Cared for her? You weren’t too sure, a following question related to that thought lingering on your tongue, but you bit it back. 

“Did you go see her?” 

“...Yeah,” he replied with a small nod, “It didn’t...feel right, leavin’ her to sort out her brother on her own. Not after all we had. Just...whole thing left me more confused than certain ‘bout anythin’. Didn’t feel right leavin’ her on her own with what was happenin’, didn’t feel right doin’ all that while everythin’ was happenin’ with you…It weren’t fair, and I--” 

“Arthur, I’m not mad,” you stated around a soft exhale, “You were willing to let me leave the gang if I was allowed, even when you still remember everything about us. I can’t be angry, I don’t know enough about it.” 

There was a twinge, though. Still...well, you couldn’t blame him for looking into that when…

“I guess I do have to ask,” you continued, furrowing your brow, “Is that gonna change what we agreed to do? Starting over? I didn’t feel anything was different at the river before all that happened, but...I mean, I don’t want to be the one to hold you back if you want to--” 

“I don’t think there’s anythin’ for me to be goin’ after,” Arthur interrupted, shaking his head, “I helped her brother and it just...I dunno, might have seemed like she wanted somethin’ but decided against it. I can’t speak for her. It just confuses the hell outta me.” 

“I don’t blame you…” 

“Though, no, I’m not lookin’ to stop...whatever this is, now,” Arthur continued, “If that’s still what you want, knowin’ that.” 

“Were you--shit,” you paused, letting out a breath as you bowed your head, “I hate to ask, but were you hoping for anything from that? Again, I...I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about all of this, but I don’t want to hold you back if you’re…” 

There was a pause that followed, causing you to glance up as Arthur met your gaze for a moment. The conflict and his lack of a direct answer was starting to speak clearer than anything as the moment went by, a confusing part of you feeling something tightening in your throat as you swallowed. Were you scared? Really, you weren’t too sure, but you knew you weren’t feeling confident in where you stood with him. 

You hadn’t since you had woken up in the snow. 

“I dunno what I was hopin’ for,” Arthur replied, his voice barely above a mutter, “Part of me...part of me still wants what we have, or what we had, but...the whole thing confuses me. Mary’s always confused me, leavin’ me feelin’ all sorts of ways.” 

“I still...I still want to see where this goes, but I can’t if it feels like I’m...some sort of option to pick because you can’t get what you actually want.” 

“It was never like that,” Arthur stated, “I started courtin’ you because I wanted to see where that would go. That this whole thing was in the past, and gettin’ this letter on top of...well, what happened with you, I just...I loved her. Maybe there’s a part of me that always will, but...I’d wanted to make room for you to see if there was a chance I could leave that behind.” 

“...I don’t really know what to say to that,” you replied around a sigh, the breath releasing some tension from your chest, “I still want to try. I just...the moment that changes for you, I need to know because I don’t think I can handle…” 

“I will,” Arthur said with a soft nod, pausing a moment before he bowed his head, “Though if this is how you’re gonna react to that, I have no idea if you’re gonna think the same when I tell you what I have to say next.” 

What would be worse than that? Well, a few things, but with how the whole ordeal seemed to weigh on him, his statement had your brows furrowing further as you waited for him to continue. Arthur raised his head up again, letting out a small sigh. 

“As I talked to you a couple times ‘bout, Strauss’ got me collectin’ his debts.” 

That...wasn’t new. You nodded lightly. You knew he had mentioned a couple of times how he hated the work Strauss had him doing, but would do it at Dutch’s word and for the needs of camp. Whatever it was that he had to do, it didn’t sound like it was anything pleasant. Really, considering the context of money being owed, it hadn’t taken you long to piece together on what may be involved in collecting those standing debts. 

“He approached me with one after Sean’s party,” Arthur continued, “He asked me to collect a debt from your uncle.” 

That had your back straightening, pushing off the tree you were leaning against somewhat as you stood in front of it fully. 

“My uncle? They don’t have anything…” you paused, narrowing your eyes, “Did you go collect it?”

“No. He asked me to. Knowin’ you have some relation to ‘em, I couldn’t do it without talkin’ to you first, much as how I handled the whole Mary situation.” 

Oh, thank god. 

“Is Strauss still in camp? He’s...he’s the older man by the medicine wagon, right?”

“Yeah, but…” Arthur started, straightening up somewhat in return as you took a glance toward camp before moving forward quickly to pass by his tree. You paused at the feeling of him catching your arm, forcing you to turn around to face him somewhat. 

“Arthur--” 

“You go marchin’ in there and cause a scene in front of camp, how’s that gonna look?” 

“Dutch doesn’t trust me already, what’s the point?” you snapped, not quite feeling like you were thinking clearly. You had no idea how to process the Mary situation, now this? Well, at least you could do something about this.

“What?” 

You pulled your arm from his grasp, picking up your strides as you walked back into camp. The sound of Arthur trying to get your attention filtered in one ear and out the other, though you knew he was likely only a couple steps behind you as you moved beyond Pearson’s wagon toward the man sitting at a table, book open. 

“Strauss?” you called, causing the man to glance up and cast you a confused glance. 

“Ah, Miss--” 

“Are you looking to collect a debt from Thomas Downes?” you demanded, coming to stand in front of his table. 

“Well, yes, but how did you…?”

“What would it take for you to drop it?” you asked, gritting your teeth somewhat at the light scoff that escaped Strauss as he leaned back in his chair. 

“Well, the debt being repaid, preferably,” he replied, taking a glance over your shoulder, “In fact, I had sent Mr. Morgan to do so, but I suppose he hasn’t gotten around to it just yet.” 

“Forget that,” you stated, stepping a little closer to the table, “Let me pay it back.” 

“With what money?” he asked, tilting his head, “Don’t think I don’t notice how you make none and any you do have come from camp pockets for supplies.” 

“Yes, the whole $3 I spent on medicine to tend to my injury,” you returned, your tone tight, “How much is the debt?”

“A hundred dollars, surely nothing you have on hand to pay back,” Strauss replied, “Frankly, I think you are sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong and--” 

“It’s my business when it involves my family,” you stated, “You act like I am unwilling to work to pay back their debt.” 

“What is goin’ on here?”

The familiar voice from behind you washed some dread over you, making you turn back around as Dutch stepped in beside where Arthur was standing. While Arthur hadn’t said anything throughout the exchange, it wasn’t hard to miss the tight expression that sat in his features, but Dutch looked more stern and confused than tense. 

“She believes she can stick her hands in my business,” Strauss stated, “Wants to pay back a debt.” 

“I don’t see an issue with that,” you replied, glancing back toward him before meeting Dutch’s gaze, “He was going to send Arthur to collect a debt from my family, the one I told you I found in Valentine. Don’t think I don’t know what that entails.” 

“How are you plannin’ on paying back this debt?” Dutch asked, causing you to give a frustrated shrug. 

“I don’t know yet,” you replied, letting your hands come back down to your sides with a slap, “I...Well, let me go in place of Arthur right now.”

“You’re going to get them to pay back the money they aren’t otherwise?” Strauss asked from behind you, causing you to glance back toward him. 

“They know me, I’m family. I can do something other than kick someone around.” 

“If you’re so convinced…” Dutch started, casting a look at Arthur as he shrugged, almost exasperated. 

“I weren’t exactly lookin’ forward to it,” he replied, “It’s just...ain’t there another way? I mean, we really need that debt from them folk?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Arthur, we’re in a dire situation,” Dutch returned, his tone tight. “We need money, so…” 

He paused, glancing back toward you as you crossed your arms. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you met his gaze. The conversation you had with Dutch a couple days ago hadn’t left you, you knew there was some distrust there over your situation, but if you could get money back to camp it could help with that as well. Really, you just didn’t want your ill uncle getting knocked around by the man who you had just been talking about seeing romantically. 

“If you have a plan to get that debt from them, then I wouldn’t be against you taking that task off Arthur’s shoulders.” 

“Thank you,” you replied, catching a tight look from Strauss but otherwise the gang leader nodded his head lightly. 

“We need that money, sooner rather than later,” Dutch stated, “So, I would suggest getting that underway soon.” 

“I’ll go tonight, Dutch,” you replied, earning another nod from him before he turned away. With a sigh, you turned and pushed passed Arthur to make your way toward the horses. 

Many thoughts and feelings circled in your head as you did so. There was all that happened that day with Jack and the Pinkertons, what Arthur had told you, and know this. You just hoped...well, you knew you couldn’t hope for forgiveness when you went to go ask them to pay as much as they could from the debt. You weren’t so oblivious to think this wouldn’t be more of a betrayal to them than having Arthur, a complete stranger, show up. Still, you knew at least you wouldn’t have to have to deal with the fact that Arthur had beat them up for this money. 

Also...well, you knew you wouldn’t have been able to deal with Arthur doing that without telling you. In a way, you were appreciative that he hadn’t done so, but...Christ. 

However, you were pulled from your thoughts as a firm hand gripped at your arm again as you were going to climb into the saddle of the horse from earlier that day.

“--Slow down,” Arthur stated, pulling your mind back from the racing it had been doing, “I’m goin’ with you.” 

“No, you’re not,” you snapped, pulling your arm from his grasp, “Last thing I need right now is you, so, please. Let me go.” 

Arthur’s expression tightened, something that shifted a pit of regret and guilt right into your stomach, but at the moment you just needed to leave. To get this done before minds were changed and you couldn’t do anything about it. You climbed up onto the horse, Arthur stepping up beside your saddle. 

“We got Pinkertons watchin’ this area, they saw you--” 

“You’re gonna be able to wander free,” you pointed out, a bite to your tone. 

“I can defend myself, and you never know--” 

“--My uncle can barely get a sentence out without coughing his lungs out, he’s not going to hurt me and I’m not planning on beating him up for money,” you spat, “Just let me go.” 

Arthur looked like he was going to say something, but he had stepped back and you took the opportunity as you squeezed your legs around the sides of your horse. You could hear Arthur call your name, but you took off down toward the edge of camp, your heart beating wildly in your chest. You knew you were being reckless and hadn’t thought this through completely, but it was the better choice at the moment. 

It had to be.

[the-darklings]

you breath in when i exhale;

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

summary: A hushed breath, a rumble of thunder, and suddenly you wanted to give him your whole heart.

word count: 4.1k+ (chill? never heard of her)

warnings: undertones of angst but FLUFF...can you believe?

notes: joke’s on me because clearly more than 5 people cared about my first Arthur fic, and I’m already in too deep so lets indulge folks. also, this man deserves happiness~

tagging: the demons who got me into this mess in the first place: @ilikecheesecakeforbreakfast & @deviantramblings. and the beautiful @sunstrain who has that good taste.

. . .

There was nothing to fear.

Not really.

It was childish and silly to fear something like this, considering the company you kept. The people you surrounded yourself with, shared food and space with, weren’t exactly the nicest around. But perhaps there was something a little rotten in you too if you had managed to fall in with them as smoothly as you did.

It was stupid to fear something as simple as a thunderstorm though.

Especially considering you were in the storm season and rain came often and heavily, accompanied by gusts of strong wind that made your rickety tent appear even more pathetic with every blow. You couldn't help but think your makeshift home was about to be ripped out of the ground and flown off to the next state at any second. Lenny might have helped you to build it and secure it to the ground—and you certainly trusted him enough to know he did a well-done job of it—but the ridiculous fear still remained.

Lightning flashed outside, the boom of thunder crashing through the sky before you managed to get to the count of two.

Your eyes squeezed, your heart hammering loudly in your ears as you pressed your forehead harsher against your knees. The storm was close—too close—and you felt a shiver crawl up your spine as yet another gust of wind slammed against the side of your tent, making the material blow inwards.

You raised your head, your breaths shallow and strained while you looked towards the outside. The flaps of your tent refused to shut properly and you watched dully as rain pelted down, soaking everything in its path. The camp was quiet, everyone huddled in their tents and wagons, seeking shelter from the freezing rain. Only Javier and Arthur were away from the camp as far as you knew, busy running their own errands.

Selfishly, you wished Arthur was here. Something about his presence always made you feel braver, sharper, like you could step outside of yourself and accomplish anything you put your mind to. Even when storms hit, if he was in the camp, you at least managed to last through the worst of it without feeling like your guts were going to crawl up your throat.

But you also refused to rely on him, especially for something as foolish as this. He was a hardened outlaw. You had half a thought that even if you told him he would laugh at you. From all the things to fear in this world, thunder seemed like the last thing one would put on the list.

Another flash lit up the sky and the crack of thunder was so deafening, you had to muffle a strangled whimper in the space between your knees. Your hands trembled when you pressed them over your ears, trying to smother the sound of the raging storm outside. The dull roar of it was still audible, but with your eyes closed, you could almost pretend you were somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

But then—

A blur of sounds that got drowned by the echo of wind and rain. Despite your desire to stay in your makeshift darkness, your hands lowered, allowing the full blast of the storm to flood your ears again.

“—ya in ‘ere?”

“Arthur?” was your faint, confused whisper.

Your misty eyes slowly moved to the entrance of the tent where you could just make out a tall shape standing. The only thing you could recognise was the tip of Arthur’s boots; the same ones he always liked wearing best. You could still recall going with him and Charles when they went shopping and originally bought the pair. There were only a few occasions you could recall laughing as much as you did that afternoon. It held a special place in your heart ever since.

“I’m—I’m in here!” you quickly called when you saw Arthur turn away.

Practically flying out of your cot, you hurriedly wiped at your damp eyes, pulling the tent flap back to reveal a soaking Arthur.

Droplets of water fell from his hat, and even his heavy coat looked in a particularly sorry state. The rain had only intensified since the storm started, now falling so intensely, it was hard to see the rest of the camp.  

“Sorry, I ain’t botherin’ ya, right?” Arthur questioned, taking a few steps closer when you stepped back, quickly ushering him inside. “I normally won’t impose on you like ‘his but your tent was the nearest to ‘his side of the camp. I’ll be out of ya way as soon as this damn rain lets up.”

“It alright, Mr Morgan,” you muttered, flinching as another rumble of thunder echoed through the camp and surrounding forest. “You never impose. You’re always welcome. Please, sit.”

With a grateful nod, Arthur sat down on a spare chair you kept in your tent, water trailing after him. You hurried towards your clothing chest, rummaging till you found a dry fabric he could use to dry himself off. He took it with another grateful dip of his chin, pulling off his heavy coat and draping it over your chair. Underneath his coat, he appeared to be mercifully dry at least.

“Well the weather is shit,” Arthur spoke bluntly, rubbing his neck with the cloth. Despite your nerves and the queasy roll of your stomach, you couldn't help the startled laugh that slipped past your lips as you sat down in front of him. You laced your fingers nervously in your lap, your knee jerking up with every louder noise outside. “Can’t do nothin’ when it’s like this.”

“Didn’t finish?” you asked softly, noting his irritated glance outside, “I’m sure it’s fine.”

Arthur nodded absentmindedly, “Yeah, guess Mr Downes will have to wait his turn, won’t he? Poor bastard,” he joked with a slight quirk of his lips that made your breath hitch for a brief second.

Arthur Morgan was easily the most confusing man you had ever met.

And the most wonderful.  

And the most dangerous.

He was a collection of contradictions you could not unravel no matter how hard you tried.

There was the merciless—the downright ruthless—side of him. The side that found a home in chaos, and moved through rivers of blood like it was holy ground. That managed to be subtly terrifying, and even more brutally efficient with his fists and revolver. A face you knew people had nightmares over, who had blood on his hands because survival required it.

But there was also a side of him you only ever saw around his friends—family, Dutch would say you were a family—that stole your breath away. The low, patient tone he always used with little Jack. The way he always cared and helped those who asked his help, no matter how much he might grumble about it first. How fiercely loyal he was to Dutch, and how unflinchingly he was always prepared to do whatever it took to protect everyone in the camp.

You saw how much he cared about his horse, how he scribbled away for hours on end in his journal. You had even caught glimpses of his drawings before. Subtle and simple, yet so beautifully elegant in portraying the raw beauty of whatever he was trying to capture.

You couldn't understand him.

And you didn’t realise till too late just how dangerous your fascination with him was.

You didn't, in fact, realise your feelings of respect and friendship had morphed into affection till you heard Mary-Beth talking about him in hushed whispers to Gilly.

Jealousy bloomed in the pit of your stomach then, and you had been horrified to realise that somewhere along the way the enigma that was Arthur Morgan, had become...important.

No matter how hard you tried to hold yourself back, your eyes always sought out his regnant frame and intent blue eyes first. You didn’t want to be Mary-Beth though. Didn’t want to love him because tying your heart to a dream could never end well. Not to mention the fact that no matter how much you had seen others try in the past, Arthur never allowed anyone close.    

He had never taken a lover in the time you had known him. Or at least none that he shared with others. Though you had heard on several occasions how much others—namely Micah and Sean—mocked him for it.

Arthur was handsome, incredibly so, so it wasn’t for the lack of willing participants, you knew. He simply didn’t allow anyone near that heart of his. And he did have one—you knew he did.

No one could care so much and be heartless.

Maybe one day someone was going to find a way to see into him, to get past his walls and love him for him; contradictions and all.

But—

A loud boom erupted from outside and you jerked up, your eyes flying towards the entrance of the tent, your heart in your throat as your fingers clenched into tight fists.

“You alright there?” Arthur’s curious question almost made you jump again, and your eyes skipped towards his slouched figure. Confusion and something else—something you couldn't put your finger on—lingered in his expression as he regarded you earnestly. “No offence, but ya look ready to keel over.”

“I’m fine,” you hastily shot back, your words unconvincing and tone weak. “It’s—it’s all fine, Mr Morgan.”

Arthur regarded you critically for a second before he leaned back, still staring at you. For a long, tense moment he was silent before something like understanding flickered over his features and you noticed the slow, tight curling of his fingers before they relaxed.

“Is Micah botherin’ you again?” he asked seriously. His words were soft but there was something chilling about the stilted calmness of his tone. “He do somethin’? Miss (Name), I told ya before, if he ever—”

“He didn’t do nothin’, promise,” you quickly interrupted, breaking his fierce stare. “It’s just...hey, I thought I asked you to call me (Name)?”

Arthur’s jaw clenched briefly before he nodded his head, finally looking away, “Ya sure did. But I also recall askin’ you to call me Arthur, no? Now stop changin’ the subject.”

A part of you urged to tell him while another whispered that it was silly and not worth his time. Sure, you were friends but most days he felt just as unreachable to you as you saw him be to others.

“I didn’t sleep last night, that’s all,” you told him with a strained smile. “So I’m a bit tense today.”

Arthur’s eyes were hard and searching while he regarded you grimly, almost like he was trying to judge the honesty of your words. “That so? Why was you not sleepin’ then?”

Because another storm hit a few hours after midnight and prevented you from sleeping. Instead, you had curled in your quilt and shivered the rest of your night away. You wanted to say it but the moment you tried to voice your feelings, they died on your tongue.

The chair creaked slightly and you lifted your head only to see Arthur standing to his full height. Wind and rain still raged outside, only adding to the already tense atmosphere. You knew your tent was small but Arthur always seemed larger than life, effortlessly filling the empty crevices with his presence.

He took a step towards you, and you didn’t realise the distance between you was so small until he dropped the fabric you gave him on your cot and crouched before you. The previous quiet amusement was gone from his face, leaving something more serious in its place. It was hard to meet his gaze when he was looking at you like this, when he was so close you could almost feel his body heat. His skin was still damp, one side of his face illuminated by the dim lamplight as he stared up at you.

“Whatever it is (Name), ya can—”

Arthur’s next words were interrupted by the most vicious crack of thunder yet, the brief flash of lightning blinding you for a second. A gasp of fear escaped you, your shoulders dipping and heart galloping madly in your chest. It beat so fast you were worried it was going to burst right out of you. But the dryness of your throat made it impossible to do anything other than to let out a weak croak of terror.

