#i fuck with cowboys and gunslingers and outlaws so hard

[mudgazing]

Hear me out. Outlaw Alex and Farmhand Farah. Alex, who’s in a spot o’ trouble with his sheriff. Had to leave in the dead of night. Slow death or bruised pride, and he made the coward’s choice. Ended up in the middle of a wheat field at the crack o’ dawn, his mare shielding him from the cold air. And Farah, in a moment of what? Stupidity, compassion? Let ‘em both drink from the refilled trough. The outlaw looks ‘er right in the eye. The hell is she doing, pettin’ his horse? But he ain’t one to talk, drinkin’ like an animal. 

[mukbangg]

Helping stressed out Billy the kid.

Billy the Kid Spoilers‼

18+

(Eh kinda died halfway...but I need more billy the kid sloppy porn)

Tunstall's shot dead and everyones gathering at the ranch, looking to Billy to lead them.

With so many eyes on him, so many responsibilities and to add on, the upcoming war with Murphy and him having to face Jesse? Billy is stressed through the roof.

But hes Billy the Kid, cowboy outlaw and one hell of a gunslinger, hes been on his own all this time he can do this cant he?

Now you, being one of the people Tunstall had hired, a cowgirl if you will, well you're acquainted with Billy alright. More than acquainted if him pounding you harshly into the bed a few weeks ago means anything. Not an exclusive relationship, yall never talked about defining whatever the hell is going on but you're familiar enough with his quirks to see that his clenched jaw and that heavy close-lipped sigh means hes got himself wound up tight.

And you know just the way to help him out.

"What're you doing, I can't-"

A click of your tongue had him huffing and letting you tug him into the barn, out of sight.

The moment whatever tense meeting was done in the house, people filling away to busy with their business, you took the chance and stole Billy away, dragging him out like he owes you money.

"I haven't got the time doll, what d'you want?"

Ever the sweetheart, Billy could never get too harsh with you, his unofficial girl. His voice strains, and his eyes can hardly focus on you but theres a softness to his question.

You roll your eyes, backing him up against the flimsy wall and kicked his legs open impatiently.

Whatever protest he had died on his tongue the moment you sank down onto your knees, one brow raised as a challenge for him to push you away.

He doesnt.

Billy swallows as you yank his belt loose, unzipping his trousers just enough to see his half-hard bulge in his boxers.

"Doll- we cant- not here-"

But all it took was for you to place an open mouth kiss on his bulge, mouthing at his cock through his boxers with that hard glint in your eyes staring right at him, and his jaw was falling slack eyes fluttering in a heavy lidded gaze ,that glazed out look in his eyes.

You take your time playing with him, getting him all hard and needy till his precum leaks through the fabric of his boxers mixing with your saliva.

His palm cups the back of your head, pressing you down with a shaky groan that almost, hips bucking into your face for more.

You chuckle, before finally taking his cock out and he hisses at the contact, voice tapering into a throaty groan that was a little too loud for you.

"You can stay quiet, cant you billy?"

And despite your doe eyes and pouty lips, all innocent and soft staring up at him like hes the most precious thing in the world, the edge in your voice made him swallow hard, whispering out a raspy "y-yes".

"Good,"

And then you smile all sweet like honey, kissing his painfully swollen tip slick with pre, and he squeezes his eyes shut, teeth digging into his bottom lip as he prays to mother mary he doesnt cum the moment you fuck your mouth on his cock.

His eyes practically rolls back when you swallow him down your snug throat, teeth clenched as he struggles to gulp down his heavy groans and whimpers.

Your head bobs expertly, cheeks hollowed out as  you suck him sloppy.

"Fffuuuuuccckkk..."

If you moan one more time around his cock hes gonna burst.

You pull back, tongue swirling on his tip, one hand holding down his bucking hips while the other thumbs at his balls.

"C'mon Billy...."

You drawl, smiling as you drag your glistening lips up the underside of his cock.

You know he isnt going to last.

"I want your cum..."

And he moans brokenly, head lolling back as he presses your head down to his base, cock twitching once, twice, and hes squirting cum down your throat.

He jolts, hunching over you as you try to swallow the copious amount of thick built-up cum, so much it leaks out the corners of your mouth.

Billy's heaving, face flushed and he groans as you pull off, slumping down against the wall so hes level with you, eyes fuzzy and loopy, watching you swallow his cum.

You lean forward to peck his lips, earning a lopsided smile from him when he tastes himself on your lips. He whispers a "thank you", pulling you against him to bury his face into your neck.

"Lemme return the favour later doll,"

And you grin, knowing full well you both wont be sleeping tonight.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Once again, thank y'all so, so, so much for the continued love & support! Just an update for everybody: I'll be going back to school in about 3 weeks so updates might slow down, BUT I will continue to upload when I'm free & have some time. Thank you again! And happy 4/20!! -xoxo, Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

FIVE: NO TELL MOTEL.

“My, your such a good little cocksucker, aren’t you, sugar?” 

Gojo’s silky voice forming those dirty, nasty words only makes you suck on his thick, hard, beautiful cock a little more eagerly than before. He kneels in front of you, his hips and toned stomach in your face, letting you freely drag your hands over his six pack much to his enjoyment. 

He watches you with those alluring blue eyes as you gag all over his shaft and bounce on Geto’s dick at the same time. “And a good little cowgirl too,” the long-haired outlaw chuckles, soft moans and gasps leaving his lips as your warm, soft, velvety walls squeeze around him whenever you slam your pussy and soft, cushiony ass down onto him. “I should’ve known you’d be good at ridin’ dick too, little lady.” 

SMACK!

His hand comes down to slap your ass, emitting a muffled moan from around Gojo’s cock. The white-haired outlaw groans, gripping the back of your hair and pushing himself deeper into your mouth. “Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he moans. “You seem to be missin’ somethin’ though…I’ve got it!” 

He takes off his cowboy hat and puts it on your head, making Geto laugh as he begins to pump his hips up into you from below, fucking you back. “She looks so adorable,” he groans. “Just seein’ her like this makes me wanna cum.” 

Gojo hums in agreement, thrusting into your mouth in time with his partner’s dick pumping in and out, in and out, of your pussy, sinking you deeper and deeper into immense pleasure. “Me too,” he says and lifts your chin up to look at him and the way the moonlight illuminates his hair, turning it silver. “And you’ll cum with us, won’t you, cutie?” 

“Be as loud as you want, darlin,’” Geto moans, gripping your hips for dear life. “There ain’t nobody to hear you for miles. Just us and the stars.”

Hearing that and knowing the fact that it’s just you three alone among the moon, the stars, and the quiet forest makes me you want to cum. You can feel your orgasm quickly approaching the louder Geto and Gojo’s moans become and the more Geto’s dick glides against your G-spot. 

“Fuck!” Geto gasps. “I think our little cowgirl is close, Satoru. That sweet little pussy is squeezin’ around me so tight!” 

Gojo stares down at you adoringly and hungrily, slamming his hips into you​​r mouth. “Cum with us, darlin,” he demands. “Don’t let us do it alone. Give us what we want like a good little slut, hm?” 

Suddenly, the two begin to moan louder and warn you that they’re about to cum, using your holes to chase their highs. You can feel yourself being pushed closer, closer to the edge of bliss, about to fall off with them– 

With a gasp, you sit up in your bed adjacent to Shoko who has her back to you and is snoring so loud that it overshadows the buzzing of cicadas outside your window. You are coated in sweat, a normal occurrence for summers in the West, but you know that it has everything you do with your dream. 

“What the fuck?” you think, confused and flushed…and extremely bothered. Your pussy throbs annoyingly beneath your silk nightgown, even more so without your panties. It’s too hot for undies. 

You’ve never had a dream like that before about anyone, especially two outlaws that you were supposed to merk earlier!

The only dreams you have are about your childhood, your mother, and the night both were taken from you. They don’t happen every night, but they are the only dreams you have. You don’t have happy dreams and can barely have a good night’s sleep without your mind going a hundred miles an hour. 

But something about this dream, something about this duo, brings something out of you. A need to throw all caution to the wind. You don’t want to think that it’s because of your attraction to them. You tell yourself that it’s nothing; just a biological need as humans have. The dream meant nothing but to show you what you could be missing…right? 

You look at Shoko, thinking about her words of wisdom to you earlier. Could she be right? Could these men be the ones to help you reach that happy ending? ‘Only one way to find out,’ you think. 

You roll out of bed and, keeping your footfalls quiet, you begin to pack up. You pack some dried snacks, a canteen of water, and a clean pair of clothes in your bag before changing out of your sweat-soaked nightgown and into some clean, black riding gear. You then bend down in your closet to retrieve a dusty box hidden behind Shoko’s shoes and a key hidden beneath them. 

You unlock the box and smile at the contents inside of it: a silky, pink bandana and a black cowgirl hat. You take out each and put them on, already feeling more like yourself. Like the Fatale Femme. After you finally finish, you take a piece of paper with an ink pen and quickly scrawl out a note to a sleeping Shoko before leaving: 

Dear, Shoko, 

I’m so sorry I’m leaving you like this and that it took this happening to tell you the truth. I’ve been wandering the wild West for years, hunting down outlaws and running from the law as a living.

I came to Blackwater to not only kill Valentine but to find Gojo & Geto the Gunslingers and get some answers for my plan to kill Benji the Bandi. I have been hiding my true identity from you in fear of bringing trouble to your door. 

I care for you and those at the Blackwater saloon so much which is why I must leave. Please don’t try to look for me. If I’m alive, I will write and even visit (eventually).

Thank you for the friendship you’ve given me. Take care of yourself and don’t stay in Blackwater forever. The ain’t nothing here for you either. 

Sincerely, Y/N aka the Fatale Femme.

You leave the note by her beside. Then, in a flash, you take your bag and head out the door. The complex is dark and quiet when you leave, making it easy o slip ou ino he nigh. Behind the complex, tied up to one of the lamp posts, is your precious black horse who has been loyally and patiently waiting here at her post for five months since you came to Blackwater on her back. 

You’ve been leaving her here, only releasing her o ake he on lae nigh walks and feeding her apples and oas. Bu now, you’re ready to leave and so is she. Her ears twitch at the sound of you boots thudding in the dit and he tail begins to wag excitedly, knowing it’s you. You press a hand to her side and stroke her soft fur. 

“Hey, Reneigh,” you coo to her. “You ready to go, darlin’?” You take her reigns out of your bag and clip them on her before getting her saddle from behind a tree. As you place it on her back, she huffs, steam coming out of her nostrils. “You’re right,” you giggle. “I should’ve left this dumbass town a long time ago.” 

You kiss her snout, thanking her for waiting, before hopping ono her back after lacing one leg over her side. Once you’re on, you cluck your tongue against the roof of your mouh and snap the reigns once. Reneigh understands immediately and takes off down the road, he hooves clicking against the road. You guide her in the direction of the Maplewood Motel, knowing where it is due to the brothel you used to occupy at being two blocks up from it. 

‘1211 at the Corner of Maplewood, Rm 201,’ you think, keeping the numbers in you head even when you finally make it to the small, quiet motel. Not a peson no animal stis when you leave Reneigh outside in an empty cubby where other horses have their own. “I’ll be back,” you tell her, earning a headbutt from her in response. 

“You’d better,” she wordlessly says. 

You keep your gun a your hip as you walk ino he moel, past the sleeping desk clerk, and then up the steps to the second floor. You ignore your pounding heart as you walk to room 201 and give three knocks. “Comin’!” a silky voice calls out. Gojo Satoru. 

When he opens the door, he is only in his trousers and riding gloves, exposing his toned body and abs to you. That damn dream comes back to haunt you and you attempt give him a poker face despite your mind’s eye being filled with images of his naked body and cock. 

You’re so entranced by his body that you almost miss his eyes. You’ve never seen them before since he’s always wearing that blindfold. They are a gorgeous, hypnotizing blue, as blue as the crystal waters in the Bahamian islands. They widen an inch at sigh of you at his door. “Well,” he begins, “this is definitely a pleasant surprise.” 

“Who’s at the door, Satoru?” Geto calls from inside, sounding suspicious. He comes to the door too, luckily not shirtless but still looking hot in his cotton shirt and riding gloves, his long hair pulled back into a silky, glossy ponytail. “Oh, hey,” he greets, sounding shocked to see you. “So you kept the note.” 

“I did,” you reply rather sharply, you pulse jumping anxiously. “‘Cause I need some answers. Before I agree to this, I’ll need some information first.” The duo looks at each other as if asking one another if they should agree. 

“Anybody follow you?” Gojo asks, looking up and down the hallway. You shake you head and he opens the door ajar for you. “Come on in, then.” 

You do so, not thanking him, but he doesn’t mind. When the door shuts, you take a look around the motel: it is rather spacious and clean with a small kitchen, a wooden table sitting near the window overlooking the horses outside, brown, shaggy floors, and a big king-sized bed matching the beige walls. The duo has made their home in this room, two backpacks, clean clothes, and shoes lying about the bed and floor. 

Gojo follows you into the motel, clapping his hands together once. “First thing’s first: ya want some dinner?”

You blink at him, wondering if he’s serious. Wordlessly, you shake your head and he rolls his eyes at you. “What, you don’t want some good food before you start interrogatin’ us?” he chuckles. “We’ve got somethin’ cookin’ up over here.” 

He nods at Geto in the kitchen, cooking something savory-smelling on the small stove. His hulking frame blocks it from view, but it makes your stomach growl. Gojo nods at the wooden table and the chairs there. “Go on, take a seat and get comfy. I’ll take your bag and get you some water.” 

He goes to take your bag from you, but you grip it to your chest. “My bag is good here,” you argue. “And I don’t need anything, thanks.” Your stomach exposes you by gurgling loudly, making you flush. 

“Uh-uh,” he sniggers before he walks off to get you that water and a plate. The duo leaves you to sit alone to sit as they fix you something to eat and drink, much to your surprise. You didn’t think outlaws could be such gentlemen…unless something’s up. 

Minutes later, after listening to Geto hum a tune and Gojo crack jokes while he tosses on a shirt, your dinner is finally presented to you: a plate of Salisbury steak oozing with gravy, roasted potatoes, and green beans. “Here ya are, little miss. Made by yours truly.” Gojo gives a charming smile as he places a glass of water in font of you. 

“He’s lying!” Geto calls from the kitchen. Gojo puts a finger to his lips, winking.

You stare suspiciously down at the delicious-smelling food and gingerly take your fork to stab into the smallest tater. Gojo watches you weirdly as you sniff the potato and then place it in your mouth, slowly chewing it. “Had to check if it was poisonous,” you explain with a shrug. 

The white-haired outlaw looks hilariously offended by that. “Why would we do somethin’ so fucked?” he scoffs. “Jesus, girl, you are so paranoid!” You glare up at him, swallowing the potato. “With the work I do, you have to be.” 

Geto walks over with two more plates and glasses of water, placing them on the table. “I agree, especially in the state this world is in.” He sits down across from you along with Gojo, folding his hands under his chin. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’d like the say grace first.” 

Gojo dramatically groans, but bows his head anyway. Geto does the same while you keep your eyes open, watching them. “Dear Lord, thank you for allowing us another day to consume such a delicious meal with good company,” Geto prays. “Please give us more of these fine days with your blessing. Amen.” He lifts his head with a content, satisfied smile. It makes your stomach flip for some odd reason. 

“Ugh, finally,” Gojo sighs. “I’m fuckin’ starved!” He goes to finally dig into his food, but then stops and instead raises his glass of water. “Cheers to new friends,” he chirps and then frowns when he sees your face. “Acquaintances then. C’mon, you’ve gotta toast to that one!” 

Though you’d rather not, you did agree to be here. So begrudgingly, you raise your glass and so does Geto. “Cheers,” he chuckles and you clink glasses. “Enjoy, little miss.”

And you do though you don't tell him and your poker face is A1. However, the steak is savory and juicy, the potatoes are crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, and the beans are salted to perfection. If Geto wasn’t an outlaw, he’d be a great cook. 

Though the food is good, your impatience gets the best of you the longer dinner goes on and you can’t enjoy it without your stomach roiling for answers. “Sooo do y’all wanna start talkin’ or should I?” you ask, rather impatient. The men look up at you, still eating. Insead of looking shocked, they look amused. “Well, if you insist on givin’ us the floor,” Gojo chuckles. “Whatcha wanna know?” 

You swallow some wae to give you some courage, wishing it was liquor. “Just out of curiosity, as well-known as y’all are, why’d you decide to work with Benji and Valentine?” you ask, getting straight to the point. 

Geto is happy to enlighten you as he sips on his water while Gojo finishes chomping on his steak like a wild pig. “When we met Benji, we were young and dirt poor, robbin’ anybody just to eat. One day, we robbed a banquet of rich folks not knowin’ that they were Benji’s people. He beat us to a pulp and had his crew tie us to railroad racks.” 

You nearly choke on your piece of steak. Geto shrugs like it’s nothing. “However, he gave us a proposition: he could either kill us or we work for him and pay off our ‘debt’ to him. As two teens with nothin’ to lose, how could we say no?” 

“We worked for him for two years, helpin’ him rob banks, beat people up who owed him money, etc, etc,” Gojo adds, “but we never killed no one. That was somethin’ we fused to do…until we had to.” His ocean-blue eyes look down at his water, fiaxating on it. You have a feeling that this is a hurt piece for them, especially when Geto gets up to clean his and Gojo’s empty plates. 

You watch him walk to the kitchen in silence, his big boots thudding across the floor. He turns on the sink and begins to soak the dishes in hot water.

“We were in Bull’s Creek chasin’ down a guy that owed Benji money for savin’ his farm,” he explains as the water runs. “He had moved himself and his family into hidin’, but we found ‘em and dragged them all outside, hogtied…includin’ the kids.” 