“Woah, hey,” Arthur’s deep voice sliced through the sickening fear, and you felt his larger hands settle over yours, stilling your shaking fingers. “You’re fine. It’s just a bit of silly—oh.”

Under different circumstances, you would have laughed over the expression of awkward understanding dawning on his face. Arthur exhaled slowly before glancing away, and you felt mortification fill you. Of course, someone like him would find this sort of thing completely idiotic.

“It’s f-fine,” you forced out with a wobbly grin, “I know it’s stupid. You can laugh it up now.”

Arthur grunted under his breath, the noise soft and contemplative before he looked up at you again, the intensity of those blue eyes making the forced smile on your lips die.

“Fear is fear,” he pointed out simply, voice almost cautious and you wondered where his hesitation was coming from. “It don’t matter what ya fear, it’s still awful. Everyone is afraid of somethin’.”

You couldn't help the disbelieving scoff that escaped you, “You don’t fear anythin’.”

His lips quirked slightly to one side, accenting the smooth curve of his mouth, “Sure I do,” he disagreed easily, his hands on yours tightening briefly when another crash of thunder echoed. “I fear lots of things. Ya just learn how to control that fear, use it as fuel, let it forge somethin’ better.”

“Yeah? What if there’s nothin’ better there?” you whispered, your eyes almost fluttering shut when you felt the warmth of his fingers starting to seep into your own. “I ain’t brave like you.”

He shook his head a little, the slight curve of his lips remaining, “Well that, I oughta disagree with. You’re plenty brave. Hell, I’ve seen it. Bravery ain’t as simple as shootin’ a gun (Name). Ya fear storms...so? Big deal.”

“It’s silly,” you pointed out feebly, cringing at another distant rumble. “I feel like an idiot if I tell anyone.”

“If it matters to ya, it ain’t silly,” he said, this time with a certain firmness in his voice that made you look down towards your lap. You knew he meant what he said but instead of relief, you felt a different kind of longing. Not for bravery but for him instead. “You remember that, hm?”

“Yeah,” you whispered softly and closed your eyes when Arthur removed his hands from yours.

Your digits trembled and you missed his soothing warmth instantly, trying not to look at him while you contemplated the possibility that this might have been a huge mistake. It would have been better to suffer in silence the way you always did, and not create another situation in which Arthur proved that his heart was bigger than he would ever care to admit. It just made it that much harder not to love him.

Arthur himself was quiet for a minute, and you silently wondered why he was still here. Why he hadn’t moved away or left. The rain was coming down deafeningly loud, washing out any other noise except the thud of your heart.

“Tell ya what,” Arthur began, and you glanced up at his voice, “It’s gettin’ pretty late so you get some rest and I’ll watch over ya, make sure nothin’ happens, yeah? Because frankly, ya look terrible.”

Your lips parting in shock, you immediately whacked his arm in outrage, “Arthur! You don’t just say somethin’ like that to someone!”

The man in front of you laughed, the deep rumble of his baritone washing over you and making you grin despite yourself. He had a nice laugh and you wished desperately he had more occasions to smile and laugh over. It suited him, made him look even more handsome than he already was, and it was hard not to wish that crooked grin never left his face.

“Ah, ‘here we go,” he murmured faintly, eyebrows rising while he leaned one arm on his knee, “That’s much better.”

Your smile faltered slightly as you stared at him, but the barely-there curl of your lips remained. Warmth bubbled in your chest, spreading all across your limbs and you wondered, then, if the day would ever come when you didn’t adore him. If maybe one day you'll be able to look at him and not feel like a complete fool.

A hushed breath, a rumble of thunder, and suddenly you wanted to give him your whole heart.

But you didn't want to lose him. Didn’t want to burden him with feelings you knew he was never going to return. And if by some miracle he did return them, you sincerely doubted you were a risk he would be willing to take.

He believed himself to be too far gone, too broken and ruined by life.

He believed himself so ugly that he didn’t see how much beauty remained.

His hands were far from clean, but they were his hands. And perhaps there really was a rotten thing inside you too if you didn’t mind them holding yours.

“C’mon then, ‘et some rest,” he said after a lull of quiet between you as he stood up and motioned towards the cot. “It sounds like the storm is headin’ east. Should pass within an hour at ‘his rate.”

Arthur walked towards the chair and sat down stiffly, grabbing his hat and giving it a stern shake. Droplets of water hit the ground and you continued peering at him dumbly.

“You’re not leavin’?” you asked weakly, a part of you still in disbelief he didn’t throw your childish fear back in your face. “You—you don’t have to stay. I’m sure you ‘ave better things you oughta be doin’.”

Arthur adjusted himself on the chair, plopping the hat back on his head while his hand settled on his belt. He glanced at you from under the brim, lips quirking upwards. “It can wait,” he answered shortly, “Now sleep.”

He stretched his legs out in front of him, dipping his head downwards and you gaped at him mutely. From the relaxed sag of his shoulders, you couldn't help but conclude that he was certainly planning on staying and watching over you till the storm passed.

The thought made something in your heart bleed with happiness and you looked away, biting your lip to control the happy smile that was threatening to split across your face.

Pulling back your scratchy quilt, you laid down—clothes and all because the damp made it too chilly to change into undergarments most nights—and dragged the scratchy material around your shoulders. The storm was still going strong outside, though just like Arthur had said earlier, it appeared to be heading away from the camp now.

Your eyes flickered towards the man himself who looked to be asleep, although you had no real way of knowing without checking. Your chair was small though—small and uncomfortable, and you were surprised he managed to find any comfort on it at all. The powerful set of his shoulders filled the space, making everything else appear even smaller. And while it wasn’t the first time Arthur had been inside your little home, it was certainly the first time he stayed while you rested.

A gust of violent wind battered the side of the tent, making you grit your teeth and shiver under your thin quilt. You curled tighter, burying your nose in the fuzzy material while your eyes remained focused on Arthur’s still figure.

There was something intimate about seeing him in your space like this; unguarded and exposed, yet so perfectly at ease. You knew he was a light sleeper despite what he had others believing. One had to be in a world you lived in.

“I can hear ya shiverin’ from over ‘ere,” Arthur spoke suddenly and you jumped, immediately dropping your eyes to the floor. You felt the weight of his gaze on you but kept your own on the ground. “Why do ya only have one quilt?”

“B-Because...Jack gets real cold durin’ the nights so I gave him my spare one,” you confessed, briefly letting your eyes meet his. Something like disbelief reflected back at you before Arthur cleared his throat, briefly scrubbing at the stubble on his face. “I know it ain’t the wisest thing to do.”

“Yer damn right it ain’t,” Arthur groused, standing up and approaching your cot. His jaw clicked and he sighed again, expression oddly troubled. “You do realise that kid has parents, right? Scoot.”

You stared at him blankly. “What?”

“If ya get sick ‘cause you gave your quilt away, you’re never gonna hear the end of it,” he pointed out, motioning with his hand for you to move. “Now I much rather that don’t happen. Ya have my word I’m not tryin’ to do anythin’—”

“I know,” you interrupted him gently, scooting back as far as you could to make him space. “Your honour is the last thing I would question around ‘ere, trust me.”

Arthur sat down with a grunt, and the cot creaked for a second, both of you holding your breaths to see if you were about to end up on the ground. He shifted carefully around before lying down on his side, facing you.

It was hard to keep your expression neutral when his face was so close to yours. Your cot had always been small but with Arthur’s broad frame occupying the space as well, it was even smaller. Unnervingly so. Small to the point it was hard not to feel your breaths mingling, hard not to stare at his bare collarbone which was visible due to his slightly unbuttoned shirt.

It was even harder to ignore the heat of his body and the earthy, heady scent of him.

“Ya alright? If you’re uncomfortable—”

“I’m fine.”

Arthur stared down at you gravely while you tried to steady your breathing, “I don’t wanna ya to think that I’m using your vulnerability for some ulterior motive.”

“You won’t,” you told him softly, focusing on a button of his shirt even though you could feel his eyes fixed on you. “I know ya think you’re this awful man doomed for damnation but you ain’t. God knows you ain’t innocent but that don’t mean you’re evil either. I’ve met evil men before Arthur Morgan and you ain’t one of ‘em. I see it every day, ya know, the good in you? Hosea always says that actions say more than words anyway,” you finished, taking a tentative peek at his expression.

Arthur’s features hardened, and you could feel the strain in his body, in the way the silence that followed your words felt more potent than your fear.

“(Name)—”

A bright flash, and another clap of thunder hit, causing you to practically jump out of your skin. Your wide eyes flew around the tent, checking if you hadn't been hit no matter how foolish it was. If the lightning had hit, you doubted you would be alive right now.

A warm weight settled on your shoulder firmly, tugging you closer and you willingly sagged against the encompassing warmth.

“Hey, shh. You’re safe.”

He was warm.

You hadn’t realised just how cold you were under the quilt, till the simmering warmth of his body soaked through it, warming you from inside.

“Arthur—”

“Get ‘ome sleep (Name),” his voice was a quiet rumble, and you felt his hot breath brush against the top of your head, causing a tingle to race down your spine. “I’ll—just rest.”

Your mind was too fuzzy from fatigue and you were so warm, soaking in the comfort you hadn’t expected to receive. Arthur’s hand settled between your shoulder blades and you smiled sleepily into his chest. Always the gentleman.

“Arthur?”

He hesitated in answering, and you almost lost yourself to sleep before you heard a faint, “Yeah?”

This was the safest you had ever felt. The most respected and cared for too.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t answer but you didn’t expect him to. Arthur rarely responded to genuine gratitude the way others did. Nevertheless, you still wanted him to know how much his patience and comfort meant to you. You hadn’t expected it—not at all—so you were going to make sure he knew it.

Lost somewhere between awareness and sleep, you could have sworn you heard a soft whisper of his voice one last time.

“You’re a goddamn fool, Arthur Morgan. A goddamn fool.”

. . .

an: so i’m not totally happy with this but I still hope you guys liked it :’))

[kaimerala]

A Very Red Dead Christmas

Merry Christmas @spursthatgojinglejangle from your @rdrsecretsanta! I hope your holidays are as fun as a night on the town with the Van Der Linde gang! Just don’t get arrested ;)

I got a bit carried away with your request, but who can resist Arthur being a big softie around cute animals? Hope you like it!

 Friends in cold places

Summary: After Arthur is sent on a mission to find a Christmas tree for the gang, he gets caught out in a blizzard in Tall Trees. He finds shelter in an abandoned cabin, where he befriends another lost soul.

Word count 7k+

-

“You want me to do what?”

Arthur had been enjoying a quiet afternoon on watch duty before Dutch appeared. The leader of the Van Der Linde gang glowed with excitement at his latest brilliant idea.

“I want you to get us a Christmas tree!” Dutch repeated.

“Two days ago you told me to beat up a man for money,” Arthur said after a drag on his cigarette, “and today you want me to get you a fancy tree?”

“It’s for your family, son,” Dutch said, stars in his eyes. “What better way to boost morale than to get a real Christmas tree and decorate it?”

Arthur chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” Dutch asked.

“I know I don’t have no choice in the matter.”

“Oh come on, Arthur! Think of what it would mean to young Jack.”

Arthur rolled the cigarette between his fingers, not meeting Dutch’s gaze. Sure, Jack was a good kid, but was his happiness worth the wolves and frostbite?

“Dutch, we just spent a year in the goddamn Grizzlies. Plenty of Christmas trees there. You sure there’s nothin’ else you need me to do? Nothin’ more… important?”

Dutch removed a cigar from one of the pockets on his vest. Arthur struck a match for him. “You can take one of them O’Driscoll horses we acquired last week,” Dutch said through a cloud of smoke. “That chestnut one is bigger than Alfred MacAlister’s ego. He could be a decent pack horse.”

“Hmf. As long as he doesn’t annoy Boadicea.”

Arthur sighed in resignation. Dutch would not be dissuaded.

“Fine. I’ll go tomorrow. If I don’t come back, remember you was the one who sent me to the mountains in the middle of winter for a tree.”

Dutch smiled victoriously. “That’s the spirit, son! The Christmas spirit!”

His task accomplished, Dutch turned and walked back to camp, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts and a cigarette stub.

The Van Der Linde gang had just settled in West Elizabeth, next to the Upper Montana River. They were less than an hour’s ride from Blackwater, their camp well-hidden in a grove of trees. The climate was milder in the south, but Arthur missed the solitude of the mountains. With no lawmen willing to follow their trail, the gang had enjoyed a freedom they had not tasted for years. But Dutch had big plans for Blackwater.

Charles appeared at dusk to swap shifts. The newcomer had already proven himself as a deadly gunman and brawler, but he never raised his voice or drank to excess. He possessed a quiet strength that Arthur admired.

“Dutch said you’re heading out tomorrow,” said Charles. His eyes were fixed ahead, on the plains of West Elizabeth rolling before them. “He mentioned something about Tall Trees.”

“Yeah. Not my first choice this time of year,” Arthur replied. “I take it the whole gang knows I’m on a very important mission to get a Christmas tree?”

“Dutch couldn’t contain himself. Everyone knows except for Jack and Abigail; he wants it to be a surprise for them.”

Arthur smiled and shook his head.

“Sounds about right. See ya later.”

Arthur shouldered his rifle and followed Charles’s footprints back to camp. Even now he still looked for Copper, but no-one ran up to greet him. He missed having a dog around.

The camp was nearly empty: most of the Van Der Linde gang were out scouting for opportunities or having fun in Blackwater and Strawberry. The soft glow of a kerosene lantern inside Dutch’s tent indicated that he was sharing a private evening with Molly. Abigail and Jack were in their tent too, already asleep. Pearson and Susan were standing together a short distance from camp, smoking and gossiping in the rapidly fading light. Which left the usual suspects sitting around the fire: John, Bill, Uncle, and Micah.

“Mister Morgan!” Micah drawled, his voice slurred with whiskey. “Seen any fairies today? Or Sasquatches?”

“Just the ones I’m seein’ now.”

This earned a drunken guffaw from John, but the others weren’t impressed.

“Think you’re so clever, eh Morgan?” Bill said thickly. “Well you ain’t smart.”

“Never said I was,” Arthur replied, walking past the campfire to Pearson’s stew pot. “But I do more work than any of you cowpokes.”

This led to an outcry from Bill, Micah, and Uncle. It was almost too easy to rile them up. John laughed: he was too far gone to care about anything.

Arthur ignored them, scooping Pearson’s stew into a bowl. There was meat in it today, but he couldn’t tell what species had made it into the pot.

“Dutch said you was goin’ to get us a Christmas tree,” Micah jeered. “You’re goin’ to freeze your ass off up there, Morgan.”

“Least I got an ass to freeze, Micah.”

The others howled in drunken laughter, and Arthur could hear Pearson and Susan joining in nearby. Micah shot him a dirty look. Normally, Arthur would have enjoyed a night of drinking and singing by the campfire, but not with this lot. He walked around them, back to the ammunition wagon, and sat on his cot.

The other gang members quickly forgot about him, allowing Arthur to enjoy his dinner in peace. That was, until Miss Kitty found him.

“Hey, Kitty.”

The tabby cat meowed in reply, and jumped up onto his cot. She eyed his bowl expectantly, without shame. Arthur picked out a piece of lamb, or whatever it was, and gave it to her. Miss Kitty wolfed it down, and meowed for more.

The gang had found her in Montana, or more precisely she had found them. Miss Kitty enjoyed her employment as Camp Mouser and Foot Warmer. She was surprisingly confident around humans, including little Jack Marston, but nonetheless discerning with her affection. Copper had been a lovable dumbass who adored anyone who even so much as looked at him, but Miss Kitty chose her friends carefully. She avoided anyone who was drinking, or shouting, or acting out. Otherwise she enjoyed games and cuddles with most of the gang. And Miss Kitty knew Arthur was a soft touch when it came to food. There was usually plenty in the pot, so he didn’t mind sharing.

“Leave some for me, Miss Kitty,” he chided, offering her another piece of meat.

Once the bowl was empty, Arthur wrote in his journal. He even sketched the tabby cat, curled up in a contented ball on his cot. He washed his face and hair, and trimmed his beard. In the absence of better company, Miss Kitty stayed nearby, exploring in and around the ammunition wagon.

When he finally lay down for the night, a book in hand, Miss Kitty jumped back up onto Arthur’s cot. She stepped onto his chest.

“I don’t have any food.”

But Miss Kitty ignored him, settling down and purring up a storm.

“Well, ain’t you a nice kitty,” Arthur said, rubbing her cheeks and ears. Miss Kitty was so relaxed she began to knead his undershirt. In the end Arthur gave up on reading and fell asleep, soothed by Miss Kitty’s capable paws.

-

When Arthur woke in the morning a thick fog had settled over the campsite. Miss Kitty had vanished, probably to hunt for some breakfast. He roused the coals of Pearson’s cooking fire and set about brewing some coffee. The camp was silent except for snoring from a few of the gang members: it was a miracle that the law couldn’t hear them from Blackwater.

Arthur warmed up a can of baked beans, which he enjoyed with a much-needed coffee beside the fire. Around him the gang began to stir. He poured Susan a cup, which she gratefully accepted.

Once his morning chores were finished it was time to saddle up. He would be riding for the best part of a day to get to the edge of Tall Trees, but not just any old tree would do: he would have to travel deeper into the forest to find the best-looking ones.

Boadicea was hitched at the gang’s horse station, on the outskirts of the camp. The dapple grey Andalusian nickered a greeting to him, which brought a smile to his lips.

“Hi girl,” he murmured, stroking her neck. “We’re headin’ out for a few days. You can thank Dutch when we’re freezing our rumps off.” She blinked, watching him with her dark eyes. She kept both ears trained on Arthur as he brushed and saddled her. Boadicea was a special horse: beautiful and clever and courageous. A warrior queen, just like her namesake.

The big chestnut gelding was next. Someone had the foresight to hitch him next to Boadicea, so they would get used to each other’s company. The chestnut was seventeen hands of solid muscle, better suited to a cart than a saddle. He stood as tall as a mountain, so the first name that came to Arthur’s mind was Hagen.

The gelding pinned his ears at Arthur’s approach, but his apprehension switched to curiosity when the man spent some time introducing himself. A few oatcakes and a brush all over had Hagen calm and responsive. Arthur despised folks who treated their animals like unfeeling lumps of horseflesh.

“Alright, feller,” he soothed. “Let’s see if you’ll take a pack saddle.”

Hagen stood quietly while Arthur tightened the cinch and adjusted the straps. Boadicea secretly watched them the whole time, pretending to be fascinated by something in the fog. She was the jealous type, and failed miserably at hiding it.

Arthur finally mounted up, Boadicea’s reins in his left hand and Hagen’s lead rope in his right, and guided them through the trees. Charles was still on watch duty; Bill had not yet woken up after the night of heavy drinking.

“Good luck, Arthur.”

“Thanks Charles. Give Bill a kick for me, will ya?”

Charles smiled, his eyes dull with exhaustion. “I’ll give him two.”

Arthur tipped his hat and rode out onto the prairie. He nudged Boadicea into a smooth lope, and they enjoyed an easy ride across the plains. Hagen kept up at first, eager to make a good impression, but with his great size he tired faster than the mare. So they slowed to a steady jog, all the while heading west towards Tall Trees.

The fog burned up by mid-morning, revealing a crisp, clear winter’s day. Arthur followed the muddy roads that scarred the prairie, humming to himself to pass the time. The gang were still new here, and as such they weren’t wanted in West Elizabeth - yet. He greeted the farmers, hunters, and fellow travelers that he passed on the road. Most of them were friendly enough, while others just wanted to be left alone.

Arthur stopped hourly to rest, letting the horses graze for a few minutes before moving on. Around midday he found a sheltered spot on the banks of the Upper Montana River, and built a small fire. The sun was out but the wind blowing down from the mountains leeched the warmth from his bones. Arthur spent a good amount of time by the fire, defrosting his numb face and hands. The horses also enjoyed the break from the relentless wind, grazing together on patches of green grass.