You bite back a gasp, a vision of your small town popping into your head the night your life changed: burning homes and businesses; kids crying for their parents in the street; families beaten in front of their children; your mother’s arms stretched out to you as her neck bursts with blood. 

You swallow hard, not sure if you want him to continue, but you listen anyway. “We thought Benji just wanted the husband, but imagine our shock to find out he wanted everyone,” Geto continues as he scrubs one of the plates with a sponge. “Told Gojo and me to put a bullet in all of ‘em, make sure that thee we no survivors that could place his face. In reality, I think he just wanted to test us.” 

“And ‘cause he’s a sick motherfucker that gets off on the death of innocents,” Gojo adds. He sounds nonchalant, but you can tell he’s angered by how hard he grips his glass. “We didn’t do it, so he forced us to watch his minions do it. They left their bodies to bake in the sun, not even givin’ the kids a grave.” 

You’re silent, processing the awful yet confusing information. Could they really be different from the outlaws like Benji, Valentine, and the ones that destroyed your home? Could these two really have morals? 

Geto finally stops cleaning and comes back over to the table. “After we realized how crazy Benji was, we left and haven’t seen him since,” he explains as he sits. “That’s when we made our business targetin’ the baddies across the West and made a name for ourselves. People started comin’ to us for help.”

That explains why so many corrupt people were showing up in the papers, dead. Maybe…just maybe…they could be different. 

“So what about Valentine?” you ask, pushing your plate aside. “How’d you meet him?” 

Geto leans back in his chair, crossing his leg over the other. “A year ago, he came to us askin’ us for help to get some trafficked money off of a Cherrywood train that was stolen from his land.” 

“Such a big, fat fuckin’ lie,” Gojo sighs disappointedly, shaking his head. “But because we were stupid, we said yeah and he agreed to cut us half of the money if we helped him. We teamed up with his crew with no problem, not realizin’ that we had been set up from the jump.” 

He then pulls a cigarette and a matchbox out of his pocket. Before he lights it, his blue eyes tick to yours expectantly. "You don't mind?" he asks and you shake your head, so he strikes a match, lights his cig up, and takes a puff. Geto walks over and Gojo passes him the cigarette which he gladly takes a drag of.

When Geto speaks again, you see the entire scene flash in your head down to the last gruesome detail: “As soon as we got on that train, he took everyone hostage, includin’ the conductor. We tried to stop him, but he and his guys massacred every person on that train and then escaped before the train went off the rails. It crashed, but we survived and woke up in a cell.” 

He pauses, taking a sip of his water. With Valentine MIA, we were forced to do some time before the sheriff cut us a deal: if we help bag Valentine and keep up good behavior aka no killing, we stay out of prison.”

He shrugs passively. “Seemed easy enough, so we took it and now, here we are with you.” He gives you a smile as does Gojo, warm and friendly despite the horrible, complicated story they told you about Benji’s sadistic ways and being framed by Valentine. 

You look between the two of them, even more confused than before. Their smiles fade as they read your expression, probably thinking the worst. You put your hands on the table and interlace them as you lean in toward them. “You barely know me and you’re tellin’ me this,” you point out. “Why?” 

The two share a glance, probably not expecting this question. But Geto answers you regardless: “Because we want you to make this decision. We want your help, Y/N, but we won’t force you. If you want to walk out that door, you can.” He juts his chin at the motel door, your exit from this conversation AND possible agreement. 

But something, whether it be their honesty or the way they look at you with such genuine warmth, keeps you there. You look down at your hands. They are shaking. 

“You wanna know why I want Benji?” you ask, not waiting for a yes. “While it may be a stretch, I believe takin’ him out would let every other fucker on this God-forsaken planet know that their sins and crimes will not go unpunished. It would scare them to know that such a powerful man like Benji the Bandit was taken out by someone, let alone a woman.” 

You raise your head to look at Geto and Gojo again, still seeing those genuine, soft gazes. 

“I’ll help y’all,” you firmly say, “but on one condition: y’all help me get out of the county and to Willow Springs.” 

Gojo raises an eyebrow, confused and curious. “What’s in Willow Springs exactly?” he asks. 

You nearly smile at his question, picturing the beautiful town located in the North already. “Freedom,” you answer. “A life without constant runnin’ and dodgin’ the law. A quiet life out of the West…but the only way there is through the Devil’s Trail.”

Aka the hardest, roughest trail in the West. It is known for its treacherous heat, barren, dry lands, and predators lurking around every rock and cactus. There is no way you could ever survive on your own. 

You look at Geto, crossing your arms over your bosom. “I thought about what you said: if Valentine does talk, I’ll need the protection, especially on Devil’s Trail. When we catch Benji, you’ll take me to Willow Springs. Then we’ll part ways, forget this ever happened, and live happily ever after.” 

You stick your hand out to them, wordlessly asking for a deal. The two share a glance before they each smile. “You’ve got a deal then, little lady,” Geto says before he shakes your hand.

Gojo does the same and you ignore the tiny spark of electricity you feel zip up your arm when you hold each of their leather-covered palms. 

“Now let’s get some sleep,” Gojo announces, looking pleased. We’ll need all the rest we can get ‘cause tomorrow will be a long day.” He nods at you, smiling. “But first, you need a room.”

[hoetachi]

U GOT IT BAD — G. REYES

i saw this and i immediately wanted to write a little more on that scenario because it was absolutely hilarious // sorry for any mistakes

two months. you’ve been here for two months and the blackwatch commander finds himself already infuriated by you. he thought you was a simple soldier that was going to be the part of the rest of the growing overwatch society, however your skills surpasses any other person in your rank which cause you to gain the attention of strike commander morrison. now here you were, taking small teams on recall missions and as well as being present in debriefing meetings along side with other commanders. the grim commander wasn’t one to be comfortable with feelings like these and it was so hard to avoid you with your newfound popularity

what really made avoiding you harder was the fact around this time, ana was in her second trimester of her pregnancy and decided you would be the perfect fit to take over her current position. so as ana was close to gabriel, you as well was close to gabriel which left him off his game… alot

you came in during one of his drills with ana explaining what was the drill for and just having you watch him with such interest caused him to mistakenly crank up the difficulty until the training bots went haywire and basically chase his entire team in circles and up the walls. he felt the questionable looks coming from you and ana and cringed hard internally

then he had fellow agents boasting endlessly about you to him did a number. normally he’ll get real pissed hearing about some random’s personal information unwilling, yet every time he heard something about your life or things your interested in, it made him intrigued. he wanted to be the only source knowing these things about you, if he was being honest with himself

now who he didn’t want talking his ears off about you was cole…

“everyone seems to be takin’ a likin’ to that smokin’ commander already” the gunslinger kept paced with the mildly busy commander

“she’s not a commander cass, she’s just a commandant studying ana’s position before she heads off for maternity leave “ he corrected the young outlaw whilst skimming through files for an upcoming mission for his team

cole coolly shrugged his shoulders before placing his arms behind his head. “either way i feel like she’ll be good for you” he said which was followed by a teasing smirk as he watch the tips of the his brooding commander’s ears turned to a deep rue color

gabriel grew even more irritated with the young cowboys he knew his reaction would only cause more teasing from him which was making things worse, “good for me? w-what are you talking about cassidy?”

“you need a lady like that. strong, intelligent, not afraid to speak her mind…” he listed on his mechanical fingers as they walked side by side

gabe didn’t say anything else yet he agreed on everything with cassidy, however he’ll never let the gunslinger know due to his loose lips

“plus she got a nice ass in shorts” blurted cole which immediately catch gabe off guard making his instant swing on cassidy for his inappropriate comment

“whoops too slow jefe” cole snickered as he dodged the sudden attack swiftly

before gabe could stop himself from putting his full weight into his punch, it already connected with something else.. well someone else. turning his head to see what he hit instead of cassidy, he felt his stomach fall out his ass as his heart stopped

you sat on your elbows weakly as you watch your nose gush with blood while ana asked if you were okay. both the women looked towards him and he felt a deer in headlights, he couldn’t form a coherent thought which didn’t make his situation any better when his words were faster than his thoughts

“ARE YOU FUCKING SORRY?!”

ana’s face was split between confusion and anger, “come dear, let’s quickly get you to dr. ziegler” he watched as she helped you up and usher you past him as she glared daggers into him while mouthing ‘i’m going to kick your ass in 9 months’

“real smooth commande-“ this time he didn’t miss with hitting cassidy. “suicides until you drop dead, cassidy” he spat as bruised cole sat flat on his butt rubbing the back of his head

“YOU PUNCHED HER!? WHAT THE FUCK GABE!?” jack expressed, beyond shocked from the information his longtime just shared with him

“it wasn’t on purpose! stupid ass cole kept running his mouth and i didn’t know she was behind us— FUCK! what am i supposed to do now?” gabriel felt defeated. he knew he definitely blew things out the water this time and completely understood if you didn’t want to be around his presence anymore

jack stared at his friend with a sympathetic smile as he shook his head, “my friend.. i have never seen you so off guard before… you got it bad for y/n”

“i do not!” gabriel denied

“oh really? so you’re just out and about punching women who happens to make you more nervous than a virgin at prom?”

“no.. she just… so many people have such good things to say about her and actually being around her… i see why she’s a showstopper— christ sake i got into tea so i can have something to talk about with her”

jack gave him a giant smile, amused at his friend’s crush. “just apologize and be direct because the gabriel reyes i know was never the guy to be standoffish with how he’s feels” jack placed a hand on his slumped shoulder and handed a bouquet of flowers to him

“tell her how you feel man..” he encouraged

gabriel stared at the various colors amongst the bouquet, his stomach swelled up with butterflies and that’s when he knew he had to do this now or be a coward.

so striding along the empty midnight hallways of the base, he found himself in a internal battle with if he was making the right call. ‘the worst she could say is screw you, reyes’ he tried to make himself feel better about it but the twisted feeling in the out of stomach seemed never ending and only intensified once he realized he was now approaching her quarters

he stared at the name plate saying your last name. he gave himself one last prep talk before knocking and clearing his throat whilst pressing the flowers into his chest.

“y/n? a-are you up?” his voice cracked a bit as he waited for an answer. He soon heard footsteps approach the door for a moment, probably looking at the camera who was at the door. Taking a guess she figured it was him, he heard the steps start to retreat causing panic in him

he reached for the door as he was reaching for her to stop her from disappearing. “y-you don’t have to open the door, but don’t walk away… please” he pleaded quietly. his heartbeat was basically the only he could hear at this point. it was now or never to fix things even if he felt like he was unprepared for this interaction, however he took a shaky breath before laying everything out on the table.

“look y/n.. we got off on the wrong foot, but i promise you i have no ill intentions towards you. i’m just…” he struggled to finally admit to these feelings that reeked havoc over his being for the past couple of months, but he knew he had to set the record straight.

“i’m just not used to having.. i guess a crush on somebody, you can say”

“you’re all everyone talks about and just hearing about your interests— the things you like, dislike or find amusing— you’re special, interesting and dead gorgeous a-and i’m sorry for being a complete idiot towards you” he finally admitted. it felt like a pressure has finally been lifted off of his chest

there was a silence and at this point gabe was fine with just the simple confess, at least he man’d up and no one could take that from him. he sighed defeatedly, softly placed the flowers by the door as he turned on his heels to head back his side of the base to sleep off this nightmare

suddenly he heard the sound of the automatic door opening, he turned around to see you dressed in silk royal blue robe as you bend down picking up the flowers. a small smile graced your full lips as your eyes flickered from the flowers to his being and never in his life he felt so exposed before

you held the flower close to your chest as you leaned against your doorframe with hand on your hip. “it took you elbowing me in my nose to finally confess to me? you got it bad commander” you shook your head before signaling him to come back with your index finger, “care to share a glass of taylor port? i heard it was your favorite.” you raised a brow, which caused a short chuckle to leave the speechless man as he made his way back

[ambrial-blog]

The Thought of Losing you Part 4

"Stella Again!"  Thought Blitz as Striker looks around licking his lips dreading the thought of leaving his lover alone tonight.   He needed to get back to Stella she was waiting for him.

" Blitzy, I need ya to understand somethin. Somethin, important, the thought of losing you drives me crazy and tonight I came too damn close to losing ya, I never want to feel that way again. "Seeing ya lying on the couch like that, feeling your chilled flesh: as cold as death against mine, I thought I was losing my mind, you being so close to death's door nearly killed me tonight. Promise me darlin that you'll never do that again" "That your not planning somethin stupid as soon as I walk out that door."

The Boss imp is rendered silent as the mercenary  continues to undress him. Unbuttoning his shirt and peeling away the spiked jacket speckled in bile wreaking of vomit.  The snake imp washes away the crude before laying him out on the floor one clawed hand pressed to his abdomen he could feel the former harlequin squirm.  Blitzo arches his back, feeling firm lips ghost across his flesh as the cowboy made his way up his torso.

"I'll show ya how much you mean to me, I'll have ya squirming and screaming my name all night. I'll fuck ya so hard you'll forget what day it is." "Your mine, not his and its about time you've learned your place partner."

"Those muggy nights cast out among the stars, cicadas chirping in the background. A roaring bonfire. the touch of your fingers running through my hair"  Are you really trying to take that away from me!" "Your body sleek with sweat, your eyes bright with lust, the way your voice dips low and gravelly, that wily mischief in your eyes. I'm not letting you take that from me, its the best part of you says the Cowboy.

Striker fling his phone across the room as it buzzes, "Stella can wait, tonight your mine" The Gunslinger smirks sinking his teeth into  Blitzo's collarbone.  He suckles, nipping before making his way down the length of Blitzo's body. His tongue flicking over a hardening nipple.  

Blitzo writhes, his eyes shut moaning in pleasure as Striker twisted his mouth around Blitzo's pectoral. Striker smirked around a mouthful of crimson flesh, he'd show the filthy blueblood who this imp belong to.

Striker broke off, trailing kisses along Blitzo's torso, nipping lightly, his tongue lapping against Blitzo's scarlet flesh. "Damnit Striker! Hisses Blitzo. His body jolting, the snake imp hisses his tail rattling slithering across Blitzo's pant leg.

The Cowboy continues his merciless onslaught. Blitzo's breath hitches as Striker goes for his belt. The Boss imp shivers as the outlaw quickly unbuckles Blitzo's pants. sliding the buckle out through the loops and twisting it around the red-devil's hands. Before taking his time,  slowly shucking off articles of his own clothing. Blitzo's eyes water,  as he watches the clothes fly across the room. the Tan jacket, the black shirt and the matching jeans.

Striker snaps the belt in his hands, drawing the Boss imp's attention. "He'd make sure Blitzo was nice and toasty tonight, he'd blindfold Blitzo, he'd have the boss imp scratching up the floorboards before he was through with him tonight. Screaming his name and begging him for mercy. Stella could wait while he dealt with Stolas's personal body-guard.

Blitzo curls around him, his head resting on Striker's bare thigh while his ass throbs. The Harlequin's tail instantly sought out the Cowboy's. Striker chuckles curling his arm around his lover's waist. While fishing out his phone from his studded jacket.

He chuckles darkly to himself while sifting through Blitzo's wallet. Fishing out a stolen credit card he flung the sentimental notes into the open fireplace. his stomach grumbles tonight i would be some lowly run-of the mill imp who would be saddled with delivering their Pizza. The Outlaw-Assasin would call Stella in the morning explaining to her what he found.  

He'd fake Blitzo's death, and then cart him away until the dirty deed was done.  With Stolas's bodyguard out of the way, the owl Prince would be a sitting duck. There would be no more interference. Striker didn't care if the other got in his way, Stella was clear when she screamed at him, she didn't care who got in his way, just get the job done. And Striker liked to be thorough. With his only discourse out of the way he'd be free to purge who he wanted, when he wanted. Blitzy would come around to his thinking.

The employees,  Blitzo's vermin were expandable.  Striker would lure them into a trap, and frame Stolas while he was at it. and if, his charmer  somehow came into poeession of a bronze wedding band, engraved with horses, it would all be at that filthy blueblood's expense. Purely a coincidence. Striker's ears perked up, hearing the low grumbling of a storm. A flash of lightening lit up the room as peeling thunder cracks reverberating through the small apartment building.  

Blitzo jumps, startled from the storm as Bombproofs shadow was cast against the wall rearing back like some hellish nightmare ready to break the door down. Its piercing cries echo  as his hooves tear into the door.  

Blitzo groggily gets up coughing into his hands, he grimaces as he pulls his hand away looking  at the blood speckled hand. He looks around trying to see if the Cowboy notices.  Stumbling though the living room towards the shuddering door. he wipes the blood on his leg placing a finger into his mouth.

[trvelyans-archive]

There’s a woman at the end of the bar who won’t stop staring at Arthur.

At first, he thought maybe Colm sent her, but she doesn’t look like his type of woman. She’s a little too American for that bastard’s tastes. Then Arthur thought that maybe the bartender called her over to keep an eye on him, which he couldn’t blame the man for, really, considering the trouble he’s caused here lately. But it doesn’t seem like she’s watchin’ him for either of those reasons, really. If she was, she probably woulda made some sort of move sooner. She’s just… sittin’ there, with her eyes trained on him like he’s a Goddamn Christmas hog she’s gonna shoot and cook for dinner.

She’s pretty, too. He doesn’t much like that.

He downs his finger of whiskey with his left hand, his right hovering against the gun in his holster. (It’s a new one – pulled it off the body of some O’Driscoll he shot dead in the middle of the Heartlands the other night.) Not that he thinks she’s gonna shoot his head off, mind you, but it never hurts to be prepared around these parts, especially when he’s a couple of drinks into his evening already. It’s not doin’ much to help his pounding headache – being around that jackass Micah Bell for too long would do that to a man – but he’d rather sit here by his lonesome and wallow in his pain for a little while than be back at camp arguing with Dutch about… well, he’s sure they’d find something.

Seems all they do nowadays is argue. Or talk in a way that makes them feel like they’re not arguing when they really are.

He lowers his face to the tabletop, examining the cigarette cards he’s laid out to take a good look at, but out of the corner of his eye he can still see that woman watching him. She looks about twenty-five – might look older if he saw her in the sun when he was sober – and she has warm brown hair pulled into two braids on either side of her head, messy like she’d done them herself without a mirror (which he knows very well to be difficult, because Mary-Beth complains about it often when she begs Arthur to let her use his). She’s pale, too, with a face full of freckles and a handful of moles, and she’s got dark eyes like bullet holes, still pointed in his direction.

When she raises her arm, he half expects to hear a gunshot ring through the air, but she just gestures her cup towards him and takes a sip.

That’s when he realizes he’s been lookin’ too long, and perhaps that he’s drunk much more than he thought he did.

Unfortunately for him, even after shaking his head and forcing his attention back to the cards on the table, it’s only a couple seconds ‘til the seat across from him is pulled out and the woman sits down across from him. “Thought maybe you didn’t see me,” she says, placing her cup – empty – in front of his cards.

“Hard not to,” he replies, forcing himself not to meet her eyes. “Can’t quite ignore you when you’ve spent the past hour starin’ at me.”

“So you noticed.” She smiles. “Why didn’t’cha come up and say anythin’?” she asks, leaning forward to make sure he can see her.

He does lift his head up at that, though. “I, uh… didn’t think that’s what you’d wanted,” he replies, clearing his throat and reaching forward to grab one of the cards between two of his fingers, flipping it over to take a look at the writing on the back. “Thought maybe you were just waitin’ for me to cause some trouble and kick me out, and I didn’t intend on causin’ any sort of trouble tonight.”

“Mmm… A shame, that.”

He holds the card up higher, hoping it might hide some of the newfound heat rising on his cheeks.

“I’m Mabel.” She holds her right hand out to him from across the table, forcing him to put the card down so he can see her still smiling the same darlin’ smile. “Mabel Olsen. And your name is…”

“Arthur,” he replies before he can think better of it. “Arthur Morgan.”

“Arthur Morgan.” She clicks her tongue against the top of her teeth like she’s tasting the sound of his name in her mouth. “I like it.”

“Well, thank you,” he replies. “Can’t quite take all the credit for it, though.”

She laughs, leaning back in her chair and glancing around the room. Up close she looks just about the same as she did from the bar, but now he notices a couple of scars littered across her hands and shoulders, and her voice sounds much deeper than he thought it would. So she’s definitely older than twenty – twenty-five still seems like a good guess.

She’s definitely not as old as he is.

“What’re you doin’ in town tonight, Arthur Morgan?”

Hopefully nothing, he wants to say. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, after all – months, even, when he thinks about it. First, having to ride out of Blackwater with the whole gang after the ferry job went wrong, then hidin’ out in the mountains and freezing half to death every night, and now, after meeting those jackasses Milton and what’s-his-name when he was out with fishing with Jack last week, it seems like Arthur can’t quite catch a break at all nowadays without someone shooting at him or yelling at him to clean up someone else’s mess every hour or so.

He can’t tell her any of that, though. He doesn’t want to scare her off, even if she is interrupting his carefully made plans for a boring evening. Might be nice to keep her around and talk to her for a little while.

So, instead, he flattens one of his hands against the table, fiddling with his belt buckle underneath the table with the other. “Drinkin’,” he replies. “Lookin’ at these. You?”

“Drinkin’,” she responded. “Lookin’ at you.”

He’s lucky he finished his last drink before she came over. If he had been drinking when she said that, he would’ve choked on his whiskey. Even now, he just about chokes on thin air.

“What’s so special about these?” she questions suddenly, pushing herself up from her chair and bracing one of her arms against the table to lean on it. “Aren’t these just cigarette cards?”

“Well, yes, but…” He clears his throat, scrubbing a hand against his beard. “I like collectin’ them, I guess.”

She doesn’t say anything for a couple seconds. When she does, her voice is much quieter. “Used to know someone who liked collectin’ ‘em, too.” And then she smiles at him again. “He liked the famous gunslinger ones, though he couldn’t’a been less of a gunslinger himself if he tried. Which ones do you like?”

Arthur thinks about it for a moment. “I like the ones with all the animals on them,” he says, grabbing one and pushing it towards her. “And the horses.”

“The horses,” she repeats, then cocks her head at him and squints like she’s giving him a thorough inspections. “Are you a cowboy, Arthur Morgan?”

“You could say that,” he responds, finally smiling back at her.

“Do you collect anything else?”

He inhales deeply, pursing his lips as he thinks. “Don’t know if I mean to so much as I end up doing it accidentally,” he answers. His bag is full of little bits and pieces of things he picks up – feels like he can’t walk two steps without finding something that catches his eye. “But sure, I collect plenty of things. And I have a journal, too.”

He didn’t mean to say that – he normally doesn’t like to talk about his journal with people, because then they always ask to see it, and it’s much more boring and personal than they think it’s going to be if he does show them or they get offended when he doesn’t. “A journal,” she echoes. “’s funny. You look like some rough-and-tumble outlaw, but you got a soft side to you. I can tell already, if you collectin’ cigarette cards and writin’ in a journal wasn’t enough.”

“I guess,” he grumbles good-naturedly, lowering his head to look at his cards again. “Do you collect anything, Miss Olsen?”

She laughs. “Oh, don’t call me that, Arthur,” she says. “My mother would never stop rollin’ in her grave if you did. Mabel is fine. And no, I don’t. Don’t see much point in it.”

“Guess that’s true.”

“Might change my mind now, though.”

He clears his throat and forces himself to look around, to look at anywhere that isn’t her smiling face.

The bar is nowhere near full, even at this time of night in this nice weather. (Though maybe that’s why – some of the folk in Valentine might be out enjoyin’ it.) Mabel’s old seat near the bartender is still empty. She could go back to it, if she wanted to, or move to a table to talk to someone else, but she doesn’t. Instead she keeps sitting across from him, watching him, running a finger around the rim of her glass with the tip of her tongue sticking out between her bared teeth, like a wolf waiting to pounce.

“So what made you come over here?” he asks eventually, letting himself look at her again.

She shrugs. “Thought you looked interestin’,” she answers, “and you certainly are. Although I like just about any man that doesn’t offer to fuck me before he even buys me a God damn drink.”

Arthur clenches his jaw. He doesn’t know what to say to that, but now his mind is definitely beginning to fill with somewhat indecent thoughts he’d rather not dwell on.

“And I thought it’d be nice to talk to someone. Thought you’d actually want to talk to me.”

He frowns. “What’s that mean?”

She shrugs again. “Don’t quite know,” she says. “Just… thought we’d get along. Most people don’t like talkin’ to me after a little while, probably ‘cuz I like being a pain in the ass.”

He didn’t consider her to be a pain in the ass at all, and if there’s something that Arthur Morgan hates more than suckin’ snake venom out of another man’s leg and runnin’ out of bullets in the middle of a gunfight, it’s people – like God damn Micah Bell - who are a pain in the ass. So he chuckles, hopin’ it might make her feel better. “Believe me, I’ve talked to much worse.”

Mabel smiles back, to no surprise, but she seems to stiffen a little as he watches her. “Anyway, if you’re askin’ because you want me to leave you alone –“

“Hey, now, did I say that?”

That gives her pause. “No, I guess I just…” She purses her lips. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?” she finally says.

“Can’t much say the same for you,” he teases.

“Chicken shit.” She grins at him. “Now who’s being a pain in the ass? You stay here, file all your little cigarette cards away in your bag next to your... I dunno... hairbrush and mirror and hair pomade, and I’ll go get us some more drinks. You look like a whiskey man, Arthur. Are you a whiskey man?”

He furrows his eyebrows. “Hang on, I can pay –“

Before he can finish, she pulls a heavy sack of what he assumes to be money from her bag and hefts it onto the table, where it lands with a loud thud. “Please,” she says, “let me.”

Arthur stares at it for a second and then looks up at her. “Maybe you are full of surprises.”

“Oh, I certainly am.” She stands up and rifles through the bag, completely ignoring the other patrons in the bar staring at them as she pulls a couple of bills from a stack. “Get a few more drinks in me and I’ll have even more surprises to show you, then.”

Before she heads off to the bar, she looks over her shoulder and gives him a playful wink that just about knocks the air out of his lungs, and all of a sudden Arthur is very, very glad that he isn’t going to have a boring night.

[bxtch26]

Meeting Him❤️

Arthur Morgan⚠️slight smut⚠️

Upbeat piano music filled the building as you wiped down tables, serving drinks and such. The potent smell of whiskey and tobacco filled the thick air. You have been a waitress in Saint Denis for some time. And you hated it. The boss was an ass, he beat you almost every night. Careful to not leave marks in noticeable places. It’s a run down little saloon that you made adequate money in. You would rob houses and even customers often. Your a waitress more or less to keep a low profile and seem like a functioning member of society. While at the same time if you tried to leave your boss would probably kill you. But Law men weren’t too fond of you, and vice versa. They never caught you in your dubious acts. Your quick with a gun. You never go anywhere without your pistol on your hip. You had talked to the manager and he agreed to let you use it for “protection only”, and only if you hid it from the customers. A woman with a gun is apparently absurd. What a fool. Among the smoking, drinking, robbing, even killing, you never were a whore. Every single night you’d be asked

“How much you cost?” You’d just roll your eyes, and tell them that your not on the menu and probably offer them some alcohol to change the subject. This wasn’t how your life was supposed to be. Your dad was an outlaw, always running. He would visit from time to time and you loved it when he did. He taught you how to shoot, and ride a horse. You mother disproved of it all. But you’ve wanted nothing more than to be on the run with him. He’s long passed now, rest his soul. He was killed by some law men, same as your momma. Bad business. You been trying to do right, as evident by the waitress job. But deep down you belong out there. Surviving to be free of civilization. You missed being out there in the country. You sighed as you served a round of whiskey to the poker table. The men hoot and holler at your cleavage, shouting lewd things and watching your ass as you walked back behind the counter. You were wearing a light blue dress with thin straps that often fell off your shoulders. You were so skinny from a combination of not being able to afford much food and being so fit. But your used to it. Men like that you would just brush them off. Most men around here are rich assholes who just want to fuck, then probably kill you or sell you. It was just another normal work night, or so you thought. You were polishing a glass when the saloon doors opened and a flush of silence fell across the room.

Your POV

A tall cowboy stood there, everyone turning to look at him momentarily before resuming their activities. This country boy was far from home, and damn did you wanna take a cowboy for a ride. He was handsome. His face rough, a sharp jawline and scruffy beard. Those rough chapped cut up lips told a story that you longed to hear. His long mane plastered with hair pomade, hidden under his gunslinger hat. His plaid button up shirt along his broad shoulders was slightly unbuttoned at the top, showing his toned chest. Those blue jeans matching his piercing blue eyes. Last but not least that damn gun belt that hung off his hips in the most attractive way. Him also having a pistol and maybe a shotgun on his other side as you could tell from behind the counter. He grabbed his belt as he walked in slowly, dipping his head down to hide that gorgeous face with his hat. Amongst the noise you could hear his boots click as he walked towards the counter. Your eyes glued to him, taking in every detail of the rough gunslinger cowboy.

Arthur’s POV

Dutch has been acting so crazy lately. The gangs in a damn city now, Saint Denis you think it’s called. Either way you were getting sick and tired of the shenanigans. You decided to go to one of the saloons in the city. You were a bit nervous, so you kind of dressed up a bit. Not too much, you had no one to impress. You just plastered your hair with pomade and wore your best plaid shirt. You also wanted to blend in and keep a low profile, as Dutch said. As you pushed both of the doors open, you stood in the entrance. Everyone looking at you before looking back to their paying cards or drinks. You lowered your head as you stepped into the establishment. As you moved towards the counter, a waitress caught your eye. She was polishing a glass, and seemed to be admiring you as you were her. She was beautiful. A light blue dress that hugged her curves in all the right ways. One of her straps was off her shoulder, and you couldn’t help but notice her cleavage. She had brown curly hair tied up, some strand hanging down her face. Her plump red lips with lipstick, and those eyes. She had brown eyes that seemed to stare into your soul. You dipped your head back down as you cleared you throat, hoping you didn’t look too flushed. As you approached the counter, you leaned on your elbows to get closer to the lady and looking dead into those brown eyes.

Your POV

“Howdy ma’am. Can I have a shot of whiskey?” His voice was rough, deep, and if you were telling the truth, made you wet. You flashed him a sweet smile, nodding as you turned to grab the bottle. You pushed the glass towards him, reaching into your pocket and putting some money down for his drink.

“Sure. This ones on me cowboy. Tell me what’s a feller like you doing in a stuck up city like this?” He chuckled, impressed and aroused at your boldness.

“Oh no darlin I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He reached into his pocket to put some money on the counter.

“How’s about I buy you a drink and I’ll tell ya, Miss....” he trailed off, wanting to find it your name.

“(Y/N).” You blushed, looking around for your boss. He was no where to be seen. Probably drunk or fucking some whore upstairs. You smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair being your ear.

“Miss (Y/N). A pleasure. Arthur. Arthur Morgan.” He spoke as you poured yourself a glass, and got out from behind the counter. His eyes glue on you the whole time as you passed him, grabbing his hand in the process. You walked him over to an empty table in the corner of the saloon, as secluded as you could get. He pulled your seat out, motioning for you to sit. You smiled up at him

“Such a gentleman.” You giggled as you sat down. He went to the other side of the table and sat.

“I ain’t no gentleman.” He scoffed.

“Well you seem like one to me.” You flashed him another sweet smile. Once again he leaned on his elbows to get close to you.

Arthur’s POV

“I’m telling ya it’s true! I put dynamite in the shit pile and blew the place up! That man took himself a regular shit shower!” You hollered laughing hysterically and taking another shot. She threw her head back laughing. All night you told her stories of gunslinging and fightin’. She seemed so interested, her eyes never left yours. Every time you said something funny she would lean into your shoulder and laugh. You had transitioned to her side of the table, pulling her into your lap. Something about this woman made you feel like you could tell her anything. You felt safe with her. In the pit of your stomach there was this nagging doubt that arose every time you thought of asking her to take a walk. She was a young, beautiful lady- city girl no less. What would she want with a rough old ugly bastard. But swapping drunk stories with her was so damn fun. You hadn’t felt like this in a long time. The sparkle in her eyes every time you spoke made you weak in the knees.

Your POV

All night you laughed as the cowboy told crazy stories. So crazy you believed most of them. You looked at him intently, hanging onto every word. He eventually walked over to you, sitting next to you and pulling you into his lap. You obliged, wrapping your arms around his neck and both legs hanging on one side of him. His hands gripped your waist as he continued to tell stories. You were slightly jealous. He was an outlaw, and you couldn’t help but have the thought of running away with him cross your mind a few times. You felt a fool at the though, what would this rough gunslinger want with some boring city girl? The night went on as you and Arthur drank more, talking and laughing. Eventually the piano man kicked it up a notch and Arthur took you to the floor, twirling you and rocking you. You laughed as you buried your face into his neck. He held your waist tightly, you couldn’t get any closer to him. But you tried as you hugged him closer, inhaling as he smelled like whiskey and gun power. A new welcoming smell from the bars nasty thick air smell. His scent comforted you some how. You have no idea why. When the song ended, Arthur bowed at you. No words were spoken between you two, just intense laughter. You studied each other’s body language, enjoying each other’s company. He held his arm out for to take it. He escorted you back to your table, placing you back into his lap.

“Quite the dancer you are Mr. Morgan!” You laughed as you played with the hairs at the back of his neck. He shook his head chuckling

“I usually ain’t like that. I don’t know there’s just something about you girl...” he trailed looking at you.

“And there is something about you.” You replied as you took a bold move and kissed his cheek. He dipped his head down before looking up at you and smiling. You two continued to talk. You swapped more drunk stories. You laughed so hard you thought you’d wet yourself. You two went on through the night, making a connection. Hours on end of learning more about each other. Even though there seemed to be a connection as soon as he walked into the bar. This went on for weeks. Maybe even months. Arthur would come meet you at your work and you would drink and laugh and dance and flirt. He hasn’t asked to take you anywhere yet, you were glad you didn’t have to explain to him yet your boss would never let you leave. You loved his company, it made your life there more enjoyable. Every day you woke up to get ready for work as quick as possible as Arthur would get there early. Sometimes before you even opened. He grew very fond of you, aching to learn more and grow close to you. It was just another regular night, you and Arthur shared a booth as you sat wit your legs propped up on his.

“I must say Arthur, it’s gotta be nice to be running from the law like that. Of course it’s not nice, I don’t mean it like that. But to be free. I can’t stand these fools. I only keep this job so the law don’t come after me, let alone my boss. But most of my time I rob and I kill. I know I know, a woman shouldn’t do all that nonsense whatever. But I just want to be back in the country, hunting deer and sleeping on the ground and all. Ya know? No one to tend to or impress. It’s a pretty dream I suppose. The law don’t much like me round here... ” you trailed off rolling your eyes. He slightly smirked at you, surprised and impressed.

“I don’t find nothing wrong with it Miss (Y/N). Hell I been an outlaw most of my life. Who am I to judge? But you are something. Not many women can handle that way of life ya know?” He spoke looking up at you are rubbing small circles

on your hips. You moved to his lap to continue speaking.

“Oh I know. My daddy was just like you. God rest his soul...”

“Well I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah... me too.” Arthur was quiet for a minute, like he was contemplating something hard. He finally looked up at you

“You wanna take a walk?” You bit your lip, looking at his. You wanted to, more than anything in the world.

“Oh Arthur, I would love to do nothing more. But. But my boss...well he ain’t a good man. I really shouldn’t leave.” Arthur listened to your words carefully, his face getting serious.

“You still workin?”