After a lunch of pan-fried, freshly caught bluegill, Arthur knew it was time to push on. In less than an hour the sky had turned from clear to overcast with the threat of a storm. He wanted to reach the forest before it hit as the trees would provide some protection.

The clouds turned steely grey as they rode west. The wind didn’t let up, rising to a howl as they sighted the first stands of spruce and fir. Arthur checked the time; it was past three when thin, watery snowflakes began to fall. They dissolved on the grass and soaked into Arthur’s jacket. He almost lost his hat after a massive wind gust, and stowed it safely in a saddle bag.

Boadicea snorted uneasily. It wasn’t a predator scent that worried her, so it must have been the weather.

“Almost there, girl.”

Hagen didn’t look too happy either, and he stuck to Boadicea like glue. Arthur knew that only a big storm would upset the horses. Finding Dutch’s Christmas tree would have to wait.

They pushed against the wind, tracking deeper into Tall Trees. The snow began to settle on the ground now, and quickly buried the road. At first Arthur could figure out where the trail was, but soon everything began to look the same. There were no road signs out here. He only figured that they were lost when Boadicea stumbled over a hidden rock.

Arthur dismounted and led the horses forward, looking for any shelter from the weather. They were now lost outside in a blizzard, soaked and freezing, with night rapidly approaching. They wouldn’t last long if they didn’t find a windbreak.

He almost didn’t hear the snort from Boadicea, even though her nose was next to his ear. It was hopeful sound, and it gave Arthur hope too.

“What is it?”

He could hardly see a few feet in front of him, and it was only thanks to Boadicea’s keen senses that they found the cabin. She pulled on the reins, guiding Arthur to the left. A small building materialized in the storm, and the three hurried towards it.

Boadicea had brought them to a log cabin and a lean-to that looked like a stable. The cabin’s shutters were closed and no smoke rose from the chimney.

Arthur led the horses into the stable. It was a crude building, with three walls and a hitching post inside. No animals had been stabled there for a while as there was no fodder or tack. It had been cleaned out, either by its former owners or thieves, but at least it offered respite from the wind and snow.

He removed the saddles from both horses, using a sweat scraper and his own blanket to dry them off. Next, Arthur opened a bag of provisions on the pack saddle, tipping vegetables and oatcakes into the food trough. The food had been for him, but the horses would not be able to graze any time soon.

Once Boadicea and Hagen were secured to the hitching post and happily munching away on their dinner, Arthur drew his revolver and walked to the cabin door. It was slightly ajar, and dark inside, but he wouldn’t be taking any chances.

He pressed his shoulder against the door, aiming inside. Arthur couldn’t hear anything over the wind so he shoved it open. Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom he discovered a bed with a stained mattress, an empty fireplace, and a writing desk.

Arthur exhaled in relief and stepped into the cabin, closing the door. It muffled the wind’s howl and he could finally think properly. He struck a match and lit his oil lantern.

Like the stable, the cabin had been cleared of anything remotely valuable. There was a tattered photograph of a married couple on the wall and a few orphan pieces of cutlery, but that was it. It smelled musty with disuse. There weren’t even any logs for the fireplace, so he hacked up the desk chair with his hatchet and used the pieces for kindling. The desk would be sacrificed next.

The cabin and the stables, though rudimentary, were both in reasonable condition. Arthur wondered if something evil had befallen its owner. Perhaps it had simply been abandoned, or it served as a seasonal retreat for an author or artist.

As he built up the fire, his guard lowered, Arthur heard a high-pitched whine from somewhere behind him. He jumped up, knife already in hand.

There was no-one there, but he knew he had heard something. Arthur picked up the lantern and checked under the bed.

He found a dog hunkered down in the corner. The frightened creature avoided his gaze, cowering and trying to make itself as small as possible. It had shaggy fur, but Arthur couldn’t see the dog well enough to tell if it was purebred or a mutt.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “Come on. Out you come.”

The dog shivered, sticking to its corner. Arthur realized it could have hydrophobia, so he didn’t try to touch it. At least there was an easy way to find out if it was sick or not.

Arthur ducked out into the storm retrieve the saddles, and once the fire had reached a good size he melted a pot of fresh snow. After taking a draught himself he placed the pan under the bed, holding up the oil lamp to see. The dog was either too terrified or sick to drink. So Arthur decided to start cooking, hoping that the smell of meat would entice the dog out.

As he prepared his dinner, he heard the dog slurping up water from the saucepan. Definitely not hydrophobia! Arthur didn’t turn around, concentrating instead on heating the contents of the skillet. His dinner was a mess of tinned food: corned beef, peas, and kidney beans. He also had half a bread roll left over after fishing for the bluegill, and a tin of peaches for later. But what he was most looking forward to was the coffee: the percolator was already working its magic and he poured himself a mug.

Arthur sighed after his first sip. By the time he reached the grit at the bottom he felt human again.

He removed his gloves, hanging them by the fire to dry. The dog’s eyes were on his back, but he didn’t turn around so as not to frighten it further.

Once his dinner was piping hot and bubbling, Arthur removed it from the fire and ate straight from the skillet. If Susan Grimshaw was nearby she would have boxed his ear! After a few mouthfuls he decided to try his luck with enticing the dog out. He picked out a juicy piece of beef and flicked it under the bed, turning back to the fire.

“Come on, feller,” he soothed. “Got some more for you here.” He could tell from its rough-looking coat that the poor creature was starving.

But the frightened dog didn’t come out, and Arthur figured he would just leave the skillet for the dog overnight. With nothing much else to do he set about cleaning up and getting ready for bed. He walked outside one more time to check on the horses. Boadicea and Hagen watched him approach, hopeful for more food, but all Arthur could offer them was a conciliatory pat. The storm might last for days, so the remainder of his supplies had to be rationed.

He walked around to the cabin and pushed the door open. The dog had snuck out from its hiding spot, wolfing Arthur’s leftovers. It froze and shot him a wary look before scuttling back under the bed, tail tucked firmly between its legs. It looked like some kind of sheepdog.

“It’s okay, boy!” Arthur said, closing the door behind him. He did not move. “Come on out.”

After a minute of waiting he was about to give up and walk over to the fire, until the timid dog emerged. Clearly its hunger was greater than its sense of self-preservation.

The sheepdog devoured the rest of the corned beef, licking the skillet clean. The dog looked up at Arthur for more.

“Well, I guess I can find something else.”

Arthur rummaged through his satchel and retrieved a wedge of cheese in wax paper. He broke off a bit and tossed it to the dog. The cheese was gone in a second.

“Between you and Miss Kitty I’m gonna starve, you know that?”

He broke off more tidbits of cheese for the dog, and discovered a few crackers crushed up inside their box. He knelt down, offering the food in his hand. The sheepdog approached slowly, still wary, but starvation was a powerful motivator. Despite the scruffy coat the dog looked like it was young, maybe two or three years old. Still a pup.

The hungry dog licked up the crumbs from his palm, but darted away when Arthur moved.

“What happened to you, feller?” he asked. “I’m sure someone used to care for you.”

He stood up and the dog flinched, but it didn’t retreat under the bed this time.

“I’d say that’s progress. We’re friends now.”

The dog stayed back as Arthur tidied the cabin and built up the fire with a few more planks. Although it was scared, the dog had definitely lived with humans before. So what was it doing out here all alone?

Arthur’s pocket watch read 7 p.m. - still too early to sleep. So he grabbed a bottle of bourbon from one of Boadicea’s saddle bags and sat on the edge of the filthy bed. It smelt like the dog had been using it for a while.

He wrote in his journal first, in case he forgot or drank too much to write legibly. He mentioned his success with Hagen, getting trapped out in a snowstorm, and finding the lost dog. He filled the opposite page with sketches: Boadicea and Hagen, a sizzling fillet of bluegill on the fire, the cabin, and of course the sheepdog. He did not show his drawings to anyone, but Karen had snuck up behind him once and commented on how good they were. 

The dog lay down next to the fire with a huff, keeping an ear on Arthur. It was a miracle the poor creature had not frozen or starved to death out here, but it had come close. 

A few swigs of bourbon had Arthur relaxed and inspired to sing. The bawdy songs from the Van Der Linde campfire were out of place here, so he sang Poor Lonesome Cowboy. It was one of the few he knew all the lyrics to. He never thought of himself as a good singer, and even the dog closed its eyes. He chuckled at the end of the song and drank deeply.

As he stared into the fire, another song plucked at the edge of his mind. Arthur didn’t like to sing it around the others - even though it was an old tune, it always felt too personal. Not that the newer gang members knew about his life. He preferred it that way.

He sighed, and lay back on the mattress.

 The years creep slowly by, Eliza, The snow is on the grass again, The sun's low down the sky, Eliza, The frost gleams where the flow’rs have been. But the heart throbs on as warmly now, As when the summer days were nigh, Oh, the sun can never dip so low, A-down affection’s cloudless sky.

 He sang the whole song to himself, his voice barely rising above the crackling fire or the wind pressing against the cabin.

 It matters little now, Eliza, The past is in the eternal past, Our heads will soon lie low, Eliza, Life's tide is ebbing out so fast. There is a future, O thank God, Of life this is so small a part, 'Tis dust to dust beneath the sod; But there, up there, 'tis heart to heart.

 Arthur let the silence drag on after the final verse. He blinked back tears. What a sentimental fool he was!

He sat up on the bed, about to retrieve his blanket, and his breath caught in fright. The dog was standing right beside the bed, watching him. When their eyes met the sheepdog wagged its tail once. Arthur reached out and the dog permitted him a scratch behind the ears.

“You know that song, boy?” he sniffed.

The dog licked his hand.

“Don’t tell no-one.”

The latch was flimsy, so Arthur pushed the saddles against the door. He picked up the still-damp blanket from the floor, and balled up a clean shirt to make a pillow.

The bed squeaked in protest as he stretched out again. The mattress was thin and lumpy and it stank, but he couldn’t complain - at least he wasn’t camped out in this storm, and he had coffee and a fire. Just as he closed his eyes, the sheepdog leapt up onto the foot of the bed. It paused again, waiting for Arthur’s reassurance.

“Here, boy.”

The dog moved gingerly, as though walking on coals, before curling up next to Arthur’s middle.

“We’re a sight, aren’t we?” Arthur mumbled. “Heh. Keep your fleas to yourself.”

He slipped into a restful sleep, and dreamed of riding across the plains.

-

The wind died down sometime during the night, and Arthur woke to a silent morning. The dog remained at his side, grateful for the warmth and company.

After last night’s bourbon binge, he had to answer the call of nature, and fast. Arthur got up with a sigh and cleared the doorway to get outside. He blinked and squinted as the door opened, his eyes adjusting from the dark cabin to the white forest. The storm had dumped two feet of snow in Tall Trees, and it was still falling. The flakes drifted lazily through the canopy, alighting soundlessly on the ground. The sheepdog appeared beside him in the doorway, yawning and stretching.

The two walked out, Arthur plowing through the snow and the dog trotting behind. They relieved themselves next to the cabin. The dog cocked a leg against a bush, confirming Arthur’s suspicion that underneath all that fur it was male. Now he had to give the dog a name.

The horses were quiet, and Arthur walked around to the stable. His heart dropped.

“Shit!”

Boadicea and Hagen had vanished. There were no tracks leading out, so they had been spirited away sometime in the night. He raised his fingers to his lips and a piercing whistle rang out through the forest. Arthur listened out for any answering call, but there was only silence.

The dog appeared next to him, alert and ready for action.

“Goddamn it, I’m not lookin’ for you.”

An idea came to Arthur then. The dog was scrawny and weak, but he was a sheepdog.

“Come on, feller.”

The dog followed him into the stable. There was no sign of a struggle. Arthur squatted down in the mud, and pointed at the frozen hoof prints. The dog sniffed, and looked up at Arthur quizzically. Arthur sighed. A bloodhound would have followed it straight away.

“Ugh. Stay here.”

The dog ignored him, following him back into the cabin. So Arthur placed the saddles before the dog, letting him sniff them.

“Can you find ‘em for me?”

The sheepdog cocked his head. He was familiar with the smell of horses, but unsure of what was being asked of him. He cowered, not understanding Arthur’s anger and frustration.

“I’m sorry, boy,” he said, trying to calm down.

Arthur built up the fire again until it was blazing hot. He broke off some twigs from a pine tree outside and placed them on the fire. Fragrant smoke filled the cabin, but most of it went up into the chimney. It would help him to find his way back.

He quickly packed up, making sure that his revolvers and rifle were clean and loaded. While Arthur didn’t want to cause trouble in West Elizabeth so soon after moving in, he would do whatever was necessary to get his horses back. Before he left, he cut himself a slice of salted beef, and gave the dog some too.

“Stay,” he said firmly.

Arthur closed the cabin door, leaving the dog inside with the saucepan of water. The dog was too weak to come with him. Or so he thought.

As he pushed through the snow, he could only guess where the horses had gone. Few people lived in Tall Trees, and they either lived alone or in small camps. The only settlement here was Manzanita Post, and like everyone else in the forest they were wary of outsiders. Probably with good reason.

Arthur heard a weak bark behind him, and stopped in his tracks. The dog! It had slipped through the door, and was following his trail. He crouched down as the dog approached, and smiled despite his mood. He scratched him behind the ears.

“I can’t look after you out here,” Arthur said gently. “Let’s go back.”

They turned and followed the trail; he had not made it far. Arthur noticed the dog sniffing around and had another idea. He walked back into the cabin and brought out the blanket he had used last night, the same one he had used to dry the horses off. He crouched down and held it out to the dog.

“Can you find ‘em for me? Find.”

This time the dog seemed to get it, and he jumped off Arthur’s trail and into the fresh snow. It was higher than his shoulders, but the sheepdog courageously bounded through it. He checked the area around the cabin and stable, circling out into the trees. Arthur also figured it was better to start here than blindly walk into the forest. The bears were hibernating, but there were still plenty of other big predators around. There might even be rival gangs in Tall Trees that he didn’t know about. He checked the trees for horse hair or broken branches - there must be some clue to Boadicea and Hagen’s whereabouts.

After a few minutes of searching, a yap echoed through the trees. Arthur hurried over to the sheepdog and found him standing proudly, tail wagging. The trees were thick here, catching most of the snow on their branches. Beneath them there was a narrow, shallow depression in the snow leading away from the cabin. A horse trail!

“Good boy!” Arthur praised. “You did it!”

He rewarded the dog with a piece of cheese. The dog smiled back at him for the first time, tail wagging in a blur.

“Find! Find ‘em, boy!” Arthur pointed down the trail, and the sheepdog set off, nose down and eager to please. Arthur noticed that some of the lower twigs had snapped, and the branches were holding less snow than the ones above after the horses had brushed past.

When the trail disappeared, covered by snow, the dog’s keen nose was quick to find it again. Arthur struggled to keep up as he watched out for his horses, the dog, wild animals, and any unfriendly people.

After maybe twenty minutes, he stopped and whistled again. The dog paused, and the forest returned to silence. Then, a faint, answering cry came from ahead.

“That’s Boadicea! We did it!”

He shrugged the rifle from his shoulder. If the horses had been stolen, there could be a fight. The dog raced eagerly ahead, but Arthur called him back.

“Come here, boy. Heel.”

The sheepdog whined, obviously keen to round up the horses, but he bounded back to Arthur’s side.

“Good dog.”

They stalked through the trees, Arthur wary of a trap, while the dog listened out for danger. When there was a rustle ahead, Arthur stopped and raised his rifle. Boadicea appeared through the trees, complete with bridle and reins, and whinnied when she saw him. He lowered his gun.

“Boadicea! I missed you, girl!”

Hagen appeared after her, and both horses trotted up to Arthur. To his relief, they didn’t have so much as a scratch or bump on them. Arthur hugged Boadicea, even giving her a kiss on the nose. He didn’t know Hagen well enough yet to give him a hug, but the gelding appreciated a pat and shoulder scratch.

When Arthur’s gaze returned to Boadicea, he noticed the mare studying the sheepdog.

“Easy, girl,” he said. “He’s coming back with us.”

Boadicea was clever enough to figure out that the scrawny pup wasn’t a threat. She flicked her dark mane, ignoring the dog and basking in Arthur’s attention.

It was obvious now that the horses had escaped from the stable by themselves. Boadicea was too clever for her own good and a serial escape artist. Arthur figured that in his haste yesterday evening he hadn’t tied a decent knot. The mare had freed herself and Hagen, both leaving the lean-to during the night in search of something to eat.

“Don’t ever make me worry like that again,” he scolded, but he wasn’t really angry. Just relieved.

He gathered up Boadicea’s reins and Hagen’s lead rope, and was about to walk back to the cabin when he noticed that the dog had wandered off.

“Hey! Dog!” he called. It definitely needed a name.

He sighed when the sheepdog didn’t reappear - maybe he was jealous of the horses getting all the attention? This time Arthur led the horses on the dog’s trail. The dog had not wandered far, and was sniffing around in a tiny clearing.

Arthur couldn’t believe it. Encircled by massive pine trees stood a single, perfect fir. It reached just a little bit taller than him, with blue-green needles and a classic conical shape. Dutch’s goddamn Christmas tree.

He shook his head. “Don’t know how you did it, boy.”

The dog realized that he was not alone and looked up with a goofy smile, forgetting about whatever interesting scent trail he had found. He reminded Arthur of someone from a long time ago.

With a firm word to both the dog and horses to stay put, Arthur cut the fir tree. It was almost too heavy for him to lift, but with a bit of clever maneuvering he balanced it across Boadicea and Hagen, securing their bridles together with Hagen’s lead rope. Boadicea grumbled, but Hagen shouldered the weight dutifully.

Arthur did not need to worry about finding the cabin again, as he and the dog followed their fresh trail back. It was still snowing, but the path remained clear.

The sheepdog was definitely flagging now, his limited energy spent on tracking the horses. His long pink tongue lolled, and even with the clear trail he kept stumbling. Arthur eventually picked him up, cradling him, and the dog was too exhausted to protest.

Arthur had already lost so much time, but on checking his pocket watch he realized that he might be able to make it to the camp at night. Even if he couldn’t make it back today, there was no need to stay in the cabin when he could move the horses to decent grazing by the river.

The snowfall ceased as they returned to the cabin. It was now late morning, and Arthur wasted no time in saddling the horses. The exhausted dog lay in a dry corner of the stables, trying not to fall asleep. He was still just a pup, after all.

Arthur cleared the cabin and left it as he had found it: it could be a useful hideout in future. Finally, he heaped snow over the fire until it completely fizzed out.

Boadicea pawed the ground, impatient to leave. She was pleased to have the tree off her back. Hagen now carried it by himself, but he did not complain. He even nibbled one of the branches, but shook his massive head in disgust.

Arthur found the sheepdog snoozing in the stable, and smiled to himself.

“Guess you’ll have to ride with me.”

The pup blinked awake, and yawned. Arthur gathered him up and lifted him onto his shoulder, supporting the dog’s weight with one hand.

“Jeez, kid, you need a bath,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Arthur mounted up awkwardly, and moved the dog onto his lap. The sheepdog looked around in bewilderment - he had probably never been on a horse before. Using his compass as a guide Arthur steered his clever, mischievous mare to Blackwater.

-

As the trees thinned and the snow melted away, Boadicea transitioned into an easy lope, eager to move out of the forest. Arthur allowed her to set the pace, concentrating on the dog instead so he didn’t slide off the saddle. He also released some of the lead rope, allowing Hagen to fall back slightly: he was done being smacked by the prickly branches of the fir tree!

Many of the dog names that sprang into his head were… uninspiring. Rufus. Patches. Bob. Sport. Jack. He certainly couldn’t call the dog Jack! Abigail would have a fit. The dog sighed, as if silently agreeing with him. Arthur decided to try out some names later, to see if the sheepdog would respond to any of them.