“Technically I got off an hour ago... but he... well...” you trailed off. Arthur shifted so he was eye level with you.

“Does he hit ya?” He asked quietly. You just nodded, looking away from him.

“He’s smart about it. Usually in places you can’t see in public.” You pulled your dress up to show your legs covered in bruises. Arthur’s grip on you hips moved to your lower back, rubbing and soothing you. It was the alcohol and paying attention to learning more about you that he didn’t notice the old and new wounds. He was quiet for a moment before calmly speaking

“Does he...touch ya? I don’t mean to be so forward but you are a beautiful lady and I’d hate to think he’d disrespect you.” You took your arm from around his neck to rest in your lap. You fiddled your fingers, letting a tear fall down your cheek. He wiped the tear off with his finger and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well, what kind of way is that to live? I’m one to talk being the outlaw here but come on now.” He asked, staring off into space at anger. You have no idea why, but you felt like you have known this man forever. You grabbed his face, turning his gaze back to you. You went to say something when you felt a hand grab your hair. You yelped, stumbling back as you were yanked off Arthur’s lap. Your boss threw you to the floor, kicking you as you laid there.

“Why the hell ain’t you working bitch? What do you think I pay you for? And What the hell are you doing with this man you whore? ” He screamed before backhanding you. You had no time to react as Arthur grabbed his shoulder, twirling him towards him, and punching him. Hard. Your boss hit the ground with a thud, as you propped up on your elbows to look at him on the ground, rubbing your cheek.

“That ain’t NO way to talk to a lady sir. Now why don’t you apologize to her before I take her away from here- for good.” You were shocked by his words, trying to hide the giant smile forming. Was this mystery man going to save you from this life? You rubbed your side, your boss’s shoe doing a number on your ribs as Arthur helped you up. He wrapped an arm around your waist as you rested your head on his shoulder. Everyone in the bar was so drunk and into what they were doing no one noticed your altercation.

“I said... APOLOGIZE.” He growled at your boss. You boss finally gathered himself after Arthur’s hard punch, standing up to say something rude back before you left Arthur’s embrace to kick your boss in between his legs. In his daze you landed an uppercut on his jaw as he went down with a thud, cursing you. Arthur raised his eyebrows, grabbing your waist again and motioning you away from you boss on the ground, afraid you would kill him right then and there. Though he didn’t doubt you could, and that he deserved it, but you didn’t want to attract the law. You intertwined your fingers with his on your waist as you went on that walk he promised. You walked silently for a few minutes, enjoying the silence and each other’s company.

“I must say I am impressed darlin. You know how to handle yourself.” He spoke as you continued to walk to who knows where. You nodded, smiling to yourself.

“Thank you, Arthur.” You spoke his name softly. You started to cry again. Not sure why. The stinging of your cheek or the tenderness of the bruise forming on your side. But also because of how you’ve been treated for years and now you were free. You couldn’t stop thinking about what he said. ‘Take her away from here for good.’ He could sense your thinking as he wiped your tears from your face again.

“Hey now. Shhhh. it’s alright. Your safe now. It’s over. I’ll make sure of it.” He spoke into your hair after pulling you into a warm embrace. You saw a small bench over his shoulder. You didn’t want to leave his embrace but you were weak in the knees overwhelmed with emotions. He noticed you staring, seeing the bench. He motioned for you to sit, and he sat close next to you with his arm draped around you.

“Um... look (Y/N)... about what I said at the saloon. I... well uh... I mean... I know you were saying you ain’t particularly happy... I don’t care who ya are no one deserves to be treated like that ya know? And it weren’t your fault. Just want you to know that... And... well this has been one of the best nights of my life if I’m being honest. I’ve grown quite fond of you miss. You are stuck in this city. I can see it in your eyes. I would love to take you away from all this... if you’d let me. I have a camp. A gang. We all work to earn our keep, we don’t have much but we make do and we’re free.” He spoke clearly looking into your eyes while stroking your hair. You cupped his hand on your face, bringing them both in front of you and holding them both.

“Oh Arthur. I would love to run away with you. I’m...quite fond of you too. Your too sweet...” you trailed off as you looked at his lips and he looked at yours. You both instinctively leaned in, entangling your lips in a passionate kiss. Usually you would have done this somewhere more private. But it’s was in the middle of the night, no one was around, and you both were still buzzed. The kiss starting out not so gentle, exploring each other’s mouths with your tongues. You pulled his hair, accidentally knocking his hat off. He squeezed your hips and deepened the kiss. That was the whiskey in you twos system, made you guys want to get right to it. You pulled away, gasping for air. Him doing the same.

“Well that’s good to hear. I know it ain’t a pretty picture. And I ain’t too much to look at. But-“ you cut him off before he could talk negatively about his lifestyle or himself one more time.

“Lets go to a hotel in Rhodes. I’d love to hear more of those...gunslinger stories. And see more of-you Mr. Morgan.” You said in a seductive tone, assuring him you wanted him and wanted to run away with him. He smiled, getting your insinuation.

“Sure.” He spoke as he stood up, still holding one of your hands, and whistling for his horse. He bent over to retrieve his hat from the ground and he placed it on your head. He grabbed your waist, lifting you up onto his horse before getting on himself. Before you could do so yourself, he reached behind him to take your hands and wrap them around his waist. You giggled into his back and you nuzzled into it, hugging him tighter.

“Take me away from here Mr. Morgan.” You whispered into his ear. He inhaled sharply, saying

“Yes ma’am...hya!” he yelled as he kicked his legs and his horse ran off into the night. You looked back, the saloon fading into the darkness. You smiled. You were...free. Also, going to a hotel with a man you just met. As crazy as it seems you weren’t nervous, and neither was he. You both had a connection like you’ve known each other fondly for a long time.

You fiddled with his belt buckle and belt loops on the way to Rhodes. You were teasing him, hoping he would have his way with you when you reached the destination. Some time about halfway there, he squeezed your hands hard.

“Woman unless you want me to stop and take you against one of these trees I suggest you stop.” Oh god that voice. You grew wet as you smiled into his back.

“Yes sir.” He tensed up, continuing to ride. You noted the effect of calling him that. Something about the way you call him sir made him harder than he was. Time went on, slight teasing here and there as you reached Rhodes. He hopped off his horse, grabbing your waist and brining your feet to the ground. You grabbed his hand, taking the lead before he could deny any of this.

“Evening feller. A room please.... and I need a wash. You got a bath?” Arthur stayed behind you, hanging onto your every word. The hotel owner nodded, taking your money and prepping the bath. You shot Arthur a knowing look as you walked to the bath. He followed you, adjusting his hard on under his gun belt. When you were both in, he walked up to you, inches away.

“I’m sorry if this is too much at once. You can just...we can...go to the room if you want.” You started to feel a little hesitant about your bold move. This was still a man you’ve known for merely hours. He didn’t speak, he just grabbed your waist, kissing you passionately. You sighed into the kiss, linking your hands around his neck and finding his hair. You deepened the kiss, reaching down to undo his belt. You were both startled by a knock at the door.

“You need any help in there hun?” A woman asked. You placed your finger on Arthur’s mouth, smirking seductively.

“Oh no he’s got enough help right here.” You yelled back. Arthur could have spent in his pants like a teenage boy right then and there. You could hear the woman outside the door huff and stomp off. You motioned for Arthur to undress, as you slowly slipped the straps of your dress down just enough to only reveal your breasts. His eyes grew dark with lust as he fumbled with the buttons on his shirt.

“Jesus.” He breathed as he was almost undressed. He seemed a little self conscious. You walked up to him, breasts still hanging out. You smoothed your hands down his chest.

“Your very handsome Arthur.” He shook his head. Your fingers ran to his back, scratching lightly. You looked at every scar scrape and bruise on his body. Matching yours. You trailed over a recent one on his shoulder, him slightly wincing

“Oh Arthur. When’s the last time someone touched you other than to hurt you?” He shook his head, grabbing your waist.

“I could ask you the same thing.” You bent to kiss his collarbone. Planting small kisses all over his scars. He held you close, letting out the occasional contented sigh. You pulled away, him looking a little flushed. You hoped you didn’t do too much at once.

“Does that feel good?” You asked as you sucked below his jawline. He whimpered

“Yes, please...more”. You chuckled

“Get those clothes off and get in the bath. You seem tense...let me help.” You whispered the last part into his ear. He shivered, reluctantly undressing fully and dipping into the water. You turned around until he was in the water to try to give him some privacy, even though you were about to get real friendly in a minute. You made a show of putting your hair down with your back still to him. Slowly untying the ribbon and running your fingers through your hair slowly. His breathing quickened, watching your every move. You turned slowly, smiling at his as you bent to sit at the edge of the tub. You dipped your hands into the warm water, discarding the use of a rag. You brought your delicate fingers to his back, massaging gently. Taking your time to work out every knot. He groaned at your touch, still in disbelief that this was happening. You dipped your hands back into the water, breasts pushed together in his face, making his breath hitch in his throat. You smiled, tapping his leg to signal you wanted to wash it. He obliged, resting his leg up on the side of the tub. You massaged his leg once more, slowly working out the tension. When’s the last time this poor man has some time to relax?. You scrubbed each scar with care. You took your time to make him feel good. You turned to look at him to make sure he was content with your motions to find his eyes glued to your breasts.

“I’m gonna be honest girl, I don’t know how longer I can control myself.” He spoke lowly as he cocked his eyebrows, forcing his eyes away from your breasts and looking into your intoxicating brown eyes. You bit your lip, about to say something when he grabbed your waist and threw you on top of him in the water. You giggled as you sat up in his lap, aroused by his roughness as water splashed everywhere.

“I’m sorry, was that too rough?” He asked concerned. You shook your head smiling “Oh no Arthur it was perfect.” He nodded as he placed hot open mouthed wet kisses on all of your scars. You softly moaned, not afraid to let him know how good it felt. He was slow and tender, he took great care in making you feel good. He slowly discarded your dress all the way, along with your chemise. You let him, grinding softly against him as he did so. He did the same as you, washing your scars and bruises with care. You softly whined as his hands went to your breasts, making you involuntary buck into him. He smirked, pushing the small of your back and bringing your chest to his face. He licked his lips before engulfing one of your breasts in his mouth. You moaned, entangling your hands in his hair, still grinding into his. He smiled against you at your sounds before licking and nibbling your nipple. You threw your head back in ecstasy.

“Oh Arthur...” you quietly moaned into his hair. He grunted against your chest in response as he moved to your other breast with the same treatment. You panted and gasped into his hair as he trailed hot open mouthed kisses over your breasts and collarbone. Your eyes flew open when you felt a hard smack on your left ass cheek. You whine loudly at the new sensation, not sure that Arthur wouldve been into that.

“Yeah?” He cooed as a praise, water splashing everywhere.

“Uh huh” you whimpered. You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him into your boobs. He could barely breathe but he didn’t care as he smothered his face into your breasts and smacked the other ass cheek. You yelped again.

“You like that don’t ya? Such a good girl” he mumbled into your chest. You bit your lip nodding furiously. You’ve never been so hot and bothered. You were so horny for him.

“Yes daddy I-“ you cut yourself off by another slap. You started to apologize for calling him such, not sure how he would feel about it. But before you could say anything he bit your breast pinching your nipple and slapping your ass again.

“You want me to be your daddy little girl?” You whined as you started to grind against his length that was hard and already leaking pre cum from the tip.

“Yeah. I like that. Say it again.” It wasn’t a demand but you immediately complied.

“Oh daddy. Please oh god daddy!!” He smacked your ass again while one of his hands reached between your legs and you melted into him. You moaned his name with a string of curses as you started to stroke him as well. This teasing went on for a while, you two groping at each other like touch starved wild animals. When was the last time a man did this to you? A woman did this to him? You were getting close when you finally came to and realized you guys were still in the bath tub.

“A-Arthur. We should go to the room.” You spoke softly into his hair. He grumbled into your chest.

“Alright fine sweetheart.” You smiled as you got off his lap slowly so he could see everything. The water beads rolled off your body slowly as he bit his lip, cocking his eyebrow standing up and helping you out. You started to slip on one of his spare shirts from the satchel as he stayed naked watching you.

“I don’t see the point in getting dressed when I’m just going to rip them off when we get to the room” he grumbled as he softly massaged your ass covered by your undergarments. You chuckled softly.

“You want me to run to our room naked with all these degenerates around?” He immediately started getting dressed too. You laughed as you waited for him to get dressed, drying your hair with a towel. He started walking towards the door when you placed your hand on his chest. He looked at you almost scared that you started to regret being with him.

“I’m ready to go darlin, there’s just one problem.” You spoke seductively but with a hint of worry in your voice so he would fall for it.

“What’s wrong?” He asked softly. You smiled as your ran your fingers through his hair before picking his hat up off the little table by the tub. You leaned in to his ear, grabbing his clothed length before whispering

“You have to catch me first cowboy.” You quickly nibbled his ear and ran off before he could respond. He smirked as he ran after you. You both laughing like teenagers as you ran up the stairs. Let’s just say that night was the best night of your life. Both of you never feeling more safe than you did together.

[outlawnurse]

He Insists - Chapter II

A RDR2 Modern AU Written by: @ninja-nurse, Inspired by: @heart-of-gold-outlaw, and with special thanks to @ceruleanchillin

Warning: Language, Violence, Spoilers

Introduction | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V

"Where's the other one?"  Arthur asked Sophia, coldly. She raised her eyebrows, "The other what?" "Marston sister?" "I have no idea."  Sophia shook her head, "The last time I saw her, I was going to bed, and she was drunk dancing with Sean by the fire." He nodded, remembering seeing the same thing. "Why are you looking for her?" He seemed confused by the question, "I don't...  I just wanted to make sure she was doing ok.  She was pretty drunk last night, and seemed ... sad." "She's literally like a hundred a fifty years younger than you."   "I thought she was thirty-seven?"  He scratched the back of his head.   She shook her head, taking her coffee back to her tent, "Keep your syphilis to yourself, cowboy." "What did I say?"  Arthur put his arms up, somewhat hurt, "I don't even have syphilis."  He turned to head back to his tent and saw the woman stumble out of the woods.  He walked over to her, "Are you ok?" She looked at him, fixing her skirt, "Do you have any idea how hard it is to pee with this skirt on?" "I can't say that I do."  He shook his head, trying to to laugh at the woman. "...and why are there so many layers to this thing.  What is even happening right now?" "Are you still drunk?" "No!"  She snorted out, finally looking up at him. He just looked at her. "Yes."  She let out a nasally giggle, as she walked toward the table, sitting down, "I think we stopped drinking like ... just when the sun came up." He snickered, "Would you like some coffee?" "I would love some coffee, Arthur Morgan.  Yes, I would."  She stretched her arms out across the table, laying her head down. He shook his head, walking away. "Is she ok?"  Hosea asked, seeing the woman laying across the table. Arthur shook his head, as he prepared the coffee, "She's still drunk from last night." "She's not the only one."  Abigail rolled her eyes, joining them. Arthur looked to see John passed out in his tent.  He shook his head. Hosea sighed, "They had quite a shocking couple of days.  I can't imagine that Caitlin would have ever imagined getting to meet her great great grandparents."   Abigail sighed, "I was talking a lot with Sophia last night.  She doesn't seem to know as much about us as Caitlin does, but they both seem like good girls." "I suppose she has a heavy burden to bear."  Arthur was intrigued by the woman, "She knows ... everything." "Could you ever imagine knowing what happens before it does, good or bad, not being able to do anything about it?"  Abigail shook her head. The two men looked over at the woman. "What does he want?"  Arthur grumbled, as Micah walked toward the woman. "Easy, son." "I don't like him, and more importantly I don't like how much she doesn't like him."  He gestured, "What does she know?" Hosea shrugged, "I don't...  I don't know, Arthur, but you need to try to at very least be civil with him." "Me?"  He gasped, almost childishly, "Tell him!" The man walked over to the table, seeing the woman lay there.  He ran his hand across her back, "Good morning, sunshine." She smiled to herself, opening her eyes, slowly, "Good morn...."  She gasped, seeing the man, trying to stand up, only to fall out of the chair with a thud. The man laughed, "You are a little drunken mess, aren't you?" "I can do it myself."  She snapped, slapping his hand away, as he tried to help her up. "I'm just trying to help you." "I don't need your help."  She held on to the table for balance, as she stood up. "What is your problem?" "I don't like you." "You don't even know me!" "I knew enough." "Someone tell Marston he better come and get his girl!"  Micah barked.

Arthur and Hosea looked up quickly, as did several of the others. "Why is he messing with her?  It's too damn early for his shit."  Arthur growled. Hosea looked at him.

"Fuck you."  She pushed him. Enraged, the man grabbed the girl by the throat. She put her hands on the man's wrist, scared for her life. "Not so tough now, are we, sweetheart?"  He laughed. "Cait!"  Sophia gasped, coming out of the tent to see what the commotion was. "Let her go."  Arthur clenched his teeth, aiming the gun at the man's head, as he walked toward them. He pushed the woman away from himself, causing her to fall to the ground. Arthur holstered his gun, punching the man in the face, "If you ever put your hands on her again, I will fucking kill you." Abigail helped Caitlin up, Sophia walked over, "Are you ok?" "I'm fine."  She was still angry.   "You're going to regret this, Morgan."  Micah sneered. "I doubt it."  He shook his head.

She took a step toward Micah, as the man walked away, only to have Arthur grab her arm. "No."  He looked at her. "He..." "No."  He pointed to her. "You should have let him hang in Strawberry!" "Yeah, well..." She tried to pry Arthur's fingers from her arm, as his grip, "Let me go!" He let go of her arm, "Are you done?" She nodded. "Caitlin, what was the one goddamn thing I told you to do?"  Sophia yelled at the woman. She looked up suddenly, "Uh oh!  Mom's mad!" "You're still drunk?" "You're still mothering me?" "I wouldn't mother you if you didn't need mothering."  She snapped, "You've been perpetually drunk since mom died." "I have not!" "You have.  You need to get your fucking shit together.  You're going to get yourself killed." "I'm fine!" "He literally almost just killed you!" "No, he didn't."  She waved her hand in the man's direction. "So... What... He was choking you for funsies?" "You know what, Sophia..." "Yeah... You're a Marston alright."  Arthur grabbed Caitlin's arm again, having enough of the girls' bickering, pulling her toward her tent, "Go sleep it off." "I..." "Go."  He lead her to the tent, gently pushing her inside, "You'll be fine, girl." "Arthur..."  She stood with her hands on her hips. "Good night."  He pulled the flaps closed.

"Is she always like that?"  Arthur asked, as the woman reminded her of John. "Hot headed and stubborn?"  Sophia rolled her eyes, "I mean, yes, but it has gotten worse since our mother died." They just looked at her. She nodded, "Our Grandpa Arthur died eight years ago and our father seven years ago ... I don't think she ever fully dealt with all that.  She was very close to them.  She's just always so... angry." "Grandpa Arthur, huh?"  Hosea smirked, looking at Arthur. She nodded, looking at Arthur, "Jack named his son after you." The man stood a little taller, smiling, puffing his chest out with pride. "I suppose he never really forgot about you." "Why would he forget me?"  Arthur asked, almost child-like, "Where would I go?" "I-I, uh... I should go... check on Cait..."  Sophia walked away. Arthur just watched her walk away, wondering what his future held for him. *One Month Later*

It has been a month since the girls appeared on the side of the road outside of Valentine.  They had both settled comfortably into camp, doing their part to help with chores, but tried their best not to interfere with their lives.

"Do you miss home?"  Mary-Beth asked. Caitlin shrugged, "I guess.  I don't know.  I mean...  My sister is all I have left, and I have her here with me, so...  I guess not." "You two are close?" "We always have been." "Less chat and more work, ladies."  Susan ordered, as the two women were doing laundry. They looked at each other, chuckling. "Will you miss this when you're gone?" "Doing laundry?"  She looked at the girl curiously, "You know we still have laundry in my time." The girl laughed, "No, I mean...  Living like this... Here... with all of us." "More than you know."  Caitlin said. Sophia walked by, dropping a pile of clothes on the ground, "Miss Grimshaw wanted me to give this to you." "Of course she did."  Caitlin rolled her eyes, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

*That Afternoon*

Abigail spoke with Susan, "I'm worried about the girls." She just looked at her. "Caitlin looks so sad all the time, and Sophia...  She misses home so much.  I know there's a trip into town today for supplies.  I thought maybe it would be a good idea for them to go... to get out of camp for a bit." "I think that's a great idea."  She nodded.

"Sophia!"  She called out, "Caitlin!" Arthur looked toward Susan, then at the girls, as he sat in his open tent, looking through his journal. John shook his head, eating a bowl of stew at the table, "No one escapes the wrath of Susan Grimshaw." "I did my chores, Susan!"  Caitlin pointed at her, "You're not gonna get me today!" Sophia laughed. Susan smiled, "I know you did, dear, and I also appreciate you helping Mr. Pearson with the food the last couple weeks.  I have to tell you that it's been tasting much better." "Thank you."  She smiled, "Which reminds me, we're running low on spices." "I've asked Arthur to pick some fresh ones while he's out." "Arthur Morgan," Caitlin joked, "outlaw, gunslinger, spice picker!  My hero!" They laughed at her. "Well, you're in a good mood today."  Arthur released his ever elusive smile. She looked back at him, "I am, Mr. Morgan.  Thanks for noticin'." He nodded, looking back at his cards. "Ladies, Mr. Williamson and I are going into Valentine for some supplies.  I thought you would like you join us." "Sure."  Sophia nodded, "It'll be nice to get out of here for a while." "Alright."  Susan nodded, "Mr. Williamson, are we ready?" "Yes, ma'am."  He said, as he finished hitching the horses to the wagon. "You two behave yourselves."  John called out. "Yes, Grandpa John."  Caitlin waved. Arthur let out a snort, as John smiled, "Grandpa John." "Shut up!"  He snapped, at his friend, his smiled turning into a sneer. Sophia snickered, "He's younger than us right now." "That's what makes it so funny!"  Caitlin laughed at herself.

The two girls looked around the general store, as Bill loaded the wagon. "I have a present for you girls."  Susan said. They looked at each other, then at her. "I know you've been stuck wearing those pieced together outfits for the past month.  I thought it would be nice if you each had a dress of your own." "You don't have to do that."  Sophia shook her head. "I know."  She said, "I want to.  You girls are so far from home, and are burdened with so much.  I thought it would cheer you up a bit." "Thank you!"  The girls said, together.

The two tried several dresses on, finally settling on ones they liked. Sophia held up the purple and white dress, whispering, "Do you think we can keep them when we go home?" "I hope so!"  Caitlin said, holding the blue dress up to herself, looking in the mirror. "Can I wrap those for you, ladies?"  The store keeper asked. "Yes."  Caitlin handed him her dress, "Thank you." "Thank you."  Sophia nodded, as the man took the dress from her.

Bill walked in as Susan paid for the dresses, "The wagon is all packed.  Should we head  back?" The woman nodded, "We'll be out in one minute." "Ok."  

"I know you ladies would probably like to go home, but it's been nice having you here."  Susan said, "I always appreciate the extra help with chores, and you two really carry your own weight." They both smiled, politely. "It's also been good for John.  I never thought that boy would grow up, but he's really starting to take his responsibilities seriously.  He's been spending more time with Abigail and Jack, and he's been keeping up on his chores.  It's good." Bill laughed, "I have to say, I'm impressed with you girls too.  You've been here this long and haven't run, screaming for the hills yet." "It's not so bad."  Caitlin shrugged. "Well, I don't know how long we've got ya for," Bill said, "but it's nice to have ya.  I'm gonna be sad to see ya go when the time comes." "Thank you, Mr. Williamson."  Sophia smiled, "We'll miss you too." Caitlin smiled politely, but it faded quickly, as she rolled her eyes. Sophia looked at her, questioningly, whispering, as Susan and Bill spoke in the front of the wagon, "Do you know something about him that I don't?" She nodded, not saying what she knew. Sophia sat up, "No wonder you're miserable.  You know too goddamn much." "You think?"

They arrived back at camp and immediately started unpacking the wagon.   "We've trained all our lives for this."  Sophia said, "All those times mommy and daddy went food shopping and made us carry in all the bags and put everything away." "Miss Marston," Pearson called to her, "There's no more room in my wagon, you'll have to put..." Caitlin put her hand up, "Worry not, Mr. Pearson.  I will tetris the shit out of your wagon.  It'll all fit." "Tetris?"  He repeated, "I don't... understand." "No, she's like the queen of getting things to fit in spaces they shouldn't." "That's what she said."  Caitlin chuckled to herself. Sophia laughed. "That's what who said?" "What?" "You said, 'that's what she said', but who said that?" "No, Mr. Pearson, it's...  No one said it."  She hopped down from his wagon, after some rearranging, "It's just a thing people say." "I don't think I understand this future world of yours." "Yeah."  Sophia shook her head, "We don't either."

As the girls walked back to their tent, Dutch called over to them. "Would you ladies care for a game of poker?" "I'm good."  Sophia shook her head, "I'm not much of a card player." "I'll play."  Caitlin shrugged, "I don't really have any money though." "I'll lend you a couple of dollars to start."  Dutch pat the chair beside him, "Come.  Sit."

She looked around the table, as Hosea and Micah turned in their cards from the last game. "I never met me a real lady that could beat me at poker."  Micah said. "Something tells me you've never spent much time around a real lady, Mr. Bell."  She retorted. "I had a woman once."  He sat a little taller. "Whores don't count."  She raised her eyebrow. "Hey!"  He stood up, banging his hand on the table, pointing at her, "She was a good woman!" Arthur looked toward the table, hearing the man's voice. Caitlin put her hands up, "My bad..." Dutch looked at the two, "Are we going to have a problem here?" Micah clenched his jaw, "No, Dutch.  Of course not." "I'll deal."  Hosea said.

They played a few hands.  Caitlin studied the men, looking for any sign of bluffing.  She decided to play the hand she was dealt.  She looked at the cards.  She held a two of diamonds and a seven of clubs. They all placed their bets before Hosea turned the first three cards over on the table.  It was the queen of hearts, the ten of spades, and the nine of hearts.  Her face remained unchanging.  They all bet again and the forth card was placed on the table.  It was the four of spades.  After one more round of betting, the final card was placed on the table. It was the two of hearts. "I fold."  Dutch dropped his cards on the table. "Fold."  Hosea shook his head. "Well, how about you future girl?" "I'll call and raise you a dollar." She dropped money into the pot. He grinned, "I'm all in, baby." She nodded, pushing the rest of her coins in. He grew nervous. Dutch and Hosea leaned in closer. "Ladies first." "A pair of twos."  She laid her cards down. "Oh, my..."  Hosea looked at her, "Caitie, dear, that's not...." "Son of a bitch!"  Micah threw his cards down. Dutch looked at them, "You went all in with nothing?" "I thought she was bluffing and would fold." "I was!"  She let out a squeal, "Ah ha ha!  I won!" "This is horse shit!"  Micah stormed away from the table. Caitlin sorted the money, "Here's what I borrowed from you, Mr. Van der Linde, and here is a bit of interest." "Thank you, my dear.  It's been a pleasure doing business with you." "...and also with you."  She bowed her head to him, stuffing the coins in her dress pocket. Lenny walked over to the table, "Have a good ride, Arthur!" "Yup."  He called back. He looked at the table, "Y'all got room for one more at this little party?" “Where’s he going?”  Cait watched Arthur tacking up his horse. “He’s going on a job for Strauss.”  Lenny said, as he took Micah's seat, “Apparently this man owes him money, and he wants Arthur to shake him down.” “What man?” “Downes I think?”  He shrugged, “I don’t know.” "Thomas Downes?" "That sounds about right."  Lenny looked up at the woman, "He's got a farm West of...  Valentine.  Where's she going?" Caitlin’s heart sank, “No!”  She took off running, before Lenny could finish his sentence. Sophia looked up, as she chat with Javier at the camp fire. “Arthur!  Wait!”  She yelled, as he mounted the stallion.

The entire camp looked up, hearing the urgency and desperation in the woman's voice. “Ssssssshit!”   Sophia stood up, mumbling under her breath. Arthur looked at the woman, almost amused by her urgency, “Hey, girl, what’s gotten into you?” She held the horse’s reins in one hand, putting the other hand on his leg, “You can’t go!” He felt her small fingers gripping his ankle tightly.  He grinned, but after seeing the look of terror on her face, the grin faded away. “Cait!”  Sophia called after her. “I won’t be gone long.”  He looked at her curiously, "A day or two at most." “Please.  I’m begging you.”  Her eyes filled with tears, “Don’t go.  Don’t go on this job.  Just let him be.  I’ll ... I’ll pay the debt.  I’ll do anything.  Please, just don't...” His brow furrowed, suddenly feeling uneasy.  

They all looked at her. Abigail looked at Tilly, grabbing her arm, "Get John." She nodded, rushing down the path, as the man was guarding the camp.  It was only a minute before the two came running back. John handed Abigail his rifle, "Keep the boy here.” She nodded.

“Caitlin!”  Sophia scowled, “What do you think you’re doing?” “I can’t let him...  He can’t go!” “You can’t interfere.”  She pushed the girl hard. She fell to the ground, “Just give me this one....  I promise I won’t get involved in anything else!” “What’s he to you anyway?”  She gestured toward the man. She shook her head, crying, unable to speak.

Arthur dismounted the horse, standing behind the arguing women as John came over, “Your girls are out of control, Marston.” John shook his head, "What the hell is going on?"

“Please... just.... let this happen, ok?”  Caitlin cried out, "I swear I won't interfere anymore.  I won't!  Please." Sophia threw her hands up, walking away, “Whatever.” “You don’t understand.”  Caitlin gasped out, calling after her, suddenly realizing everyone was staring at her, “I’m not crazy!” "No one thinks your crazy."  Arthur shook his head. "I mean, she's a little..."  Micah gestured to his own head, twirling his finger. "Piss off, Micah."  Charles snapped standing beside the man. John sighed, “Come here, Sweetheart.” She cried into his chest, as the man knelt in front of her. He smoothed her hair. She pulled away sniffling, “Mr. Morgan... Arthur, please promise me you will leave Thomas Downes alone.  You can’t go after him.  You can't go anywhere near him.  I will pay the debt.  I will figure out a way to make money and pay back Strauss myself.  Please, just...  Promise me?” John looked at Arthur. Arthur's gaze shifted from the woman, to John, to the rest of the camp, then back to Caitlin. She stood up, still crying, “Please?” “I won’t.”  He said, nervously, “I promise.” She flung herself into his arms, hugging him tightly, around his neck, clutching at his shirt, as if to bring him closer to her. He looked stunned, his arms out.  His whole body tensed, but relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her, “Sssh.  It’s ok.  You're alright.” Leopold looked worriedly toward Reverend Swanson, “What does that girl know?” “Everything.”  He said, calmly.

“What have you done?”  Sophia pushed her sister hard, again, after joining her in their tent. “I can’t let him go there!  It’s a death sentence.” “Caitlin, you’re changing too much of the past.” “I can’t let him die!” “We all have to die sometime."  Sophia put her arms out, "You saving him now doesn't change the fact that he won't be there when we go home." "...but maybe I can give him a better life." "A better life?"  Sophia shook her head, "Listen, I’m so sorry that you fell in love with him.  I truly am, but you need to stop interfering.” “They deserve better than what happened to them.” “They’re criminals.  They knew what they were getting themselves into.  Do you think they were sorry when they robbed that ferry in Blackwater?  Do you think Dutch was sorry when he killed that woman?  Do you think Arthur was sorry when he pointed his gun in your face the day we got here?" “Arthur was fourteen when Dutch took him in.  John was twelve.”  She said, “They were children.  They didn’t know any better.  You think Dutch is going to let them walk away?  That man is slowly losing his goddamn mind.” “...and you’re not too far behind him.”  Sophia stormed out.  She stopped suddenly, seeing John standing on the opposite side of the tent. “Are you ok?” She just walked by him, saying nothing. "Give them a little time, son."  Hosea said. John lowered his head, walking away.

*Late That Night*

Arthur tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, unable to stop thinking about the woman, and how desperate she was to keep him from going on that job.  He couldn't help but wonder what she was trying to protect him from today.  He looked out, seeing a figure standing near the cliff side.

Caitlin wrapped her arms around herself, as she stood, looking into the darkness.  She could hear coyotes in the distance. "There she is."   She closed her eyes, as she heard the voice behind her. "You ok?"  He asked, standing beside her. She nodded, slowly. "You wanna talk about it?" "I made a fool of myself today."  She said, "I had a complete meltdown in front of everyone." "No one thinks any less of you, darlin'." She was quiet, unable to look at the man. He couldn't stop looking at her, "Why didn't you want me to go on that job?" She looked at him, her cheeks streaked with tears, "I can't tell you." He sighed, feeling as though he knew the answer.  He cupped her jaw with his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.  His heart broke seeing the pain in her eyes.  There was something about this woman from the future, the great great granddaughter of his friend John Marston, that mesmorized him.  He kissed her on the cheek, still holding her face, "Thank you for saving me." She looked up at him, her heart pounding in her chest. He looked at her for a minute, before pressing his lips to hers. She looked up at him, before resting her head on his chest, as he hugged her, his arms wrapped tightly around her neck, as she put her arms around his waist.

To Be Continued…………

[fractalvisionary-blog]

Outlaws Don’t Have Pets

((I had a chat with a friend about something like this, involving Jesse and cats, and this just sort of.... happened)) 

Rain, it always had to be goddamn rain. Jesse really missed the dry weather of home sometimes. Then again maybe rain was a bit better than constant searing heat... maybe. Perhaps the cowboy was a bit biased as he pulled his hat lower over his features to shield himself from the rain as much as he could. He needed to get back to his damn motel before he caught pneumonia. He had a strong imune system, but shit, it was pouring. 

Mew

What in the fuck? Jesse paused, a scowl crossing his features as he listened hard. Did he just hear something meow? His gaze flickered to the alley he had paused by, taking a couple of steps back as he listened for anything that wasn't the hiss of the rain against the concrete. 

Mew

There it was again! He definitely wasn't imagining it. Something kept him there as his eyes scanned the darkness of the alley. The thing sounded absolutely tiny and shaky. Maybe if it hadn't been pouring rain and cold as a polar bears ass he would have kept moving and reminded himself that an outlaw could absolutely not take in any sort of animal. But as it was part of him wanted to at least find the damn cat that was making such a pitiful noise at him. 

Mew

There, huddled under a discarded scrap of newspaper against the edge of a dumpster. A tiny scrap of fur was huddled staring up at him with big eyes and shaking like a goddamned leaf in the cold. It was obviously soaked to the bone and Jesse paused for a long moment as the kitten watched him pitifully. Shit, those big eyes were going to kill him if he didn't do something. 