They stopped on the plains for a late lunch. Hagen and Boadicea devoured the withered grass as though they had not eaten for weeks. The grazing was not as good on the plains as by the river, but they still had a ways to go before they reached water again. The earth was muddy and the grass a dull brown, but at least there was no more snow.

After eating some of Arthur’s meagre lunch - salt beef and baked beans - the dog set about rolling in the mud. Arthur didn’t bother to stop him, as the mud would cover some of the stench.

“Miss Grimshaw’s goin’ to dunk you in a barrel of cold water when we get to camp.”

The dog snorted in delight.

“Heh. You remind me of my boy, Isaac. He used to love gettin’ muddy too.”

The sheepdog left smears of cold mud on Arthur’s snow jacket and trousers once they were up in the saddle. Despite the short rest and a feed of shriveled grass, Boadicea happily kept up a smart jog. She was eager to get back home, where she could eat as much hay as she wanted. Arthur gave her a pat on the neck. Hagen sensed the mare’s excitement, and matched her pace.

Though the overcast sky never cleared, mercifully there was no rain or snow on their ride back to camp. Arthur found a road sign to Blackwater just as the sun melted into the western horizon. They were making good time.

Arthur made it back late, close to midnight. He had lit his oil lantern, and was riding through the dark when a shout came from nearby. Arthur, the dog, and both horses jumped.

“WHO GOES THERE?!”

“It’s Arthur, ya dumbass.”

The warm light from the oil lamp lit up John’s face as he approached. He wasn’t drunk this time. How unusual.

“So, King Arthur has returned with his legendary tree.”

“Shut it, Marston,” Arthur replied sourly. “I got this for your boy.”

John snorted with laughter. “You got it ‘cause Dutch told you to.” He turned and walked back to his post.

Arthur grit his teeth. John was right, of course, but he was too tired to come up with a snappy comeback. He nudged Boadicea forward, and she took them to the horse station.

The dog, still unnamed, stuck by Arthur as he removed the fir tree and saddles. Javier noticed him laboring in the shadows and got up from his bedroll to help.

“Nice work, Arthur,” he said, eyeing the tree. “Dutch will be happy with this.”

“I hope so,” he growled. “Been ridin’ for two days.”

Javier noticed the dog then, sticking close to Arthur for protection, but keeping clear of the horses’ legs.

“Hey, you found a dog!?”

“Yeah, abandoned most likely. He was half-dead when I found him. He’s a good dog: kinda timid, but smart. And he ain’t sick neither, just dirty.”

“It’ll be good to have a dog here again, listening out for trouble. If you’re alright with the horses I can set up the tree?”

Arthur nodded. “Thanks, Javier.”

The horses were already tucking into a hay bale between them, and all Arthur had to do was brush them down and pick out their hooves.

“Good job, Boadicea. You too, Hagen.”

He gave them each a grateful pat on the neck, and walked back to his cot, skirting around the campsite with the dog at his heels. The camp was silent, most of the gang asleep, and they managed to avoid being noticed by anyone else. Arthur would deal with Susan’s wrath tomorrow.

-

“You’ve outdone yourself, Arthur.”

He blinked awake. He knew instantly that it was early – too early to be awake. The sun had just risen, its weak light twinkling through the trees. The still, cold air caught in his lungs.

Dutch was leaning against the wagon at the foot of Arthur’s bed. He smiled, with a warmth that reached his eyes.

“Ugh, what time is it?” Arthur mumbled.

“Early enough for young Jack. See for yourself.”

Arthur sat up on his cot, the disturbance causing the dog to wake up too. Javier had dug the fir tree into the hard ground in the heart of the Van Der Linde campsite, and Jack and Abigail were already busying themselves with decorating it. Arthur squinted in disbelief – were they actually using gold necklaces and pearls?!

“They had to improvise,” Dutch said. “We don’t have no glass ornaments. The tree could do with some candles, though.”

Arthur lay back on his cot. “Don’t ask me to get those for you, too.”

Dutch laughed. “Rest up, son. But when you’re awake I would like to hear the story of how you got that dog.”

When Arthur finally got out of bed, close to midday, Jack ran up to him. The boy had obviously been waiting. The sheepdog jumped off the cot and shook himself vigorously. Arthur rolled the stiffness from his shoulders with a few satisfying cracks.

“Hey, Uncle Arthur!” Jack said. “Did you get the tree for us?”

Arthur covered up a yawn. “I sure did! You like it?”

“Yeah!”

“Now that’s what I like to hear. You and your momma sure did decorate it nice.”

“Thanks! Can I pat your dog?”

Arthur scratched his short beard. “Um. He’s a bit shy, but he likes food. Here, you can give him some cheese.”

Abigail watched nearby as Jack held out a morsel of cheese. The sheepdog was much less frightened now, and took it gingerly from the boy’s hand.

“What’s his name?” Jack asked.

“He doesn’t have one. Not yet, anyways. Want to help me pick one?”

“Yeah! What about… Spot?”

Arthur smiled. “Not bad. But I don’t think he looks like a Spot to me. How about Jake?”

“I don’t like it.”

As they were talking, the dog sniffed at Arthur’s satchel, eager to get into its contents.

Jack hummed in thought. “Maybe Gilbert?”

“Naw, that’s an old man’s name. He’s still just a pup. Kinda like you!”

Abigail laughed. “Come on, boys. You’ve gotta agree on somethin’.”

“Well, I guess he kinda reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago,” Arthur admitted. “How about, uh, Zach?”

The dog looked up from the satchel, his brown eyes focused on Arthur.

“I think he likes it!” said Jack.

“Yeah. That’s weird…”

Zach moved between Jack and Arthur, asking for a scratch.

Moments later Susan appeared at the ammunition wagon, towering over them with her hands on her hips. Abigail quickly smothered a giggle as the blood drained from Arthur’s face.

“Miss Grimshaw-”

“Don’t you ‘Miss Grimshaw’ me! I ain’t ever seen such filth in my camp before.”

“…is the water warm?”

Susan glared at him. “No. It’s colder than my heart. Now git!”

Arthur got up with a sigh and followed her to the wash basin, dreading the water’s icy touch. Zach followed at his heels, smiling all the way.

 -

The end!

[the-canary]

Wednesdays - L.T (5/10)

Summary: Only you had the balls to deal with his outrageous order on that day. You just didn’t know how bad it would get. (Barista!Reader/Lance Tucker).

A/N: sorry i left you hanging last year, but here we go! 

Feedback is always appreciated.

It’s two weeks of exchanging emails between Miranda and himself that has Lance going insane. He isn’t one that should he making demands, she had sent back that message herself but this was his privacy they were talking about -- something that he had coveted now that his days in the spotlight were over and done with -- this wasn’t for him, it was for his girls and he needs to make sure that whoever was running this account knew that.

Years ago, a younger him would have yelled at whoever until what he wanted got done, but that wasn’t an option now when he had no leverage against some punk who hid behind all those social media accounts. That old rage burned at the thought of whoever was following him laughing at his antics and the little things he did when he was alone. However, Lance had to bid his time, wait until Miranda gave him this mysterious person.

They agree to a meeting with you on Tuesday at 3pm in your gym.

A threat of please don’t hurt them at the end of her message, but that annoyance festers within Lance for the rest of the week -- until he meets them and he knows he is going to give them a piece of his mind when he does.  

Here’s the thing though, of all the people to be thrown into the lion’s den waiting in his gym, Lance doesn’t expect to see his least favorite barista to be standing near the entrance on Tuesday afternoon talking to some of his students like you have known them all their lives. You’re dressed sharply in a dark business suit, but with a blouse that pops with the right amount of color against the gray backdrop of the gym. It’s a complete 180 from how he was used to seeing you and Lance had to stop himself from staring to long at the red color on your lips, as he makes his way over to you.

“What the hell are you doing?” Lance can’t help but ask in indignation, but deep down he knows who you are and what you are here for.

The girls are watching from the sidelines, as you take out a little white card from your bag and hand it to him.

You state your name with a bright smile, as Lance wants to groan in annoyance: “--Part time Social Media Coordinator for Lee and Associates.”

Blue eyes met yours as you place the card in front of him and it’s then that Lance knows that this isn’t going to go the way he pictured it.

The sorry and smile you give him are tepid at best, a small trick to whatever anger he may be feeling at the current. If it had been someone else, he probably would have believed them, but the role of your eyes --something he saw often when he interacted with you at the Starbucks-- and wave of your hand causes him to seethe for a moment, as you sit across from him without a care in the world after you had placed a clear folder in front of his desk.  However, it was a truce in its own way and as much as you needed Lance for work, he needed you and the company behind you for the coverage. He couldn’t go back to looking for another public relations company, most wouldn’t have him.

So, he lets bygones be bygones for now. He’ll certainly have time to make your life a living hell later, he thinks with a smile as he leans into his ergonomically correct chair.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        “Look Lance,” you start after a moment of silence, as blue eyes watches you like a hawk, “I’ll admit that maybe I went about this the wrong way but people don’t follow you of all people for good, wholesome content, though that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to give to them either.”

Lance stays quiet, knowing fully well after all the scandals, the near failures, and losses it hurt to hear someone else say that -- but, he knew that he had come out stronger for all of it in the end.

“You putting yourself out there grabs people’s attention, but those girls are the ones making them stay. Or haven’t you seen most of the commentary?” you keep going on, trying to explain to side of this logic and Lance knows that some of your words ring true.

“So prove to people that those girls and maybe even you are more than some old media headline,” you state, getting just bit more heated towards the end of your speech, though he thinks that it is probably more about the girls than his own personal life. You finish with a little huff of breathe, as Lance simply crosses his arms over his chest.

The revised media proposal is starting at him from the center of his desk as blue eyes glance up to meet yours. It was a lot to think about, but the question was if he was willing to go that far once again for his students and school, though well within reason -- it’s not like he had a Twitter anymore nor did he upload onto Instagram everyday like he had done once.

“You sure do know what you’re talking about,” Lance quips as you give him a small smile, completely unlike the usual looks you through his way.

“I wear a lot of hats,” you explain vaguely, “And I do my research comes with the whole trying to get my master’s in this sort of thing.”

“I see,” is all he manages to say before he takes the folder and gives it a cursory glance.

Your meeting ends in silence and the promise that he’ll look over the details, the complete opposite of what Miranda had told you might happened because that simply how the old Lance Tucker work. And as you head back home, you think that she might be right on somethings --you had seen it plainly enough outside of this job-- but the need for privacy was something you could understand and maybe all those years had changed him for the better -- at least somewhat.

Lance Tucker doesn’t come into your familiar Starbucks --to make your life a little bit more annoying-- at his scheduled time and at Micah’s subtle worry, you can’t help but wonder if maybe you pushed him too far.

Though with a shake of your head, you remove yourself from worrying about someone like him.

“So, what do you think?” Lance asks the man sitting in front of him in the family kitchen.

Richard takes off his glasses as Norma watches them from the living room for a brief second, Claire pouting on the carpeted floor since she can’t play with her favorite uncle just yet.

“This is pretty solid, Lance,” his brother-in-law says almost in awe to the detailing and work put into the documentation he just read, “They are giving you a lot of power and even detailing their schedule for you. It’s extremely professional, and you usually don’t hire professional.”

Lance frowns at the compliment that Richard off-handley gives you, but even he has to admit that it’s the truth. However, that thought soon passes as Claire declares that he should see her newest dance moves.

Another Wednesday passes and you still haven’t heard from Lance yet, but you haven’t gotten fired yet so you can only wonder what he is thinking and what he is going to do with all the information you have given him. For someone who wanted notoriety once more, he sure was stubborn.

The lunch time rush hour comes and passes, as you stand in the back taking inventory for the day when you hear Micah’s voice echoing for you to come back.

“Pink Drink!” she declares with a sing-song sort of voice, the name at the end of the order causes you to lurch in surprise just for a moment, but you move past it and proceed to make the drink.

“Pink Drink! Pink Drink for Lance!” you declare as said man gets up from his usual place and gets his drink. He pauses for a moment, blue eyes meeting yours as he cocks an eyebrow as if waiting for something -- that’s when you finally get it.

 @TuckerGym: PINK DRINK! PINK DRINK FOR LANCE!

“Thanks,” is all he say after the picture is taken, as you stand there for a moment with a smile on your face as you put the phone back in your pocket.

And for now, it seemed like everything was going to be smooth sailing.

Oh, if you could only see the smile blooming on Micah’s face -- like she knew something you (the both of you) didn’t.  

[kaziklubaby]

Micah Bell x F!Reader

Title: A Killer to Die For!

Words: 5.2k

Pairings: Micah Bell x F!Reader

Warnings: (+18) That’s the one with the party and unrealistic scenes, when we rescue Sean and we see things and do some stuff too. And I love making Micah laugh.

Forgive my typos, as always.

Summary: Chapter 5.

[A03]

Yes. He did it. As you mended a shirt, you thought about why he did it, because certainly wasn't because of new found feelings. If he had actual feelings – which of course he had, he was human, wasn't he? – they were buried deep enough so not even his thoughts could touch it. And his feelings were not kind towards you, anyway. Oh, you could imagine why he did it. Territorialism. In some level, he must have thought about you as some kind of property, and a disrespect to you was, indirectly, a disrespect to him, and he had to assert some kind of dominance. Not romantic at all, just pure instinct. That actually made sense to you, and you didn't even flinch. What were you supposed to do? Appear hypocritically offended?

"Oh my, my honor!" – you scorned.

That didn't pass as anything feeling-relatable at all, but gave you a little leverage as well. But for how long? That couldn't continue, because he would sooner or later ask for something in return and you expected that to be a one-time thing. In fact, probably he might be thinking that you would open your legs to him whenever he pleased. And your cunt whined about it. But, what if you could continue doing him? What was the problem, really? Well, you were disappointing Miss Grimshaw, and he was an asshole, that should be pretty serious in your eyes.

"Think about it, you is going against everything you thought was right. Sleeping with a man, and worse, for pleasure! He didn't have any feelings for you, and would never have, merely seeing you like a hole to put his cock in" – you thought to yourself.

Yeah, that was a problem. But you didn't want his feelings. Did you? Of course not.

Should you confront him about it? Or maybe, you could just wait until he tried something, so you wouldn't sound like you were expecting him. Anyway, it could not be under the eyes of the gang, or they would have another reason to think that you should go for a walk, for good this time.

-You know, Miss, I've killed girls as betrayed us, and done it happily – said Miss Grimshaw to Mary-Beth, right next to you. You didn't look, you weren't crazy enough to meddle in that discussion, not when you already had troubles enough. Also, you didn't pity Mary-Beth that much, she was used to reading and writing more than actually doing any workaround, usually, Tilly had to do most of it to cover for her.

-Is reading betrayal in your world, Miss Grimshaw? – said Mary-Beth, and you, for a moment, admired her cold blood.

-Not reading, Miss, idleness. – and Miss Grimshaw paused for a second – Idleness is betrayal, because it means I work so you don't have to! – and Miss Grimshaw was screaming at full lungs – That's not right, is it?

Mary-Beth got up as fast as you ever saw her do before.

-I guess not, Miss – she said, going for the laundry

-You're right not, missy! On!

You kept your eyes low, mending the shirt. You adored that woman, but she could be scary as fuck when she wanted to.

-Y/N, taking long mending those things, ain't you? – Miss Grimshaw said.

-I'll go faster – you said, without lifting your head.

-You better – Miss Grimshaw said, leaving you and Mary-Beth alone.

-Must feel good be the favorite – said Mary-Beth, in her sweet way, but behind it, you could feel her sting.

-I'm not anyone's favorite. – you said, but you wish you were – I just do my work.

-I see you working – Mary-Beth said, and this time her tone was more suggestive than sweet.

You didn't answer that. At first, you were tempted to start a quarrel about it, but, what good would it do? More fights? Better stay quiet and hold your ground, she was just upset about Miss Grimshaw. Although, if the circumstances were different, you would feel inclined to be – just a little bit – devilish with her.

And you smiled.

All people used masks. All of them had flaws and scars, even the kindest one. Mary-Beth, deep down envied Karen and how she was so carefree and strong, and when alone and thinking that no one was hearing, she would touch herself and moan Arthur's name, yet she looked down on you for your marks. Karen would cry herself to sleep late at night, when everybody was already sleeping, like a baby without its bottle. Also, you could see how she looked at other girls at Valentine, frustration and despise. Tilly was by far the more emotionally constant one of them, she had an objective, survive, and she was firm on her will to get through everything, although you could see in her eyes that she had experimented, in some level, the same things that you had too. Molly O'Shea usually cried as Dutch pinned her down and fucked her into oblivion, begged for him as you did to Micah, but still, in her eyes, you were the lowest of the woman. Even dear Miss Grimshaw had her blue days. Sometimes she would wear her old dresses just to see how she looked on them, she would put old jewelry, and pinch her face, trying to discover where the young girl went, and how this girl - the one in the picture - was replaced by an old crone – but she would never cry, not her. Her tears had dried a long time ago.

They all had scars too. The only difference between yours and theirs, was the fact that yours was showing to everybody see at broad daylight.

Even worse was how people usually thought that woman, in general, should be obedient, calm, motherly inclined, sweet, educated, and most of all weak, so men would feel strong near them, as if being a woman meant to be a boost on man's ego and a hole so he could take his pleasure – but woman should be sacred and pure too, because men didn't want to openly assume something that others had tasted before, it seemed like it diminished them under the eyes of other men, but, ironically, they would pour all their desires and perversions on a woman who didn't fit on that specific profile. So, a woman could kill herself as an individual, or, let the world kill her piece by piece. That's why you admired Miss Grimshaw too. She escaped that profile and still was respected by all, strong-willed and brave, she conquered her place in the world.

And then, your mind would be filled with thoughts of Micah. He too had a wrong idea of what a woman should be, although you could see that to him, every woman on Earth was not worthy of his attention, just his cum, he made no distinction. It seemed like he didn't have a good relationship with his mother, after all – if he had a relationship at all.

You had known men that were rejected by their mothers, and they ended up having a bitter view of a woman later in life, because they saw their mother's rejection on other women too. Could that be the reason? You didn't know, for you were no expert, just pointed out things that you had experienced yourself.

Days passed, Hosea didn't pressure you to make yourself scarce for a while, so you stayed, quiet and calm, mending and feeding the chickens, attending to your regular affairs. As for Micah, was but a shadow in a distance. Sometimes he would be close to you near the fire, always silent and pretending you were not there, reading a newspaper or smoking.

And you would not talk to him either. Was he waiting for you to break? Like hell you would.

That was another night like those, where silence filled the space between you. At first, that strange situation had bothered you, even more than when he just couldn't shut up. It took a little while, but now it seemed natural. -What are you looking at? – he said, suddenly.

You looked around, maybe he was saying that to someone else, but there was no one awake. Uncle, who had been talking nonstop about the time when he stole a herd of cows, now was sleeping, cradling his bottle of whiskey as it was a teddy bear.

-What is it that you want, Micah? – you said.

-Huh, it seemed like you wanted something from me – he said, with that confidence that couldn't fool you – You is looking at me with those doe eyes, what is it that you want?

And he laughed. Was he really trying to convince you that it was you who wanted him? Cheap Trick.

-I'm not even looking at you, you dumb fuck – you said.

-Yeah, sure doll, you can tell whatever lie you want to convince yourself, fuck... – he purred – you can even insult me but I see in your eyes what you want. Come here – he said, giving soft slaps on his thigh.

You looked around again.

-You must be drunk, or stupid in the head – you said – Why would I want anything with you? -Looks like you forgot about our little stroll – he got up and came in your direction – What a bad memory you have, Y/N, should I remind you what is like to be with a real man?

Micah sighed deeply and held your throat, not tight enough, just a light touch like a reminder of what could be.

-It's a shame your bruises is fading, they was so beautiful – he purred.