Jesse ran a hand down his face, frustrated with himself and his lack of resolve, before he approached the tiny animal carefully. The kitten shrunk back with another pitiful noise and Jesses heart ached a little bit. The poor thing was terrified and cold, and completely skin and bones. He reached out with a steady hand, letting the kitten sniff him before he scooped the thing up in his hand. The kitten didn't protest to being tucked into his jacket, not at all. Instead it huddled, shaking, against the heat of his chest as Jesse pulled his hat down over his face once more and headed back to his motel room. Just for one night, that was it, then he would drop the kitten at some shelter where it would be taken care of properly. 

~~~

The outlaw ended up making a quick stop at some shitty convenience store to pick up some tuna to feed the damn thing for the night before he finally reached his room and he could shed his sodden serape and hat. He dumped the tuna onto the rickety table before kicking off his boots and going to the bathroom to get the thing at least a bit more clean and towel it off. The kitten was still huddled into the crook of his arm trembling, its face pushed into his elbow as if it could become part of his arm. 

Jesse finally set the kitten down on the counter in the small bathroom, taking a good look at his companion for the evening as he filled the sink with a little bit of warm water. It looked dark brown, or grey, he wasn't sure. It was covered in dirt though. And Jesse set the kitten in his hand once more before dipping it into the warm water to get it clean before he did anything else. The kitten cried in indignance to be dunked into the water, tiny needle-claws digging into Jesses hand as the animal squirmed. 

"I know bud, you ain't gonna be cleanin' all this grime off yourself though, you'll make yourself sick." Jesse huffed, scowling as he grabbed one of the washcloths to start rubbing the dirt out of the kittens fur. The little thing kept crying until he had revealed the bright orange under all the grime and lifted it from its bath. 

From there he toted the kitten back out the main room, humming and pleased with himself as he set it on the table to towel it off properly and make sure it was properly getting warmed up. The kitten started purring happily as Jesse rubbed it down with a hand towel somewhat vigorously to get it all dried off, and it made him smile slightly as tiny claws pricked at his skin again. The kitten was just kneading, but it was cute. Dammit Jesse knew that he would have to drop the kitten off somewhere, so he quickly sobered himself as he set the kitten on its feet on the table and tried to figure out a way to feed it so it wouldn't eat itself sick. It was skin and bones, and Jesse was making himself a bit sad wondering when the kittens last meal had been or where its mother was. 

The outlaw quickly dismissed the thoughts as he opened the can of tuna. His solution was to make a small bowl for his newfound friend by cutting the bottom off of a styrafoam cup and pouring some of the tuna in there. The kitten immediately stuck its face into the tuna eagerly when it was set down, and Jesse couldn't help but chuckle slightly as he set the rest of the can aside after putting the op of the can back on haphazardly. 

It took a whole before the kitten decided he was finished eating. Jesse had been watching him the whole time, and by the time he was done the little thing had dried completely. With the dryness came the fact that Jesse had apparently picked up a tiny ball of fluff. The kitten licked the last traces of tuna from its paws and muzzle before it waddled over to Jesse and nudged itself up against the cowboys arm. 

"Trust me, you don't wanna do that." Jesse muttered, sighing as he lifted a hand to run a couple of fingers over the top of his guests fuzzy head, right between the ears. The kitten was too damn cute, and Jesse had to keep reminding himself that it was temporary. He was not keeping it.

"I ain't keepin' you." He persisted sternly, as if the kitten could understand what he was saying. But as the little thing climbed his arm to tuck itself into the crook of the cowboys arm once more, Jesse couldn't help but soften. How could he resist when there was a tiny purring ball of fuzz curled up in his arm? And curled up was right. The kitten had made itself into a ball, tucking its nose under its tail and promptly going to sleep right there tucked against Jesse. God, he was finding it incredibly hard to keep his resolve when his little rescue case was so cute. 

He sat back in his chair with a sigh, looking around the motel room and chewing on his lip. The least he could do was sleep on it. He needed some sleep either way, he didn't know how long it would be before he had police tracking him down again. So he figured rest was good for as long as he had peace. Maybe he would head home next... Or to the town he used to consider home. It was much warmer, somewhere he could lay low for a bit. or maybe he'd move on to Mexico again for a while. That was always a viable option. He knew plenty of spanish so he could easily get by. 

The outlaw hadn't realized that he had zoned out until he nearly leaned back too far in his chair, jostling himself and his guest as all four feet of the chair hit the floor again. He hummed a bit, thinking as he moved to run his fingers over the soft ball of fuzz wedged against his arm. 

Not long after deciding somewhere warm was his next stop, he decided to turn in. His companion would probably be sharing the bed with him for the night, as he didn't have the heart to leave the little thing on the floor. He blamed his softness on the fact that the room wasn't warm enough for the little thing to not be shaking and mewing again. He had to sleep of course, and he wouldn't be able to if his guest wouldn't shut up.

He plopped the kitten down on one of the pillows before changing into some fully dry and more comfortable clothes. He ended up turning the lights out and sliding into the opposite side of the bed so the kitten had a whole pillow to itself. Imagine his surprise when, not long after he settled in, he heard purring approaching his ear and his own pillow dipping slightly. The tiny ball of heat soon found a place just under his jaw, head resting against his throat and tiny paws tucked against the side of his neck.

Jesse resigned himself to his position for the night, because there was no way he was moving. 

The gunslinger had never been a big fan of cats. Dogs? Sure, dogs were great and all, shitty as hell when they were wild, but domestic ones were nice enough. But cats were assholes from what he could tell anyways. He reall hadn't ever been attached to any of them, and was pretty sure they all hated him. 

So of course the little orange scrap he had picked up hunkered down against his neck for the rest of the night. Jesse didn't fall asleep immediately, instead wondering if the little animal was going to stay there the rest of the night until he fell asleep himself. 

~~~

The next morning Jesse woke to a purring scrap of orange stuck happily to his chest. He let out a low sigh as he glared up at the ceiling. What the hell was he doing? Not only had he gone the cliche route of saving the helpless animal from certain death but he was entertaining the idea of keeping the damned thing around. 

Jesse ran a hand over his face before plucking his guest from his shirt and sitting up with a huff. The kitten wriggled in his hand until he held it up to look at it with a grumble. 

"If I keep you 'round 're you gonna be gettin' into trouble?" Jesse grumbled at the kitten as it watched him with large yellow eyes. Of course it was, cats got into fights with other cats, and if he was toting a cat around he would have to keep his companion fed as well. And as much as Jesse hated to admit it, he was no millionaire. 

"Who am I kiddin'? I'm talkin' to a damn cat in a motel room, I could probably use the company." Jesse huffed, running his free hand over his face and through his hair. Either that or he was too damn tired to be doing anything, let alone making a choice that would literally stick with him. 

He examined his new companion before letting out a heavy sigh. How could he turn the tiny ball of fluff in to a shelter when the cat was giving him such an open, innocent look. That was what it looked like at least. 

"Fine. But if you get me caught or in trouble, you're goin' to the closest shelter I can find, y'hear me?" He finally gave in with a sigh, frustrated with himself as much as he was frustrated with the cat. 

"I s'pose that means I gotta give ya a name then don't it?" He got to his feet with a faint groan as his back cracked loudly, and he shot his new companion an accusatory look. That was totally the cats fault for deciding to stick to him like an orange burr so he couldn't move without a large helping of guilt.

[writethatrhythm]

hmm

Phoenix is a shitty town. Far from the gleaming city of my youth, the grit and grime of the West has overtaken much of the commonwealth. Scorch marks mar the skyscrapers still standing, though most of the windows are blown out and shattered. A hot wind whistles through the skeletal remains of the city splayed out in front of me.

Somehow it feels more like home now than it ever did before.

“I can’t believe you’re gonna be in this shithole for three whole days,” the voice on the comm crackles through a burst of static, “there’s probably not even a decent bar here.” A flicker of annoyance burns in my chest. I smother it with ruthless precision. This place isn’t my home anymore, regardless of any familiarity pulsing through my veins.

“It’s a good thing I’m not here to drink, then,” I whisper back. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me, Lu? This seems like your kind of place.” She splutters indignantly in my ear.

This shithole is the crown jewel of the outlands. Made up of several small towns and camps strewn across the Sonoran desert, the city draws all types to its sun-soaked vistas. Mostly those who live outside of the law, smugglers and outlaws, gunslingers and gangsters. The black market flourishes here, beneath the unforgiving sun. Most of the more illegal contraband passes through Phoenix before dispersing throughout the West. From what I’ve heard, business is better than ever.

Forty miles to the west is the Stronghold. Started by some rich oil tycoon before the War, the Stronghold is home to the real criminals of the outlands. Rich retirees flocked to the Stronghold when their own cities were ravaged by death and suffering during the omnic crisis. They sit behind their walls in their fancy houses and hoard money and power. Their little paradise in the West keeps them from thinking about the people they abandoned to save their skins and their profits. A place like that breeds cowardice and corruption, and the Stronghold is no exception.

Lucky for me, it’s also our new job site.

“Alright cowboy,” her laugh comes through choppy, uneven, “I won’t talk shit about your town anymore. But promise you won’t miss our meet, yeah? Can’t have you getting distracted by all the pretty guns and fucking up our job.” I laugh in spite of myself. If everything goes according to plan, it won’t be the guns distracting me.

“I’ll be there, Lucky. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.”

“No promises.” The comm channel slides into static, then fades to nothing. No doubt Lu is hurrying towards Stronghold already, in search of a strong drink and a decent ac unit. I squint against the sunlight that reflects off of chrome and steel. It’s the smart thing to do. The thought sends a nervous spark skittering down my hand and I pause to crack a knuckle. It gives with a satisfying pop, and I exhale anxiously with it. I’m too close now to turn back. I have to see this through.

I won't be able to forgive myself if I don't.

The city is ghostly as I walk through it. Hard-packed gravel crunches under each step I take through the steel graveyard. Enormous skyscrapers stretch high above me. If I crane my neck and squint, I can just barely make out the top of them. Even tilted and rusted as they are, they are a sight to behold. The original city fell in the omnic crisis, supposedly. I never saw it as it was meant to be seen, towers stretching towards the sky. We lived outside of the city, where the damage wasn’t was bad. Sneaking into the city ruins was expressly forbidden. Even if I had gotten the chance to see the city, it would have already been desolate. The war may have ended when I was a toddler, but people were still feeling the effects.

The camp doesn’t come into view until I’m standing in the shadow cast by the very last skyscraper. The sun glares down from a gloriously blue sky, casting shimmers against the sand that stretches to the horizon. Three tents, dark brown smudges against a drab tan landscape. If I squint I can almost see their canvas rippling in the distance. My heart stops in my throat. All I have to do is close the distance between us, and everything will be fine again.

At the base of the building, I carefully remove the comms system from my ear and bury it. Geotagging it does little to soothe the sharp rush of fear that pulses through me. Leaving the little device behind means severing my last contact with Lu and the handlers. It means for the first time in seven years, I am well and truly alone. The weight of the rifle strapped to my back is comforting, at least. It presses against my shoulders and I take a deep breath. Now is not the time to give in to fits of nerves.

I hesitate as I turn to leave. Maybe I should take it with me, just in case. Lu would tell me to take it, would expect me to call if something goes wrong. But she doesn’t know the full story. She’d eviscerate me herself if she knew my true motives for coming here. And besides, criminals don’t appreciate wired marksmen storming onto their property. I kick some sand over the spot where I buried the comms and glare at it. Then I take a deep breath and step into the sun.

By the time I reach the little campsite, my back is slick with sweat. The tent itself is a dark brown canvas, almost black. In front of it is a wide space before the camp fire. Two heavy crates sit off to the side. They look almost like a reception desk. It’s silly but I step toward them and wait. Just for a moment. If someone comes, great. If not, well, then no one needs to know about this.

The first crate nearly comes up to my waist. It’s thick green metal is dented and scored, signs of a rough passage. Most likely contraband originally, though what needs a crate so big to transport is beyond me. I catch the sharp edges of the Talon logo on the second crate. I blink at it, intrigued by the recognition. But then I turn away and see it.

The tent sits not two feet away from me. A shiver runs through me as I stare at it. A thick metal stake driven into the ground keeps the entrance uncovered. I catch flashes of plush red beyond the opening, before an angular figure steps into my view. I shuffle a half-step backwards.

“Alright, hand the weapons over,” the guard points an ancient revolver in my direction. Greasy black bangs hang limply over his forehead. Lord only knows how he can see through them to aim. I glance at the gun aimed at me; it doesn’t move. Shit.

“Look,” I say, already unslinging my rifle from its place on my back, “I was recommended by my employer to find another rifle here.” I grip it loosely to show I’m harmless. Technically it isn’t true; I could kill this man in six different ways without my rifle if I wanted to. If I weren’t so off-kilter. Just holding the weapon away from my person has tremors skittering through my body. The guard looks unimpressed, understandably. I had hoped being vague would be enough to let me skate right past the gates. I tap the stock with a finger to grab his attention. “Does this help? I’m really just looking to shop.”

He goes white when he sees it. They all do.  A small logo engraved into the metal that marks me one of the most dangerous people on the globe. Only six of us have one, but officially, none of us exist. When he looks back at me I try a smile. He grips his weapon. For a moment he stares, like he could pull the trigger and be rid of me, but it passes. He spits off to the side and glares at me. Silence stretches between us, thick, stifling, before he holsters his gun. I sling my rifle back over my shoulder and let it settle there.

“I’m not the salesman,” he says finally, “that’d be the boss.” A bolt of energy shoots through my core. This is almost too easy. I’ll be on my way to meet Lu in no time. Maybe even get to her early. The guy says something else, but I’m too busy thinking about Lu to pay attention. Her laugh, her smile, her  beautiful brown eyes. The way she shudders, from head to toe, when I finally crack, finally start begging. My mouth goes dry at the images running through my head.

[projectnero]

PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE: THE SHRUB

The brass never cease to amaze me at how ridiculous their codenames for our operatives are. Ms. Agave could slice any of them open and they give her a nickname that basically equates to a harmless bush, just because it is associated with a bush.

Ms. Agave is thankfully one of the least complicated members of this team, so this profile should end up being rather short. 

NAME: Dinah Agave

ALIASES: Ms. Agave, Shrub, Prick, Cowgirl, Desperado

AGE: 44

HEIGHT: 5′6″

WEIGHT: 185 lbs.

SPECIES: Agave Barrel Cactus Dryad; American Southwestern; Century Variation

NOTABLE ABILITIES:

When it comes to survival, it seems that none of our operatives can beat out Ms. Agave. Dryads are known to take on the attributes of the plants they serve host to, and Ms. Agave seems to have taken the barrel cactus’s acclimation to harsh environments, ability to subsist on little water, and general energy stockpiling abilities to become almost completely self-dependent.

This holds true for endurance and stamina as well. 

While Ms. Agave is no Aloe plant, she does seem to have profound healing abilities. Being the most natural being on the team, one literally connected to the Earth, it seems only natural. As such, Ms. Agave seems to be the plant-based equivalent of a universal plasma and blood donor, and provided she is given enough water, she can pump out an endless amount.

Ms. Agave also seems to be one of the few nonhumans on the team who bothered to pick up a gun before being recruited. Her former location was in what was previously the “American Frontier”, the Wild Wild West; she witnessed many encounters and seemingly scavenged what she could to become a legendary figure in her own right, and a deadly gunslinger.

I suppose nobody ever figured out that if you just shot the cactus she always stood next to, you wouldn’t die.

Ms. Agave’s aim with lever-action firearms is unrivaled, so much so that our resident cold-blooded sniper (who doesn’t even have a heartbeat to trip him up) was outgunned by Ms. Agave.

While nearly all other operatives on the team seem to be highly specialized in some form or another, Ms. Agave is a jack-of-all-trades. She is skilled in CQB and adept at providing firing support to front-line combatants such as Agent Shepherd or Agent Shifter, her high adaptability and low maintenance allows for her to be dropped behind enemy lines and engage in surveillance activities (she’s a fucking cactus, what enemy would shoot a cactus unprovoked), and she has seen enough and been around long enough to help me with the more technological aspects of my job, as well as serving as a go-between for the rest of the team and our head strategist, Mr. Takahashi.

This being said, Ms. Agave’s unique natural skills allow her to instantly tame any wild beast, sometimes even better than Mr. Amos can, and she is skilled at the art of terraforming, surpassing what even modern science is capable of.

As a cactus dryad, Dinah is capable of summoning the large, pin-like needles that surround her body at will, serving as a biological form of extra armor, though given the ready availability of other armor types, this seems to be redundant and only useful as a last-ditch effort. As it stands, the needles she produces while in Dryad form are much longer than that of a normal cactus and can be weaponized as crude projectiles.

As of [DATE REDACTED], Ms. Agave has been discovered to have an altered, superior state when continuously hooked up to a water source. The constant influx of water through apparatus similar to an oxygen canister mixed with an IV bag have significantly improved Ms. Agave’s response times, sturdiness, durability, strength, and cognitive activity. Some of our younger human colleagues have described her as the dryad version of a fictional character known as “Bane”. Given that both Bane and Ms. Agave are technically Mexican superhumans capable of great feats of strength and intellect and rely on various liquids for both sustenance and power, I would say the comparison is not completely unwarranted.

NOTABLE WEAKNESSES

Do you remember how I said water was a great source of strength for Ms. Agave? It also turns out to be a great weakness in many ways.

You see, the laws of nature dictate that no one species can be dominant, and if something does not have a natural predator, evolution will either make it so they do, or it will find ways to make them weaker. When evolution gave cactus plants their extreme adaptability, prickly spines, and resilience, it came with an unspoken contract. Immobility. Complete fucking immobility. Through intense training of her dryad form, Ms. Agave has slowly begun to overcome that, but she is still not as mobile as the typical human; indeed, were it not for the support devices hooked up to her, she would be even slower than Mr. Amos.

Given that Dinah still infuriatingly obeys the laws of nature and physics, she, like any other dense and immobile object when placed in water, will sink and drown. Swimming is a definitive no.

Dinah is insusceptible to psychological attacks and yet this also leaves her as the least relateable member of the team. Nobody seems to understand the gravity of a situation such as Dinah being in danger. Due to her status as a jack of all trades, she is one of our greatest trump cards, and even though the others should know better by now, they have a tendency to overestimate her abilities.

“Dinah got captured? Can’t she just like turn into a cactus and then escape by herself?” No Dean you absolute himbo, she CAN’T, and even if she COULD, we do NOT abandon team members.

Dinah is unable to speak, and unlike Dean’s telepathic communication abilities, she can only use sign language and written language. She is also unskilled in the art of body language despite logic dictating that, as a nonverbal communicator, other nonverbal communicative forms should be even easier. This is not the case.

DIAGNOSES

Inconclusive evidence.

BACKGROUND

My name is Dinah Agave. Doctor Fero was kind enough to at least allow me to write my own background.

There isn’t much to say, I suppose. I used to have a nice family, and being a barrel cactus wasn’t so bad.

Humans came along and the predictable, inevitable happened. The once peaceful desert was now inhabited by loud, somewhat annoying folks.

I remember the town vividly. They called it a boom town; lots of prospectors came and went, and law had yet to come to the waste. Well, law as the humans knew it. Somewhere along the line, the humans began to build closer to our edge of the valley... but never beyond. It was like we were used as markers. Eventually a sign with the town name was placed to sit next to us. It brought unwanted attention.

You see, as a cactus, I am not interesting. I am not supposed to be interesting. This is how it is. But humans are fascinated by the mundane aspects of nature, perhaps because they strayed so far from their own true selves, and time and time again, my family and I remained the only ones in the town unchanged. I remember one day a young woman from a nearby town came stumbling through the night, seeking refuge.

She collapsed just before the entrance to town, just at my feet, and her blood soaked my spines.

What followed was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life.

The body disappeared and for the first time in my life I ceased to be aware of anything. It was terrifying. This sleep you humans talk about is horrible. When I... awoke, I was dressed in leathers of all kinds, a long duster, and a wide-brimmed hat. I looked down and what were once nice little spines had changed into horrible fleshy human arms, ending in multi-limbed little things called hands. My body once straight and hard was now curvy and soft, and I felt myself slouch uncomfortably from the weight of the world. Why do humans fight against the gentle breeze, against gravity?

It seemed the woman who had stumbled into town in a bloodstained dress, who died at my feet, had been resurrected, only with my memories and perspective. Disgusting. If humans have such a thing as a soul, then I hope hers found the peace it needed.

Still, this body had its uses. I could now stand as a watchful guardian for my family and, begrudgingly, for the town I had come to care about. Thousands of so-called vaqueros, cowboys, and desperados came to the town. So many outlaws, too. I didn’t have much except for a six-shooter and a lever-action rifle. 

And fucking invulnerability. That too.

None stood a chance and I became known as the Agave Guardian. Stupid, but it gets the point across. Eventually the town bustled into a metropolis and my work was done. The Sheriff once saw fit to award me with a gold star, unofficially deputizing me. I think all of them in that town knew the truth. I wasn’t just some woman who appeared overnight. 

My confirmation that they had always known came in the form of some G-men showing up in the early 1900s, accusing me of being a “dryad” and conscripting me into their little task force.

So, there. Dinah Agave. The cactus prick from Project Nero. Don’t piss me off, and if you even think about hurting the people I care about, you will pay.

[ambrial-blog]

I’m in- Says Blitzo. 

Words that are about to come back and bite Blitzo in the ass. 

It took you long enough, Mox, Blitz shouted. “ Wow, you should’ve seen the look on your dipshit face cackled Blitz. Striker glowered, hissing, eyeing Moxie from the corner of his eye, a scowl forming across his face as he looks down at Blitz. 

Blitzo gasps as the knife thrust deep into his back. 

A gunshot goes off. A Striker turns Blitzo’s gun on Moxie. 

A look of sheer horror flashes across Blitzo’s face as Moxie deflects the bullet with the butt of the blessed rifle. 

Striker twists the knife in Blitzo’s back, using his tail. Blitzo grips onto Striker’s arms, slumping to his knees as the end of Striker’s tail comes up to stroke Blitzo’s face.

He pulls out the bloodied knife and licks it. 

Striker hisses, catching Blitzo in his arms. “See boss-man, their noth’ in but vermin. He reaches into his vest. Pulling out a blessed handgun, and shoots Moxie in the head. 

 All before, Blitz had time to react. 

The Outlaw grins sadistically as he pulls up a chair; blood splatters his boots and hands as he watches Blitz. He has him cornered with nowhere left to run; Blitz wonders how he always gets into these situations. 

Moxie gurgles. Blitzo keeps looking at him, wondering how they were going to get out of this. 

Then his gaze falls back to Striker. “your so much better than this,” Striker says as Blitzo inches closer to Moxie, cringing as his back spasms blood soaks through his shirt. His hands were drenched in Moxie’s blood as a hand reaches out for the small Imp. 

“Look at him, Blitzy. Nothing but a speck of dirt, a common flea. Pathetic, really. Not long now, and your friend their well be nothing more than a husk of a body.” 

 Blitzo turns, and he hates how close Striker is now. He hates the uncertainty he feels whenever the snake imp is near. How long could he keep I.M.P afloat?. Did he really want to rely on Stolas forever?. 

 No! just no, he couldn’t be thinking like this.

This is how he got himself in this predicament. The Cowboy was way too smooth. 

 What about his friends and family. Will, the few people he considered family. No, Striker was the enemy. Blitzo was reaching for his gun just as Striker kicked it away.

A Hate-filled glare is thrown at Striker as a long barbed tail wraps itself around Blitz’s waist dragging Blitz away from Moxie. “You have so much potential Blitz” Striker throws the red Imp towards the bed, his back smacking against the bed frame. As Blitzo scrambles to his feet. Striker scoots the chair closer to him. He examines the red blade in his hand, twirling it before stabbing Blitz in the chest, his snakily yellow-green eyes glowing and swirling with sadistic pleasure. 

No, he might’ve not gotten the hit. But he was gunning for a partner now, one that he could easily manipulate and control. Blitz was everything he could’ve wanted in a partner and more.

 Blitzo pulled out the blade from his chest. Lunging at Striker, who just chuckled and moved out of the way. 

“Come on Blitz- if you join me, we’ll be unstoppable- well, be the most dangerous beings in hell blitz-. just shed these leaches. They are what’s keeping you from achieving your goals. What’s keeping you tethered to the ditsy blue blood. You are so much better than that

“Darl’ in. Well, split everything fifty, seventy. 

 Then do it, kill me, you fucking coward.”

I’ll never willingly leave my loony, Moxie, or Millie. Blitzo snarls, so you better shoot me dead!. Because if Moxie doesn’t survive, I’ll tare you apart; 

Striker tail rattles in irritation. “Then I’ll have to cut out the claws they dug into you. Striker lurches out of the chair, slamming Blitzo against the wall.

Their chests press against each other as Blitz’s tail lashes out, whipping Striker across the face.

Striker’s tail curls tighter around Blitz’s waist, feverishly rattling. He snarls, baring his teeth. 

“I’m offering you so much more than that disgusting, rich, pompous ass, Goeitia” “Choose me above the Goetic prince, above a business that is rigged against you. 

“Partner up with me, and kill the unkillable, starting with the one that treats you like a plaything.”

“Now- Blitz, what will it be?” he leans in closer, feeling Blitz’s body shiver. 

“Let’s seal the deal, Blitz-y” Striker’s claws dig into Blitz’s back. His teeth graze Blitz’s neck as he eyes Moxie’s prone form. 

Moxie’s body twitches as Striker’s teeth sink into Blitzo collarbone, a forked tongue laps at the blood. Blitz’s eyes fall upon Moxie, who hand was reaching for the blessed rifle. 

His breathing is shallow.

His wound is deep. 

He doesn’t know if he will make it through this one. 

He isn’t the only one with a blessed weapon. He catches Striker caressing Blitzo with the barrel of the blessed handgun. The gunslinger cocks the trigger back and points it at Moxie.

Blitzo chomps down on Striker’s arm as the Assassin’s trail squeezes the air out of the red Imp. “Not this time Blitz y.”

“Fuck me!” groaned Blitzo

Striker licked his lips, “tempting Sugar-cube.”

“I wouldn’t be apposed to the idea” Striker grinned.

 Eyeing the red-hued bed. 

Blitzo stared pointedly at Striker. 

Moxie’s hands are shaking. It is hard to steady the rifle. 

His vision blurs as he nearly drops the rifle. 

The Cowboy stands above the boss, imp a rope in hand, a handgun in the other. He points it at Moxie, who freezes blood, obscuring his vision. 

“I don’t even want to know how you 're still breathing, little man.”

“But I’m going to take your Boss here, for a brief ride.” 

 “Lets see how many lives a cockroach like you has.” 

Blitzo grits his teeth. He needs to get Moxie out of here.

Before he could get up, Striker steps on him, pressing him down with his boot. He snaps the rope. 

Blitzo hisses, grabbing Striker’s leg and turning him over. He leaps onto him, gripping his neck. As Striker slams him into the wall. Blitzo slides down the wall and whistles for Loona. 

“goddammit, Loona he grumbles. 

 In a blink of an eye, Striker is on him, pulling him off the floor and ramming him into a wall. He pulls Blitzo's arms back, wrapping them tightly in a thick rope. He forces Blitz down to his knees. The blessed handgun rests in his quivering hand.

His body is shaking as he tries to dislodge the gun from his hand. 

His arms ache from being wrenched forward.

 The snake imp had intended for Blitz to shoot his own employee. 

Moxie’s eyes were glossing over. 

“Sir-“ 

“Moxie, no! 

“Please, no!”

Striker kneeled on Blitz’s legs, guiding the Imp’s hand to Moxie’s head.

Fear. 

Rage. 

adrenaline

And helplessness fills Blitz as Striker straddled his legs from behind one arm, holding Blitz firmly in place. 

“He is nothing but vermin Blitz.”

“Shoot him, and one weight that holds you down will be lifted.

“Get out of my head you hillbilly hick.” 

‘Don’t.... listen.... to..... him... Blitz Moxie’s voice was fading:

cracking with pain,

Blood was bubbling up from his mouth,  and spilling from his lips. 

“Are you going to shoot your boss little one” Striker grinned 

“Or are you going to die, like the weak little vermin you are.”

“This is what I’m talking about, Blitz- our fingers together on the trigger.

Can you feel it, the power, the glory? Imagine overlords graveling at my-I mean our feet.

Blitzo closes his eyes, his arms are trembles as he snarls under his breath.

How was he supposed to get them out of this.

Hang in there, Mox! Blitzo told him, hearing Striker’s rattle.

He grimaces as Striker’s claws dig into him.

The snake wraps his arms around Blitzo’s waist. He could feel Striker’s erection grind into him as he tries to get rid of the gun.  

Blitzo shudders, feeling Striker’s hot breath ghost across his neck.

Hang in there, Moxie Blitzo says.

I’m having trouble breathing, sir

I know… Moxie I know.  

His throat felt dry and brittle as he continued to fight Striker for control of the gun.

He was fighting Striker for control over the handgun.

Loony, where are you? Daddy could really use your help right now, whispers Blitzo. feeling the trigger slip and the gun go off.  

Striker sneers, laughing while smearing Moxie’s blood across the Boss Imp’s scared face.

I knew you could do it! He jeers as he pulls Blitzo into a bloody kiss.

Blitzo pulls away, feeling the coldness settling into his chest as he reaches out for Moxie. The outlaw pulls back on the ropes, tearing Blitzo away from Moxie. wrenching his arms backward. Blitzo snaps his teeth to bite Striker.

His tail lashes out as he tries to ram Striker with his horns, tears blinding him. Blood on his face that wasn’t his own and a sick and twisted emptiness he fills knotting his guts.

The Rouge grips Blitzo by the horn, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, his deft fingers working Blitzo’s zipper, Blitzo moans feeling sick as the cowboy’s hand slides into his pants, cupping him, his other hand drags his pants down.

Nngh- Stop!

Ugh- NO! cries Blitzo as Striker suckles on his collarbone.

His mouth maps out Blitzo's bare chest, his teeth grazing his skin, electing pinpricks of pleasure.  

He licks his way down, Blitzo body toying with Blitzo belly button.

Nipping tenderly. His claws dig into Blitzo’s hips as he swallows Blitzo whole. his swirling green eyes watching Blitzo was struggling. Blitzo's body jolted up, snapping his fangs at the snake imp and twisting his head so that Moxie couldn’t see this. His claws dug into the floor, leaving groves in the hardwood floor.

Striker bobbed his head, clawing at Blitzo’s hips as Blitzo tried to bite Striker from the side. Causing the snake imp to pull away. He wraps his fingers around his red bandanna before pulling it off and wrapping it around Blitzo’s snapping mouth.

Blitzo moves his head back and forth, twisting his body

Striker claws dug into Blitzo’s thighs. As he drags him closer, his tail wraps around Blitzo’s ankles, spreading them wider a clawed hand rests on his abdomen as Striker inserts a finger into Blitzo’s ass, his teeth glaze Blitzo’s throbbing member as the crimson imp’s body jerks and shivers, trembling under his touch.

Stolas would be the next to fall.

 He could feel the beads collect on his tongue. Grasping Blitzo’s thighs, Blitzo rolls sharply into his mouth.

Striker moans around Blitzo’s shaft, his tongue lapping at the access cum that slides down his throat. He pulls Blitzo upright and onto his feet. Forcing Blitzo to stand over the body. He reaches over Moxie, his fingertips barely grazing the rifle, as Blitzo kicks him into the wall and zips himself up.

He Bobs and weaves as Striker lashes out with punches. He rams his skull into Striker’s, their horns locking as Blitzo growls are muffled by Striker’s bandanna.

He wouldn’t let this asshole win, not after losing Moxie like that.

Striker hissed, whipping his tail out and cracking it like a whip across Blitzo’s face.

Blitzo seethes in pain as Striker’s tail aims for his neck.

Striker is breathing heavily as he snags Blitzo’s corded rope from the floor and knots it in his hand.

He lifts Blitzo’s body up with his tail.

Blood drips from the corner of his mouth as he reaches down to pick up his blessed rifle, pocketing the handgun back into his vest.

He punches Blitzo.

As the red imp falls silent, Striker’s bandanna slips from his mouth.

Striker hisses sorely, his tail tightening around Blitzo's neck.

I’ll never stop fighting you,- I’ll runaway any chance I get, I’ll make you fucking pay for Moxie grits Blitzo coming to stand in front of Striker. his eyes cold and hard.

He was a leach, a nobody. I still think it’s embarrassing, you wasting a lot of potential on those weak little.

He looks down at Moxie and the gaping hole in his skull.

vermin.

You’ll soon forget about him. In the meantime, Striker growls, we need to get lost. His Mrs. will be out for blood.

Blitzo took a shuddering breath all fight had seemed to drain from his body

Millie… Blitzo thought, closing his eyes

She won’t be the only one! growled Blitzo. pulling back on the rope, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.

Striker is sitting on the windowsill knotting the rope, dragging Blitzo closer to him, away from the lifeless body of his friend. A clawed hand rests on Blitzo’s chest, gripping a fistful of cloth Striker pulls him into a heated kiss, the taste of Moxie’s blood on his tongue Blitzo moans, falling to his knees, tears leaking from his eyes.

Broken and numb.  

Knotted dread fills him, his stomach churns, but the snake imp held fast and wouldn’t relent as he continued to delve deeper, exploring Blitzo's mouth a drawing out a breathless moan. Blitzo pulls away, repulsed by his own actions. Growing tired of this dance striker leapt down from the windowsill gathering Blitz in his arms, the other a snarling mess, he leapt out and onto his hellish horse.

Striker’s tail whips the horse’s backside, as bombproof kicks up dust, riding away from Mellie’s farm towards a hole in the wall motel in the nearest town. The cowboy looks down.

The reward for all his troubles is fast asleep dried tears crested his eyes as his head rested on Striker’s thigh.

A wide grin spreads across his face.

Blitzo might have been many things to a lot of different people, but to him-

Blitz was his victory song.

[ambrial-blog]

. A/N:  please tell me what you think.  this is my first snippet I want to know if anyone is interested. . 