A shiver ran down your body again. -Why don't you keep those cheap words to someone who cares? – you said, slapping his hand away from you – or I will kill you dead.

He laughed more and lifted his hands backing away.

-I'm still waiting for that – he said.

He backed off, but his eyes were like the ones of a hungry animal with nothing to lose. He smirked, victorious, one last time and walked away. Logically, he was a piece of trash, and you knew that dealing with him was going to end badly, but you felt divided between accepting his invitation or denying it.

Your body didn't have any doubts, though.

Could you deal with his rejection? Because he was bound to pull the same shit as before, and leave you alone and stained by him. That's when something crossed your thoughts, something so simple and yet, you would have to be really invested in it to make it work. First of all, life was much like a poker game, tables could turn with a good bluff, and this way you could put him to the test. 

How much he desired you? Enough to risk a little gamble? Your cunt ached for him, but, so you could give in to that desire, you would have to change the terms. You didn't want monogamy nor compromise, even less loyalty.

You just wanted him to admit that he wanted you too.

Your opportunity appeared when they heard about Sean, he was alive and being kept by some lawfolk, Arthur was going to rescue him along with Javier, Charles and your favorite conman, Josiah Trelawny. Something about Josiah made him almost impossible to be hated, and you guessed that it was his way with words and his manners, you just couldn't help but laugh at him whenever he pulled one of his magic tricks, like a kid around a show. He dazzled people, that was his best trick.

Your plan, though, didn't include him, but the probability of success of the mission and what it could mean. Arthur was a skillful gunslinger, Javier a master with his knives, and Charles by himself was strong as a bull. You doubted that mission could go wrong.

Only if Sean was too stupid for his own good.

You saw when Charles' girl gave him a little trinket before he left the camp.

"A Lucky charm" – you heard she say. That smart little witch. Against all magic, what could go wrong? And when they returned with the big-mouthed leprechaun... There was going to be a party.

A party.

Dutch wouldn't miss the chance to make everyone believe he had everything under control, and to show that we were all under his – merciful – wings, for the man liked his speeches way too much, and that was a moment too perfect to be wasted. Even if the guy smelled like bullshit a mile away, you wouldn't say anything. You were having a nice life, after all, didn't have to suck cocks that tasted like piss and old cum for a few cents, and you ate regularly, that was a great improvement in your life. You had to be grateful, at least a little.

And, you were focusing on Micah and his pretentious attitude rather than Dutch's. Micah needed to be taught a lesson.

So, the Irish had returned home safe and sound. More or less. His voice echoed, above a crate, holding a beer and his dignity as both were the same. -... and don't you worry Mr. Pearson, you drunk old shit bag... – he just arrived but was already drunk – It'll be nothing but, uh... the finest game in the pot, now Dead Eye Macguire's back!

You were near Miss Grimshaw, sitting against the table, and looking to the faces around you.

-... and don't worry about nothing Miss Grimshaw, we'll have this camp running like clockwork... I love you bastards... have fun! Have lots of fun!

-We intend to! – said Mary-Beth, laughing.

-Yeah, come on... Let's party! – said Karen, drinking her beer.

And Sean descended from the crate, drinking his beer.

-Even you, you grumpy old bastard, Arthur. – said Sean.

-Uh oh, here comes trouble. – said Karen, but you could tell she wasn't all against his presence. Their sweetness was even more complex than you had foreseen.

They were sweet on each other, but could only admit it when they were drunk, almost like they were ashamed of each other when sober. One more reason for Karen to cry at night?

-I just can't get rid of you, can I? – said Javier, tuning his guitar.

-Mind if I join you fine folks? – Sean said, sitting with them at the round table.

-I suppose – said Karen, looking silly. The way her eyes gleamed looking at him almost made her look younger.

-I owe you one, Arthur Morgan. The drinks are on me! – said Sean.

-They always are, when you ain't buying – said Arthur, walking away to sit by the fire with Hosea and the others.

-You are looking lovely as ever, if I may say so – said Sean, not his first attempt to flirt while drunk.

-Oh stop it – said Karen, smiling shyly

-Imagine riding with him all the way from blackwater to here – said Javier – estúpido.

-So, what now? – said Sean, completely unaware that Javier called him stupid.

-Come on, how about a song? – said Dutch.

The music started. You walked away from that place. Micah wasn't around, almost like happiness made him sick or something.

-You is going to see him, ain't you? – said Miss Grimshaw.

-But not in the way you think I am – you said.

She looked deeply at you.

-You better, girl – she said.

As you walked away from her in the direction of the trees, your whole body trembled slightly, excitement trapped in a bottle too tiny for it. You wanted to do it - play Micah - but, a part of you wanted to flee as you had been doing your whole life – fear weighed in your stomach.

Soon, you found him against a tree, with a bottle of beer. If you didn't know him better, you could say he was peaceful there alone in the woods.

-So, changed your mind? – he said, his smile mocking you.

You scoffed.

-Can’t a girl smoke in peace around here? – you said, using a match to light your cigarette. It was a peaceful night, alright, no wind to even blow a candle.

-Sure, and you came here just to smoke – he said, holding his belt – tryin' to fool me?

-If I'm bothering you, then I will leave you and your nasty personality alone – you said throwing your cigarette on the ground and stepping on it.

-Oh, come on - he purred, all convinced that he called the shots with you - there is room enough for both of us here – he said tapping the tree near him.

You laughed.

-Don't go thinking you is such a big deal Micah, I fucked better with my hands.

-Is that so? – he said.

Micah was patient when he wanted to, he knew how to buy his time and push your buttons, just to strike where it hurts the most. Too experienced to fall easily in any trap. The only way to destabilize him was through his ego.

Lucifer didn't fall for it too?

You gave your back to him and returned to camp. It was more or less like fishing, you threw the bait and now you would wait. Would Micah bite it just by sheer desire to see what you were up to? He was a stubborn man. Would he be stubborn to the point of wait to see you play yourself or stubborn to believe you, and seek to prove you wrong? What would give him more pleasure? Much of your plan was going to carry on based on probability and improvisation. Were you right about Micah Bell, after all?

As you approached the center of the camp, you heard they singing the ring-the-dang-pussy song. You watched in disbelief how grown man liked to sing about cunts like little boys. Uncle had red cheeks and a bottle in hand, making obscene gestures.

Oh, you enjoyed that old man just enough, and that was a whole lot to you. You had to give it to them, it was funny alright. All seemed fine, the gang was happy again, playing and laughing like nothing was wrong. Even Pearson didn't seem so stupid.

That was a good night. Felt nice to have people around you, sometimes... The only thing that seemed strange to this scene was Dutch's music playing in his phonograph. People were actually drinking and talking about pussy and he was listening to some kind of classical song?

Really?

You sat by the table where people usually polished their guns, and tasted your first beer of the night. You couldn't get wasted so soon, not yet anyway. Soon Micah appeared, looking as flustered as possible, walking in that crooked way that only he does, shoulders up, head down facing you. Your heart started pacing, but you maintained your face neutral. He sighed deeply, almost like a threat to you. -So, you fucked better alone alright? I see – he laughed, but was mad enough too.

You shrugged and didn't answer, just took a sip of your bottle.

-I see what you are doing, Y/N, thinking you is smart? I won't fall for that.

-Oh, I'm doing something now? What am I doing Micah?

-Don't pull that on me, thinking you can provoke me. Trying to get me angry?

At this moment, Sean walked by almost falling to the ground but still holding his beer. A true drunken, sure he was. Karen walked behind him too, so drunk that neither one of them seemed to care about you and Micah. They hid behind the girl's wagon.

-Look at that lucky fucker... – Micah said.

-Huh.. – you were indifferent, sipping your beer.

-Hah, don't try to play it cool, Y/N, it doesn't suit you.

-Like you would know that.. – you scoffed him.

Then, you heard Sean laughing, and this time we waited in silence.

-Admit you love me – Sean said in that drunken fool way of his – Admit it and I'll stop annoying you.

-I'll admit nothing – it was Karen who spoke.

-You love me – Sean said.

-I'd rather love a snake!

-Come here – it was Sean's voice, but it faded quickly.

A slap sound, and more laughter. Soon Karen came by running and laughing as Sean stood near the wagon.

-She loves me... – he said, more to him than to us – I'm the happiest man alive.

-That fool wouldn't know what hit him not even if it was a train – Micah said.

-Sure – you said.

-What do you want, Y/N? – he said, at last.

You shrugged again.

-You want to give me something now? – you said.

-You wish. – he said, getting down to your level, his hands over the table. He sighed again – I won't fall for that Y/N. Just letting you know.

-Okay. – you said, as quickly as you could, as if you didn't care for what he did or said.

And he picked a bottle out of the crate over the table, moving his brows - emphasizing what he said - as if he didn't care about you at all. Sean got up and now was standing near the tent, close to us. Drinking his thoughts away, most likely.

-Oh, there she is... the finest lady I know – he said, suddenly.

You looked over your shoulder and saw Karen coming by.

-I hate you, you Irish bastard! – she said. She was all too drunk to care about much at that point.

Micah and you stood there, watching the scene.

-Ah, come here. – he said, going towards her.

You were so tempted to make a bet with Micah, but you feared to ruin the moment.

-You hate me too, I can see 't ‘n your eyesss... – she wasn't talking all the letters, others she pronounced too much.

Sean held her hands in his, caressing them slowly. 

-I love you – he said.

-You only love me when we're drunk – she said divided in laughter and tears.

-Well, you're always awfully superior when you're sober... – he said, his words filled with emotion.

She didn't need much time after that.

-Come on, then... – she said, taking him by the hand and guiding him to the nearest tent while he laughed – I hate you, you know that... I hate you.

You couldn't bear any more, you had to look at him and laugh.

-Shush now doll, let's hear them – Micah said, finding it all terrible funny too.

They were laughing at first.

-It's alright John's tent, isn't it? – said Sean – hasn't seen any action like this since nine months before young Jackie popped out!

-Sean! – Karen said, whining.

-Move over, will ya? – Sean said.

-What are you doing? – Karen said.

Sean was trying to get his pants off, with no success.

- Sorry! – Sean said – Ohoho, there they are, look at them. Magnificent.

-Is he talking about his balls? – you asked Micah, making fun of them, for obvious reasons.

Micah laughed, and it was nice to hear him doing so.

-Like the peaks of the Derryveagh! – said Sean.

-Oh, shut up, you idiot! – said Karen, laughing.

Okay, her breasts.

-Nice compliment, you could use that too – you said.

-I have better ones for you, you nasty thing – he said.

-Come here, you – Sean said inside the tent.

They started moaning and whining. You could imagine, but you didn't want to, expecting to preserve some of your sanity for later.

-Hey, what are you doing? – Karen said, kind of annoyed.

-Anal – you said to Micah, putting your hands over your face and pretending to be surprised.

He laughed hard.

-It's an old trick my Da taught me – Sean said.

-Ugh, no! Don't ever do that again! – Karen said, relaxing again.

-Oh, okay, okay, here we go... Miss Jones, meet Macguire Junior – Sean was having fun.

-Creepy – you said. Before Micah could say something, Karen was talking again.

-Is that it? – she said, not pleased at all.

This time Micah laughed hard and loud. He couldn't help it, and probably would bring that up to Sean until the end of days.

-You wait, he's a fighter... – Sean trying to save his reputation was a terrible thing to hear – Okay...no, that's not... there... no...

Sean didn't seem very comfortable.

-Guide me in here a bit, will ya? – he said.

-Jesus! – Karen said, irritated.

-That's the ugliest thing I have ever heard. And I heard a lot in my life – Micah said – That woman is a true fighter. Brave Karen.

-Oh yes! – Sean said.

-Finally – you said.

-You're a lovely woman – Sean said, gasping – Oh – his voice trembled a little – yes! Oh yes, that's it!

-Stop pulling that face! – said Karen.

-He's a virgin – you said – must be.

-And you would know that, don't you baby doll? – Micah said.

You shrugged again. Sean was gasping, and Karen was not whining of pleasure. You could almost precise his rhythm by his sounds.

-Yes! – Sean said – Ohoohoh Miss Jones!

-Will you shut up? – said Karen.

-Are you close? – Sean asked.

-Nowhere near! – Karen said, uncomfortable and irritated.

-Oh! – Sean screamed.

-That's a record alright – said Micah.

-Ohh – Sean's voice was trembling – There she blows! Phew... it's like all worries have floated away... Hey, where are you going?

-She must have sobered up already – you said.

-We're done, ain't we? – she said, bored and tired.

-We certainly are, darling. – Sean said, his laugh somewhere between nervousness and tiredness, but nowhere near the fact that she was completely unsatisfied.

When she left the tent, she didn't even look around, so you were not sure if she was completely aware that you and Micah were there. Sean, however, spotted Micah first of all. Sean was a messy mixture of shame and confidence, and soon as he found out that Micah had heard the whole thing, he gave him gis back and made his walk of shame towards his bedroll.

-That was disturbing – you said.

-See? You should be grateful for what I give you – Micah said.

-Yeah, what about you be grateful for what I put up with you? – you said.

-I knew it! You are all sour because I didn't say anything.

-You wish – you got up, stretching yourself – What about you pestering me about it? All I see is you trying to convince me that I want anything with you, why don't you admit that you are a pussy that's afraid to like it too much?

-Oh, you want me to admit? – he said, walking around the table, coming in your direction – You coming too sassy for my taste.

-Your loss – you said.

He sighed deeply again, his nostrils opening like the ones of an angry bull.

-Don't you think I could just take you here, now? You can't stop me.

-And that would be rape. You don't scare me. Besides, what rape would prove? That you can't satisfy a woman so you must take her by force? Thought you had some pride.

He was so close that you could feel his breathing against your skin.

-Okay. You want me to say it? I will say it.

-I don't want you to lie to me. Or else, what's the point – you said.

-Cards on the table doll. Who's holding what.

You looked deep in his blue eyes, blue as the summer sky. He held you close, against him, your breasts crushed against his chest.

-I want you – he said - Is that what you wanted to hear?

-I don't know, keep trying...

-Don't test me baby doll, you wouldn't like it

-Wanna bet? – you whispered.

He held your dark hair in his hand, pushing backwards and making you face him. He was almost two heads taller than you, and you enjoyed how big he was near you. Then he kissed you, his lips were rough against yours, but you molded yourself to him, to his strength. His kiss kept getting deeper, more thirsty and demanding.

At some point, you had to fight to back off a little so you could breathe.

-Satisfying you enough?

-Shut up and kiss me, now! – you said, holding his face, bringing his lips closer to yours.

He smiled, but there was nothing funny about it.

-I will just give you a treat tonight, you have been a very bad girl, you don't deserve...

-Shut up Micah – you said, pushing him against the table – We will fuck!

He wasn't all comfortable with that. Seemed confused, yet interested.

-What's now, gonna use me? – he said.

You didn't say, just pressed him, and started opening his shirt, passing your hands against his chest.

-This way they will see it all – he said, mocking you – Let me help you a little – he held you and walked to the other side of the table, putting your back to his chest – now all they is gonna see is my back.

You looked to the wagon, your heart racing, trying to see if someone was awake. He lifted your skirt.

-No undergarments? – he laughed – You was expecting this, wasn't you?

-One may never know – you said.

He put his cock out, rubbing it. You started to rub yourself against him.

-Oh yes, you was waiting for it all day, waiting for me – he said.

You held his thighs, over his pants.

-Just as much as you. – you said.

-Then, you were waiting big time – and he shoved himself in you.

You screeched, but he quickly held your mouth. You could hear Sean singing near the fire.

-No sound, or you want them to notice us? – he whispered – I will release you, but only if you promise to be a good little slut to me.

You shook your head. He released you and started pounding hard inside you, you could feel him hitting deep, and you bit your lips, so you wouldn't scream. You enjoyed how he stretched you, and made your cunt ache, no mercy, only pleasure. He held you by your neck with one hand, the other holding your hip so you wouldn't break apart not even a few inches from him. But even if he didn't hold you, you still would hammer yourself against him, guessing his movements.

-Ain't you an obedient one, huh? You love some good cock fucking you, don't you? – he whispered.

-Yes – you whispered.

-I said don't make a sound – and he scratched your thigh, ugh – You only answer when I say you can.

You shook your head.

-Huh, your cunt is hungry tonight, what is it that you doing? – he asked, really low – You speak now.

-I learned it a long time ago...

-It's like you're giving me a blow with your cunt – and he gasped.

And he pushed your back, making you bend for him, touching the ground with your hands, then he pounded harder, and you couldn't catch your breath – he was touching every inch inside of you, all the right spots, and the way your cunt ached only increased the sensation, it was too quick and too strong... too much... You cried trying to keep it quiet.

-Already? You just can't have enough, can you?

Micah got down in his knees, pushing your head against the ground now, you two hidden behind the table. He kept pushing you further.

-You fucked better alone, was that it? – he said, and thrust himself inside you with anger – better than this?

And he made you close your legs, making you really tight and difficult.

-Tell me, you fucking cum-hole, better than this?

-No... – you moaned really low, barely breath leaving your mouth.

-You bet – he whispered in your ear.

And he fucked you into another orgasm, just to prove a point. What was the point? That he was good. He came in your thighs. Micah got up, closing his pants and looking around, trying to notice if someone had seen you both. Luckily, the ones that were still awake were too drunk to even notice.

[buzzdixonwriter]

America: Not The New Jerusalem, Merely Another Rome

”When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” -- Paul the Apostle (1 Corinthians 13:11 KJV)

”And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.” -- Jesus Christ of Nazareth (John 8:34 KJV)

Ronald Reagan, tending the garden of thorns Dick Nixon had sown, referred to America as “a city on a hill”, thus appropriating Jesus’ words via John Winthrop through John F. Kennedy.

It’s interesting to chart the progression.  Let’s do so in reverse.

Reagan: ”I've spoken of the shining city all my political life, but I don't know if I ever quite communicated what I saw when I said it. But in my mind it was a tall, proud city built on rocks stronger than oceans, wind-swept, God-blessed, and teeming with people of all kinds living in harmony and peace; a city with free ports that hummed with commerce and creativity. And if there had to be city walls, the walls had doors and the doors were open to anyone with the will and the heart to get here. That's how I saw it, and see it still.”

Kennedy: ”I have been guided by the standard John Winthrop set before…’We must always consider…that we shall be as a city upon a hill—the eyes of all people are upon us’. Today the eyes of all people are truly upon us—and our governments, in every branch, at every level, national, state and local, must be as a city upon a hill—constructed and inhabited by men aware of their great trust and their great responsibilities…History will not judge our endeavors—and a government cannot be selected—merely on the basis of color or creed or even party affiliation. Neither will competence and loyalty and stature, while essential to the utmost, suffice in times such as these. For of those to whom much is given, much is required…”

Winthrop: ”Now the only way to…provide for our posterity is to follow the counsel of Micah, to do justly, to love mercy, to walk humbly with our God, for this end, we must be knit together in this work as one man, we must entertain each other in brotherly affection, we must be willing to abridge ourselves of our superfluities, for the supply of others’ necessities, we must uphold a familiar commerce together in all meekness, gentleness, patience and liberality, we must delight in each other, make others’ conditions our own, rejoice together, mourn together, labor, and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, our community as members of the same body, so shall we keep the unity of the spirit in the bond of peace… for we must consider that we shall be as a City upon a Hill, the eyes of all people are upon us; so that if we shall deal falsely with our God in this work we have undertaken and so cause Him to withdraw His present help from us, we shall be made a story and a byword through the world, we shall open the mouths of enemies to speak…curses upon us till we be consumed out of the good land whether we are going”

Jesus: ”Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on an hill cannot be hid.” (Matthew 5:14 KJV) 

Go back and read Reagan’s statement.

While I’ve trimmed Kennedy and Winthrop’s quotes and edited the latter for clarity (God bless Noah Webster for standardized spelling!), there’s a striking difference between what they saw as a city on a hill and what Reagan saw.

Reagan operates under the presumption that of course we’re the best, of course everyone else will look up to us, of course we are the New Jerusalem referenced in the Bible.

We are God’s anointed, His new chosen people.  America is God’s Promised Land, a nation to which all other nations can merely hope to aspire to be.

Our shitte truly stinketh notte.

Reality?   We have fucked up and we have fucked up badly.

Compare Reagan’s self-congratulatory, ignorant nostalgia with the dire warnings of Kenney and Winthrop.

Yes, there is great promise.

Yes, there is great potential.

Yes, we are a city on a hill.

But Kennedy and Winthrop both cautioned that history and the world would not be kind if we failed to live up to our own grandiose promises.

 (And, yeah, there’s irony in that, considering how both failed to make good on those promises, ///but at least they knew the danger was there///.)

Look at Matthew 5:13, the verse immediately preceding Jesus’ original “city on a hill” reference: ”Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost his savour, wherewith shall it be salted? it is thenceforth good for nothing, but to be cast out, and to be trodden under foot of men.”

America is no New Jerusalem, no Holy Israel of the New World, no Promised Land.

Rather, we are the New Rome, an empire built on greed and ruthlessness and blood and genocide.

And slavery.  Let us never omit that original sin, or its bastard step-sibling, white supremacy.

As long as the history of this nation was written by the Parson Weems of the world, be they well meaning hagiographers or unprincipled propagandists, it was the history of white Christianist* men of property succeeding because God and / or providence had deemed them the masters of the universe, the unquestioned rulers of the earth.

(Oh, there might be a mean one once in a while, maybe an occasional bad one, but it was a white man with money’s world, and if non-whites and non-males wanted to enjoy even the slightest taste, the first thing they had to doo was make sure white Christianist male supremacy reigned supreme.)

Our nation has been at war virtually its entire existence.

It has slaughter and subjugated literally millions of people around the world.

Don’t give me that bullshit about the American Revolution being a good and just war -- Canada stayed under British rule and did just fine, thank you, and although they have their own problems, a far less bloody history than the United States.**

Don’t give me that bullshit about the Civil War being a good and just war -- there shouldn’t have been any need for a civil war if the first shipload of African slaves to arrive in North America had simply been seized and freed.

Don’t give me that bullshit on World War Two being a good and just war -- if Hitler hadn’t declared war on us, we would have never gotten involved in Europe.***

America has waged incessant war against other nations and native peoples in order to make a few wealthy people even wealthier.

Can we justify the War of 1812?  No.

Can we Justify the Mexican War?  No.

Can we justify the Spanish-American War or the too numerous to recount Latin American bush wars?  No.

Can we justify the Philippines, or Korea, or Vietnam?

Don’t even pretend we can justify what we’ve done in the Middle East.

And as terrible as those are, those are the crimes we’ve committed against others.

Look at how terribly we treat one another.

After centuries of enslavement, African-Americans then needed to endure the humiliation of segregation.

Hispanic Americans who can trace their ancestry in this land much further back than any Anglo found themselves aliens in their own country.

Women and non-Christians and anybody outside of toxic white male heterosexual norms declared unfit and excluded from the public sphere.

And we allowed the tiny greedy few at the very top to rob us and pick our pockets and let our families and children suffer because they promised us if we did so, they’d let us feel that we were the best simply because we were white Christianist males.

We are long overdue for our moment of clarity, our agonizing reappraisal, out “come to Jesus” moment when we recognize our sins and shortcomings.

We gotta stop eating our own bullshit and recognize ourselves for the villains we are.

Only by identify the source of the contagion and draining the virulent infection can we hope to cure it.

”Ye are of your father the devil, and the lusts of your father ye will do. He was a murderer from the beginning, and abode not in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he speaketh a lie, he speaketh of his own: for he is a liar, and the father of it.

”And because I tell you the truth, ye believe me not.” -- Jesus Christ of Nazareth (John 8:44-45 KJV) 

 © Buzz Dixon

 *  “Christianist” is a term coined by the political commentator Andrew Sullivan to refer to those people who are culturally Christian, who may even think of themselves as Christian, but in reality are as far from the teachings of Christ as is possible and just use their so-called Christian identity as an excuse to do whatever the fuck they feel like doing because “God loves us and forgives us and wants us to be in charge”.

**  The taxation in “no taxation without representation” referred to England trying to get the colonies to take at least partial responsibility for triggering the bloody Seven Years War (in the U.S., the French & Indian War) that virtually drained England’s treasury and wrecked a couple of European empires in the process.  One may argue the crown made a fatal misstep in not allowing token colonial participation in parliament, but you can’t say they were unfair in wanting the colonials to help pay for a war ///we started/// in direct violation of international treaties.

***  Not only were many prominent Americans against getting involved in European affairs, but a large number were pro-Nazi to boot, and they went to ground only when Hitler made it impossible to defend him any longer. And while we’re at it, let’s dispel with the myth that Hitler and the Axis would have won if the U.S. hadn’t stepped into the fray; Hitler lost WWII on June 22, 1941 when he invaded Russia. Contrary to the popular culture of the US and western Europe, it was Russia that took on the brunt of the German war machine, and Russia that painstakingly ground them down at great cost. To put it simply, Russia would have still beaten Germany without the help of the Allies; the Allies might not have beaten Germany without the help of the Russians.  And while Japan was reeling from saturation bombings and the destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Russia declaring war on them was the moment they realized there was no hope left.

[cowboisadness]

Hang ‘Em High {Arthur Morgan x F!OC} Chapter 17

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC

Summery: Belle Hawthorne is high society looking to escape her mean husband. A robbery by the Van Der Linde gang could be her chance. Can she escape his cluches and possibly discover what love should feel like?

Warnings: Swearing. It’s that mission y’all.

.....

Chapter 17

Despite the warm and comforting words from the girls, I couldn’t bring myself to speak with him. A part of me wanted him to approach me first seeing as he was the one that kissed me even if we were both thinking it. But that wasn’t going to happen it seemed, given that he hasn’t even so much as looked in my direction the last few days.

Playing dominoes with Hosea was a welcome distraction and a grand change from the mundane chores. He asked me to share a few more stories from my childhood and younger days. He was always pleasantly surprised that despite growing up with more wealth than most and taking part in yearly spring and summer balls with everything that came with that lifestyle I was still a farmers daughter. Getting my hands dirty, not shying from a fight with the neighbouring farms’ boys and my girlfriends and I discussing such vulgar topics that would make any old dame practically recoil in disgust and disappointment. Young women had the same impure thoughts and desires just as much as men, we just had to keep that fact a secret. Sneaking out of our homes in the dead of night to share drinks with the local working girls as they shared stories of the many types of men and even women that paid for their company. Answering any questions we may have and even a few tips that would have us blushing. Hosea was winning, two rounds to him and one to me. I guess he could tell something happened after leaving me and Arthur to walk back to camp. He didn't ask, he didn’t need to.

As we sat, Dutch passed us calling out to those standing around his tent nearby. 

“You tell him, fat man” Micah called out to Pearson as they all congregated.

“It’s peace, Dutch. The O’Driscolls. I mean, I think there’s a way.” Pearson replied, ignoring Micah’s insult. 

This had both Hosea and I’s attention, both of us halting our game to listen in from the sidelines. Pearson continued, how he met a few O’Driscolls on the road and something about being a cornered Tiger when in a fight. Pearson couldn’t even win against a pot of meat and potatoes nevermind a group of rival gang members. He said they are willing to come to some sort of agreement, a parley...yeah right, like that would happen. Hosea seemed to have the same idea, “They want a parley?” He intervened, turning in his chair to give them his full attention. “It’s a trap.”

“Well of course, it’s probably a trap but what have we got to lose finding out.” Micah said, turning back to Dutch and stepping closer to him.

“Get shot.” It was Arthur's turn to air his views on the situation

“We ain’t getting shot because you’ll be protecting us. It’s a trap, you shoot the lot of them. If it ain’t a trap, that slim chance…” Micah put his hands in the air, trying to get them to listen to his sound reasoning no doubt. 

Dutch pushed past them, making his way over to where we were seated, “I don’t see the point in any of this.” The others followed behind before coming to stop around us. Dutch leaned on Hosea for his reasoning but Micah wouldn’t let up in trying to persuade him to seek peace. It didn't sit right with me, Micah enjoyed a good fight so I didn't understand why he wanted this feud to end. And as much as I wanted the O’Driscolls to be a distant memory after what they had done to me I could only see this as hopeless.

“It’s a chance we gotta take.” 

“I killed Colm’s bother, long time ago…” Dutch started, hesitating to continue, pain etched upon his face like he was trying to keep emotions at bay. “Then he killed...a woman I loved dear.” 

It was quiet around the table at that, Hosea standing so I did too regardless of me not needing to be part of this. But I needed to see if Micah could convince Dutch. The former leaned into the table “As you say, it's a long time ago, Dutch.” His voice was low and each word spoken slowly. Everyone looked to Dutch, but he had a faraway look to him, contemplating. And it didn't take long for him to make up his mind. With a slight nod and his brows furrowed he spoke.

“Let’s go. You and me, with Arthur protecting us no one else.” He stated as he walked off

Minutes ago it was the stupidest idea he heard with no doubt it would be a trap, but now, after only a few carefully selected words from Micah it seemed like he believed there could be a chance even after their history and burning hatred for each other. 

I looked at Hosea, I could tell he didn't feel hopeful about this, then I turned to Dutch, speaking without thinking. 

“I’ll come too.”

“No, just the three of us.”

“I want to make sure it's done either way,” I stepped closer to Dutch “After what they did to me...what they were planning on doing.” Before Dutch could speak Arthur appeared beside us, acknowledging me for the first time in days. “Not ‘appening. You’re staying here.”

“But - “

“I said no.” He scolded as he looked down at me with anger bubbling up in his eyes, just waiting for me to retaliate. I clenched my fists at my side, wanting to stand my corner but I knew it would be fruitless. What he says goes, it doesn’t matter what I want. 

Giving him one last look I huffed in irritation at being refused and scolded like a child. Pushing past Arthur to be anywhere else. 

I didn’t watch them as they left.

…..

It wasn't long until the thundering of hooves could be heard coming into camp. Helping to prepare the stew with Pearson in silence as we both awaited their return. 

Two horses came back with their riders. Both of them looking furious as they made their way to the main tent with speed. 

Hosea and Pearson made their way over, all of us realising it didn't go well. What a surprise. I followed behind them, but not before looking out to the direction they came in waiting for the third rider. No sight or beating hooves to be heard. 

“It was a goddamn trap!” I heard Dutch bellow, sat upon a chair in his tent, cigar in hand. Micah was hovering around him as usual, trying to calm the man. Hosea telling them he told them so. All of them arguing while Pearson couldn’t stop apologising from the sidelines, not being heard over the others voices. The volume and tone began to attract others, stopping whatever they were doing to watch and listen. 

During all this, I didn’t realise my feet took me to the centre of it all until I was there before them. 

“Where's Arthur?” 

Neither of them knew. He was set up as a lookout and after the meeting with Colm gave way to nothing but he failed to meet them at the agreed-upon spot. Micah said they couldn’t wait around in case any of them were hanging around to ambush them. So they left. They made no effort to check. 

I just looked at them, dumbfounded. 

“He's a big lad, he can handle himself. He will be fine.” Micah lectured, taking the few steps needed to stand in front of me. Uncomfortably close, his hands on his gun belt and a mocking tone as he spoke. I turned away from him, looking beyond the horses like he was to show up any second. But this didn't feel right. If they had a plan he would stick to it. Turning back the men diverted their attention away from me, expecting me to take it as my dismissal. 

“Are you not going to look for him? What if something happened?” 

It was Dutch’s turn to address me, standing to loom over me. “He’s fine. Probably taking a long route making sure he’s not followed here.”

“But you -”

“Enough. I’ve got more important things to deal with at present.” He turned his back to me

“More important? What the fuck are -” I strode over to follow. Anger present in my voice as I hissed out every word in disbelief. But I didn't get far, a hand gripping onto my arm and pulling me back. Turning to see Abigail. I didn’t even know she was nearby. 

Her grip holding steady as she pulled me further away from the tent. I could hear Dutch and Micah speaking again but I was too irate at this point to listen. 

She didn't speak, she just took me to my tent and waited for me to sit. Once I did I noticed the others watching. Some of them obviously worried. This didn’t feel right. 

@kashasenpai​ @fallout-cowgirl​

[blustersquall]

I can just picture this beautiful moment at the end of the big fight. Arthur’s laying on the mountain, watching the sunrise, thinking it’s his last. His watches as long as he can, until regret and pain fade away to acceptance and peace, and his eyes start to close. The last thing he sees is a shadowy figure start to approach. Then he wakes up safe in bed because like hell Isabels just gonna stay behind. Because you have to be loyal to what matters.

sorry it took me a while to write this, Nonny. I really loved this idea of yours and wanted to work on it. I don’t think it’s as good as it could be. I think I lost steam, so I apologize for that. But I really love this idea and wanted to write something for it. So I hope you don’t mind.

Yes, this is fix-it fic.

End of game spoilers within. You have been warned!

@ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread @rdr-oc-appreciation

It’s finally over.

All the lies. All the killing. All the pain… it’s done. Finished. 

Every breath was agony. Arthur could hear the pronounced wheeze, how it rattled around his body. His voice was raw, shredded from the running and the violent coughing fits. The taste of blood lingered in his mouth and he could just about hear the sound of gunfire moving further and further away. 

The Pinkertons… going after Dutch? Or Micah? Not John he hoped. Prayed - for the first time in perhaps his whole life, he found himself praying to whatever God existed that John would get away and get out of this life. That he would be safe, reunited with Abigail and Jack and be able to begin his life.

It was strange to think that this would be it. He would die here on the side of this rocky hill. In less than an hour, the scavengers would find his corpse and he would be a meal for the coyotes and vultures. If that was the case, at least he was good for something in the end. 

Sun started to peek up over the distant mountains. Thin threads of gold, orange and pink bleeding into inky blackness. 

He regretted so much, and there had not been enough to time fix everything. He wished he’d seen through Dutch sooner. Seen through the lies and manipulation. Seen the real man Dutch was, and not the man Dutch pretended to be. He regretted the loss of so many good people to Dutch’s schemes and greed. Jenny, the Callender boys, Sean, Lenny, Hosea… God, he regretted Hosea’s death most of all. Regretted not spending more time with him. Not ever letting him know how much he valued him as a friend and father figure. 

Had Hosea known what deep admiration Arthur held for him? He hoped so. 

Dwelling on the regret wouldn’t change anything now. Hosea and the others were resting. They were at peace and soon Arthur hoped to join them. To welcome at soothing numbness and give in to it’s enticing embrace. 

He had thought he would fear this… the inevitability. That when the time came, he would be afraid of what lay beyond when he closed his eyes for the final time, and when his heart ceased to beat. There was no fear though. There was something else. Acceptance? 

He accepted that this was the end for him. This was going to be it. He lived a bad life. Did terrible things. But he tried… in the end, he did. 

Had he succeeded in making up for past transgressions? Arthur doubted it. He would need two lifetimes to make up for all the pain and misery he caused. But he tried, and that mattered.

And he had touched other lives. Met and loved good people, too. Hosea. Tilly and Mary-Beth. Susan Grimshaw, the stern mother figure to everyone who deserved a more peaceful end than the one she got. Mrs Adler, a braver woman he had never known, nor one quite so ferocious. Reliable and noble Charles Smith. He enjoyed laughter with Karen, even thought on Uncle with fondness. He saw in Jack the son he lost. Saw in what John and Abigail had the life he could have had, once. 

He had loved. Not once, but twice. 

Mary. That first blush of love. That young true love that never went away, no matter how much time passed or what happened between them. That love was always there. He hoped she would be happy. That she would find a new life and a husband who could give her everything Arthur could not. 

Isabel. His new love. A love that barely got a chance to bloom into what it truly could have been. He loved her in a way that could never compare to the way he loved Mary. Isabel was a match to him. A piece to him he never knew was missing. She helped him see he could be more than what he was. Helped him realise the truth of who he could be. That he was more than what Dutch would have had him be. 

He imagined her back at the cabin. Hunting, tidying, making it a home for them… A home he would never see. He prayed she would not hate him for not coming back to her. Prayed she would forgive him for dying. She must have known he didn’t want to. 

His eyes were growing heavy. The threads of sunrise were more beams now, forcing the night sky to recede. The beams shone over Arthur’s face. They warmed him. It was still a sensation is broken body could recognize. He did his best… he knew that, and he could die well, knowing he at least tried. That was enough for him. He could close his eyes and rest now. He could welcome the embrace of silence and rest…

The texture beneath his hands was soft. Not spring grass soft, but soft material. Cotton, or linen? That Arthur could feel anything at all was a surprise. The last thing he remembered was the sun rising, the warmth on his face. He remembered closing his eyes and waiting for oblivion or utopia, whichever he would find.

Now, he was confused. 

The material under his hands. He could move his toes, and his fingers, and his chest was clearer than it had been for months. He could breathe without pain… There was still a wheeze, but breathing came easier now. He sharpened his other senses before daring to open his eyes. 

Smell. He could smell herbs. Ginseng and yarrow, and something else he couldn’t place. And he could smell steam. And logs. Logs burning on a fire.

Fire! He could hear the crackling of one not far away. The song of a bird somewhere never sounded quite as beautiful as it did at that moment. He wasn’t alone, either. Under the sound of the logs and the birdsong was movement. Feet. Booted feet scuffing the ground. 

Arthur began to open his eyes, afraid to do so. Afraid that if he did, all the familiar sounds and smells would disappear and he would be faced with a fiery pit. 

The world around him remained in tact. He stared up at a log cabin ceiling. Beside him was a small table, with a pestle and mortar on it. That was where the smell of herbs was coming from. The fabric around him was a blanket. Soft and warm and familiar…

This didn’t make sense. Where was he? Why was he still alive? How was he still alive?!

Arthur tried to sit up, but his body refused to obey his commands. He groaned when his chest tightened, and he began to cough. Arthur quickly covered his mouth determined to catch any blood as he sputtered. The wheeze was there, but less pronounced. No blood stained his tongue or his hand when he moved it away. There was nothing.

Distracted by his coughing, Arthur did not notice another body join him until he opened his eyes when the fit subsided. Sitting on the edge of the bed was a woman he recognized, but was puzzled to see.

“… Am I dead?” asked Arthur, his voice rasping from lack of use.

“Not yet.” Isabel replied with a small smile. “Though you certainly came close.” She came towards him and assisted him in sitting up. She positioned some pillows behind him to support his back. “You didn’t seriously think I’d let you go off alone, did you?”

Arthur opened and closed his mouth several times, willing words to come out, but unable to find them. Isabel reached down to the floor and retrieved a plain metal cup and a jug of water. After pouring a drink, she mixed in some of whatever was in the pestle and handed it to Arthur. 

“Drink up, it’ll help.” 

Arthur did as she said. The water was warm, and the herbs only added a hint of flavor as he downed the cup in a few gulps. His throat felt better for it, but it did little to quell his confusion.

“I don’t understand.”

“I gave you half a day head start.” Isabel explained, holding the jug between her hands. “I went up to Beaver Hollow. I hid out, waitin’ for you to return with the others. When the Pinkertons arrived, I stayed hid…” She looked down at the floor, “I heard everythin’ in that confrontation with Dutch and Micah. I never liked Micah, but to think he’d rat to Milton…”

“I don’t wanna think about that.”

Isabel leaned forward and curled Arthur’s hair behind his ear, before cradling his cheek in the palm of her hand. Arthur barely contained a gasp to feel her physically. He was sure this was just a fantasy as he died, a lie, conjured by his mind. He gripped her hand. She was real. Physical and real and there in front of him. 