>  The knife thrusts deep into Blitzo's back as Striker turns his gun against Moxie. A look of horror flashes across Blitzo face as Moxie deflects the bullet with the butt of the blessed riffle. Blitzo grips onto Striker's arms slumping to his knees. Striker hisses, catching Blitzo in his arms. "See boss-man, their nothing but vermin. he reaches into his vest. Pulling out a blessed handgun, and shoots Moxie in the head. The Outlaw grins sadistically as he pulls up a chair; blood splatters his boots and hands as he watches Blitzo. He has him cornered with nowhere left to run; Blitz wonders how he always gets into these situations. Moxie gurgles. Blitzo keeps looking at Moxie, wondering how they were going to get out of this. Then his gaze falls back to Striker. "your so much more better than this," Striker says as Blitzo inches closer to Moxie, cringing as his back spasmed blood soaked through his shirt. His hands were drenched in Moxie's blood as a hand reaches out for the small imp.   "Look at him Blitz-y. He's gasping for air. Blitzo turns, and he hates how close Striker is. He hates the uncertainty he feels whenever the snake imp is near. How long could he keep I.M.P afloat?. Did he really want to rely on Stolas forever?.   No! just no, he couldn't be thinking like this. What about his friends and family. Will, the few people he considered family. No, Striker was the enemy. Blitzo was reaching for his gun just as Striker kicked it away. Hate-filled glare fills Striker as a long barbed tail wraps itself around Blitz's waist dragging Blitz away from Moxie. "You have so much potential Blitz" Striker throws the red imp towards the bed, his back smacking against the bedframe. As Blitzo scrambles to his feet. Striker scoots the chair closer to him. He examines the red blade in his hand, twirling it before stabbing Blitz in the chest, his snakily green eyes glowing with sadistic pleasure. No, he might've not gotten the hit. But he was gunning for a partner, one that he could manipulate and control. Blitz was everything he could've wanted in a partner and more. Blitzo pulled out the blade from his chest. Lunging at Striker, who just chuckled and moved out of the way. "Come on Blitz- if you join me, we'll be unstoppable- well be the most dangerous beings in hell blitz-. just shed these leaches. They are what's keeping you from achieving your goals. What's keeping you tethered to the ditsy blue blood. You are so much better than that "Darl' in. well, split everything fifty, seventy. Then do it, kill me, you fucking coward." I'll never willingly leave my Loony, Moxie, or Millie. Striker tail rattles in irritation. "Then I'll have to cut out the claws they dug into you. Striker lurches out of the chair, slamming Blitzo against the wall. Their chests press against each other as Blitz's tail lashes out, whipping Striker across the face. Striker's tail curls tighter around Blitzo's waist, feverishly rattling. He snarls, bearing his teeth. "I'm offering you so much more than that disgusting, rich, pompous ass, Goeitia" " Choose me above the Goetic prince, above a business that is rigid against you. "Partner up with me, and kill the unkillable starting with the one that treats you like a plaything." "Now- Blitz, what will it be?" he leans in closer, feeling Blitzo's body shiver. "Let's seal the deal Blitz-y" Striker's claws dig into Blitz's back. His teeth graze Blitzo's neck as he eyes Moxie's prone form. Moxie's body twitches as Striker's teeth sink into Blitzo collarbone a forked tongue laps at the blood. Blitz's eyes fall upon Moxie who hand was reaching for the blessed riffle. His breathing is shallow. His wound is deep. He doesn't know if he will make it through this one. He isn't the only one with a blessed weapon. He catches Striker caressing Blitzo with the blessed handgun. The gunslinger cocks the trigger back and points it at Moxie. Blitzo chomps down on Striker's arm as the assassin's trail squeezes the air out of the red imp. "Not this time Blitzy." "Fuck me!" groaned Blitzo "We could work that in too" Blitzo stared pointedly at Striker. Moxie's hands are shaking. It is hard to steady the rifle. His vision blurs as he nearly drops the rifle. The Cowboy stands above the boss imp a rope in hand a handgun in the other. He points it at Moxie, who freezes blood, obscuring his vision. "I don't even want to know how your still breathing, little man." "But I'm going to take your Boss here, for a little ride." "Lets see how many lives a cockroach like you has." Blitzo grits his teeth. He needs to get Moxie out of here. Before he could get up, Striker steps on him, pressing him down with his boot. He snaps the rope. Blitzo hisses, grabbing Striker's leg and turning him over. He leaps onto him, gripping his neck. As Striker slams him into the wall. Blitzo slides down the wall and starts to whistle for Loona. "goddamnit, Loony he grumbles.  In a blink of an eye, Striker is on him, pulling him off the floor and ramming him into a wall. He pulls Blitzo arms back, wrapping them tightly in thick rope.  He forces Blitz down to his knees. The blessed handgun rests in his quivering hand. His arms ache from being wrenched forward. The snake imp had intended for Blitz to shoot his own employee. Moxie's eyes were starting to gloss over. "Sir- " "Moxie, no! "Please no!" Striker kneeled on Blitz's legs, guiding the imp's hand to Moxie's head. Fear. Rage. And helplessness filled Blitz as Striker straddled his legs from behind one arm, holding Blitz firmly in place. "He is nothin but vermin Blitz." "Shoot him, and one of the weights that bind you will be gone." "Get out of my head you hillbilly hick."   'Don't.... listen.... to..... him... Blitz Moxie's voice was fading. "Are you going to shoot your boss little one" Striker grinned "Or are you gonna die, like the weak little vermin you are." "This is what I'm talking about, Blitz- our fingers together on the trigger. Can you feel it, the power, the glory? Imagine overlords graveling at my- our feet.   Blitzo closed his eyes. His arms trembled. How was he supposed to get them out of this. "Hang in there, Moxie," Blitzo told him, hearing Striker's tail rattle "I'm having trouble breathing sir." "I know- He was fighting Striker for control of the handgun. "Loony, where are you, I could really use you now," thought Blitzo. As he felt the trigger slip and the gun go off. Striker laughed, smearing Moxie's blood onto Blitzo's scared face. "I knew you could do it." Blitzo felt a coldness settle into his chest as he reached out for Moxie. The Outlaw pulled back on the ropes. Tearing Blitzo away from Moxie, Wrenching his arms backward.   Blitzo tried to bite his face. His tail lashes out as he tries to ram Striker with his horns.   The Assasin grips Blitzo by the horns, pressing his lips against Blitzo in a searing kiss. Blitzo attempts to bite him again. Earning a gut punch to the stomach. Striker stood over the body with the blessed rifle in hand. He places the handgun back into his vest pocket. As Blitz eyes him coldly. He drags his feet as Striker pulls on the rope. Knotting the rope in his hand. "I'll make you pay for that, Grits Blitzo. Coming to stand in front of Striker. "He was a leach, a nobody. You'll soon forget all about him. In the meantime, we need to get lost.  His Mrs. will be out for blood." "Millie- thought Blitzo closing his eyes. "she won't be the only one growled Blitzo. A clawed hand rests on Blitzo's chest, pulling him down into a heated kiss. The taste of Moxie's blood was in his mouth, on his tongue. Blitzo moaned, feeling sick. His stomach churned, but the snake imp wouldn't relent. Lifting up the Boss imp into his arms, he leaped from the window. And onto Bombproof. The Cowboy broke the kiss, wiping the blood from Blitzo face.   They were headed to the hideaway Motel.  

.

[ambrial-blog]

Sweet Victory: A Harvest Moon AU.

I'm in- Says Blitzo.

Words that are about to come back and bite Blitzo in the ass.

It took you long enough, Mox, Blitz shouted. " Wow, you should've seen the look on your dipshit face cackled Blitz. Striker glowered, hissing, eyeing Moxie from the corner of his eye, a scowl forming across his face as he looks down at Blitz.

Blitzo gasps as the knife thrust deep into his back.

A gunshot goes off. A Striker turns Blitzo's gun on Moxie.

A look of sheer horror flashes across Blitzo's face as Moxie deflects the bullet with the butt of the blessed rifle.

Striker twists the knife in Blitzo's back, using his tail. Blitzo grips onto Striker's arms, slumping to his knees as the end of Striker's tail comes up to stroke Blitzo's face.

He pulls out the bloodied knife and licks it.

Striker hisses, catching Blitzo in his arms. "See boss-man, their noth' in but vermin. He reaches into his vest. Pulling out a blessed handgun, and shoots Moxie in the head.

All before, Blitz had time to react.

The Outlaw grins sadistically as he pulls up a chair; blood splatters his boots and hands as he watches Blitz. He has him cornered with nowhere left to run; Blitz wonders how he always gets into these situations.

Moxie gurgles. Blitzo keeps looking at him, wondering how they were going to get out of this.

Then his gaze falls back to Striker. "your so much better than this," Striker says as Blitzo inches closer to Moxie, cringing as his back spasms blood soaks through his shirt. His hands were drenched in Moxie's blood as a hand reaches out for the small Imp.

"Look at him, Blitzy. Nothing but a speck of dirt, a common flea. Pathetic, really. Not long now, and your friend their well be nothing more than a husk of a body."

Blitzo turns, and he hates how close Striker is now. He hates the uncertainty he feels whenever the snake imp is near. How long could he keep I.M.P afloat?. Did he really want to rely on Stolas forever?.

No! just no, he couldn't be thinking like this.

This is how he got himself in this predicament. The Cowboy was way too smooth.

What about his friends and family. Will, the few people he considered family. No, Striker was the enemy. Blitzo was reaching for his gun just as Striker kicked it away.

A Hate-filled glare is thrown at Striker as a long barbed tail wraps itself around Blitz's waist dragging Blitz away from Moxie. "You have so much potential Blitz" Striker throws the red Imp towards the bed, his back smacking against the bed frame. As Blitzo scrambles to his feet. Striker scoots the chair closer to him. He examines the red blade in his hand, twirling it before stabbing Blitz in the chest, his snakily yellow-green eyes glowing and swirling with sadistic pleasure.

No, he might've not gotten the hit. But he was gunning for a partner now, one that he could easily manipulate and control. Blitz was everything he could've wanted in a partner and more.

Blitzo pulled out the blade from his chest. Lunging at Striker, who just chuckled and moved out of the way.

"Come on Blitz- if you join me, we'll be unstoppable- well, be the most dangerous beings in hell blitz-. just shed these leaches. They are what's keeping you from achieving your goals. What's keeping you tethered to the ditsy blue blood. You are so much better than that

"Sugar-cube, Well, split everything down the middle.

Then do it, kill me, you fucking coward! because I will never leave my family willingly

Blitzo snarls, so you better shoot me dead!. Because if Moxie doesn't survive, I'll tare you apart;

Striker tail rattles in irritation. "Then I'll have to cut out those claws they dug into you. Striker lurches out of the chair, slamming Blitzo against the wall.

Their chests press against each other as Blitz's tail lashes out, whipping Striker across the face.

Striker's tail curls tighter around Blitz's waist, feverishly rattling. He snarls, baring his teeth.

"I'm offering you so much more than that disgusting, rich, pompous ass, Goeitia" "Choose me above the Goetic prince, above a business that is rigged against you.

"Partner up with me, and kill the unkillable, starting with the one that treats you like a plaything."

"Now- Blitz, what will it be?" he leans in closer, feeling Blitz's body shiver.

"Let's seal the deal, Blitz-y" Striker's claws dig into Blitz's back. His teeth graze Blitz's neck as he eyes Moxie's prone form.

Moxie's body twitches as Striker's teeth sink into his collarbone, a forked tongue laps at the blood. Blitz's eyes fall upon Moxie, who hand was reaching for the blessed rifle.

His breathing is shallow.

His wound is deep.

He doesn't know if he will make it through this one.

He isn't the only one with a blessed weapon. He catches Striker caressing Blitzo with the barrel of the blessed handgun. The gunslinger cocks the trigger back and points it at Moxie.

Blitzo chomps down on Striker's arm as the Assassin's trail squeezes the air out of the red Imp. "Not this time Blitz y."

"Fuck me!" groaned Blitzo

Striker licked his lips, "tempting Sugar-cube."

"I wouldn't be apposed to the idea" Striker grinned.

Eyeing the red-hued bed.

Blitzo stared pointedly at Striker.

Moxie's hands are shaking. It is hard to steady the rifle.

His vision blurs as he nearly drops the rifle.

The Cowboy stands above the boss, imp a rope in hand, a handgun in the other. He points it at Moxie, who freezes blood, obscuring his vision.

"I don't even want to know how you 're still breathing, little man."

"But I'm going to take your Boss here, for a little ride."

"Lets see how many lives a cockroach like you has."

Blitzo grits his teeth. He needs to get Moxie out of here.

Before he could get up, Striker steps on him, pressing him down with his boot. He snaps the rope.

Blitzo hisses, grabbing Striker's leg and turns him over. He leaps onto him, gripping his neck. As Striker slams him into the wall. Blitzo slides down the wall and whistles for Loona.

"goddammit, Loona he grumbles.

In a blink of an eye, Striker is on him, pulling him off the floor and ramming him into a wall. He pulls Blitzo's arms back, wrapping them tightly in a thick rope. He forces Blitz down to his knees. The blessed handgun rests in his quivering hand.

His body is shaking as he tries to dislodge the gun from his hand.

His arms ache from being wrenched forward.

The snake imp had intended for Blitz to shoot his own employee.

Moxie's eyes were glossing over.

"Sir-"

"Moxie, no!

"Please, no!"

Striker kneeled on Blitz's legs, guiding the Imp's hand to Moxie's head.

Fear.

Rage.

adrenaline

And helplessness swells in his chest as Striker straddles his legs from behind one arm, holding Blitz firmly in place.

"He is nothing but vermin Blitz."

"Shoot him, and one weight that holds you down will be lifted.

"Get out of my head you hillbilly hick."

'Don't.... listen.... to..... him... Blitz Moxie's voice was fading:

cracking with pain,

Blood was bubbling up from his mouth, and spilling from his lips.

"Are you going to shoot your boss little one" Striker grinned

"Or are you going to die, like the weak little vermin you are."

"This is what I'm talking about, Blitz- our fingers together on the trigger.

Can you feel it, the power, the glory? Imagine overlords graveling at my-I mean our feet.

Blitzo closes his eyes, his arms are trembles as he snarls under his breath.

How was he supposed to get them out of this.

Hang in there, Mox! Blitzo told him, hearing Striker's rattle.

He grimaces as Striker's claws dig into him.

The snake wraps his arms around Blitzo's waist. He could feel Striker's erection grind into him as he tries to get rid of the gun.

Blitzo shudders, feeling Striker's hot breath ghost across his neck.

Hang in there, Moxie Blitzo repeats.

I'm having trouble breathing, sir

I know... Moxie I know.

His throat felt dry and brittle as he continued to fight Striker for control of the gun.

He was fighting Striker for control over the handgun, his hands shaking as he fires a bullet into the floor. he bucks and claws as Striker curls his legs around Blitzo his tail rattling behind him.

Blitzo lands on his side.

Loony, where are you? Daddy could really use your help right now, whispers Blitzo. feeling the trigger slip and the gun go off.

Striker sneers, laughing while smearing Moxie's blood across the Boss Imp's scared face.

I knew you could do it! He jeers as he pulls Blitzo into a bloody kiss.

Blitzo pulls away, feeling the coldness settling into his chest as he reaches out for Moxie. The outlaw pulls back on the ropes, tearing Blitzo away from Moxie. wrenching his arms backward. Blitzo snaps his teeth to bite Striker.

His tail lashes out as he tries to ram Striker with his horns, tears blinding him. Blood on his face that wasn't his own and a sick and twisted emptiness he fills knotting his guts.

The Rouge grips Blitzo by the horn, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, his deft fingers working Blitzo's zipper, Blitzo moans feeling sick as the cowboy's hand slides into his pants, cupping him, his other hand drags his pants down.

Nngh- Stop!

Ugh- NO! cries Blitzo as Striker suckles on his collarbone.

His mouth maps out Blitzo's bare chest, his teeth grazing his skin, electing pinpricks of pleasure.

He licks his way down, Blitzo body toying with Blitzo belly button.

Nipping tenderly. His claws dig into Blitzo's hips as he swallows Blitzo whole. his swirling green eyes watching Blitzo was struggling. Blitzo's body jolted up, snapping his fangs at the snake imp and twisting his head so that Moxie couldn't see this. His claws dug into the floor, leaving groves in the hardwood floor.

Striker bobbed his head, clawing at Blitzo's hips as Blitzo tried to bite Striker from the side. Causing the snake imp to pull away. He wraps his fingers around his red bandanna before pulling it off and wrapping it around Blitzo's snapping mouth.

Blitzo moves his head back and forth, twisting his body

Striker claws dug into Blitzo's thighs. As he drags him closer, his tail wraps around Blitzo's ankles, spreading them wider a clawed hand rests on his abdomen as Striker inserts a finger into Blitzo's ass, his teeth glaze Blitzo's throbbing member as the crimson imp's body jerks and shivers, trembling under his touch.

Stolas would be the next to fall.

He could feel the beads collect on his tongue. Grasping Blitzo's thighs, Blitzo rolls sharply into his mouth.

Striker moans around Blitzo's shaft, his tongue lapping at the access cum that slides down his throat. He pulls Blitzo upright and onto his feet. Forcing Blitzo to stand over the body. He reaches over Moxie, his fingertips barely grazing the rifle, as Blitzo kicks him into the wall and zips himself up.

He Bobs and weaves as Striker lashes out with punches. He rams his skull into Striker's, their horns locking as Blitzo growls are muffled by Striker's bandanna.

He wouldn't let this asshole win, not after losing Moxie like that.

Striker hissed, whipping his tail out and cracking it like a whip across Blitzo's face.

Blitzo seethes in pain as Striker's tail aims for his neck.

Striker is breathing heavily as he snags Blitzo's corded rope from the floor and knots it in his hand.

He lifts Blitzo's body up with his tail.

Blood drips from the corner of his mouth as he reaches down to pick up his blessed rifle, pocketing the handgun back into his vest.

He punches Blitzo.

As the red imp falls silent, Striker's bandanna slips from his mouth.

Striker hisses sorely, his tail tightening around Blitzo's neck.

I'll never stop fighting you,- I'll runaway any chance I get, I'll make you fucking pay for Moxie grits Blitzo coming to stand in front of Striker. his eyes cold and hard.

He was a leach, a nobody. I still think it's embarrassing, you wasting a lot of potential on those weak little.

He looks down at Moxie and the gaping hole in his skull.

vermin.

You'll soon forget about him. In the meantime, Striker growls, we need to get lost. His Mrs. will be out for blood.

Blitzo took a shuddering breath all fight had seemed to drain from his body

Millie... Blitzo thought, closing his eyes

She won't be the only one! growled Blitzo. pulling back on the rope, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.

Striker sits on the windowsill knotting the rope, dragging Blitzo closer to him, away from the lifeless body of his friend. A clawed hand rests on Blitzo's chest, gripping a fistful of cloth Striker pulls him into a heated kiss, with the taste of Moxie's blood on his tongue Blitzo moans, falling to his knees, tears leaking from his eyes.

Broken and numb.

Knotted dread fills him, his stomach churns, but the snake imp held fast and wouldn't relent as he continued to delve deeper, exploring Blitzo's mouth a drawing out a breathless moan. Blitzo pulls away, repulsed by his own actions. Growing tired of this dance striker leapt down from the windowsill gathering Blitz in his arms, the other a snarling mess, he leapt out and onto his hellish horse.

Striker's tail whips the horse's backside, as bombproof kicks up dust, riding away from Mellie's farm towards a hole in the wall motel in the nearest town. The cowboy looks down.

The reward for all his troubles was fast asleep as dried tears crest his eyes as his head rested on Striker's thigh.

A shudder rattles through his chest

A wide grin spreads across Striker face.

Blitzo might have been many things to a lot of different people, but to him-

Blitz was his  sweet victory song.