“I saw you escapin’ with John. Saw you tryin’ to hold of the Pinkertons… Saw Micah. The exchange with him, an’ Dutch.” Her voice hitched, and Arthur could hear a quiver in her breathing. “I wanted to step in, I did. But–”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” Mustering what little strength he had, Arthur moved as close to Isabel as he could and nuzzled her forehead. “I wouldda never forgiven m’self if somethin’ happened t’you.”

“I ain’t never lettin’ you outta my sight again, Mr Morgan.” The smile he heard in Isabel’s voice was enough, but he saw the relief the one on her lips contained. “I met Charles up at Beaver Hollow after… everything. He helped me get you back here to Hamish’s cabin. An’ Rains Fall gave me some herbs and tonics t’help with your tuberculosis. It ain’t a cure, but he said it’ll help the cough and slow the symptoms. We’ll need t’get you somewhere warm and dry to really try an’ fight it, but… it’s a start.”

“A damn miracle.” Arthur chuffed. 

“Was touch an’ go for a while there,” Isabel retreated from him, sitting straight. “You been out for a week or more. I been feedin’ you broth. Talkin’ to you… I was worried you wasn’t going to wake up.”

“I didn’t…” Arthur stopped. “It don’t matter now. I am awake. An’ alive.”

“Yeah,” Isabel nodded, “you is.” 

They looked at each other from across the small distance between them. The spark that had always been there crackled, and Arthur wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and express how grateful he was with words and actions. He was too weak to move though, he knew that. Too weak and bruised to do much more than sit. 

“You got a lot of healin’ t’do now.” Isabel informed him. “I’ll be on you like a rash if you try an’ push yourself, Arthur Morgan.” She got to her feet and ran her fingers back through his hair, “it’ll take time. First thing we’ll do when you’re strong enough is get you bathed… and do somethin’ about that beard.”

“What am I meant t’do in the mean time?” asked Arthur, kissing the heel of Isabel’s hand before she was too far away from him. 

With a small knowing smile, and without answering him, Isabel went from the bedroom area of the cabin and around the corner. Arthur waited a few moments until she returned. She carried a leather bound book in her hands, pens, and pencils. 

“You didn’t have your satchel on you when I found you.” Isabel said, handing the items to Arthur. “So, I asked Charles to get a new journal and some things for you, on my behalf.”

Arthur flicked through the blank pages of the book. They were crisp white, pristine, and perfect. Not a mark, or a blemish. Not a single imperfection. 

“Thought it might be nice for you t’have a fresh start.”

Putting the journal down in his lap, Arthur nodded his head smiling a little up at Isabel. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

So yeah. Arthur still has TB, but now he’s not running around trying to fix everything, he can actually take time to try and fight it and build up his strength. And nice new journal, metaphorical new start, yay!? metaphors!

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 19

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

From Arthur’s POV

THE NEXT MORNING

SHADY BELLE, INSIDE THE MANSION

Slidin’ the rag up and down my rifle, I made sure all my weapons were ready to go while Eddie gathered his own gear, both of us preparing for the robbery.

Dutch still seemed confident in the plan that he and Micah created, and no one else had protested the scheme yet, but Hosea and I...well...we wasn’t so sure.

I mean, robbin’ a national bank was risky enough, considering how heavy the security was -- but starting another robbery on the other side of town just to distract the law for a few minutes...it felt like suicide. I knew Dutch thought he was buyin’ us some time -- and that we’d be in and out within minutes -- but to me, this plan just seemed like it was gonna end up painting an even bigger target on our backs. And that was the last thing we needed right now.

Ah, well...it was clear to me that there weren’t no use in tryin’ to convince Dutch. For whatever foolish reason, he appeared to be taking Micah’s advice to heart recently, and I knew better than to go in circles with the old man.

I was just worried about what we’d do if things didn’t go accordin’ to plan today. Not only would our gang be split up, we would’ve also attracted the law to both sides of the city, makin’ it much easier for them to corner us.

I just hoped I’d be able to keep Eddie safe. That boy was about to throw himself into one of the most dangerous heists we’d pulled off since Blackwater, and I was gonna do everything I possibly could to ensure he’d get back out.

The money may’ve been Dutch’s main concern today, but the pianist was mine.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” I asked Eddie, earning a hesitant sigh from the boy.

“...Well, I’m not too fond of the idea of robbing people,” he admitted, “but if Dutch is willing to let me stay in his camp, then the least I can do is help the gang earn some money.”

I slipped my revolvers into my holsters, shrugging in response. “If you’re sure. It’s just...there’s a whole lot that could go wrong with this plan, and I wanna make sure you ain’t caught in the worst of it if it does.”

Eddie walked up to me and began straightening my suit, adjustin’ my tie while he spoke.

“I’ll be okay,” he reassured. “I have you by my side, don’t I?”

I smiled at him. “Always.”

The boy let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling in a reminiscent manner as he tidied me up.

“You know, Arthur...when we first met, I never imagined I’d be robbing a bank with you one day. Hell, I didn’t imagine any of this. But...despite the struggles we may face, and the many things we’ve fought through to get here, I just want to let you know -- I’m glad to have you with me.”

I beamed at the compliment and retrieved my bandana, tyin’ the accessory around my neck.

“The feeling’s mutual. You happy you joined the gang though? I know these people ain’t exactly your typical civilians, but they’re alright. ...Most of ‘em.”

The pianist nodded. “I am. Miss Grimshaw introduced me to Tilly and Karen yesterday. I had quite a lengthy talk with them, actually. And Mary-Beth as well. She told me she wants to be an author someday. I never expected there to be so many artists in the gang...but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Considering who the leader is.”

I quirked a brow. “You see Dutch as an artist?”

“Perhaps not an artist himself, but he certainly appreciates it. He’s always reading that Evelyn Miller, and the way he speaks to the gang is quite poetic most of the time. Makes me think Dutch is a romantic. Much like yourself.”

“...Heh, I guess he is,” I replied, decidin’ to change the subject. “So...you’ve met the women in camp. You met any of the men yet?”

Eddie thought for a moment. “Well, Micah’s approached me a few times.”

I chortled at that. “I said men, not snakes.”

The musician returned the laugh. “I’ve spoken with Micah, Hosea, John, Dutch...and Bill is surprisingly interested in my work as a pianist.”

I paused. “Really? Huh. Never pegged him for the...musical type. But I guess we all got our secrets. It’s good to hear the gang’s welcoming you though. I honestly weren’t expectin’ Dutch to let you in in the first place. He’s been...skeptical of newcomers recently.”

“I don’t blame him,” Eddie said. “Sounds like you guys have had it rough for a while now. Hopefully, today’s robbery turns that around.”

I gave him an assuring nod. “That’s the plan.”

Interrupting our conversation before we could talk further, Dutch suddenly strolled into the mansion with an assertive kick of the door as the rest of the gang followed him inside, all of them geared up and ready to go.

Everyone was dressed in opulent clothing and had either a bandana or a mask hangin’ around their neck to hide their identity, and the more the image of Micah wearin’ a tight suit ingrained itself into my brain, the more I felt the urge to back outta this heist.

An ecstatic grin radiated on Dutch’s face.

“Gentlemen!” he proudly announced, glancing around the room. “It’s time. The Lemoyne National Bank has waited for long enough, but we are finally ready to hit it. Is everyone clear on the plan?”

There was a confirming silence.

“Good. Then let me explain who’s doin’ what.”

Dutch pointed out a few of the gang members.

“Hosea, Javier, John, and Charles -- the four of you will be in charge of distractin’ the law. Go to the trolley station, and make some noise. Start a robbery. Do whatever it takes to attract the law there, and try to keep them there for as long as possible. We shouldn’t need too long, but you never know what could happen.”

He turned to everyone else, givin’ each of us specific tasks.

“The rest o’ you,” Dutch addressed, “are with me. We’ll wait until they have the law’s attention, and then we are hittin’ that bank hard. Sadie and Lenny, I want you two to keep watch. Let us know the minute you see any lawmen, and we’ll focus on gettin’ the money.”

“Bill and Micah” he continued, “you just make sure everyone in that bank behaves themselves and stays in place. I don’t want no trouble from the security or the civilians -- we got enough to worry about as is.”

Dutch brought his attention to me.

“Arthur, your job is to get that vault open. But avoid using dynamite. We don’t wanna raise the alarm before we’ve even got the money. And as for you, Eddie, you can help Mister Morgan crack the safes. Make the process a little faster. In case things go wrong today though, we need an escape route outta the city. Now, you know Saint Denis better than any of us...so what d’you think is the best way out?”

Before Eddie could reply, Micah jumped in and offered his own idea, cuttin’ the boy off.

“We could take the back alleys.” He proposed.

The pianist rejected the recommendation.

“No,” he responded. “The alleyways are too narrow for all of us. If we go in there, the law will cage us in within seconds.”

Dutch considered the advice. “Then what do you suggest?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment. “...Ironically, the best way out of the city would probably be through the more populated streets. If we can put enough civilians between us and the law, we’ll slow them down drastically. Not to mention there are also trams and stagecoaches going around all the time, adding even more obstacles for them to maneuver around.”

The other man slowly nodded in approval. “Makes sense.”

“We have to move fast though,” Eddie warned. “If we aren’t careful, we could be trapped in the crowd, too.”

“Sounds good,” Dutch agreed. “Well, alright then. I’d say we’re good to go.” He addressed the rest of the gang. “Everyone! ...Are we ready?”

I picked up my shotgun, slingin’ it over my shoulder.

“Ready as we’ll ever be, Dutch.”

The man smiled excitedly, his expression glowing with a passion for larceny as that ever so familiar spark returned to his dark eyes.

“...Then let’s empty this goddamn bank.”

A WHILE LATER

LEMOYNE NATIONAL BANK

Blowing their whistles while they bolted across the packed city, a group of lawmen came rushing past us as we hid in a nearby alleyway, waitin’ for our opportunity to strike.

At the moment, it didn’t seem like anyone had caught onto our plan, and with most of the law hurrying over to deal with our distraction, we had roughly about ten minutes to get in, get everythin’ we could, and get the hell out. Jesus, I really hoped this plan worked.

Just by standin’ next to the bank, I could already hear a large amount of muffled voices comin’ from the inside, and the fact that we was doing this in broad daylight didn’t exactly help to ease my nerves.

We were out in the open, and the law would be back on our asses at any minute.

We had to move. Now.

“Alright, cowboys,” Dutch whispered lowly through his bandana, “this is it. You all know what to do. Be quick, and be thorough. Let’s get this done!”

Marching out of our hidin’ spot, Dutch stormed his way to the bank’s entrance as the rest of us followed him, constantly checking over our shoulders to make sure no one was tailing us.

There were civilians strollin’ around all over the place, and a few of their gazes had fallen onto us already, but so far, no one seemed to have figured out just exactly what we were doing.

Now was our chance to hit.

Swinging the bank’s doors open with a forceful push, Dutch whipped out his revolvers and sauntered inside, immediately catching everyone’s attention as their heads jolted in our direction.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he called out, raising his guns, “this is a robbery!”

Bill instantly bashed the stock of his rifle into a civilian’s head while Micah held the rest at gunpoint, causing all of them to let out a series of panicked shrieks and screams as they stumbled to the floor.

“Stay down!” Micah demanded, bringing everyone to their knees. “Unless you wanna get shot!”

Dutch turned to me, gesturing to the vault’s door. “Mister M, Mister R! Get that vault open!”

I aimed my own gun at the bank manager and grabbed him by the collar, aggressively hurling the man towards the vault as he yelped out of fear.

“You think we’re foolin’ around?” I shouted at him. “Open the goddamn vault!”

“O-Okay! Okay!” He whimpered, throwing his hands in the air. “Just, please! Don’t hurt--!”

I slammed the grip of my revolver into his head. “I ain’t interested! Just get it open! Now!”

Turning the vault’s lock with a trembling hand, the manager hurriedly followed my instructions and put the combo in, both me and Eddie waitin’ by as we frantically glanced around the bank.

Even with a bandana covering half his face, I could still tell Eddie wasn’t happy with me, and he clearly disapproved of this entire heist. I knew he understood why we had to do this, and he showed no signs of backin’ out so far, but unlike the rest of the gang, the pianist still had his morals.

I was just worried about how this would affect his image of me. He always told me I was a better man than I implied, but...after today’s events, I wasn’t so sure he’d think the same way. Lord. What a goddamned mess this was.

Finally opening the vault’s door with a metallic creak, the manager quickly backed away while I got to work and rushed inside, wastin’ no time in cracking the safes.

“I’m openin’ the safes!” I told Eddie. “Would you kindly get the combos outta our friend here?”

The boy whipped the side of his gun into the manager’s head, leavin’ a rather nasty gash. “What’s the combination?!”

A pained shout escaped the manager and he cowered away from Eddie’s firearm, shakily spittin’ out the numbers one by one.

“S-Seventy-two!” he blubbered out, “Fifty-four! T-Twenty-eight!”

The safe practically fell open once I hit the last number, revealing a beautiful stack of cash on the inside. I instantly snatched the money and shoved it into my pouch, movin’ onto the next.

“Got it! Next one!”

While I worked on the rest of the safes, Dutch brought his attention to Lenny and peered outside the bank’s windows, his body gettin’ a little restless due to our limited time.

“Mister S!” He called out. “How’s it looking?”

“So far, so good!” Lenny replied. “But we gotta get this moving!”

Dutch turned to me. “You hear that, Mister M?”

“I’m on it!” I exclaimed back. “Just got a couple safes left! Mister R?”

Eddie cocked his gun at the manager. “Next combo!” He demanded.

The manager let out a quivering breath, horrified for his life. “Thirty! N-Ninety-five! Seventeen!”

Nearly ripping the safe’s door off its hinges, I fumbled through the valuables sittin’ inside and grabbed as much as I could carry, bringing my attention to the third one.

“Next!”

The manager didn’t even give Eddie a chance to hit him again. “Forty-one! E-Eighty-five! Sixty-seven!”

There was even more money in this one than the last -- and like the petty thief I was -- I shoveled the cash into my bag without a second thought, hopping to the adjacent safe...but there was an interruption.

“Gentlemen!” Sadie alerted. “We have a problem! There are lawmen comin’ our way!”

Dutch cursed. “Already? Shit! Mister M, how much you got?”

I glanced inside my pouch. “There must be thousands of dollars in here!”

Despite his reluctance to leave, Dutch took Sadie’s advice and cut the robbery short, urging all of us to evacuate.

“Then that’ll have to do. Everyone! We got what we need! Grab what you can, and let’s get the hell outta here! Mister R, we’ll follow your lead!”

Jogging to the bank’s front doors, Eddie peeked outside and checked our surroundings, lowering his voice slightly.

“Okay, looks like we’ve got a few lawmen surrounding the bank,” he informed. “But we should be able to take them down and stick to the original plan. What do you think?”

Dutch got a good look for himself, patting Eddie on the shoulder.

“I think we’ll be just fine.” He beckoned the rest of us. “Gentlemen! Let’s ride!”

Hurrying out of the vault, I followed Eddie and Dutch through the bank’s exit as the gang hastily took its leave, all of us immediately gunning down the lawmen as soon as we stepped through the front door.

A choir of screams instantly erupted from the civilians surrounding us, all of them scrambling around the streets in panic as we made our way to our horses.

“There they are!” One of the lawmen shouted. “Don’t let ‘em escape!”

Practically leaping onto my horse’s saddle, I mounted up and fired a number of shots at the lawmen chasin’ us before breaking into a sprint, galloping side-by-side with Eddie as we led the gang outta Saint Denis.

“This way!” He instructed, takin’ a sharp turn.

By now, there was folks boltin’ left and right all over the place as we slithered through the thick crowds, causing people to throw themselves out of the way before we could trample over them.

The sounds of gunfire, whistles blaring, civilians hollering, and horses neighing all filled the air along with my own heartbeat as it hammered in my ears, fueling me with an adrenaline like no other.

It didn’t look like the law was gonna let us go quite as easily as we had hoped, but fortunately, they seemed to be fallin’ behind the mayhem just like Eddie said they would, giving us just a few more minutes to escape.

I whipped my reins, urging my horse to pick up the pace.

“Come on!” Eddie encouraged. “We’re almost out!”

Ridin’ through the packed streets, the gang wildly charged its way across the city like the goddamned cavalry as it shot down any lawmen that got too close, leavin’ a trail of smoke and corpses in its wake.

There were stagecoaches and trams rolling all throughout Saint Denis, and we was forced to swerve our way around them as some of the lawmen got stuck behind the convenient obstacles, leading them to lose sight of the gang. Our plan was working.

“Just a little further!” Eddie called out, gesturing to the city’s exit that was comin’ up in the distance. I fired a series of bullets behind me, puttin’ down the lawmen that were tailing us.

“Nearly there, gentlemen!” Dutch announced. “Don’t get tired on me just yet!”

Puttin’ all my energy into the last bit of this escape, I kicked my spurs into the side of my mount, causing her to haul ass towards the bridge that led outta Saint Denis as the lawmen started closing in on us.

At this point, it looked like they had figured out the “robbery” at the trolley station was nothin’ more than a distraction, and the longer we remained in this dreadful city, the more of ‘em there seemed to be.

But we could still make it. We could still take the money.

And I’d be damned if we didn’t.

Racing across the bridge, the gang rode like there was no tomorrow as we approached the other side, only to hear a familiar voice calling out to us from the woods just before we could leave.

It was John.

“Get clear of the bridge y’all!” He shouted. “I’m about to blow it to hell!”

Making ourselves scarce, we all made sure to put a decent amount of distance between us and the bridge just as the law started gaining on us, queuing John to get ready.

With a simple pull of a trigger, Marston suddenly split the bridge in half as he shot the generous amount of dynamite he had placed on the side, sending lawmen flyin’ all over the place due to the thunderous impact.

Dutch let out a hearty laugh at the sight. “Oh, John! You are a genius!”

John mounted his own horse and joined our group, shaking his head. “Actually, it was Hosea’s idea. He figured you’d be comin’ this way. Thought we could help smoothen the ride.”

“And where is he?”

“Back at camp,” Marston replied. “Hosea and the others made it back early.”

Dutch grinned. “Then let’s not keep them waitin’ any longer.” He glanced over his shoulder, lookin’ back at the rest of us.

“Gentlemen! We made it!” A victorious guffaw escaped him.

“We goddamn made it!”

THIRTY MINUTES LATER

SHADY BELLE

Returning to camp like a group of esteemed heroes, Dutch, Eddie, and I hopped off our horses while the rest of the gang settled in, all of us tired but also filled with exhilaration thanks to the pile of cash now sittin’ in our pockets.

The plan admittedly went much better than I first expected, and despite the many fears I had goin’ into this heist, I couldn’t lie: my faith was well-placed this time.

It turned out Dutch actually knew what he was talkin’ about after all, and regardless of any disagreements the gang might’ve had with each other in the past, every single one of us owed Dutch our thanks. We was a whole lot richer now because of that man, and with the newfound wealth we just stole, we had a lotta opportunities waitin’ for us to seize them.

Heh. I guessed there was hope for us yet.

Yanking my bandana off my face, I fed my horse a quick treat and sauntered towards the mansion, only to find an elated Hosea walkin’ up to me.

The old man smiled proudly in my direction and patted me on the shoulder, glancing at the sacks of money now resting in our camp.

“Well done, Arthur,” Hosea praised with a friendly chuckle. “Well done. Dutch said you guys weren’t able to take everything in the bank, but this should still be more than enough.”

I returned the smile, beaming happily at him. “You think we’ll finally be able to leave?”

“Not to another country perhaps,” he answered, “but we should be able to look further beyond the horizon now. Lord knows I’ve had enough of this godforsaken swamp. It’ll be nice to settle down someplace else.”

“Absolutely.” I agreed.

Hosea brought his gaze to Eddie who was currently helping Pearson carry in some of the sacks. “And what about the boy? He make it out alright?”

I let out a sigh. “Yeah, I think so, but...he ain’t happy, Hosea. During the whole robbery, he just had this look of disgust in his eyes. Especially after the way he saw me beat the bank manager. I think he’s feelin’ a bit guilty.”

The old man nodded in understanding. “Eddie’s not used to this life like the rest of us, Arthur. You need to give him time to adjust. Let him adapt to our world. He’ll come around eventually. But I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. Eddie seems happy to be with you. As long as you’re around, he’ll stay strong.”

A question suddenly popped up in my mind.

“Hey, that reminds me, I’ve been meanin’ to ask -- back when we was talking to Dutch about letting Eddie in the gang, you compared him to Annabelle. And Bessie.”

Hosea paused. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is that not the relationship between you two?”

“No, it is,” I corrected. “I was just wondering how you knew. Did Eddie tell you?”

The old man smirked. “Didn’t need to. I, ah...I saw the way you interacted with each other back at that gala. It was a dead giveaway.”

I chuckled, admittedly slightly embarrassed. “...Ah. I see.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Arthur,” Hosea reassured. “I know some of the fellas here have been pokin’ fun at you because of it, but truth be told, people like me, and Dutch, and Susan...we’re just happy to see you’ve finally moved on from Miss Gillis.”

A soft flutter filled my chest, and I bashfully rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, I guess I have.”

“Mary was a sweet girl,” he reminisced, “and the two of you made some wonderful memories during your time as a couple...but that’s all in the past. You and Eddie, on the other hand, have a future together. You have a chance to make something out of it. Though, that won’t happen if you allow him to continue down the path he’s currently on.”

I quirked a brow. “What d’you mean?”

Hosea gave me a sorrowful gaze, taking a moment to gather his thoughts.

“...I know you were stuck in bed this past week, Arthur, but I’ve actually spoken to Eddie quite a bit since he first arrived, and I know about his past. I know Atticus Rose killed his entire family.”

“...Yeah,” I confirmed. “He’s the last one left.”

“And that ain’t easy,” Hosea empathized. “You know that. I know that. Hell, most of the people in this gang know that. But the thing that concerns me the most about Eddie is...he seems adamant to take revenge. He wants to make Atticus pay for what he’s done, and rightfully so. But you and I both know vengeance is a fool’s errand.”

“That it is.”

The old man switched to a more cautionary tone. “Eddie can be of use to us, Arthur. Not only is he a good shot, he’s also smart. We need that. But he needs you to help guide his strength in the right direction. Don’t let his desire for revenge consume him. Show him how to find peace in acceptance, and keep him safe. Can you do that?”

I gave Hosea a sincere look, peering at him from under the shadow cast by my hat.

“I intend to.”

He seemed to approve of that response. “Good. I’ve seen too many folks be killed as a result of their own actions, and I don’t know if I could watch the same thing happen to Eddie. ...But enough of that. I won’t keep you any longer. I’m sure Dutch could use your help, and I’ve got matters of my own to attend to. Take care of yourself, Arthur. Things are getting rough out th--”

Zipping right past me and interrupting our conversation, a bullet suddenly implanted itself into Hosea’s forehead with a sharp bang, causing the man’s blood to splatter onto me as he collapsed to the ground.

“What the--?!” I breathed out, frantically darting my eyes around as Hosea fell into my arms.

I dropped the man out of shock and immediately dove behind one of the camp’s barricades as another bullet came flyin’ my way, causing me to suddenly notice the horde of strangers shootin’ at us from the woods.

“...Sh-Shit!” I cursed, whipping out my guns. “Everyone! Take cover!”

Changing into fight mode, the entire gang instantly dropped what they were doing and began shooting back as they scurried behind whatever cover they could find, all of us forgettin’ about the money we just robbed.

“What the hell is this shit?!” Williamson exclaimed, cocking his rifle. “Who are these people?!”

Javier poked his head out, firing aimlessly into the forest. “Is that the law?”

“No!” I yelled back. “They don’t look like lawmen!”

“Who then? O’Driscolls?”

Dutch jumped in, puttin’ an end to our speculation. “We will figure out who these bastards are later! For now, just shoot them!”

I finally regained a portion of the senses I lost from the initial shock and stared at Hosea’s body, suddenly feelin’ like my blood was boiling once his death sunk in.

“Aw, Hosea...!” I growled through gritted teeth. “They got Hosea, Dutch!”

A dark fire ignited in his eyes.

“Goddammit...!” He whispered, his voice abruptly exploding into a hoarse shout as he began gunning down as many people as he could.

“KILL those sons-of-bitches!”

Aiming directly at my head, one of the men shot the barricade I was hidin’ behind as I ducked outta the way, causing wood and dust to splinter everywhere before I fired straight back at them.

“Eddie!” I shouted over the commotion. “Are you alive?!”

A distant voice answered me.

“I’m right here!” The boy replied.

“Good! Keep it that way!”

Continuing to shoot at our unknown enemy, I desperately fought back with nothin’ but a flimsy wall shielding me and no more than twelve bullets to defend myself as they rained hell upon us, filling my cover with more and more holes.

I was currently in one of the worst positions to be in at the moment, and since I weren’t too far from the camp’s entrance, I had the biggest target painted on my back right now.

I was running low on ammo, and I had no idea how much longer this barricade would hold up. I’d have to move soon if I wanted to stay alive.

“Has anyone seen Jack?!” John exclaimed. “If any of those assholes laid a finger on him, I swear I’ll kill them all!”

Charles fired his shotgun. “Christ...where did they even come from? How many of them are there?!”

“None once we’re done with them!” Dutch replied.

Pulling the trigger on my gun, I shot a few more bullets in their direction and put down a number of men, only to hear an empty click once I reached the end.

Shit! I couldn’t run out of ammo. Not now.

Holstering that revolver, I relied on the few remaining shots in my other one as I hurriedly maneuvered my way around the camp, dodging the oncoming fire and rolling into safety.

By now, there was bullets of all types soaring through the air in about eight different directions as they whistled past my ears, causing me to hear a sharp, ringing noise while I continued to fight.

All around me, I could see nothin’ but corpses that had been shot to hell, dirt and blood flyin’ all over the place due to the impact, gun-smoke clouding the air, and a seemingly endless army of enemies pouring out the woods. It was hell on Earth.

“Arthur!” Eddie called out. “Watch out!”

Glancing to my side, I spotted a sniper not too far away from me and managed to dodge their attack just in time as Eddie put his own bullet in the man’s head, leading his body to jolt backwards.

The pianist ran over to my location once the sniper was down, his hands clinging onto his Schofield for dear life as he slid next to me.

“You okay?” I asked him. Eddie nodded, albeit without confidence.

“For now. Jesus -- how did we not see them coming? There’s so many of them!”

“Just focus on killing ‘em! We’ll sort all this out afterwards!”

Lending me his other revolver, Eddie peeked over the top of the barricade and shot a few men who had gotten too close to the camp, getting back down just as another bullet came bolting in his direction.

The crowd of enemies seemed to be thinning out by now, and as far as I was aware, no one else had gotten killed...but even then, we were in deep shit.

We had just lost one of our best men -- a man who was like a father to me -- and now that Hosea was gone, I had no idea how Dutch was gonna cope with this.

It felt like I had just watched a flame be extinguished, and I doubted it was gonna get any easier from here on out. The gang’s lieutenant was dead, our camp was in ruins, and worst of all, we had no idea who was responsible.

Jesus. What a goddamned mess this was.

Gunning down what appeared to be the last man, Dutch took a moment to observe our surroundings as a deathly silence loomed over us following the end of the fight, our heavy breaths being the only audible sound right now.

We didn’t hear anything else. There were no movements, no footsteps, no gunfire...nothing. Did we make it? Had we truly won...? It certainly didn’t feel like a victory.

Slowly rising from cover, Eddie and I gradually stood up from the ground along with the rest of the gang as we came outta hiding, only to see what had become of our home.

There were countless bodies littering the entire property, the front of the mansion was covered in bullet holes, Hosea lay motionless in a cluster of red grass, and some of our horses had even been killed too. It looked like somethin’ straight out of a nightmare, and I mentally yelled at myself to snap out of it...but I knew this weren’t no dream.

This was reality.

And it was time for us to wake up.

Eddie let out a shaky breath, his eyes widened with shock and despair. “Is...is it over...?”

I stared blankly into the trees, suddenly feelin’ so lost and alone.

“I think so,” I murmured. “I...I dunno.”

Countering our morose mood, Dutch stormed over and took a look at Hosea’s corpse for himself, his jaw clenching in rage and heartbreak once he saw that his brother was indeed gone.

The man appeared more broken than I had ever seen in my life, and the longer he gazed hopelessly around the camp, unsure of what to do with himself...the more I feared some part of Dutch may’ve died with Hosea too. It was clear that somethin’ in him had snapped, and for the first time ever, I weren’t sure if I could mend it.

My God...what the hell was happening?

Before we could mourn any further however, a soft rustle emitted from the woods in front of us, causing everyone to perk their heads up in curiosity.

All our hands were instantly resting on our guns’ grips, and it looked like a group of people was headin’ our way...but we still couldn’t tell who they were. They didn’t wear the uniform of the law, and they didn’t resemble O’Driscolls either. In fact, I had never seen anyone like these fools. ...So just who the hell were they, exactly?

Answering my question, a familiar face suddenly emerged from the shadows, giving me a sense of dread and fear I hadn’t felt in ages.

The stranger was approaching our gang with a child in tow as his friends followed behind -- and the closer they got to our camp’s entrance, the more I started to recognize them.

Oh, shit. This was the last thing we needed.

Rodrick Kingsley gave me a malicious grin as he let out a low chuckle, the barrel of his gun pressed directly against the back of Jack’s head.

“...Remember me, sunshine?”

John instantly flew into a rage at the sight of his son, and he wasted no time in running towards him.

“Jack!”

Rodrick strengthened his hold on the gun, warning Marston to stay back.

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, cowboy.”

John came to an abrupt halt, his eyes nailed onto Jack as the boy called for help.

“Pa...!” The child exclaimed. “I’m...I’m scared!”

“I know, Jack,” Marston comforted. “I know. But it’s gonna be alright. We’re gonna get you back! I won’t let these people hurt you! It’s going to be alright.”

A third, unknown voice stepped in the conversation.

“Enough, Rodrick.”

Calmly approaching the front of the group, an older man came sauntering out of the gun-smoke as he took a position in the middle, his stern, blue eyes never leaving Dutch.

The man appeared to be in his late forties and had a groomed, graying beard covering half of the wishbone-shaped scar on his right cheek, and his hair was hidden beneath a Gaucho hat.

He wore a chocolate, leather duster over a gray vest and red shirt, and had a pair of sleek riding boots covering his neat pants.

This man definitely looked like he could be their leader. He carried a slightly regal nature to him, and had the temperament of someone who’d rather kill than forgive. Despite the cold-blooded impression he made though, there was also something...almost fatherly about him. Like a strange sense of reason and wisdom that he somehow managed to preserve over the years. Similar to the way Hosea was...only minus the compassion.

Dutch steadily walked up to the man with his hands near his holsters as both our gangs stared each other down, silently demanding answers with a simple glare.

He tried to keep his tone as tame as possible.

“...Who...are you?”

The other man examined Dutch for a minute and looked him back in the eye, not even blinking once as he promptly uttered a response.

“Atticus,” the man replied. “Atticus Rose.”

[youngerdrgrey]

you’re gonna need me // a queen sugar fanfic

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written for day 9 of 30 x 31, prompt: song lyric as a title [also on ao3]

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notes: I am going to write & post the other days of the challenge, but this one’s done, so here it is! I read @bizeke‘s Charley/Remy fic and remembered how much I missed the Bordelons, but for some reason Ralph Angel wanted to shine through. + title comes from Usher’s “Throwback” 

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Ralph Angel knocks against the hood of the truck a few times. Not too many, not too loud neither since he don't want to grab anybody else's attention. Blue's in the house with Darla, and neither of them batted an eye when he said he had to go out and talk to Remy. No reason to get them all worked up when this whole thing should be over in a moment or two. So he knocks on the hood of the truck to get out a bit of his energy while Remy heads out and around to meet him in front.

This whole thing would be a lot easier if Remy had just stayed Remy. But no, Remy had to become their new farm advisor, then whatever it is that he's out here doing with Charley. And, all Rah's saying is that it'd be nice to talk to his and Pops' friend instead of having to also talk to the guy trying to get his sister through her divorce.

"Hey." Remy starts a shake that Ralph Angel finishes. It's easy, normal for a few seconds. Then Remy's hands drop back to his sides, and he sizes up the house with a glance. There's only two cars out here, Remy's and Ra's, so nobody else could really be around. 'Less Charley's starting up her runs again.

Ralph Angel checks around too, just in case. He says, "Just us today. Like you asked."

Remy nods. His shoulders come back level. "Thanks for having me over, man. I wanted to talk to you away from everybody else, you know, give you a chance to say what you need, and I'll do the same."

Of course. "You playing mediator now?"

Remy laughs at that. But he's careful with his words. "I'm just helping out. Doing what I can."

"Appreciate it. But --" what exactly is Remy going to fix with all this? Is he going to take the words from Ra's mouth over to Charley's ears and vice versa? He going to fly back and forth between them since Charley only listens to whoever can help her out the most? Ralph Angel circles his jaw around. "Now, I don't mean any disrespect by saying this, but I don't need you talking for me. Not to Charley, not to anybody."

Everybody out here seems to think Ralph Angel needs their help. That he can't get anything done without their say so and their contributions. But he's raising Blue mostly on his own now. He got the farm together mostly on his own too. So, could someone fill him in on when exactly he started needing help? Because he's been fine since Charley gave him the reigns and a pay stub. Been fine before that too.

"I hear you. Alright. And I will say, since we're being honest here, that I told Charley to trust you more. But that wasn't a hand out. You earned a little defense. What you've done out here, with all of this...." Remy turns to see the fields, but he never finishes the sentence. Never quite gets past the view of what they got out there. All that green that they made happen. Between the work and the cane, between a little faith and whatever sort of something carried over from the past generations.

But that's the thing, isn't it? They're building on top of a lot of history here. That's how this kind of farming works. The mother stalk, or the seed cane, helps with the next year, and the year after that, and the whole process plays out so well because of what people put into it long before their time. And Ralph Angel's like that strong mother stalk there. He's the base that carried over to keep the soil sweet and ready. He's what'll be here the next year when everybody else has moved on to something new -- be it grinding cane at their new mills, or boasting about how sweet their new strain is, or whatever it is Nova plans on doing. Saving somebody else's little brother he supposes. But Ralph Angel will still be right here, on this farm, and if all Remy wants to do is make sure that Ralph Angel's not gonna jeopardize all that for whatever fight he's in with Charley, then this can be over right now.

Remy turns back, and there ain't nothing but pride and affection on his face. "Your pops would be proud."

Ralph Angel grins, even lets out a bit of a laugh. "Not too bad for a first timer. And this here is just my first try on my own, but next year, all these hiccups not gon' happen. We'll bring in more than two hundred acres. Probably not all of 'em, but more. And by that time, Charley's mill should be running, so we can use it then."

"Then?" Remy's neck strains. The veins pulse a second or two. "What about now?"

"What about now? Nobody around here cares about my plan, so--"

"Your plan is a great plan. No one's denying you that."

"Charley is."

"Charley's short-sighted, at times. But she's more than willing to eat the cost if this whole thing goes wrong," Remy says.

Spoken like a true mediator. Like somebody too far up somebody else's ass cheeks to hear what they're saying. Charley's got everybody on her side on this one. All the other farmers, Nova, even Darla sounds like she'd rather Ralph Angel just give in. But why risk everything now on something that might drain everything Charley's worked for? She's already going through the divorce. Already leaving behind her whole life in California. And now she wants to do this? Why can't she ever just relax for a second? Sit back, see how something's done before running off to change it?

Ralph Angel crosses his arms. "You want my okay? Is that why you're here?"

Remy shakes his head. "I wanted to tell you what I see when I look at your family. Because," he chuckles, shakes his head again, and sends some kind of smile down to the dirt at his feet, "you Bordelons are a funny bunch. Brilliant farmers, and loving, kind people, but none of you ever listen. Not to each other and not to anyone else. You only do what you want to do. Not that I should talk. We all know egos run rampant down here. Got to be proud and daring to bet your whole life on the whims of the land. But I think you get caught up sometimes in the different visions you all have for the future."

"This is the future," Rah says.

"For you." Remy must feel like he's saying too much 'cause he leans back against the car for a spell. "Brother Ernest loved to talk about the future. I remember being out here as a kid. Barely taller than the cane, but that smell -- that grinding season smell, you know it." He smiles. "Like burnt sugar everywhere."

Remy hums. Licks his lips. "Best smell in the world. So I'd come around, help out if he'd let me. And while we worked, he used to tell me that if I worked hard enough, I could have something like this one day. He said we all had to nurture what we have, sometimes even break it down a bit, to get to where we want to be."

Yeah, Ralph Angel got the same speech. The farming metaphors never really got old for Pops. Rah figures he'll be the same way with Blue. He's got a bunch stored up, and if he puts those with his stories from being inside, then he can keep Blue on the right track.

He figures, one day, Blue could take over the farm. And if Blue doesn't want it, then somebody else. Somebody in the family of course. And then maybe Blue could go off to college, like what Micah's doing. He probably won't be growing up in private schools like Micah. But Blue can still get a good education right there in public ones. He doesn't even have to toughen up or anything 'cause he showed that he can fight. He'll be fine. And he'll go to some big school that has nice sweaters and shirts for the parents, and Ralph Angel and Darla can wear matching University Dad and University Mom jackets around the house. And the sugar in the pies at Christmas will come right from their farm.

Remy starts up talking again. "Now, I don't know about you, but I want to be able to do this for a long time. I want to point at the sugar in the shaker and say, 'you know, you can taste which strain is mine because of how sweet it is. It's special made for the soil out here in St. Jo. And it goes great in my morning coffee.'" He pushes off the car. "And, God willing, if we ever get our acts together, I figure I could say that to Charley, or Micah, or anybody else who wanders through the house. But that's my future. That's my dream. Do you know hers?"

Ralph Angel glances out into the land. "I don't know. Probably keep on building empires." Keep on ignoring his calls and ideas. Keep on disregarding everybody else in the family since they're too simple to keep up with her.

"Maybe you should ask. Maybe you should try getting to know her again as a person, then everything else will come a hell of a lot easier." Remy clicks his tongue. "She's more than just part owner. More than just your sister too. But if you two don't start recognizing how similar you are, or how you can help each other out with all this, then I don't think any of us are getting those dreams."

It's a good speech, but there's one little flaw in the plan. "How am I supposed to talk to her, Remy? She ignores every call, every text--"

"That's why I texted her. Told her to meet me outside the shed in an hour. She's in the dog house, so I figure she'll be pulling up pretty soon just to make sure that I know how sorry she is."

Ralph Angel really doesn't need to know all of that. "Your point being...?"

Remy pulls his keys back out his pocket. "I'm not staying. You and Charley are going to talk. By yourselves. About yourselves. And I'm going to catch up on my shows. With my phone turned off. And when I turn it back on, amidst the many messages asking me why I got involved, I hope there's one or two saying that you worked it out."

Rah stands tall, so he can look down his nose at Remy. "You're going to an awful lot of trouble over the two of us."

Remy shrugs. "What can I say? There's something about you Bordelons that makes me care." He slips out of their stare and heads back 'round the car. "Tell Charley we'll talk tonight."

Ra nods despite himself. "Yeah, yeah." He knocks on the hood of the car again. Not too loud, not too strong. Just enough to say the thanks he can't bring himself to say aloud. Ralph Angel might not need help, or even want it, but every once in a while, he could take it. He watches Remy pull off and makes his way over to the shed. If they've got to talk to get those dreams, then they could talk. Maybe she'd even listen.

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